Title: My Partner is a Beast
Featuring: Python
Date: 6/4
Location: An apartment in New Jersey

Python:

Better figure it out soon, gents. We get to party real soon.

 

[Python jabs the spacebar on his laptop with his knuckle, effectively stopping his webcam from filming any further. The young superstar flops back down in his chair, folds his hands under his chin, and exhales for what feels like the first time in ten minutes. He considers the finished video file on the screen before him for just a moment before leaning forward and preparing it for publication. His fingers dance across the keys and he mumbles under his breath as he titles it...]

 

Python:

Master... the craft... bitches.

 

[Tastefully omitting that last word from the actual video title, he tacks the video up on the Defiance website and, a few clicks later, finds himself staring at his desktop wallpaper once more. It's this.]

 

 

[He chuckles, allowing his mind to stray from its burdens for just a moment.]

 

[But the gravity of what he's just done settles back in just as quickly as it lifted.]

 

[Though he certainly has no difficulty doing it, Python doesn't particularly enjoy talking trash. It's not him. His place is in the ring, doing what he loves for the sake of doing it and connecting with the fans. But trash talk is a necessary psychological part of the game these days, and to ignore it is to suggest passivity and disinterest. And that was not a mistake he was about to make against a team like Bronson Box and Edward White, two sharks with keen noses for the blood of those they perceive to be weak.]

 

[Besides. It's not like he doesn't believe every single sizzling word he just fired into the camera.]

 

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

 

[A sharp rap at the door jars him from his thoughts. He swivels in his chair and looks thoughtfully at the door on the other side of the plainly decorated living room of his apartment.]

 

Python:

If you're a huge, old Japanese ninja assassin hired by Edward White to come kill me... I'm not home.

 

[A woman's voice replies coolly from the outside.]

 

???:

What if I were a young, hot New Yorker come to kill you for fun?

 

[Python bursts into a grin and crosses the room in three quick steps.]

 

Python:

I'm cool with that.

 

[He throws open the door to find Gemma Lockhart standing with her arms full of travel bags and a small suitcase. She blows a strand of dark hair away from her face and strides into the apartment, surveying the nearly barren room with an amused smile.]

 

Gemma:

Still rocking the "broke college student" look, I see?       

 

Python:

Nice to see you too!

 

[He laughs and takes the bags from her, making a mock show of struggling under the weight.]

 

Python:

The fuckkk? I thought you were only staying for the weekend.

 

Gemma:

I am.

 

[She plants a soft kiss on his lips, closes the door behind her with the long heel of her cowboy boot, and strolls coolly into the room, click-clacking softly across the floor until taking a seat on the sofa. Python grins and hauls her luggage into his bedroom. She calls in after him.]

 

Gemma:

Not like it matters to me or anything, but why DO you keep this place so plain? You've been on a top tier superstar salary for like eight years, Matt, you could be living in a pimped out mansion in Beverly Hills or something.

 

Python:

Ahh...

 

[He reappears in the doorway and leans against the frame, habitually running a hand back through his messy black hair. His torn, faded skinny jeans and fitted black Smashing Pumpkins shirt essentially illustrate the point he's about to make.]

 

Python:

You know that isn't me, Gem. I wouldn't be comfortable in a place like that. This is what I know. It's what I grew up with.

 

[He sidles over to the couch and drops comfortably next to Gemma, draping an arm around her shoulders.]

 

Python:

Men who have wealth can make a choice that many other men can't afford. They have the luxury of choosing a lifestyle that reflects who they are as a person. I've always seen it as kind of a balance. People throw down for expensive, lavish material possessions to distract them from absence of character and goals. None of the things I need in my life come with a price tag.

 

Gemma:

Ah, wait till I send you my bill.

 

[He blows a raspberry at the joke as she winks and swings her legs up onto his lap.]

 

Gemma:

Couldn't resist.

 

Python:

Yeah, yeah. Careful, there's probably a journalist hiding in the fucking air vents, we don't want the press to get the wrong idea.

 

Gemma:

Hah. They know we're still a thing?

