FORD: The DCWL. Lo how the mighty hath fallen.
[He turns toward the camera. A hard smirk crosses his face.]
FORD: Kyle Hayden has the audacity to bring back the DCWL Grand Championship...for who? For what? Save for me and the skinhead, who here could even hold the jock of ANY of the past DCWL champions? Leon Corella? Alton West? They're too busy fighting over a damn jobber belt. Porno Anderson? He couldn't beat Corella or West! Maurice Thompson...
[The smirk disappears. The remaining look is...thoughtful? Apathetic? Difficult to discern.]
FORD: Maurice Thompson is in over his head. Look, I know DCWL history. I know that Skye Ashner was the wide eyed kid in the tournament to crown the first ever Grand Champion. I also know he LOST. Skye Ashner didn't really become "Skye Ashner"...or Grand Champion, for that matter...until he dropped the wide eyed nice guy act and took care of HIMSELF. There's a lesson for you here, young Maurice - you have talent, but fighting for the fans, trying to do the right thing? That's all bullshit. It makes you soft. You won't beat me or Bane with that attitude because you'll never be willing as far as we're willing to go for victory. When that changes...then we'll talk about you being Grand Championship worthy.
[The smirk returns.]
FORD: So of DCWLers, that just leaves me and one Julian Beckson. Bane, we're the only two people who deserve this belt. The Grand Championship should stay in the DCWL, SPW and SOW carpetbaggers be damned. Don't you think Kyle Hayden knows this? Don't you find it odd that the two of us are in the same qualifying match in spite of this? Now, I'm not much into conspiracy theories, but it seems to me as if Hayden and his boy Alloy are trying to make sure NEITHER of us walk away with that title. It wouldn't surprise me if Hayden wanted Thompson to win, just to score some points with the PC crowd.
[He concentrates on his fingernail for a moment.]
FORD: Seems to me like soemone should do something about that. We don't want to give the affirmative to any action that would see the Grand Championship not rest in the hands of those who truly deserve it. I'd confront Hayden myself, but he and I don't really see eye to eye. Perhaps someone with a more...persuasive touch could make them see the error of their ways.
[He stops fidgeting and addresses the camera once more.]
FORD: Either way, Bane, I say may the best man win. I'm sure one of us will. And Kyle...
[The wide, manic grin.]
FORD: Keep my belt shiny. I'm looking forward to you handing it over to me personally. I want you on hand as we christen the Grand just like we christened the Dangerous Championship...as part of the legacy that is the ERA of DERRICK! L! FORD!
[Fade out.]
~~~D~C~W~L~~~
[Fade in to the lockerroom backstage in Boise, ID. Sitting on the floor, slumped against a locker, is "Something Better" Wolf Masterson. He's still dressed in his wrestling gear, fresh from his loss to Kevin Alloy. Wolf stares at the ground, the silence punctuated only when he decides to take his frustrations out on the metal lockers behind him.]
*CLANG!*
[Moody silence.]
*CLANG!*
*THUD!*
[That sound is the door to the locker room. It isn't opened so much as it's kicked down, or at least kicked open while still on it's hinges. Into the room steps a tall(-ish) woman with pale skin, blue eyes, and black hair (complete with a single streak of silver). Mina Eyre strides towards Wolf sporting a black women's tank top with long black pants. She squats down until she's at eye level.]
EYRE: So what's your fucking problem?
[Wolf, rarely at a loss for words but clearly taken aback by what's unfolded, struggles for an appropriate response.]
WOLF: I...lost.
EYRE: Yeah, I saw that.
[Masterson's eyes narrow. His words are a little sharper.]
WOLF: That stooge Alloy baited me into it by trying to get me to wear...
EYRE: Yes, I saw that too.
[Wolf's face turns red.]
WOLF: So then what the hell are you talking about? I'd think someone who'd seen all of that would know why I'm so pissed.
EYRE: Oh I know why you're pissed. I just don't know why you're being such a whiny little bitch about it.
