Post by Prodigy on Jun 17, 2012 11:29:19 GMT -4
Metempsychosis
“Change is the constant, the signal for rebirth, the egg of the phoenix.”
Christina Baldwin
- - - - -
He was called the greatest professional wrestling manager the world had ever seen. Sure he had a mouth that got him into more trouble than he would care to admit, but that paled in comparison to his natural talent into getting the best possible deal for his clients. He had a reputation for discovering rough potential when monitoring the independent circuit, leaving wrestlers in hysteria when they would learn he would potentially be monitoring their shows. Some even claimed he had even gone as far to sell his soul to the Devil to give him a silver tongue; that was how good Richard Wilson was. He was the man about the town, the manager wrestlers would rob their mothers' graves for.
He would remember fondly his hallmark career – he had managed his clients to both single and tag team honours, competing in conglomerates in all corners across the globe, and through that, becoming household names. How did he do it, other managers would look on in envy. Virtually everything to touch would transform itself into gold – Richard genuinely was perceived as the man with the Midas Touch. But underneath his brash and outspoken nature, Richard Wilson had a passion for professional wrestling that few others could see glowing underneath his eyes.
He was never capable of being a professional athlete; he didn't possess the discipline required to attain what was needed. He enjoyed late night parties, overindulged in alcohol and women, and put simply, was a down right douchebag. If you could describe Richard Wilson in one word, “loved” would be at the bottom of a very long list. Colleagues and fans throughout the world often claimed that they would have loved to see a character based on him on television, but actually having a friend like him would result in his immediate death – most probably from the constant beatings. Even his clients, his so-called nearest and dearest friends, would berate him for his arrogant demeanour. He was often the brunt of a joke, but he didn't mind it. It made him part of the team. It made him belong.
It had been some considerable time since the world had heard Richard Wilson unleash a plethora of mocking insults and over the top hyperbole that had created the moniker “the best manager in the wrestling industry”. After all, he had conquered his field and brought about the single's dominance of “The Prodigy” Carter Clark. Would they remember him now?
- - - - -
Richard’s Saints
Whitby, England
10:43pm
1st June, 2012
We arrive at a dim lit underground pole dancing club, covered in a hue of dark red. Men and women converse in the shadows, whilst others take a seat in front of the dance podium where a red-head with elongated buck teeth slithers upside down a silver pole.
We see a bartender wiping up glasses behind the cracked wooden bar, absentmindedly chewing on a toothpick as he intently attempts to remove the lipstick on the top of the serving glass. His hair is disheveled, a scruffy beard beginning to form. He looks up to see one of the dancers dancing by the juke box, and whistles to gain her attention.
BARTENDER
Hey sweetie. Can you shine up the twins please?
The dancer looks down at her breasts, smiles and grabs a small cube of ice from the bar and rubs it on her. The bartender acknowledges her, crinkling his nose in appreciation.
BARTENDER
You're a doll, lass.
DANCER
Anything for you, Richard.
That's right, avid readers. Richard Wilson now owns and bartends a seedy strip club. This is not a sentiment to evoke sympathy. If anything, this is quite possibly his lifelong dream fulfilled. He always did say he wanted to be surrounded by booze and half naked women once his wrestling days were over. How do you like them apples?
MAN
Richard Wilson, I presume?
Richard looks up from polishing his glass to see an elderly American male in his late 50s dressed smartly in a three-piece suit standing half a dozen feet from the bar. Richard merely shrugs and continues to clean the glass.
RICHARD WILSON
The one and only. What would you like to drink?
MAN
I'm not here for a drink. I'm here for you.
Richard stops and jerks his head upwards to fully analyze the man. Placing the glass down onto the bar top, he slings the towel across his shoulder and accusingly points at the man.
RICHARD WILSON
Contrary to the belief, I don't kiss blokes.
The unknown man laughs and approaches the bar, shaking Richard’s hand.
MAN
You've got me all wrong. I'm here to give you a job opportunity.
Richard snorts.
RICHARD WILSON
What, are you high? Look around, sunshine. I'm happy as a pig in shite. Why would I want to leave this?
MAN
Because you were born to be a part of the wrestling business.
RICHARD WILSON
That was a long time ago.
MAN
No doubt. But don't pretend you miss it.
