Post by Jules on May 27, 2013 7:58:39 GMT -4
Book II: An Emerging Force
Chapter VIII
“Don’t you think this is much better?” Sienna Harrison asked Lenny Lansbury as he cut into his steak and forked a large chunk into his mouth. Dinner had been Sienna’s idea. She called Lenny out of the blue, requesting a more genial meeting to ‘discuss the options’. As far as Lenny was concerned there weren’t a lot of options to discuss with Sienna, but then he never was one to turn down a free steak. He didn’t tell Cher where he was going or who he was meeting.
“How’s the steak?”
Lenny lifted his eyes from his plate, chewing the meat slowly, and looked curiously at Meltdown’s General Manager as she poked at her salad, dressed like she was on a first date in a stunning, figure-hugging little red number that made ample of her modest breasts.
“Bloody,” Lenny said after swallowing, “just how I like ‘em.” He cut away another thick chunk of the fillet and filled his mouth, chewing noisily.
“We should have done this sooner,” Sienna reflected, color=p][“it’s so much nicer to be civil, not to be at loggerheads with each other.”[/color]
“Don’t get carried away, sweetheart, it’s just a steak dinner.”
“Why have you got say it like that, Lenny?” Sienna asked, making an effort to sound wounded. “Why does there always have to be this animosity between us?”
“Maybe because since I came to APW, at every turn you’ve tried to rump me,” Lenny replied without taking his eyes off the steak.
“That’s not true.”
Lenny stopped chewing and looked at Sienna.
“Just because you bought me a $30 steak, princess, doesn’t mean you get to try and pull the wool over my eyes.”
As he recommenced his meal, she rolled her eyes and continued.
“Okay, maybe our relationship hasn’t been very positive. But I was hoping tonight we could start to foster a more constructive atmosphere among us.”
“You what? Leave it out, Sienna! And speak plain English. If I wanted mumbo jumbo we would have gone to an Italian restaurant.”
“I’m just saying, after everything that has passed between us, I want to start building bridges. I don’t see why we need to be enemies anymore.”
“And you think a steak dinner fixes that?”
“No, but I thought it might be a start. I think if you really got to know me, Lenny, you’d find I’m not so bad.”
The lilt on the word ‘bad’ drew Lenny’s attention away from the steak. With a smile, Sienna added a caveat.
“Although it’s good to be bad some of the time.”
Lenny held Sienna’s gaze her a few seconds, then went back to his steak.
“Yeah yeah, save the fluttering eyes for some mug who falls for poison ivy. Personally, I’d rather drink hemlock than consider that.”
Sienna tried to hurt her wounded pride, but couldn’t resist spitting out with barely masked contempt.
“Then tell me, Lenny, why you didn’t bring your fiancé tonight?”
“This is business; it’s got nothing to do with Cher.”
“So your little sweetheart knows where you are and who you’re with?”
No reaction from Lenny, who remains focussed on his steak.
“Then you won’t mind me tweeting that I’m having dinner with my Champion.”
Lenny stopped cutting, putting down his cutlery.
“What do you want, Sienna?”
“I want what’s good for business,” Sienna replied, placing her phone back in her handbag.
“That doesn’t really tell me what you want.”
“Listen,” Sienna began taking a serious, less cordial tone. “I may not like you, but I’m also not so stupid that I cannot recognise your talent and the impact you’ve made on Meltdown.”
“Wow, a compliment. Aren’t I special?”
“Shut up, Lenny!” Sienna said sharply. “It is a constant source of pain to me that you are the North American Champion. You are exactly the sort of personality I don’t want as the face of my brand.”
“Is this your charm offensive?”
“You’re rude and insolent; in short, you’re uncontrollable.”
“I thought you were trying to say you didn’t like me.”
“This sarcasm is precisely what I am talking about.”
“Sienna, don’t try and lecture me like a child,” Lenny retorts, his face taking a serious turn, and his tone scathing. “We all know what it means when you say I’m ‘uncontrollable’. There’s a saying: ‘if you’re not my friend, you’re my enemy’. Is that how you see it? Anyone who isn’t willing to attach the strings you pull is out of order, right?”
“That’s not it. You don’t know how to compromise-”
“Compromise? That’s just a word people use to say ‘I want you to do what I want you to do’.”
Sienna lowered her eyes.
“You say I’m disobedient, out of order, whatever. Why--- is it because I’m the champ? You say Robina Hood is ‘the perfect megastar’ because she does whatever you tell her to do. There’s nothing ‘perfect’ about that, sweetheart.”
“Here’s the truth,” Lenny continued, “you’ve had a loathing for every champion there’s ever been in your time on Meltdown. Aubrey J. Parker, Logan Alexander, Warren Peace. You couldn’t stand any of them because they refused to do what you wanted. Same as me.”