[Now Masterson is on his feet.]
WOLF: What is your damage? Why are you even in the men's locker room? Who are you, anyway?
[Eyre rises to meet him.]
EYRE: First thing's first, watch your gaddamn tone. My name's Mina Eyre and I'm here to make you a proposal.
WOLF: What, by calling me a bitch? Your salesmanship needs a lot of work. And to think, I was going to show you the time of your life when you walked in here.
[Eyre rolls her eyes.]
EYRE: Bite me, jagoff. It wasn't that kind of proposal. Besides, after all that drinking and partying you do I'd be astounded to see your little pecker stand at attention.
[Wolf seems puzzled...until a look of comprehension dawns.]
WOLF: Wait...wait a minute. I remember you! You were at that club last night!
EYRE: I'm surprised you can remember anything with how you were hitting the bottle.
[Comprehension gives way to anger.]
WOLF: What, were you stalking me?
EYRE: I was scouting you.
WOLF: At the club?
EYRE: We wanted to know what we were getting into. My partner and I...
[She sees Wolf about to speak and cuts him off.]
EYRE: My TAG partner and I were looking to break into the league as a Trio. We were looking for someone talented who could fit in with our team concept. Turns out you're already here.
WOLF [mockingly]: Oooh, and what IS this marvelous concept that I'm supposed to help you with.
[Mina smiles, though the only part of her face that moves is her mouth.]
EYRE: It's better if my partner tells you. He has a certain knack for it.
WOLF: Yeah, well, tough shit. I'm quitting anyway, so I can't really help your little trio dream.
[Eyre is somewhere between concerned and angry.]
EYRE: Because of Alloy?
WOLF: Hell yeah. No one does that to me. And if I stay, he'll just target me until I get fired or until he can humiliate me more. I'm not giving him the satisfaction of either.
[Eyre bites her lip. Some of her dark red lipstick smudges on her tooth.]
EYRE: Well, if you want to be a quitter, that's on you. If you want to stay...
[She extends a card.]
EYRE: Call my cell and the three of us will talk.
[Wolf takes it and reads it.]
WOLF: Yeah, whatever. I'll think about it.
[Mina turns to leave. As she walks out, she talks back over her shoulder.]
EYRE: Just remember how long it took to get a job in North America, Wolf, and what types of gimmicks might be waiting for you elsewhere.
[Mina Eyre leaves. Wolf stands there, looking at the card. He reads part of it out loud.]
WOLF: Horrorshow. What the hell?
[With this, we fade out.]
~~~D~C~W~L~~~
(Darkness.)
*crunch*
*crunch*
*crunch*
*crunch*
*crunch*
(A steady noise accompanied by some heavy breathing. A voice.)
V/O:
Breathe in through the nose, out through the mouth. Keep a steady pace, push yourself but don't overexert. Breathe again. Build up your stamina.
(Fade in.)
(We open up outside in a slightly overcast day, but the sun remains shining. Our location appears to be a high school football field surrounded by a red brick track. The bright green grass is cut short in preparation for the upcoming football season but they haven't gotten to marking the field yet. Yellow goalposts are on each end of the field with the standard padding at the bottom to protect any of the players from injuries by running into them.)
(On one sideline of the field is where the numerous bleaches stands for the high school students and parents sit to watch the game. The metal structure looks like it could hold close to a few thousand people. Today, though, they are empty sans for one black child.)
(The child sits leaning forward staring intently at the empty field. His hands are folded across his lap as he almost appears that he is in a prayer. We recognize this young man as the kid that appeared at Julian `Bane' Beckson's door the other night asking for an autograph. Once again he is wearing his old black OWC Bane t-shirt in support of his favorite wrestler and a pair of blue jean shorts.)
