Nighthawk vs Abigail Lindsay

[PWXonline]

Open Challenge Match
Nighthawk vs Abigail Lindsay

Deadline: 4-29-14 at Midnight CST

[Deleted]

“The life of a wrestler is about fighting for world titles.”

As Nighthawk sits down on a tree stump in a park in downtown Tampa going through his final mental preparations for his challenge match against Abigail Lindsay one can’t help but notice the frustration literally pouring off of him as he has slowly come to realize just how far away he is from his dream of becoming half of the World Tag Team Champions with his partner and friend Jason Aries, which also happens to be the very last goal on a career that has been far more accomplished than anyone who saw him at the beginning of it would have ever suspected possible.


But while the Chicago native craves the chance to not just earn another championship belt to put on his mantle, but the chance to again earn the respect of his peers who might very well be perhaps starting to wonder if the man who made a living out of being a machine is starting to show the side effects of such a relentless approach to training and wrestling, one has to wonder if his Sisyphean quest to become World Tag Team Champions and continually finding himself constantly foiled at every turn is the cause behind the frustration that he is trying, and failing, to deal with.


But while the “Wrestling Machine” has always considered every challenge in front of him as something to be taken seriously one has to wonder if the web of dissatisfaction over how his career is going is, even in a small way, something that will distract him and put him in a position to be perfect prey for Abigail Lindsay.



But as the “Man of 1000 Holds” continues to sit on that tree stump, his eyes scanning over an article detailing the possibility that his run at the apex of the sport is almost at an end, his cell phone rings which draws his attention away from yet another report of his premature demise. Smiling as he sees that it is his trainer, mentor, father figure, and general sounding board Jorge Rivera on the other end Nighthawk beams and presses the answer button on his smartphone.



(Author’s Note: This conversation took place in Spanish.)



Nighthawk, the smile on his face evident in his voice: “Hello, teacher. How are you doing today?”



Jorge, gruffness and disappointment evident in the rich honeyed tone of his voice: “I am disappointed, Tristan. You are my favorite student, and the one that I believed has accomplished the most with what I taught you. and because I believe that, because I believe you to be a man of uncommon understanding for how this sport is supposed to work, I taught you all of my secrets, and sent you to many more masters so that you could learn from them as much as you had learned from me. I did all of this, spent all of those extra hours teaching you everything I had learned, because I believed that you could be special, But, Tristan, I don’t know if that’s true anymore. I don’t know if I can look at you in the eyes and believe that anymore, believe that there is still enough burning desire left within you to be the man, and the champion, your fans want you to be. I know why being a part of Bad Company is important to you, and for a long time, I thought it was a good thing for you. It was a new purpose, a new challenge. But now, Tristan, you’ve let that team change who you are. You aren’t meant to be the 2nd-in-command, Tristan, always suggesting but never taking the lead. Be better than this, Tristan. Be the man I trained.”



Nighthawk, shocked into something approaching a full-on fugue: “It’s that bad?”



Jorge: “yes, Tristan, it is that bad. When was the last time, the last genuine time, you looked at yourself in the mirror and knew you outworked your opponent? Or have you just been going through the motions because you thought you could get away with it, because you believed you had enough natural talent that your competition wouldn’t be able to take advantage of you? The truth, and this is something you have to always remember and be able to wrap your head around whenever you find yourself starting to head towards the same place you are at now, is that for you, you will never have enough natural talent to make something like that work. you always have to push yourself far beyond what others would be willing to, Tristan, to be successful. And if you want to be the best partner to Jason Aries, to be the partner you and I both know he deserves, you have to teach him how to do that. Doing that, being the guy who drowns your opponents by outworking them, that is the ‘Wrestling Machine’ I know, the man I was proud to train. This guy here, this guy defining himself by anything else than being the absolute best in the world, is not a man I know, and to be perfectly honest, it’s not a man that I want to know. Get it together, Tristan. Find the man you’ve always been.”



As Jorge hangs up the phone the “Man of 1000 Holds” takes one look at the article he was reading and crumples it up before rushing out of the park to a local gym with the full intention on his mind of getting as much training as he possibly can.



The next morning…..



As Nighthawk sits on the lip of the ring apron at a local MMA gym in Tampa, concentrating on the game plan he has put together for Abigail Lindsay, he slowly closes his eyes. Clad in a black Captain America t-shirt which is soaked through to the bone with sweat, blue-and-white two-tone Lonsdale wrestling shorts, and blue-and-white wrestling boots, the “Wrestling Machine” slowly opens his eyes before popping himself off of the ring apron.



