June 12, 2019
Superdome: New Orleans, LA
Paramount Title Match
Any Lindsay Troy fan worth their crown knows the following to be absolutely, infallibly true: you never know what she has up her sleeve, and you never know who she’ll bring along for the ride.
Such is the case in New Orleans, where a reemerging Brandon Youngblood - professional wrestling’s Last Diamond and its long-time Pariah - leaps the security barricade and lays waste to both Silas Artoria and Hidetaka Ito in support of the Queen of the Ring, his fellow former PRIMEate.
The CWF Faithful are shocked. Jim Gunt and Mike Rolash too. And truth be told, Youngblood and Troy weren’t always on the same page as they appear to be on this night. Distant acquaintances before they were rivals, and rivals for a long time before a friendship emerged, time and conversation finally eroded away the two warriors’ stubbornness and hostility before they ended up where they are now: post-bell, with Lindsay spent and grabbing for the ropes following her ”All Hail the Queen” Dragonrana, and Youngblood with a grin and a cocky swagger as he makes his way over to her, Paramount Title and Artoria’s cane in hand. He glides right past the now ex-champion, still on the mat, not giving him a second look.
“Red eyes in mourning, we should come with a warning,” Brandon laughs, which earns him a half-smile from Troy and a clasped hand in return. Comrades in battle. “I believe this is yours.”
Youngblood turns over the belt to its new owner, which Lindsay gladly takes. She looks at the faceplate then out to the crowd, lifting her prize high above her sweaty hair while Brandon lifts her free hand in victory.
“Y’know,” she says, while Ray Douglas announces her triumph. Silas makes his way to Hidetaka and they walk up the ramp to the back. “I tried to warn the kid. Predictably, he didn’t listen.”
“Still giving people too much credit...” Brandon inhales through his nose, a bit disgusted, then holds open the ropes for her to slip through. “Stop doing that shit. Besides, he showed his ass, and you handed it to him.”
“I suppose I did.” Troy bends between the top and middle ropes and Brandon follows after her. “And I suppose old habits are hard to break.”
They hop off the apron in tandem and walk to the ramp, Lindsay a half-step behind Brandon, her back a bit stiff from the barrage of suplexes Artoria threw her way during the course of the match. Give him credit, he was no pushover; not that the Queen expected him to be. And the critics may say she needed Youngblood to win, but the Psychotic Aristocrat wasn’t exactly working alone either, now, was he?
“Part two coming up with the ‘Rumble,” she says, reaching out to slap a couple outstretched hands from the younger crowd. A surprise, given what went down. “You’re in ahead of me, I’m nine slots behind. Think you can hang around ‘til I get there?”
“Shouldn’t be a problem.” Youngblood rubs his beard, a glint of malice working its way into his eyes. “I’m looking forward to throwing my weight around.”
Later that night
Maison de la Luz Hotel
“Oh my gosh, it’s so pretty.”
Cecilia Ryan sits cross-legged on the king-sized bed in her aunt’s hotel suite. The Paramount Title rests in her lap, its platinum faceplate glitters off the lamps and chandelier in the room and casts orbs of light against the walls and furniture. Even the pristine white leather strap looks like it shimmers, although the Ego Buster’s daughter can’t tell if it’s just the lighting in here or her own dreams manifesting themselves before her eyes.
On either side of her are her cousins, Ami and Kaz. Twins, adopted, three years her senior; one wholly uninterested in the ‘rasslefites’ outside of watching and supporting her parents, the other with a passing interest, although he hasn’t yet let his intentions be known. Ami lays on her stomach, her chin resting in her cupped palms, feet crossed at the ankles. Kaz lays back against the pillows, arms behind his head, the picture of serene.
“Glad you think so,” Lindsay replies. She’s stretched out on the sofa in front of the bed, eyes closed, a soft smile on her face. Her head rests against the thigh of her husband, Tyler Rayne. The man once heralded as PRIME’s Golden Boy, with his roguish grin, perma-stubble, and perennially mussed-up hair, runs his fingers gently through his wife’s curls.
