50 Shades of Gay (Ryder Blade Xcel Championship RP)

Jamie eases the pressure of his legs around Ryder's arm, allowing the Xcellent Champion to easily break free if he so desires, but still Ryder continues to struggle. Cries of genuine pain escape his lips, and it doesn't take more than another second or so before he begins to slap his hand against the padded floor, submitting. 

'Come on, bro – you could have got out of that one!', Jamie says, offering Ryder a hand up. My would-be 'son', however, is still sulky as he gets to his feet.

'Stacy's going to do much worse than that to you at the Pay-Per-View', I point out, chiming in for the first time in a few minutes. 'That is...if you let her. And by the looks of it, it seems she won't have too hard of a time...'

'Hey!', Ryder protests. 'Not cool, Xcellent Dad! You're seriously gonna root for Stacy? Seriously, big guy?'

Inwardly, I smile; I knew hitting him in his pride would work. Outwardly, however, I give him my patented 'are-you-serious-right-now-young-man' look and gesture towards the mat. 'Jamie...keep going.'

A look of apprehension creeps back into Ryder's features as Jamie leads him back to the centre of the practice mats – my guess is he might have thought he was in the clear for the time being. It gives me a measure of satisfaction to see him struggling, for once – hardship builds character, and this kid's had it all too easy so far – but at the same time, I'm worried. Sprintex's brand equity depends on Ryder continuing to be the Xcellent Champion, at least up until such time when we decide to aim for bigger and better things; if we allow Jones to make him look weak by submitting him, sales for product could plummet, and then a whole bunch of shit would come crumbling down. 

Bottom line, Ryder needs to win. No matter what it takes. 

Normally, I wouldn't be worried. Ryder didn't become the Xcellent Champion for nothing. The kid knows how to wiggle his way out of a tight spot. The problem here is that, in this particular instance, none of his usual options for wiggling really apply. Having somebody run in and help him will do nothing; a flash pin or a roll-up will do nothing; bailing and getting counted out will not only do nothing, it will end his streak. The only viable option is for Ryder to make Stacy Jones submit, somehow, some way; and if the scene playing out in front of me is any indication, that is not exactly something anyone would get good Vegas odds on. The kid is struggling to break free from a simple armbar, for Christ's sake, let alone apply one of his own. His friend may know a little bit more than him about how to apply a chokehold, but his teachings can only go so far; to get over this, Ryder needs the help of an expert. 

The problem is, the expert is late.

I cluck and glance impatiently at my watch. Where is this guy? He was supposed to have been here by now. What's the point of throwing money at these cocksuckers if they're going to show up late, or not show up at all? Good thing I didn't pay him everything upfront. Motherfucker wants the other sixty percent, he better get his ass in--

Speak of the devil.

'Yes. Charles.' He steps forward and shakes my hand. A firm grip. I like that. The rest of him is not too shabby, either; he may not be the biggest dog in the yard, but he definitely looks like he can handle his business. Hopefully, he can handle Ryder's business, too.

'I know. I am sorry. I had to take care of some...business.' He does not elaborate, and I do not ask. My line of business has taught me that sometimes, the bare minimum is really all you need to know; when you start prying, that's when shit starts flying. So I don't. Instead, I motion him through to the weight room, where Jamie now has Ryder in a camel clutch.

'C'mon, Ryder', I hear him say as we walk back in. 'Try to stand up. If you stand up, you throw me off and break the hold!'

The kid might as well have been talking to a wall. The only thing on Ryder's mind right now seems to be to tap as fast as possible – which he does, just a moment later. This time, even the infinitely patient Jamie can't help but let his frustrations show:

'Bruh. the Xcellent Champion needs his Xcellent arms for stuff!' Ryder protests, picking himself up off the floor. Neither of them has noticed Charles yet, but he has definitely noticed them; I can see his eyes scanning the scene, taking in Jamie's lithe frame, then Ryder's slightly more developed one.

'That him?' He nods towards Jamie. I shake my head.

Ryder and Jamie both look over as I call out, and the expressions on their respective faces accurately reflect their first impression of Charles. Jamie looks torn between shitting his pants and asking for the man's autograph, while Ryder...well, Ryder is just Ryder.

'Who's the Hobbit, Xcellent Dad?', he quips, as he saunters over.

'This is Charles', I explain, choosing to ignore his joke. 'He's here to help you work on your submission arsenal.'

'Oh yeah?' Ryder is still wearing the same smug smirk as he looks down at Charles. 'You sure this is the right dude, Xcellent Dad? 'Cuz for an MMA guy, Tyrion here looks kind'a sho--'

The #XcellentChampion never finishes his quip. Before he can so much as react, Charles has swept his legs, taken him to the ground, and trapped him in a leg choke. As Ryder gasps for air, my new hire makes a point of mocking him:

'Agh...all right...all right...sorry...sorr--' As soon as Ryder apologises, Charles releases the pressure from around his neck. Ryder rolls over onto his stomach and just lies there, panting, a far cry from his usually arrogant self. As for the instructor, he merely rolls through to his feet and walks over to me.