Nighthawk, sitting down to re-fasten the Velcro on his gloves: “You know, everywhere I go now, people have begun to treat me differently. Maybe some of it, and I could be projecting here because I've been frustrated with how things are going, is inside my own head. But nonetheless, I have been noticing that people are looking at me differently. And as I sit and sit and try and figure out what it is, that frustration only getting stronger, I came to an epiphany. I can’t control what happens from a business point of view, or what matches I get, but there are things that I can control. Things that I can make my responsibility, after all, include what happens inside that ring the second the referee rings the bell. And this week, I remember that. This week, when I step in the ring against Abigail Lindsay, I remind everyone of what they’ve forgotten, what I've allowed them to forget. And while I'm on the subject, I want to remind all of those fans who will watch the Initiative (legally, I hope), what it is they can expect.
If you can’t stand the thought of a talented young rookie like Abigail Lindsay tied up in knots, struggling to escape a hold she couldn’t find out a counter for in a month of Sundays, don’t show up in Tampa. If the vision of a brilliant and smooth high-flyer like Abigail Lindsay grounded and systematically dismantled until the only thing left is a pair of trunks and some boots is too much to handle, don’t show up in Tampa. And if the thought of me reminding the world why it is I am called the ‘Wrestling Machine’ puts a rumble in your stomach, Don’t…. Show….. Up…… In…… Tampa.
Mrs. Lindsay, this week, you have an unfortunate responsibility. You have to step in the ring, look across it, and see me standing there. Worse than that, you have to do it knowing I am going to tie you in knots, put you in more pain than your trainer put you in on your first day of wrestling school, and make you tap out. Don’t believe me? Don’t think I can make a promise like that come true? Ok then. Show up in Tampa, and get in the ring. Because I am going to keep my promise. If I do nothing else, I will make you tap out. I will get back on the winning track, and Mrs. Lindsay, you just happen to be the cute little sportscar standing in the way of a freight train. Get off the track, unless you want to be run over.
Goodnight Mrs. Lindsay. May sleep give you the courage to go on.”

[Abigail Lindsay]

FLASHBACK:
December 2013.

Abigail Lindsay was bored, what else was new when it came to the other half of the Hollywood Blondes; she tweets everyday on social media how painstakingly bored she is. As opposed to tweeting up a storm she decided to do something about her chronic need to keep herself entertained so she decided to call her bodyguard/heavy/muscle/Amazonian stud muffin; the ever so stoic Maxine Moore. Abi cheerfully convinced Maxine to tag along with her to a club; not like Maxine had a real choice, she is the bodyguard, she had to accompany Abi to her desired destination. In typical Abigail fashion she brought Maxine Moore to a strip club of all venues. The music was painstakingly loud; the sea of patrons a literal sea of nameless faces. Abi stood in front of Maxine at the front door with a facetious smile written across her face. Maxine had her arms crossed into her chest.

Maxine Moore: Ran out of books to read?

Ms. Lindsay giggled.

Abigail Lindsay: No silly.

Maxine Moore: This shit hole is below your station, Abigail. Why are we wasting our time here?

Ms. Lindsay grabbed Maxine's hand. Smiling at her hired gun she reassured the woman who goes by the moniker Red Widow.

Abigail Lindsay: That would be correct my dear Widow. Now come on; time to get the party started.

With Maxine following closely behind; Abigail skipped cheerfully over to the bar. She hopped on a barstool. With The Red Widow taking her perch firmly behind her, Abigail signalled for the bartender to come her way.

Abigail Lindsay: Hi. I'm looking for the manager.

The bartender pointed to his name tag.

Manager: Speaking to him.

Ms. Lindsay's emerald green eyes beamed like the blinding lights from a SUV.

Abigail Lindsay: That's odd. Why are you serving your fine patrons drinks?

Manager: The bartender who usually works tonight called in sick. No one else was available.

Abigail Lindsay: Interesting.

Abigail grabbed the manager's hands. She had rehearsed this moment in her mind over and over again; the art of manipulation she considered one of her signatures. She wasn't six feet tall like her sister Brittany, bullying her way through life wasn't an option she could employee, she had considered using Maxine to clear the beaten path, what fun would that be. Maxine was insurance, nothing more, Abi much preferred to use her normal methods of persuasion. She batted her eyelashes.