Yes, the whole Troy-Rayne clan made the trip to the Big Easy. A rare occurrence, given the kids’ college schedules and Rayne’s business ventures, but one that was welcomed by the family’s matriarch. Lindsay Troy will take whatever time with her family that she can get, regardless of the location or occasion.
“Proud of you love,” Tyler says. “Never doubted you for a second.”
“Well, you did look like you were gonna hop the railing of the suite and make a dash through the crowd, dad,” is the retort from Kaz.
“Yeah. It was a touch-and-go there for a bit,” Ami chimes in. “A real white-knuckle moment.”
Lindsay blinks, looks up at her husband, and deadpans, “Really, Ty.”
“These two said they’d keep that to themselves,” Rayne shoots back. The three kids snicker. “And….maybe. For a fleeting moment … I might’ve wanted to tussle a bit.”
“Through the crowd,” she follows up. “So just like old times then?”
“Sometimes I get the feeling that I can’t help myself. And then I remember that I’m retired and happy with that decision.”
“Your restraint is both noteworthy and admirable.” Troy smiles at her husband. “And although I wouldn’t have minded a classic Tyler Rayne run-in, Brandon and I had it under control.”
“Yeah, Aunt Lindz, about that…who was that guy?” Cecilia asks, then looks to her cousins for confirmation. “I asked Uncle Tyler but all he said was that you all used to work together.”
“We did. And I’ve known Brandon long before the three of us were in PRIME together. We didn’t always get along, but over time we came to find some common ground and finally forged a friendship.”
“Also helped that the three of us had a common fuckin’ enemy.”
“Well,” Lindsay concedes. “There was that too…”
October 14, 2012
Soldier Field: Chicago, IL
PRIME’s Colossus VIII
The Company’s last show
Devin Shakur was a real fucking asshole.
He was a cancer to PRIME who sewed deep seeded roots of evil and sadism throughout the company. And by winning the Dual Halo match, he could get away with it, because he was given a Golden Ticket to do with whatever he wanted. So he, essentially, took over...and ran the company into the ground.
It wasn’t until PRIME’s farewell tour, when a combined effort by Killean Sirrajin, Matthew “Tchu” Ward, and Lindsay Troy to buy out PRIME’s holding company’s stake in things, that anything could be done. And something was, indeed, done, because with that stake came Devin Shakur’s contract, and the three PRIME Stalwarts were bound and determined to ensure that Shakur got exactly what was coming to him….
The ultimate come-uppance at Colossus VIII. A receiving line of “well-wishers” after Shakur’s last match to boot the Devil in Black out of the business once and for all. Many PRIMEates lined up to get their last shots in. Referees, wrestlers, backstage announcers, even Lisa Tyler and Blaine Blair - two members of the administration - couldn’t wait to get their licks on the man who made their lives a living hell.
Of course, Lindsay Troy was in that receiving line too...
The Queen ripped Shakur’s patented black shirt, the one he always wore regardless of whether he was wrestling or backstage cutting a promo, and grabbed him by the head once he got to her. His eyes were wildly out of focus, so she waited until they locked on her hazel ones. Her grin was spiteful; she was going to savor this.
“Hope you enjoy what's about to come your way, Emo Bun. Took some effort to get it here but never let it be said that my revenge isn't dished out in the most creative of ways.”
“F-” Shakur started.
“Nope. No last word for you today.”
One knee lift to the nose and a toss by the hair later, Shakur found himself collapsed at the end of the line. All those who waited had dispersed. The Natural Born Heel’s able to peer up a few inches, but only stays there for a second as a boot came and forced his head down onto the floor.
It belongs to a man who was unarguably screwed out of a career resurgence in PRIME at the hands of Shakur. He had worked himself to the point of exhaustion on Night 1 of Culture Shock 2010, and even though he was down he knew he had enough in him for one final push to get himself in a prominent position where no one could deny him. Until Shakur's politics and greed got in the way.