“No-”
“Oh, leave it out! Your voice is giving a right bloody ‘eadache!”
The outburst drew the attention of a few other patrons, but Lenny’s shot daggers at them and they soon returned to their own business.
“But did you ever consider that the reason all of us were North American Champions, and your precious little Robina wasn’t, is because we did the exact opposite of what you wanted us to do?”
“You say I’m out of control; well I say that kind of disorder is what makes me the champ. Robina is sitting there listening to all your ‘good advice’, but what the fuck would you know about what it takes? You’re a pencil pusher, love--- you haven’t got the bottle to bleed on a nightly basis.”
Lenny stopped his tirade and looked at Sienna, her earlier conviviality obliterated, visibly sunken in her seat. Lenny shook his head.
“What did you hope to achieve tonight, Sienna? Did you really think you could buy a steak and everything would be kosher? You just don’t get it, do you? At Mayhem, inside the cage, I settled the account Robina opened me. We’re square now. But you? You think you can still fob people like me off, trying and rump them with a few sweet words, maybe a flash of your cleavage, and a cheap smile. But people like me, that’s not how business is done. Blood is the only currency, princess, know what I’m saying?”
A look of fear flashed across Sienna’s face.
“Don’t worry, I ain’t gonna smash you, Sienna. What would that prove? I could have crushed you months ago if that’s what I wanted. I just want you to know that me and you are playing different games. Your tactics, they don’t work on me; and you got no defence that could stop me if I decided to go on the offensive.”
Lenny paused, sucked at his teeth for a few seconds, then continued, this time with a conciliatory tone.
“This merry-go-round is coming to a stop; we both know that. We’ve both said and done a few things. I’m not saying I regret that, I’m not even saying I’m apologising. You got me wrong if you think that. It is what it is, sweetheart. But if you want to talk about business, then don’t insult me and think you can flash your tits my way and think I’m your puppy. I’ve banged fitter birds than you, princess, and they didn’t leave me blue-balled.”
Sienna tried to interject, her mouth gaping like her honour has been insulted, but Lenny held up a hand.
“Listen, if you want to talk business, talk serious, and not play these childish games, then contact my agent; then we can arrange a proper meeting. Otherwise we got nothing further to say to each other.”
Lenny stood up.
“Where are you going? Aren’t you finishing your steak?”
Lenny looks down at what remains of his dinner, and shook his head.
“Lost my appetite.”
Lenny pulled out his wallet and tossed some notes on the table to cover the bill, leaving thoughtful and pensive-looking Sienna behind.
*
From the archives of Action Packed Wrestling: The Guv’nor’s Gab (transcript #15)
There’s a number of ramifications from the fallout of Mayhem. Not least of which is the changing landscape of Meltdown. The draft was mixed for me. There were names I expected to draft, but I was filled with a sense of regret that slags like Michael Jennings and Tommy Knoxville wouldn’t given the complete smashing they deserved from The Guv’nor.
I’m not believer in fate, but I’ve seen that life usually pays people their dues, so they’ll get what they’re owed sooner or later.
But if Meltdown is changing the single constant I see is Sienna Harrison’s loathing of me, her persistent attempts to manipulate the situation to her favour. She couldn’t even be bothered to disguise her pleasure at the prospect of being rid of The Guv’nor last week. Well, she’ll get my decision in due course, but I wonder if Sienna really understands what she is doing here. She can’t control me, so she wants rid; but what she doesn’t see is that without The Guv’nor Meltdown is a ship without its captain. There are too many people whose own fate is wrapped up in The Guv’nor, my personality, my championship; they don’t exist without me, so you wonder how they can possibly pull their head out of the arse and right the ship’s course.
Let’s be honest. Meltdown needs The Guv’nor more than ever. But Sienna’s incompetence with be the gain of Overdrive or Asylum.
But right now I remain a Meltdown megastar, and until I’m told otherwise I’m still the North American Champion. I’m still the standard and this show, and I intend on continuing that whoever is paying my cheques. Unlike Young Mannie I won’t let a draft go to my head: as long as it’s mine the North American Championship will remain my first and only point of focus.
That’s why this week’s Meltdown has a special significance. I know what Sienna is trying to do. She’s grooming.
We’ve seen her do this many times. She knows now that Robina Hood cannot beat me, or at least she is far from ‘the perfect megastar’. Robina’s task at Mayhem was to end my reign, and hopefully end my career at the same time. I’ll give the bitch her dues, she had a right good crack at them when she launched me off the cage. But I’m still here, I’m still standing, and I’m still the North American Champion.
And I know that grates at Sienna’s soul.
So here’s her plan: set me up in a match against three antagonists. A couple of them doubtless great hopes for the future, and the obligatory pat on the head for her little lap dog.
