Slim pickings this time around, but there may be a surprise (or four) come Show #2: Ruckus in the Rockies…
[We are looking live, once again, at the Houston, Texas office of Derrick L. Ford. Lounging on the plush leather couch is the Dangerous Champion himself, belt laying across his shoulder in all its magnificence. Ford is grasping it loosely, though in a way that suggests that you wouldn't want to try and pull the belt away. The lengthy Maine transplant is staring at the ceiling, grinning wildly.]
FORD: Well Kyle, good news! You won't have to hear me talk about that Platinum Championship belt anymore! Of course...
[Ford sits up.]
FORD: ...if you thought I was overbearing and obnoxious about the LAST belt I held, you may not like what's coming. I'm not going to lie, Kyle. I thought for sure you and that big lug of yours would find a way to screw me over. Yet you decided to actually obey your own rules and here we are, you at the helm of the DCWL and me, your only champion.
[The grin turns more into a smirk.]
FORD: Oh and bravo on the whole "subjugating DCWL to the whims of SPW" thing you did. I'd say more, but our good friend has asked me to pass along a gift to you. I think it'd say more than I ever could, so I'll pass for the moment.
[Ford relaxes a bit, though he grips his title a little harder.]
FORD: Speaking of past allegiances, I'd like to congratulate my future opponent on singlehandedly providing the worst possible argument for championship credentials that I've ever seen. Look, Jive, losing to the limey geezer is bad enough for your first match as a...
[Ford makes the universal facial expression for "OMGSUPERSERIOUS".]
FORD:...serious competitor...
[Back to normal, thank Jeebus.]
FORD: ...but you just HAD to bring up the past history between us. Oh, yeah, you were a real beast in those house shows man. Good job. It's just a shame that the only time you and I were in the same ring on television I DESTROYED YOU! Did you really forget the beating I put on you and your zombified friend? Did I really hit you THAT hard? For chrissakes, I had you assigned to my security team and THEN put you out of commission for a few weeks.
[He gives the "thumbs up" sign."]
FORD: But hey, it was only a nationally televised pummelling. I'm sure you'll do a great job drawing on those awesome house shows you used to do.
[He adjusts the belt one last time.]
FORD: Talk all you want Jive, but you'll always be the Pawnbroker to me. Whatever world you live in to believe you have a chance damn sure isn't the real one. Here, in the real world, a new era has dawned in the DCWL with it's first dominant champion. You have fifteen minutes of fame, Jive, after which you will realize that you cannot end the ERA of DERRICK! L! FORD!
[Fade out.]
(Fade in.)
(Scene opens up to what appears to be an old run-down tan brick building that looks like it might have at one time been a factory. The tan bricks that the building is made out of fade in and out from darker shades to lighter shades, a sign that the sun has taken its toll on this building over time. A barely walkable concrete sidewalk, whose cracks are spurting weeds and grass, leads up to a pair of former glass doors who have been boarded up and padlocked shut so that no one may enter this way. Off to the left side of the building is a black top parking lot that has also seen better days. It would take a venturous driver to attempt to navigate the numerous and large pot holes that fill the parking lot, and it seems that there are two. One drives a rusty, sky blue with white paneling Ford pickup truck that can be no less than 25 years old. The other is an old, red and black 4 door Chevrolet Chevette, a car that is no longer even produced.)
(As we scan back over towards the building from the parking lot side, we notice a deep red door on the side of the building facing the parking lot. There is a single bulb lamp positioned directly above the door and a sign white sign with black lettering right above the light. From this distance, we can’t read the faded letters that adorn sign so the pan closer. Once we get into view, we can see that the faded block lettering on the sign reads “BECKSON’S GYM & TRAINING CENTER”.)
(We fade out and back in to a new location.)
(We are in an office that overlooks the worn down gym. The flourecent lights hanging from the drop ceiling are flickering and buzzing much like a mosquito lamp. Most of the tiles that are left in the ceiling, which is about half, have brown splotches on them from water stains. There are a few old grey metal filing cabinets lining the walls and a window on one side of the room. The window, which is how we see the gym, sits above the main floor level. The room appears to once have been the supervisor office of a warehouse. In the center of the gym floor we see a boxing/wrestling ring where the ropes hang loosely from the posts. Off to the right of the ring are a bunch of free weights, dumbbells, and jump ropes. There isn’t any modern gym equipment in sight. Off to the left of the ring is where the training bags hang. The worn leather on the speed bag is severely taped up and the heavy bag has a deep indentation on one side from years of abuse. Directly behind the ring are a few cracked, blue gym mats on the floor sweat stained form years of men old and young wresting on them. The mats are also the only thing covering the grey concrete floor that make up the surface for the rest of the gym. There is no one training in the gym at this time. There are, however, two people in the office sitting on opposite sides of a paper covered “desk” otherwise known as a folding dinner table.)