RICHARD WILSON
Miss it? I get drunk on a hourly basis and I see more breasts than you have wrinkles. Why would I miss being called the biggest douche in professional wrestling when I have all this? Are you sure you're not high?
The man laughs yet again, shaking his head from side to side. Richard places his hands on the bar and leans in to whisper.
RICHARD WILSON
Because if you are … Can I have some?
The man roars into a fit of laughter, holding onto his stomach much to the chagrin of the former manager. He places his hand on Richard’s left shoulder before continuing.
MAN
Good to know the rumours about your quick wit are true. I have a proposition that might intrigue you; both financially and personally.
Digging into his blazer inside pocket, the man removes a silver name card and places it into Richard’s shirt breast pocket.
MAN
Think about it, I'm sure you won't regret it.
Turning around, the man takes several steps towards the exit.
RICHARD WILSON
Hang on! I don't even know your name.
MAN
It's all in the card, Mr. Wilson.
Taking out the name card from his pocket, Richard’s eyes pop in complete surprise as he reads out “Robert Whitlock, APW Talent Relations”. He darts his head back up but the man is now gone. He smacks the card against his other hand as he bites down on his lower lip, thinking intensely. He is interrupted when a dancer approaches him.
DANCER
Richard? You might want to clean up the women's toilet. Someone's been sick in there.
RICHARD WILSON
Ah hell no!
Removing his apron, he tosses it at the dancer as he runs towards the exit with the name card held high above his head.
RICHARD WILSON
Mr. Whitlock! Hold up!
- - - - -
Whitby Train Station
11:01pm
1st June, 2012
Walking out of a corner shop situated in the train station with a half-eaten Yorkie in hand, Richard walks out to join Robert Whitlock who looks intently at the screen above for the train schedules. Robert looks over at his companion, who has crumbs of chocolate over his mouth.
RICHARD WILSON
Yorkies. They're not for girls.
ROBERT WHITLOCK
Clearly not. So what made you change your mind so quickly, Mr. Wilson?
Richard shrugs before taking another bite out of the chocolate bar.
RICHARD WILSON
What can I say, mate? I'm an impulsive fella.
ROBERT WHITLOCK
Perhaps that impulsion has worked in our favour. Action Packed Wrestling has great interest in new talent, and are interested in one of your clients. We look to have him on board by next week.
Wilson spits out the chocolate in his mouth, narrowly missing an elderly woman walking past in the opposite direction.
RICHARD WILSON
Next week? Are you kidding me?
ROBERT WHITLOCK
Don't worry, only one of your clients is scheduled to be on the card. I haven't been able to track either three of the men you represent down, and from what I've heard, they prefer it that way.
RICHARD WILSON
Carter? Carter Clark? You checked Clark Manor?
ROBERT WHITLOCK
He hasn't been there in years.
RICHARD WILSON
That is one thing I hate about him. He always seems to be playing “Where's Wally”. Bastard.
Whitlock bursts into laughter. Bringing up his briefcase, he unlocks it with a security combination, removing a white envelope before handing it to Richard.
ROBERT WHITLOCK
As mentioned, we are only interested in one of your clients. I understand and respect how difficult it will be to get in touch with him, hence, he is not booked on the show yet.
RICHARD WILSON
That cranky little git? What makes you even think he'll be willing to make a return to wrestling next week, or even a return at all?
ROBERT WHITLOCK
Because I know what kind of man Carter is. He is a man bound by honour and there is nothing he desires more than showing the world his capabilities. And from what I've heard and seen, they are considerable.
RICHARD WILSON
Hmph, so is his temper.
ROBERT WHITLOCK
I'm hoping for that.
RICHARD WILSON
I'm sure you are. So what are the details?
ROBERT WHITLOCK
It's all in the white envelope you now possess, Richard.
Putting the Yorkie bar into his mouth, Richard excitedly tears through the envelope to get at the contents inside to reveal a single solitary sheet of white paper. He scans what's on it. Without another word, Whitlock walks towards one of the platforms and enters a train leaving Richard to himself and his thoughts. He digs into his right trouser pocket, revealing a second Yorkie bar. He unwraps it slowly before putting it into his mouth.
RICHARD WILSON
Carter Clark… Now where do I find you?
F I N
“Change is the constant, the signal for rebirth, the egg of the phoenix.”