'He needs to lose big attitude', Charles states. 'If not, we are not going nowhere. He wants to work, we work. If not, I go home. You don't pay me nothing more, but I go. It's not worth it.'

'Well...what's it going to be, Ryder?', I ask, leaning over Charles's shoulder to address my still-gasping ward. 'Are you going to listen to Charles, or are you going to let Stacy turn the Xcellent Champ into an Xcellent Chump?'

'Nah, Dad...' Ryder pants, pushing himself to his feet. 'The Xcellent Champion's game.' He walks over to Charles and does probably the most surprising thing I have ever seen him do: he holds out his hand. 'The Xcellent Champion's sorry he busted your chops, short dude. Please don't choke him out again.'

There's a grin on Charles's lips as he puts out his hand to meet Ryder's. 'I'm not making no promises, boy. It's not easy to learn submission. You don't counter, you get hurt.'

'Uh, but isn't there, like, a way to--' Suddenly, Charles' hand transitions to Ryder's wrist, as he moves in behind the Xcellent Champion and traps him in a standing arm submission. 

'Every time you act like a pussy, I am putting you in a hold', he says, with a smirk. 'So...you want to work, or you want to keep talking?'

'Work...work...ow! Owowow!' Ryder winces as Charles once again lets him drop to the mat. He lies there for a second, clutching his arm, before looking pleadingly up at me. 'C'mon, Xcellent Dad! Tell him! Tell him he's not supposed to hurt the Xcellent Champion!'

'Afraid I can't help you this time, Ryder', I retort. 'The only way for you to win this upcoming match is to let Charles teach you the ropes. And to teach you the ropes, he's going to have to hurt you. A lot.'

Ryder's expression betrays his feelings on this matter, but he knows there is nothing he can do; if he is going to beat Stacy at Armed and Dangerous, he is finally going to have to be introduced to the concept of 'no pain, no gain.' Charles catches the look on the Xcellent Champion's face, too, and chuckles:

'Sweep the leg, dude!', I yell, butting in to help Charles. 'Take that mo'fucka down!'

As I say that, I feel my arm being squeezed. Mikey, you know Chantal is hating when you talk like that...'

'Sorry, boo', I smile. 'Just tryin' to encourage our boy...'

'Well, you are not needing to say bad words to encourage Ryderr', Chantal says, in that tone she has that means she ain't messing.

'Sorry', I mumble, looking down at my shoes. Why fine-looking, classy shorties always have this effect on a brother?

'It is all right, my darrlink.' She leans over and kisses my cheek and just sort of cuddles against my arm, and I feel like the luckiest motherfucker alive. She could have had boss; she could have had K-Dogg, who's packing a salami in his pants; she could have even had Ryder, if she was feeling like some young meat. But she done chose me. Fine-looking white girl, and out of everyone, she picks me. Now you tell me I'm not a lucky-ass fucker!

I'm just about to zone out thinking of all this shit when a cry from Charles brings me back down to Earth. Ryder's just caught the other kid, Jamie, in a pass, and taken him to the ground with a kneebar.

'Pull it in, Ryder!', Charles is yelling. 'Pull it in!'

'Pull it in, dawg!', I echo, trying to help. It works, and Ryder legit gets Jamie to tap after only a few more seconds. Me, K-Dogg, Chantal and Charles all start clapping our asses off as Ryder stands up and takes a goofy-ass bow. I laugh, but Charles smacks him upside the head.

'No bows', he says. 'You bow to your opponent, not your viewers. Again.'

Ryder looks hella bummed that Charles ain't letting him celebrate, but I see the dude's point. Sometimes, with Ryder, you gotta keep him in check, or he gets too cocky for his own damn good. He's hella better at submissions than he was like a week ago, but ain't no reason to be bowing and shit.

Ryder helps Jamie back to his feet and they give each other a man-hug before breaking off again. Ryder is bouncing from one foot to another, pulling kung-fu stances, and doing all sorts of crazy shit to try and throw Jamie off, but Charles puts a stop to it with another slap upside the head.

'Ow! Not cool, C-Dogg!' Ryder rubs the back of his head, giving Charles this sulky look, but C-Dogg ain't having none of it.

'Again', he repeats. 'Jamie, go for an arm submission. Ryder, you try reversal.'

They both nod, and turn back towards each other. Jamie goes for an arm-trap wristlock, but before the kid can sweep the leg and put Ryder in an armbar, the Champ reverses it and goes behind Jamie for a rear naked choke. I start whooping, but Charles steps in, looking pissed.

'Break it up!', he orders. 'Jamie, you make it too easy. Ryder, now you try on me.'

Oh, shit. Homeboy's in trouble now! 