(The field and stands are surrounded by a metal chain link fence with an opening in one area to allow the fans in. The fence has seen better days as it's tarnished by rust and age. At one section close to the bleachers, an area of the fence has been pulled up from the ground. It is an opening the younger kids use to sneak into the high school games when they can't afford to pay the $5 admission. A small bike leans up against one part of the fence, more than likely the young boy's that is sitting in the bleachers.)
(The crunching sound that we were hearing early is coming from the man running around the track at a steady pace, arms pumping at his sides with each stride. He is wearing black sweat pants and a grey sweat shirt with a hood that is covering his head. His dirty white sneakers are kicking up red bits of brick each time they crash down against the track. Even though we can't see the man's face, we know who it is.)
(Cut to a close up of the man from the side. We can make out his nose and mouth but nothing else. The picture keeps in stride with the man so we never lose view. Again, we hear the voice, and we recognize it as Julian `Bane' Beckson's, but his mouth does not move. We are hearing his thoughts in a voice over.)
Beckson (V/O):
Keep breathing, keep a steady pace. You are going to need to up your stamina for this upcoming match. They're not going to be cakewalks like your previous two matches. You won't be able to walk over these guys like you were able to walk over Brian Irwin and Kid Way Cool…
(Thinking of KWC seems to make Bane's thoughts wander a little bit.)
Beckson (V/O):
What was that kid thinking? I can understand wanting to make a name for yourself and attacking the biggest and most dangerous person in the place. I can even almost respect that. But I gave him a chance to get out of the entire situation. I gave him a chance twice within the first two minutes of the match. Let me get the easy pin and let bygones be bygones.
But he didn't take the opportunity. He had to try to prove himself more. And when he realized just how deep in he was, he went after my eyes. You DON'T try to fucking blind me. This is my livelihood, my career I just got back, and you can't fuck with that by hurting my eyes. That's why those moves are against the rules. You can permanently injure someone and ruin their career.
That's why I had to do what I had to do. You try to end my career, kid, and you better damn well know for sure that I will end yours…
Concentrate. Breathe.
(For a second, Bane's thoughts go back to the task at hand.)
Beckson (V/O):
Prepare for this match. At least as much as you can. You need to be on top of your game. It's a multi man match with no set number of participants. You don't know how many mystery opponents might show up and want to lay claim to the title. There could be any number of them. You might have to face Jackson Hunter, Curt Olsen, Requiem, the Dark Jester… Hell, even Matt Cole or some other blast from the past might show up… God I hate mystery opponents but I couldn't pass up the opportunity that was presented to me.
(Again Bane's thoughts start to wander, this time back to his old NeWA days and in particularly, the OWC.)
Beckson (V/O):
Fucking mystery opponents… Kurt Swagger, first ballot Hall of Famer, one of the longest running champions in NeWA history, and first rate coward. If guy was so good, why he didn't have the balls to tell me he wanted to face me in the ring? No, he had to go and find Craig Neilson, that bitch, and get himself a match with me as a mystery opponent when he was returning from his injury. He knew I was the dominant force in that ring and he had to prove himself better. But he knew he wouldn't be able to beat me if I knew it was him coming at me. He knew he didn't stand a chance so he did what he had to do.
And it worked. He reigned supreme as OWC champion and I got stuck fighting my mentor.
And OutKast… Darren Knight… had to use the same tricks. I gave him plenty of time to choose a partner for our tag match, he had plenty of time before the match to announce who he was going to bring to the ring. And of course I don't find out until after the match actually starts. And who does that cheap bitch bring in? My own fucking twin brother, the only man in the world who might be able to match my power even if he might lack my skills. I guess his fear of survival and needing to be the king of the mountain overshot any fair play that probably never even crossed his mind.
That's why I had to get out of that fucking place. They just kept me down by not letting me know my opponents. It's the only way I would ever lose and I got fucking SICK of it.
Concentrate. CONCENTRATE! Breathe in, breathe out.
(Again, Bane's thoughts start to go back to the task at hand, but his pace is starting to slow ever so slightly.)