Christina Baldwin
- - - - -
He was called the greatest professional wrestling manager the world had ever seen. Sure he had a mouth that got him into more trouble than he would care to admit, but that paled in comparison to his natural talent into getting the best possible deal for his clients. He had a reputation for discovering rough potential when monitoring the independent circuit, leaving wrestlers in hysteria when they would learn he would potentially be monitoring their shows. Some even claimed he had even gone as far to sell his soul to the Devil to give him a silver tongue; that was how good Richard Wilson was. He was the man about the town, the manager wrestlers would rob their mothers' graves for.
He would remember fondly his hallmark career – he had managed his clients to both single and tag team honours, competing in conglomerates in all corners across the globe, and through that, becoming household names. How did he do it, other managers would look on in envy. Virtually everything to touch would transform itself into gold – Richard genuinely was perceived as the man with the Midas Touch. But underneath his brash and outspoken nature, Richard Wilson had a passion for professional wrestling that few others could see glowing underneath his eyes.
He was never capable of being a professional athlete; he didn't possess the discipline required to attain what was needed. He enjoyed late night parties, overindulged in alcohol and women, and put simply, was a down right douchebag. If you could describe Richard Wilson in one word, “loved” would be at the bottom of a very long list. Colleagues and fans throughout the world often claimed that they would have loved to see a character based on him on television, but actually having a friend like him would result in his immediate death – most probably from the constant beatings. Even his clients, his so-called nearest and dearest friends, would berate him for his arrogant demeanour. He was often the brunt of a joke, but he didn't mind it. It made him part of the team. It made him belong.
It had been some considerable time since the world had heard Richard Wilson unleash a plethora of mocking insults and over the top hyperbole that had created the moniker “the best manager in the wrestling industry”. After all, he had conquered his field and brought about the single's dominance of “The Prodigy” Carter Clark. Would they remember him now?
- - - - -
Richard’s Saints
Whitby, England
10:43pm
1st June, 2012
We arrive at a dim lit underground pole dancing club, covered in a hue of dark red. Men and women converse in the shadows, whilst others take a seat in front of the dance podium where a red-head with elongated buck teeth slithers upside down a silver pole.
We see a bartender wiping up glasses behind the cracked wooden bar, absentmindedly chewing on a toothpick as he intently attempts to remove the lipstick on the top of the serving glass. His hair is disheveled, a scruffy beard beginning to form. He looks up to see one of the dancers dancing by the juke box, and whistles to gain her attention.
BARTENDER
Hey sweetie. Can you shine up the twins please?
The dancer looks down at her breasts, smiles and grabs a small cube of ice from the bar and rubs it on her. The bartender acknowledges her, crinkling his nose in appreciation.
BARTENDER
You're a doll, lass.
DANCER
Anything for you, Richard.
That's right, avid readers. Richard Wilson now owns and bartends a seedy strip club. This is not a sentiment to evoke sympathy. If anything, this is quite possibly his lifelong dream fulfilled. He always did say he wanted to be surrounded by booze and half naked women once his wrestling days were over. How do you like them apples?
MAN
Richard Wilson, I presume?
Richard looks up from polishing his glass to see an elderly American male in his late 50s dressed smartly in a three-piece suit standing half a dozen feet from the bar. Richard merely shrugs and continues to clean the glass.
RICHARD WILSON
The one and only. What would you like to drink?
MAN
I'm not here for a drink. I'm here for you.
Richard stops and jerks his head upwards to fully analyze the man. Placing the glass down onto the bar top, he slings the towel across his shoulder and accusingly points at the man.
RICHARD WILSON
Contrary to the belief, I don't kiss blokes.
The unknown man laughs and approaches the bar, shaking Richard’s hand.
MAN
You've got me all wrong. I'm here to give you a job opportunity.
Richard snorts.
RICHARD WILSON
What, are you high? Look around, sunshine. I'm happy as a pig in shite. Why would I want to leave this?
MAN
Because you were born to be a part of the wrestling business.
RICHARD WILSON
That was a long time ago.
MAN
No doubt. But don't pretend you miss it.
RICHARD WILSON
Miss it? I get drunk on a hourly basis and I see more breasts than you have wrinkles. Why would I miss being called the biggest douche in professional wrestling when I have all this? Are you sure you're not high?
