No Holy War Here, Just War (SNC RP #1)

^{Looking to do more damage, KONSTANTINE finally pulls Maxwell back up to his feet, draping him onto his shoulder and pointing to the still exposed corner.  Matt Baily - He's trying to steal Maxwell's finisher, The KYD!} West Newhaven - Insult to injury, Matt! This is it! As KONSTANTINE runs toward the corner, Maxwell manages to get loose, falling to his feet as this time KONSTANTINE stops himself from hitting the turnbuckle headfirst. KONSTANTINE knows he's in a dangerous spot, turning back around with a wild discus punch which Maxwell ducks under! As KONSTANTINE spins back around, Maxwell lifts him and hits a Scoop and a Slam-wich with authority! The crowd is feeling it, Maxwell pointing to the opposite and still covered corner where he lifts KONSTANTINE back up and hits a second Scoop and a Slam-wich! KONSTANTINE seems hurt, Maxwell lifting him a second time and onto his shoulders! KONSTANTINE struggles as Maxwell starts running to the opposite corner and hits him into it! Maxwell then spins around and lands on the mat with the KYD! Maxwell goes for the cover! ONE! TWO! ...THREE! *DING DING DING* Brenden Reynalds: HERE IS YOUR WINNER! MAXWEEEELLLLL SCHNEIDER! Matt Baily - A hard fought match from both men who will no doubt be dominate here in The RWD! Maxwell's moving ahead with three points in The Contest of Conquest! West Newhaven - I can't believe our main event was won by this trash! This is infuriating! KONSTANTINE deserved that victory, Matt! As West argues with himself and starts to threaten the referee, Matt stays seated and refuses to participate in his partner's antics. With that, the main event has ended and the crowd is rejoicing in Maxwell's victory as he celebrates by writing a V on the mat with a little blood of the blood still leaking from his forehead. The referee checks on both men, the show cutting away as they clear the ring...kkkkkkkggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

---

And much blood was spilled, and much pain was shared between friends (enemies) and much rejoicing. The bloody V of victory was left as a reminder that a madman's work is _{never done}. This is only the begin

ning. The parade of madness will march into your town. Rah rah rah! Will you march alongside ol' Maxie? Will you cease seeing life through sane eyes, dull eyes, unexciting eyes? Will you play the trombone, the drum, the cymbals of insanity? Will you refuse to march to the beat even if you\re the one playing the drum? Will you become willingly infected w i t h anti-sane, pro-Schneider viruses that even now float through the air, like Ebola but wanted,non-lethal, and totally curable? Yes, friends, totally curable: all you need to do is put back on your suit and tie, eat your balanced breakfast made complete with Frosted Lucky Charms (they're magically delicious!), drive to work in heavy t

raffic, crunch those numbers, drink that coffee, read those reports, gossip at that watercooler, lather, rinse, repeat.

But you've got better things to do than the same old doldrums... right?

And what does this all have to do with Prince Abdulla Assad? It has EVERYTHING to do with Prince Abdulla Assad. This man was born and raised here in the good ol' U
    S
    of A, but is also proud to be an Egyptian down in his blood where it counts most. And "Perfectly Sane" Maxwell Schneider will bring that blood up and out of the Prince, see what makes that crazy mixed-up fella tick. But will Assad survive the mad scientist's experiments?

---

Backstage. An arena. Where? It doesn't matter. By the time this airs, no one will be there anyway. Two men. Chatting. House show? Maybe. Matt Baily. West Newhaven. And a VERY special guest.

"All I'm asking is, you gotta make a choice: Assad or Schneider?"

"Seriously? You're still on about that?"

"You never answered me yet!"

"I thought it was pretty obvious who I'd pick, don't you?"

"No, no, it's not obvious at all, hence why I'm asking you, Peg-Leg Pete!"

"Okay, okay, let's be civil here. Obviously... OBVIOUSLY... I'm betting on Schneider to win."

"Oh yeah?"

"Well?"

"Well what, Baily?"

"Who'd YOU pick? I know you don't care for Schneider, but you didn't seem too keen on the Prince either."

"Oh, I wouldn't choose ANY of them; I'm an impartial broadcast journalist, Baily! You, on the other hand ought to be fired for being biased like that!"

"Oh! You jackass! We're not even on the clock, gimme a break."

West laughs at the success of his petty trick. Little does he know, the pair are being stalked by a woolly mammoth.