Yeah, it’s a tag match, but let’s be honest: this is Sienna’s way of trying to stack the odds against me. She did it with Michael Jennings and Billy Pepsi, but then looked what happened to them. Michael Jennings had to drop down to the level of Ellis Graham, and get the fuck out of dodge because he knew his face had no credibility on Meltdown. Billy Pepsi? He disappeared quicker than the Loch Ness monster.
So let that be a warning to everyone in this match, but then Robina will already know the lesson she has in store.
I’m sat here and scratching my head when I think of her. Honestly, I’m not sure else there is to say. Actions speak louder than words, and the steel cage match spoke volumes about the fire that burns between us. I told you my respect had been earned inside the cage. You take that for what you want, but it doesn’t mean I like you anymore than I did before, it also doesn’t mean I hate you any less. Respect is merely an acknowledgement that you’re a fighter deserving of attention. It’s not an olive branch because every time I see you from now til the day I die I know I am going to want to hurt you. But you’ve proven yourself to me in a way that few ever have. It means whenever we fight, even though I want to rip the flesh off your bones, I relish it because it comes with the excitement you’re getting a proper tear-up. In you I know I got an enemy who will hit back harder, will front up to everything, and won’t bitch out like a coward.
Niobe Martin. Our paths haven’t had much interaction, have they love? We battled in the ladder match at Rasslemania, and you proved you’re a credit to your gender. I told you then I had no problem smashing you up because I never made you sign the contract to fight with geezers like me. The principle still stands, but it makes me feel better too knowing you’re a proper, right ugly minger. I’m not one of these crazy types who gets a kick out of smashing up something beautiful. On the contrary, in my own way, I’m a geezer who respects beauty.
But this isn’t a beauty contest, which is a good job for you because even with those pumped up plastic tits you’d still be pushed onto the ugly boat; it’s a fight. Like everybody else you’re probably thinking this is your big chance to shine; to make yourself noticed to Sienna in your own right, not just as some bimbo who rides the dick of some fucking hillbilly on a motorbike. If that makes you a one-time loser, then this match will make you two-time when I stomp your face in beyond recognition.
Book in with your surgeon, sweetheart, because when I’m done giving you some MADE IN HACKNEY love, you’ll need him to give you a new face to go with those blown-up pair of balloons. That’s a fact, Jack!
That just leaves Jace Savage. Honestly, can’t say I know a great deal about this kid. I’ve seen him fight a few times, I’ve heard the rumours in the back about the external pressures he’s under. All I can advise is that you be your own man, Jace. You’ll learn sooner or later the only way to look at yourself in the mirror and not feel the cloud of shame all over you is to follow your path. I don’t know who your father is, I don’t really give a shit. If that slag wants to intervene in my business on your behalf he’ll find himself on the end of a hostile takeover.
Jace, I know you can fight, sunshine. I know you got the right spirit, but you’ve also got the propensity to fail to get the job done. How many chances have you had now to put away that miserable old bastard Sampson?
If you’re looking at this match as a way to worm yourself into a North American Championship, that’s kosher with me, bruv. We all got to eat, and we all want a bigger slice of the pie. But you don’t try and steal it from the hand that feeds you. You want a shot at the champ, prove yourself worthy of it, don’t take the path of the slag my son, and I’ll see you’re given a chance to shine.
But be warned, you turn yellow on me, try to rump The Guv’nor, or sell your soul to the devil, I’ll bury you alive sunshine, and I’ll send your eyeballs to your father.
Bitches and gentleman, it’s time to front up. Be ready because the storm is coming, it’s breaking across the Atlantic ‘cause the storm was MADE IN HACKNEY.
End.
There’s a number of ramifications from the fallout of Mayhem. Not least of which is the changing landscape of Meltdown. The draft was mixed for me. There were names I expected to draft, but I was filled with a sense of regret that slags like Michael Jennings and Tommy Knoxville wouldn’t given the complete smashing they deserved from The Guv’nor.
I’m not believer in fate, but I’ve seen that life usually pays people their dues, so they’ll get what they’re owed sooner or later.
But if Meltdown is changing the single constant I see is Sienna Harrison’s loathing of me, her persistent attempts to manipulate the situation to her favour. She couldn’t even be bothered to disguise her pleasure at the prospect of being rid of The Guv’nor last week. Well, she’ll get my decision in due course, but I wonder if Sienna really understands what she is doing here. She can’t control me, so she wants rid; but what she doesn’t see is that without The Guv’nor Meltdown is a ship without its captain. There are too many people whose own fate is wrapped up in The Guv’nor, my personality, my championship; they don’t exist without me, so you wonder how they can possibly pull their head out of the arse and right the ship’s course.