The man laughs yet again, shaking his head from side to side. Richard places his hands on the bar and leans in to whisper.
RICHARD WILSON
Because if you are … Can I have some?
The man roars into a fit of laughter, holding onto his stomach much to the chagrin of the former manager. He places his hand on Richard’s left shoulder before continuing.
MAN
Good to know the rumours about your quick wit are true. I have a proposition that might intrigue you; both financially and personally.
Digging into his blazer inside pocket, the man removes a silver name card and places it into Richard’s shirt breast pocket.
MAN
Think about it, I'm sure you won't regret it.
Turning around, the man takes several steps towards the exit.
RICHARD WILSON
Hang on! I don't even know your name.
MAN
It's all in the card, Mr. Wilson.
Taking out the name card from his pocket, Richard’s eyes pop in complete surprise as he reads out “Robert Whitlock, APW Talent Relations”. He darts his head back up but the man is now gone. He smacks the card against his other hand as he bites down on his lower lip, thinking intensely. He is interrupted when a dancer approaches him.
DANCER
Richard? You might want to clean up the women's toilet. Someone's been sick in there.
RICHARD WILSON
Ah hell no!
Removing his apron, he tosses it at the dancer as he runs towards the exit with the name card held high above his head.
RICHARD WILSON
Mr. Whitlock! Hold up!
- - - - -
Whitby Train Station
11:01pm
1st June, 2012
Walking out of a corner shop situated in the train station with a half-eaten Yorkie in hand, Richard walks out to join Robert Whitlock who looks intently at the screen above for the train schedules. Robert looks over at his companion, who has crumbs of chocolate over his mouth.
RICHARD WILSON
Yorkies. They're not for girls.
ROBERT WHITLOCK
Clearly not. So what made you change your mind so quickly, Mr. Wilson?
Richard shrugs before taking another bite out of the chocolate bar.
RICHARD WILSON
What can I say, mate? I'm an impulsive fella.
ROBERT WHITLOCK
Perhaps that impulsion has worked in our favour. Action Packed Wrestling has great interest in new talent, and are interested in one of your clients. We look to have him on board by next week.
Wilson spits out the chocolate in his mouth, narrowly missing an elderly woman walking past in the opposite direction.
RICHARD WILSON
Next week? Are you kidding me?
ROBERT WHITLOCK
Don't worry, only one of your clients is scheduled to be on the card. I haven't been able to track either three of the men you represent down, and from what I've heard, they prefer it that way.
RICHARD WILSON
Carter? Carter Clark? You checked Clark Manor?
ROBERT WHITLOCK
He hasn't been there in years.
RICHARD WILSON
That is one thing I hate about him. He always seems to be playing “Where's Wally”. Bastard.
Whitlock bursts into laughter. Bringing up his briefcase, he unlocks it with a security combination, removing a white envelope before handing it to Richard.
ROBERT WHITLOCK
As mentioned, we are only interested in one of your clients. I understand and respect how difficult it will be to get in touch with him, hence, he is not booked on the show yet.
RICHARD WILSON
That cranky little git? What makes you even think he'll be willing to make a return to wrestling next week, or even a return at all?
ROBERT WHITLOCK
Because I know what kind of man Carter is. He is a man bound by honour and there is nothing he desires more than showing the world his capabilities. And from what I've heard and seen, they are considerable.
RICHARD WILSON
Hmph, so is his temper.
ROBERT WHITLOCK
I'm hoping for that.
RICHARD WILSON
I'm sure you are. So what are the details?
ROBERT WHITLOCK
It's all in the white envelope you now possess, Richard.
Putting the Yorkie bar into his mouth, Richard excitedly tears through the envelope to get at the contents inside to reveal a single solitary sheet of white paper. He scans what's on it. Without another word, Whitlock walks towards one of the platforms and enters a train leaving Richard to himself and his thoughts. He digs into his right trouser pocket, revealing a second Yorkie bar. He unwraps it slowly before putting it into his mouth.
RICHARD WILSON
Carter Clark… Now where do I find you?
F I N
OOC: Richard Wilson is a temporary character used only for this promo, unless of course I get permission to have a manager character who won't be wrestling just to accentuate to Carter Clark. Also I took the liberty to create the Robert Whitlock character just for this promo, sorry if this is not allowed.
And also, this is my first promo in a while, so comments are appreciated