"Well, if we're indeed being candid, Assad's the lesser of two evils as far as I'm concerned. I might not agree with his ideals, but I'd still like to see him put the boots to that nut Schneider. Hell, if they could kill each other, all the better, but it'd be more satisfying seeing someone send that bum packing back to his rubber room."

"I'd be careful what you say, man. What if he hears you?"

West lets out a scoffing chuckle.

"What if he hears me?" he says in a nasally whiny voice, mocking his broadcast colleague. "You must've left your courage in your other leg, huh? Schneider is a nut, a loon, a madman, a lunatic, a psychopath, he's crazy, demented, deranged and he's lost all his marbles plus 10!"

Now as he's saying this, the behemoth traipses closes and closer, his trajectory changing just so, so only, eventually, Matt espies the silhouette of a lumbering eerily light-footed beast. Eyes widen. He daren't motion towards his partner in crime. Frozen. He knows who this man is. He knows what he might do. Yet he's powerless to stop it. RIP West Newhaven?

As West says "plus 10!", a meaty hand rests on his shoulder. Now it's West's turn to match Matt's eye-size. He knows, he just knows. He slowly turns to try to catch a glimpse of the owner of said hand, hoping it was the vengeful ghost of Andre the Giant rather than...

... The Portland Madman.

"M-Maxwell! W-what's up, man?"

Maxwell's half-grin twitches. His other hand thoughtlessly grasps at his hair, then his beard, never being able to decide on just what to do with his free hand. Maybe choke a man? Gouge out an eyeball? No, wait, we need to get back on track. Later! Later...

"Mr. Schneider, don't."

"Shut up... shut up!!"

"Don't?" he asks, as if he sincerely doesn't know why Matt suddenly said what he said. "Don't... WHAT, Matty? Don't, WHAT? Don't, WHAT? Don'twhat? Don'twhatdon'twhatdon'twhat?! Don't THIS?!"

Schneider grabs West by both shoulders now, sending him headfirst to some conveniently-placed stacks of random things, things inconsequential in the description, but now scattered, now complete with a laid-out loudmouth.

"CALL ME CRAZY, MATTY, but callin' me crazy simply ain't a sane thing ta say! I've got the paperwork ta prove that bum wrong!"

Not wanting to scold Schneider for placing his hands on a mere commentator, a big ol' bohunk like West or no. "Well, I'm sure he's learned his lesson now, Mr. Maxwell."

"PLEASE! Call me Maxie! We're all friends here!"

He smiles as sincerely as a madman can, and Matt reciprocates, if only to avoid the ire of the monstrous leviathan. But then, Schneider's smile slowly fades, and Matt's follows suit.

"NOW INTERVIEW ME!!!"

"Yes! Absolutely!" Matt blurts out the exact second that Maxwell stops shouting. "Max-ie? W-what's your, uh, thoughts on your opponent at the next Sunday Night Combat show, Prince Abdulla Assad? He had some, uh, choice words with your use of the Camel Clutch, a move he takes pride in using, and-"

"PRINCE ABDULLA ASSAD!!" Maxwell interrupts. "Camel Clutches ain't for any one man! I can use any move I wanna, an' if you wanna stop me from usin' it, be my guest! Maybe I'll switch it up, oh, outta respect for you, sir, an' just sit on yer back with a length of chain around yer neck an' just... PULL! Just... PULL... know what I mean, Matty? It ain't no Camel Clutch anymore, now IS it?"

"Uhh, n-no... no."

"What'd you call a move like that, MATTY??"

"Uh, a-a-a... a Camel.................... Killer?"

Maxwell ponders Matt's response, then juts out his bottom lip a little bit and nods in approval. Matt nods along, thankful his answer was sufficient. But then, Maxwell starts to shake his head, and Matt shakes his head, and Matt is worried, and Matt backs up a bit, and Matt thinks about his loved ones back home.

"Nah... nah... MATTY! Ol' Maxie ain't no animal abuser, ya know! Nah, I think I'd call it a PRINCE Killer, 'cuz clever'r not, it's gonna be APT, Matty, APT!"

Matt jumps at every utterance of the word "APT!" Matt needs to leave right now.

"Yeah, you're, uh, right, Maxie, that's a lot better a name for that move... but, uh, oh, hey, I gotta get going here, so... was there anything else you wanted to say?"

"Talk is cheap, but each night in INTENSIVE CARE'S gonna cost Assad BIG TIME! Now quit wastin' my time, Matty - I got WORK ta do!"

And Maxwell leaves of his own accord, which Matt is very thankful for. Matt checks on West... but not too carefully!