Beckson:
Just keep training and you will be ready. You know Porno Anderson is going to be there and you know he won't put up much of a challenge. Derrick Ford, on the other hand, will be a tough one to beat. He uses underhanded tactics to get ahead and win when he needs to. Sometimes I really can't blame him. Especially when it's obvious that the management obviously want to keep him down. Hell, it should be obvious that they don't want him to have a title when they threw him in my match instead of the other one. They don't want him getting anywhere near it.
I bet that Mr. Hayden is even hoping that I will do the same to Derrick Ford as I did to Kid Way Cool and knock him out of action indefinitely. If I must, I must. It would be a shame to see Derrick Ford go, though. Hopefully he'll know what's good for him and stay away from me. Multi-wrestler matches can be pretty chaotic and it's easy to get hurt in them. I can't always control what I do and who I hit in them. The moves come out without much thought as it's just a survival instinct. Do what you can to destroy everyone else or let everyone else destroy you. And since I am the most dangerous creature in the ring, I'm sure everyone will want to destroy me first.
Which is why you must push yourself. PUSH!
(Bane picks up his speed into one final sprint, not exactly fast but not shabby at all for a man his size. His feet slam into the ground repeatedly as he makes his way around the track one final time. Once he rounds the final turn, he slows quickly and comes to a complete stop in just a few steps. He bends over breathing heavy and places his hands on his knees.)
(In the meantime, the young child who was sitting in the bleaches watching Julian Beckson has stood up and made his way down to the front. He leans against the railing watching his idol intently.)
(Bane tilts his head slightly and glances at the child. Bane then stands straight up, folds his hands together, and places them on the back of his head. He takes a few steps towards the child.)
Beckson:
Are you following me now, kid? Planning on mugging me when I'm alone?
(The kid replies with a huge smile. One that indicates he didn't actually care what Bane said to him, just the fact that he was acknowledged by the monster.)
Beckson:
So what do you want?
(The child, in all of his lispy glory, responds with a confident, if not oblivious, voice.)
Child:
Mithter Bane, can I have your autograph pleathe?
Beckson:
Kid, I thought I already told you that I don't give away autographs for free, you have to pay me twenty bucks for them.
(With that, Bane turns away from the kid and begins to walk away. The child, however, isn't finished and reaches into his pocket.)
Child:
I made twenty dollarth, mithter Bane, so I could get your autograph.
(Beckson stops dead in his tracks and turns slowly to face the kid.)
Beckson:
You have twenty dollars?
(The kid nods excitedly.)
Bane:
Who'd you rob to get it, kid? Or did you take it from your crack head mother while she was passed out on the couch?
Child:
Mithter Solomon gave it to me.
Bane:
Mister Solomon? The landlord? That Jew doesn't let one dime out of his site. Hell, I get a twenty five dollar fine for just being an hour late on my rent. Why the fuck would he give you twenty bucks for?
(The child is quite excited now, proud of his accomplishment of getting the money for an autograph.)
Child:
He paid me to paint the entire firtht floor hallway. He paid me twenty whole dollarth!
Bane:
You painted the first floor hallway?
(The kid nods excitedly.)
Bane:
What color did you paint it? Wait, wait, don't tell me. You painted it black, didn't you? I bet you painted it black so that when the cops come looking for you and your mom, you can camouflage yourself into the wall. They'll never see you that way. Just make sure you don't open your eyes or mouth.
(Julian chuckles to himself.)
Bane:
Ok, kid, so give me the twenty bucks and I'll give you an autograph.
(The child quickly fishes into his jean shorts and pulls out a crumpled up bill and hands it over to Julian. Beckson irons out the bill to show that it is indeed a twenty dollar bill and holds it up to the sunlight and examines it. He obviously doesn't trust the kid giving him real money and wants to make sure that the bill isn't counterfeit. After a few seconds of this over the top examination, he is satisfied with the bill and shoves it into the pocket of his sweatpants. He looks back down at the kid.)
Bane:
Alright, what do you want me to sign?