Abigail Lindsay: Ok. Listen. I am a broke college student with two little children, I made a ton of mistakes in life; one major one was foolishly thinking I could plan a life with an ex convict in his mid thirties. Recipe for disaster. I really really need the money kind, sir. I want to strip my way through college. Stripping is an honest living. I have too much pride to become a product of the system. I hate fee loaders. All the people in impoverished neighborhoods mooching off fine men like you who earn an honest living makes me sick.

The manager scoffed.

Manager: Tell me about it!

Abigail nodded.

Abigail Lindsay: Can I pretty pretty please have a job? Hello. I'm beautiful. Blonde. Perfect. Tight little ass. Look at it. Don't be shy. Don't make me beg. Please. Pwetty please.

For added effect Abigail twirled around like a ballerina; while she was in the middle of her three hundred and sixty degree rotation the manager wasn't shy about checking her out. Completing her rotation, the manager gave

Manager: The best I can do is give you try out. You're up next.

Abigail Lindsay: Thank you thank you thank you so very much.

Abigail grabbed Maxine's hand, she lead her to the stage where one of the dancers was about to finish up her stripper routine.

Maxine Moore: Abi, you are a piece of work.

Abigail shrugged.

Abigail Lindsay: Must be the ass.

Maxine Moore: What ass?

Abigail wigged her tight ass in Maxine's face.

Abigail Lindsay: Don't deny it Widow, you so want to tap this. Get ready baby, it's show time.

The stripper picked up all her clothes. She rushed off stage. Abi skipped up the steps with the enthusiasm of a six year old child. She stole one look at Widow. Her bodyguard nodded. Near the bar Abigail noticed the DJ prepared to fill the bar with the latest dance track. Abi shook her head. Directing her attention back to the crowd she launched into her, routine.

Abigail Lindsay: Hello everyone. Hi. My name is, Sophie Patterson. Bad stripper name; I wasn't feeling creative tonight. I'm here for your personal entertainment, now don't get too excited I am not going to shed one piece of clothing, you Neanderthals would love that. Nope. Not tonight. I am here to promote a new book I'm reading. “Sometimes You Win, Sometimes Your Learn” by John Maxwell.

Annoyed Man: STRIP BITCH!

Abigail Lindsay: All of you here tonight are LOSERS. You suck at your jobs. You suck at relationships. Why do you think you're here right now throwing away your hard earned money watching little girls manipulate you for their own personal entertainment? I don't need to use my body to manipulate you. I'm smarter than them. I'm better than them. I'm highly superior to all you unwashed creatures. Seriously. Don't you have actual lives to get to? Right. You don't. That's why you are all here.

Abigail's impromptu book lecture was about to be interrupted by a huge American American male intent on throwing Abigail into a dumpster in the back ally of the strip club. She pointed the club's enforcer out to Maxine.

Abigail Lindsay: Think that's our cue to leave, Studmuffin.

Maxine Moore: With pleasure.

Maxine Moore cut the the club's enforcer off from his desired path. Abigail took the opportunity to bolt for the nearest club exit avoiding the hostility that was about to get showered her way for denying the male patrons the blessing of watching her strip naked. Took a minute for Maxine to catch up with her partner in crime. Abi hugged Maxine.

Abigail Lindsay: Now THAT was fun.

Maxine shoved Abigail off her. She wasn't thrilled, and Abigail knew it.

Maxine Moore: Um, you could have warned me!

Abigail giggled.

Abigail Lindsay: Now what fun would that be, silly?

Maxine rolled her eyes.

Maxine Moore: Lets go home.

Abigail Lindsay: Hey, no sleeping with a stripper. That’s bad, Widow.

Maxine Moore: Whatever!

Maxine stormed to the blue town car her and Abigail arrived to the strip club in. With a night of excitement out of the way, Abigail skipped to her car wanting nothing more than to sleep the rest of the night away.
...

PROMO TIME.

[The scene opens in all places, the WOMEN’S BATHROOM, yes.. the WOMEN’S BATHROOM. Abigail Lindsay, wearing a sparkling silver glittery dress that rides a little bit above her knees, is seen combing her hair. She turns around to face the camera. She slides on the bathroom sink. She seductively crosses her legs.]

“Men”

[Abigail giggles.]

“You’re so cute, Nighthawk. Pounding your chest, Portraying a destroyer of all words persona, you have no idea who I am, do you?”