'You dead, Ryder!', I yell. He looks over at me, goes to say something, but Charles jumps his ass and locks him in an armbar. I laugh my ass off as he starts tapping the fuck out, and can't resist busting his balls again: 'You're a punk-ass bitch, you know that?'

I'm still laughing when I feel my arm getting squeezed again. 'Mikey...'

'What up, shorty?', I ask, still looking over at Ryder.

'You want to show Chantal your big gun again?' Oooh shit. Ain't no mistaking that tone. This honey be wanting it, and she be wanting it now. And a brother ain't gonna say no.

Chantal gives one of those little giggles make a man weak at the knees, and puts her arm around my waist – or as far around it as it'll go, anyhow. She starts pulling me to the bedroom, and all I have time for is one last look back at Ryder, Charles and Jamie on the mat. Ryder is back working with Jamie, and as I look back I see him drop the dude in a Boston Crab. Charles starts yelling at him that that shit's illegal, and to break it up, but he's forgetting Ryder is a pro-wrestler, not a BJJ fighter; shit's fine in a pro-wrestling match. And if Ryder can do it, that means he one step closer to making that Stacy bitch tap out on Monday.

I ain't got time to get caught up in the training session again, though; that little tug on my arm reminds me there's a horny bitch waiting for Big Mike to show her his big gun. And to be honest, whoever decided that 'bro's before ho's' ain't never heard of Chantal.

I put my arm around my boo again, start leading her to the bedroom. If my wife finds out, I'm dead, but that ain't bother me none right now; right now, all I can think about is the smell of sex coming off of Chantal as she almost runs to my bed. 

Next Monday may be Ryder's time to have a good time with a honey...but today, it's mine.

The humming of computer fans and the clicking of fingers on keyboards welcomes me as I step into the Audio-Visual room at the Sprintex compound. Even by the room's usual standards, it is hot as a motherfucker in here; my jacket is off before I'm even done navigating the maze of empty cubicles leading to the back of the room. It is there – in the deepest, darkest corner, to be precise – that the only three inhabitants of this considerably large room reside, all next to one another, among a forest of empty soda cups and discarded Doritos bags.

As I approach, all three of them are distracted. The one on the left, Jon, is playing the browser game he himself developed for the Sprintex website (and doing poorly); to the far right, Connor is grooving along to what sounds like loud rock music on his headphones, as he creates concept art for a new campaign; but it is the young man in the middle – the one working on a promotional video featuring the #XcellentChampion, Ryder Blade – that I seek.

He starts, whirls around, his eyes widening like saucers as he sees me standing there.

'S-s-sir!' he stammers. 'I-I wasn't expecting you until later...!'

'Just about, sir.' He turns back towards his screen and clicks on the video. 'Take a look.'

On the screen, Ryder Blade is standing in the middle of the practice space, his shirt drenched in a mixture of sweat and water. In his hand is a bottle, the contents of which he pours over his head and into his mouth gratefully. He then sets it down on a nearby bench, picks up the Xcellent Championship and drapes it around his shoulder. All in all, it takes about ten seconds for him to start talking.

He takes a step towards the camera, looking far more intense than usual. I know how he was feeling when we shot this, and it comes through beautifully in the video.

Ryder pats the belt on his shoulder, and the Ryder Smirk finally makes its first appearance.

Ryder leans in, his expression suddenly serious once again.

Ryder holds up his right arm to the camera, a genuine fire in his eyes.

This...that was...what have I created!?

Ryder's look at this point is almost pleading, as though he were the victim and Stacy, the villain.

Ryder throws his hands up.

A slight smirk, before the serious expression returns:

Ryder doesn't even pretend to wait for an answer; instead, he moves right on:

Ryder frowns slightly:

There follows a series of clips from Ryder's various training sessions with Charles over the past week. He is seen putting Jamie in a sleeper hold, an armbar and a kneebar, before a clip of Jamie submitting him to a triangle choke inexplicably appears. I glower at Kevin, who at least has the decency to blush.

I nod, but don't have the chance to elaborate, as my attention is once again drawn to the video, and Ryder.

...updating his slang, I see...

Kevin clicks to pause the video, and turns to me. '...well?'

It takes all of my willpower not to start applauding right then and there. If I had my way, everybody in this room – not to mention the Xcellent Champion – would be getting a lifetime supply of Sprintex Shakes. The delivery, the editing...everything...was beautiful. I'll eat my hat if we don't sell out the fucking arena. And Stacy....ohhhh ho ho ho, Stacy...you poor thing.

I'm the boss, though, so I have to keep my cool; it wouldn't do for these kids to see me break down like that. So I simply nod my approval. 

Relief takes over Kevin's face, in the form of a big, goofy smile. I get the feeling he'd hug me, if he dared, but fortunately, he chooses to merely nod. 'Straight away, sir.'

With this, I exit the room, leaving the Triple Threat to their assorted tasks. As I walk out the door, eager to find my boys and report on a rousing success, only one thought crosses my mind.