(The child's smile slips as he realizes he doesn't really have anything for Bane to sign.)
Bane:
Anything kid? I could sign your shirt, a piece of paper, a photo… Hell, I could sign your forehead and you can show everyone of your friends who your master is. Anything at all kid.
Child:
I have a pothter of you back in my room…
Bane:
In your room! That doesn't do you any good here, does it? What do you want me to sign it with? Do you have a pen or Sharpie or anything?
(The look of disappointment on this child's face is quite obvious now. He realizes that he is probably going to go home without his treasured autograph as he doesn't have anything here for Bane to sign nor anything for Bane to sign with. He hasn't walked away yet in hopes that there might be some sort of miracle that Bane himself might produce something to sign and sign with. Bane quickly dashes those dreams.)
Bane:
Well, kid, I guess you're out of luck. Come back next time with something and we'll get you your autograph.
(With that, Bane turns away from the child and walks towards the exit of the field, not even offering to give the money back to the kid. The kid stands there staring at Bane's back as Bane walks away, taking one swipe at his eyes with the back of his arm.)
(Fade out.)
~~~D~C~W~L~~~
[Black. We hear two people speaking on the phone.]
WOLF: Mina, it's Wolf. When can we meet?
EYRE: Are you in?
WOLF [agitated]: We'll see. I want to know what I'd be signing up for.
EYRE: We'll meet up in Edmonton. There's a pub down the street from the arena...
[As she says this, fade in to the interior of a pub in Edmonton, AB. The mid afternoon sun comes in through the windows, somewhat obscuring the front of the establishment. Someone walks through the door, though the jaunty walk, popped jacket collar and aviator sunglasses make Wolf Masterson instantly identifiable. He looks around briefly until we see a hand shoot up in the foreground. The hand, feminine with black nail polish, beckons Wolf over to a booth in the back of the room. He nods tersely, striding to join Mina Eyre in the booth. He sits down, looking at Mina's beer for a moment. A waitress wearing a blue t-shirt and white shorts comes over to the table.]
WAITRESS: What can I get you?
WOLF [to Mina]: What do you have?
EYRE: Harp.
[Wolf points at Mina's glass. The waitress nods and heads off. Masterson pulls Mina's card out of his pocket and holds it up to her.]
WOLF: So, do you mind telling me what this is about?
[Mina grins.]
EYRE: It's about offering you a chance to succeed in the DCWL.
WOLF: Look, after what happened...
EYRE: Let's be honest here - you've bounced around long enough to know that chances to work in the States without some creepy gimmick are minimal.
WOLF: Not if they're going to try to saddle me with that kind of crap. I mean, seriously, a werewolf? And don't even get me started on how many promotions thought THAT was a sure winner. I wouldn't have been blackballed in the first place if it wasn't for this lazy bullshit booking. I'm not going out there and dressing up like some over-aggressive furry for anyone.
[Mina sighs, then takes a few chugs of Harp.]
EYRE: Do you really think you're the only one who's been given a crappy horror gimmick, let alone any kind of crappy gimmick? Lazy assholes give us this crap because they're not imaginative enough to envision the possibilities. I mean, hell, I've gotten kicked out of several feds for the exact same reason.
WOLF: They tried turning you into a werewolf?
*THWACK*
[With near blazing speed, Mina reaches across the table and slaps Masterson on the side of the head. Much to his consolation, his beer arrived at that moment.]
WOLF: Oww.
[Wolf takes a drink.]
EYRE: Stop interrupting. Anyway, I only broke into the scene a few years ago. I thought a nickname would help me stand apart, something strong. I went with "The Vamp" because I thought it had a cool sound and a strong connotation. So here I am, Ms. Cool and Strong, and I get stuck with...
[Wolf's eyes light up as he puts things together.]
WOLF: VAMP-IRE!
*THWACK*
WOLF: OWW! What is your damage?!
EYRE: I'M NOT A GADDAMN VAMPIRE!