 

Python:

I dunno.

 

[She makes a face of mock offense.]

 

Gemma:

You mean you don't ever talk about me?

 

Python:

I know you like your privacy. How's things been since I heard from ya the other day?

 

Gemma:

Gloriously simple and relaxing, for a change. And you?

 

Python:

I just shot a video of myself talking shit about two of the most dangerous guys in the company so they're nice and pissed off at me when I get in the ring with them  this weekend.

 

Gemma:

Sometimes I don't understand how that logic of yours has successfully guided you through this many years of death-free professional wrestling.

 

Python:

Yeah, I try not to question it. I just let it do its thing.

 

[She laughs.]

 

Gemma:

Feeling good about the big tag match, then?

 

Python:

Sure! Really looking forward to it, actually. My partner is a beast.

 

[He thinks back to the image of a hulking, bloody Dan Ryan rising from the mat behind Bronson Box last week. He shudders a little and nods.]

 

Python:

Like... literally a beast.

 

Gemma:

What's his name again?

 

Python:

Dan Ryan.

 

Gemma:

Mm. Never heard of him.

 

Python:

He's not from our neck of the woods. Did a lot of work over in CSWA, NFW, that kind of stuff.

 

Gemma:

So he's a stranger, what makes you think you're gonna get along with him so great?

 

[Python shrugs, responding almost without thinking.]

 

Python:

He's one of us now.

 

[Gemma raises an eyebrow. Her boyfriend sticks to his guns.]

 

Python:

I don't know much about him, but he fights on the right side of the chalk line, Gemma. And he fights hard. I trust him.

 

Gemma:

Suit yourself. Always got to go "seeing the good" in everyone and all that bullshit...

 

[He laughs and moves to cover her mouth with his arm. She counters and flips him gently down onto the floor on his back, landing on top of him with a smile.]

 

Python:

Oof. Haven't missed a beat since the old days, have you?

 

[She sweeps her hair back and punches him lightly in the arm.]

 

Gemma:

I try to keep in shape.

 

Python:

I can see that.

 

[His eyes travel involuntarily across her body. She's ridiculously attractive. Slim, toned, and tanned with messy black hair, piercing emerald green eyes, and a killer body covered in tattoos down her arms and back. They remain uncovered by her form-fitting, low cut black top and stone wash jean shorts. She catches him checking her out and smirks as his eyes quickly return to her face.]

 

Python:

When are we gonna get you back in the ring, killer? I'm sure we could shake off the rust in no time.

 

[A quick shrug and an even wider smirk immediately tell Python he isn't getting a straight answer to that question.]

 

Gemma:

Let's worry about one career at a time for now, hm?

    

Python:

Yeah, yeah.

 

[He worms his way out from under her with a grin.]

 

Python:

At least say you'll think about it?

 

[She opens her mouth to retort but pauses, suddenly reconsidering. After a moment, her face darkens and a scowl pulls at the corners of her lips.]

 

Gemma:

That bitch Heidi still around?

 

[Her voice is deliberately cool, but Python knows she's restraining herself. He answers carefully.]

 

Python:

Mmhm.

 

Gemma:

Well.

 

[She rises gracefully to her feet, her expression a blank mask to those who don't know better.]

 

Gemma:

I suppose anything is possible.

 

Python:

Excellent.

 

[He jumps to his feet.]

 

Python:

She's fucking insane now, actually.

 

Gemma:

Oh yeah?

 

Python:

Yeah. Like, unstable killing machine kind of shit. If someone were to take her down, I imagine it would be revered as an act of heroism.

 

[She rolls her eyes and moves to walk out of the living room and into the bedroom. Python follows, calling playfully after her.]

 

Python:

The people would build statues in your likeness! There would be parades.

 

Gemma:

You're pushing it, kid.

 

Python:

I'm serious!

 

Gemma:

You're this close to sleeping on the couch tonight.

 

Python:

It's my apartment.

 

Gemma:

Fuck you.

 

Python:

Touché.

 

[She laughs as they disappear into the bedroom and the door swings shut.]

---

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