From out in the arena, the crowd cheered because it is a face they never figured to see again. Nick Stuart and Richard Parker, long time PRIME commentators, were stunned into silence because they draw the exact same reaction.
It's Brandon Youngblood. Brought back by the Queen to get his retribution.
Shakur looked up at him with his mouth agape, a "you've got to be fucking shitting me" expression on his face. He took Youngblood's name in vain for so long, taunting the multiple time 5 Star Champion to show his face and get his pound of flesh. He never expected him to actually walk through the doors again and do it.
Youngblood put his right foot back and soccer kicked Shakur in the face. He let it sink in and did it again. A third time. A fourth time. A fifth time. A sixth. He bent down and lifted Shakur up, shoved him hard against the wall and unleashed one of his patented knife edge chops.
Judging by Shakur's face, they still hurt.
Youngblood grabbed Shakur in a suplex position and hoisted him into the air with ease, holding him and staring a hole through him the entire time. Shakur's blood dripped all over the floor at a decent rate. Youngblood moved around in a circle and then falls backward, letting Shakur hit with a nasty thud.
Then, just as quietly as he entered, Youngblood leaves.
The next day, over coffee, Lindsay Troy would hand Brandon Youngblood his PRIME Hall of Fame ring - something he never thought he would get - and the two would leave Chicago with a handshake and a hug.
June 25, 2019
Jose Miguel Agrelot Coliseum
San Juan, Puerto Rico
“What...did I tell you?”
The scene: your brand-spanking new Paramount Champion, Lindsay Troy. That’s Lindsay with an I and an A, kids, take notes, or read a bio. Belt around her waist (she always wears belts around her waist), one leg crossed over the other, one forearm resting against the shoulder of her compatriot, Brandon Youngblood. They’re the same height, so this image doesn’t look comical.
The pair are standing in the Jose Miguel Agrelot Coliseum’s weight room, about mid-day on Evolution Day. Brandon’s got his arms crossed, amused expression on his face, his silver ZZ Top beard looking all nice and conditioned. LT probably bought him some beard wax; she’s a little bougie, or she wanted to see if the man would actually use it.
Guess he must’ve.
I told the world that a very messy end was coming Silas Artoria’s way at Golden Intentions and that he wasn’t going to survive the wreckage and boy-howdy, was I right.
He didn’t want me to "poke the bear." But I guess he didn't realize that I am a bear, and this mama bear isn’t afraid of a fight. And that I also have quite a lot of friends who like to fight too, come to think of it. Isn’t that right, Brandon?
Youngblood lifts his middle finger and “salutes” the camera.
Told you to do your research, Silas.
And now it’s onto the next one. I’m not going to make the same mistake the former Paramount Champion did when presented with a similar circumstance and whine about being booked into a four-way match right after winning this belt. I know it’s not on the line, but I recognize the talent that I’m facing. This isn’t a “no-nothing” match for me. It absolutely means something, because every match to me means something.
Ataxia just came off a hellacious battle against Mia Rayne. Absolutely a wild card, and a little unhinged, but I like the unorthodox ones. I think I just proved that when I beat the poster boy for Visine. Autumn Raven took the garbage out when she defeated Bryan Ford. Impressive. I like you, Autumn. Might be because we both have no love lost for Silas. Might be because you’re not afraid to get down and dirty when the situation calls for it. But make no mistake, my praise for you won’t stop me from proving that I’m the better champion in our match this week. And Jimmy Allen, your top three finish in the rumble was notable. And I certainly understand your dilemna between friends and family. I've been there, more times than I care to count. But what you don't understand is that this time around, now, there are bigger stakes to be had.
For me, I've got more than just my pride and my ego on the line.
She slaps the faceplate of the Paramount Title.
I've got this belt that you decided to foolishly shame. And I'll be more than happy to prove to you and everyone else tonight just why I'm worthy and deserving of being a champion.