[The pub goes silent. Mina stood up without realizing it and, grumbling, sits back down again. Wolf has drained a good half his beer by this point.]
EYRE: Anyway, you know what happened next. Get the gimmick, tell them to get fucked, get fired with a "bad attitude" rap. Been bouncing around ever since.
WOLF: And your partner, I take it, is in our boat too?
EYRE: Kinda. He doesn't have the bad attitude rep.
WOLF: Then what's the problem?
EYRE: Well he DID still get stuck with the stupid horror gimmick, even if he's too committed to quit over it. In his case, though, it wasn't lazy booking...they were trying to protect the roster.
[Masterson furrows his brow.]
WOLF: What do you mean?
EYRE: When he wrestled his normal style, every match turned violent. Like REALLY violent. If you stood across the ring from him, you knew two things: you were in for a brutal fight and you'd probably be busted open by the end of the night. He's a tough bastard, as tough as I've ever met. Didn't always win, but always left a mark. No one wanted any part of him, so in order to keep fighting he had to come up with the cartoony alter-ego and tone down his style.
WOLF: So we're getting a cartoon?
*FUMP*
[Masterson was ready for Eyre this time, blocking her hand before it could make contact with his head. She retracts the limb with a "grumph."]
EYRE: Are we cartoons? No, no we're getting the real McCoy. I'm amazed Kyle Hayden's even considering it, really. Joe must have made some kind of promise.
[Wolf gets a little smirk on his face. His beer is almost gone.]
WOLF: So what retarded gimmick was he? Boogey man? Mummy? Frankenstein?
VOICE: Zombie, actually.
[Wolf turns as his jaw drops. Mina Eyre leaps out of her seat and hugs the man who has just joined them at the table. Scars litter his forehead and forearms. The flannel shirt and scraggly brown hair combine with the voice to let DCWL fans know who's arrived...
...even though he isn't yelling "BRRRRAAAAIIIIINNNNSSSS" at the top of his lungs.]
WOLF: Joe...PANSAC?!
PANSAC: In the flesh...
[A scar on his arm catches his attention, as if he's never seen it before.]
PANSAC:...for the most part.
WOLF: I thought she had to be joking...I didn't think there was any way...
PANSAC: Well if you know who I am you know why I've created this little team. I earned the "Deadman" nickname because in my matches someone didn't walk out. Hell, in some cases neither man did. I worked my ass off to earn that rep, but some guys didn't like it. They didn't want the fight brought to them like I could bring it. Enough of them cropped up until they turned me into a harmless zombie character. You do what you have to do to keep food on the table, but I vowed as soon as I could to make sure no one has to go through that indignity again. That's how I found Mina here, and that's what led us to you.
WOLF: So you definitely want me as part of your trio?
PANSAC: Well, yeah. You fit the mold and have talent coming out of your ears. If you do this, though, I need your full commitment to the team. No showing up late. No picking fights with Kevin Alloy. No staying out at bars until three am every night.
[Wolf slouches a tad at that last one.]
PANSAC: Do that and there's no stopping us.
WOLF: What about my penalties? Sure I'll be trying to keep in line but that oaf doesn't need much of an excuse to dish out penalties. Anything happens and I'm on the fourth level.
[A small, friendly smile from the Deadman.]
PANSAC: Leave that to me. I think Kyle can be persuaded to be leniant. So, whadda ya say?
[Wolf looks to Joe, then to Mina, then to the waitress bearing two more beers and a shot of whiskey. Each takes their glass.]
WOLF: Well, Mina's a spitfire and you're a tough bastard. The two of you would make an awesome team on your own. Add in my talent and you get...Something Better.
[Wolf raises his beer while Pansac lifts the whiskey. Eyre, a half second slow on account of trying to parse Masterson's statement, lifts the other glass.]
PANSAC: Then here's to new beginnings. Let's show the DCWL what a real Horrorshow we can be.
[Fade to the sound of clinking glasses.]