(An older man is sitting with his back to the gym and looks to be about 70 or 75. He is wearing a plain black collared polo shirt and a pair of blue jeans. His wrinkled skin has been toughened over the years from hard manual labor and working in the sun. While old, we can see that strength still lies with him.)
(Sitting directly in front of him is a monsterous man, even sitting down. His bald head drips sweat onto his black torn sweatshirt which is unzipped down the front. A tattoo is peaking out from behind the sweatshirt on his left pectoral muscle but we cannot make out what it is. The man is someone some of us recognize as Bane, who stares coldly ahead of him, not directly at the old man but more over his shoulder to the gym scene behind him.)
(The older man is looking directly at Bane, not seemingly intimidated at all by the monster’s presence. He is the first one to speak.)
Old man:
So I hear someone finally gave you a chance again in the ring.
Bane:
Yes, the DCWL signed me to a contract. They’re trying to relaunch themselves and needed talent. It’s not the best paying job I’ve ever had but it gets me out of working at that Burger King trying to make ends meet.
Old man:
That it does. You were always great in the ring and on the mic. I’m happy that you’ve been given this opportunity.
(The old man pauses for a second and looks down at his folded hands. Bane doesn’t say a word and just continues to stare at the man.)
Old man:
It’s just that…
(He trails off but Bane doesn’t let him off the hook.)
Bane:
What?
(The old man sighs and looks up at Bane.)
Old man:
You lack respect.
(Bane breathes out slowly and loudly through his nose.)
Old man:
Julian, listen…
Bane:
Don’t call me Julian, Dad. You know what it cost me to get the rights to ‘Bane’.
Dad:
You technically don’t have the rights to the name, you blew all of your savings from your good job on fighting a legal battle WITHOUT a lawyer and ended up just legally changing your name in the end. You could have at least blow your savings on a lawyer and actually won the rights to the name Bane or they probably would have given you the advice that you couldn’t win this way and to do a name change from the beginning.
(Bane speaks under his breath.)
Bane:
I wasn’t going to give my money to a fucking Jew lawyer.
Dad:
You see, that’s what I mean by lack of respect…
(This causes Bane to blow up.)
Bane:
Respect, Dad?!? Where was the respect when DC came and sued me for using the name of Bane? I heard they went after the NeWA and OWC first but those kike owners sent those bastards my way without even blinking an eye. They didn’t offer to help pay for my defense at all. Hell, they were probably working with DC and trying to get back all the money they paid me over the years. I bet it was even NeWA’s and OWC’s idea to sue me. They couldn’t stand the idea that I wouldn’t be their nigger anymore and walked out on them. It didn’t matter that they’re the ones that fucked themselves over by constantly sending people out during MY matches so that I wouldn’t hold a title. When I did finally win a title in the CWA, they took it away by saying I wasn’t under contract and that I was getting paid per appearance. Fuck them. That’s why I left and so that’s why they sent DC after me.
Dad:
And how long do you think you will last in the DCWL with that attitude? I’m sure they’ve had to mention something to you already…
(Bane mumbles his answer.)
Bane:
I promised them I would keep it under wraps and that I would not air any of my personal feelings on any of their broadcasts.
(Bane’s father rolls his eyes at this.)
Dad:
Jesus, you’re not going to last three shows with them…
(A gleam of unrelenting anger and hatred enters Bane’s eyes. However, instead of exploding again, Bane’s voice remains eerily calm and controlled which makes it all the more unnerving.)
Bane:
I won’t need to keep it under control that long, father. You see, I’ve signed a multi-year contract and while the pay isn’t spectacular, it has enough performance incentives to allow me for a very comfortable living. And once they see me in the ring, see how dominating and superior I am, they won’t ever want to break the contract with me. I won’t cause problems by being suspended for using performance enhancing drugs, the issue that’s been plaguing profession wrestling for a while now, because I don’t need them. There is no need to cheat, to use weapons of any kind, or to break rules of any sort. I have been born as a superior being, into the strongest race on this earth, and I intend to prove it.
(And with that, the scene fades out.)
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