[Abigail fiddles around with her hair.]

“Of course you don’t, your first mistake of many was no doing your research on me. Rookie? Sorry to burst your bubble cutie, I have been competing professionally for the last three years. Last year in fact I entered the Troy Stone, Stone Cold Gauntlet, I outlasted five other men from companies spanning the globe to win Stone’s Gauntlet. My prize for that? Main eventing Pro Wrestling X’s biggest pay per view of the year. I came within milliseconds of becoming the PWX World Champion, never mind I was cheated by Troy’s finance, all water under the bridge. And I was a semifinalist in this years tag team tournament. Wasn’t pinned by the way. Wanted to make that clear. I have had a pretty ok run in PWX, take into account I have competed in the biggest matches every company I have worked for top pay per view. I am currently on a little streak where I haven’t been pinned since, well, forever. Do I sound like a rookie to you? Do I sound like someone you can easily decimate? Logic dictates, no. If we believe the big bad bogeyman, you are going to destroy little ole me.

[Abigail shakes her head.]

“That is the problem with this company in general. People ask me, Abigail, why don’t you compete in more PWX matches, you are super talented. you have proven you can compete in two different companies at one time. Who else can compete Monday, hop on a plane, make it to PWX in two days to showcase to their audience how wonderful you are. And to answer the question all my PWX fans want to know, I’m bored. The trend I noticed in this company is the wrestlers unjustified hubris. Confidence is nice to have mind you. No knocking confidence. I now understand why Troy Stone was able to run amok in this company last year. Hubris. The PWX wrestlers believing they are more than they actually are. Quite amusing. Funny even. I pick my spots. I decide what matches and opponents are worth my time. When this open challenge was announced I thought, ok, I’m bored, why not take Nighthawk on. After listening to his “epic” promo I realized he is no better than the rest of the PWXers Troy Stone has out wrestled, outsmarted, out everything.

[Abi smirks.]

Now, I can skip into our match tomorrow with the expressed goal of teaching you a lesson in humility, the problem with that is, I doubt scoring a pinfall or submission win will enlighten you. Same tired “I am the destroyer of worlds” nonsense, I am going to outstretch you, out wrestle you, blah blah blah. Beating you does nothing for me honestly, I don’t compete enough for management to hand me a title shot. I am hopping on a plane for a UK tour after the show, I won’t be back in the states until June. Sorry PWX fans. This will be my last appearance on PWX in the near future. I’ll come back, maybe.

I’ll show up in Tampa. If nothing else I am curious to find out if you are capable of putting me through more pain than my trainer put me through my first day in wrestling school. Cute, has your limited mind considered this possibility. I like pain, silly!

[Abigail winks.]

I won’t go as far as to claim I’m a masochist. Hey. If I can tolerate getting smashed across the back with a thick whip, if I can handle a tough strong man squeezing my neck until my eyes pop out, if I can handle... lets see.. steel chair shots, falls off ladders, getting jumped by a gang of ten people... I think it is a safe bet this dismantling you’re promising is going to be child's play compared to all the ‘horrors’ I’ve encountered in my limited life.

Nighthawk. Don’t make a girl a promise you can’t keep. I’m excited now. To experience the pain you’re promising... makes a girl like me, well, excited. Do you have a wife? A girlfriend? A fiance? Might want to tell her not to watch the match. On the off chance you deliver on your huburistic claims? We are going to give Tampy a show that will make the Live Sex Celebration look like soft porn in comparison, sweetie.

[Abigail swoons.]

“On a serious note Nighthawk, I’m coming to Tampa with one clear present goal in mind, to win, sweetie. Hate to be the bearer of bad news, my assessment, you are one of these people who takes winning super seriously, what’s wrong baby, are you not living up to your true potential, hmm? Does Nighthawk need a kiss to make it all better? Sorry, I am not in the business of making the opponent who stands across the ring from me task easier, ask around, you won’t, that is ok, no matter what I say Nighty Whitey, you will power strut down to the ring with the intention to destroy a woman you have no idea who you are facing. That’s fine. Means an easy win for me, sweetie. I promise. I won’t leave you in the ring completely blue balled. I’ll kiss you on the forehead. I’ll remind you, everything is going to be ok. Wrestling twenty minutes with me is the closest you are going to get to reaching Heaven. It’s all downhill from here.

[Abigail blows a kiss into the camera.]

“Ta ta.”

-FADE TO BLACK-