Let’s be honest. Meltdown needs The Guv’nor more than ever. But Sienna’s incompetence with be the gain of Overdrive or Asylum.
But right now I remain a Meltdown megastar, and until I’m told otherwise I’m still the North American Champion. I’m still the standard and this show, and I intend on continuing that whoever is paying my cheques. Unlike Young Mannie I won’t let a draft go to my head: as long as it’s mine the North American Championship will remain my first and only point of focus.
That’s why this week’s Meltdown has a special significance. I know what Sienna is trying to do. She’s grooming.
We’ve seen her do this many times. She knows now that Robina Hood cannot beat me, or at least she is far from ‘the perfect megastar’. Robina’s task at Mayhem was to end my reign, and hopefully end my career at the same time. I’ll give the bitch her dues, she had a right good crack at them when she launched me off the cage. But I’m still here, I’m still standing, and I’m still the North American Champion.
And I know that grates at Sienna’s soul.
So here’s her plan: set me up in a match against three antagonists. A couple of them doubtless great hopes for the future, and the obligatory pat on the head for her little lap dog.
Yeah, it’s a tag match, but let’s be honest: this is Sienna’s way of trying to stack the odds against me. She did it with Michael Jennings and Billy Pepsi, but then looked what happened to them. Michael Jennings had to drop down to the level of Ellis Graham, and get the fuck out of dodge because he knew his face had no credibility on Meltdown. Billy Pepsi? He disappeared quicker than the Loch Ness monster.
So let that be a warning to everyone in this match, but then Robina will already know the lesson she has in store.
I’m sat here and scratching my head when I think of her. Honestly, I’m not sure else there is to say. Actions speak louder than words, and the steel cage match spoke volumes about the fire that burns between us. I told you my respect had been earned inside the cage. You take that for what you want, but it doesn’t mean I like you anymore than I did before, it also doesn’t mean I hate you any less. Respect is merely an acknowledgement that you’re a fighter deserving of attention. It’s not an olive branch because every time I see you from now til the day I die I know I am going to want to hurt you. But you’ve proven yourself to me in a way that few ever have. It means whenever we fight, even though I want to rip the flesh off your bones, I relish it because it comes with the excitement you’re getting a proper tear-up. In you I know I got an enemy who will hit back harder, will front up to everything, and won’t bitch out like a coward.
Niobe Martin. Our paths haven’t had much interaction, have they love? We battled in the ladder match at Rasslemania, and you proved you’re a credit to your gender. I told you then I had no problem smashing you up because I never made you sign the contract to fight with geezers like me. The principle still stands, but it makes me feel better too knowing you’re a proper, right ugly minger. I’m not one of these crazy types who gets a kick out of smashing up something beautiful. On the contrary, in my own way, I’m a geezer who respects beauty.
But this isn’t a beauty contest, which is a good job for you because even with those pumped up plastic tits you’d still be pushed onto the ugly boat; it’s a fight. Like everybody else you’re probably thinking this is your big chance to shine; to make yourself noticed to Sienna in your own right, not just as some bimbo who rides the dick of some fucking hillbilly on a motorbike. If that makes you a one-time loser, then this match will make you two-time when I stomp your face in beyond recognition.
Book in with your surgeon, sweetheart, because when I’m done giving you some MADE IN HACKNEY love, you’ll need him to give you a new face to go with those blown-up pair of balloons. That’s a fact, Jack!
That just leaves Jace Savage. Honestly, can’t say I know a great deal about this kid. I’ve seen him fight a few times, I’ve heard the rumours in the back about the external pressures he’s under. All I can advise is that you be your own man, Jace. You’ll learn sooner or later the only way to look at yourself in the mirror and not feel the cloud of shame all over you is to follow your path. I don’t know who your father is, I don’t really give a shit. If that slag wants to intervene in my business on your behalf he’ll find himself on the end of a hostile takeover.
Jace, I know you can fight, sunshine. I know you got the right spirit, but you’ve also got the propensity to fail to get the job done. How many chances have you had now to put away that miserable old bastard Sampson?
If you’re looking at this match as a way to worm yourself into a North American Championship, that’s kosher with me, bruv. We all got to eat, and we all want a bigger slice of the pie. But you don’t try and steal it from the hand that feeds you. You want a shot at the champ, prove yourself worthy of it, don’t take the path of the slag my son, and I’ll see you’re given a chance to shine.
But be warned, you turn yellow on me, try to rump The Guv’nor, or sell your soul to the devil, I’ll bury you alive sunshine, and I’ll send your eyeballs to your father.
Bitches and gentleman, it’s time to front up. Be ready because the storm is coming, it’s breaking across the Atlantic ‘cause the storm was MADE IN HACKNEY.
End.
