Post by Jules on Jun 3, 2013 9:09:49 GMT -4
Book II: An Emerging Force
Chapter IX
It was decision time. Sienna Harrison had been waiting weeks for this; she had been looking forward to it for months. Finally, the moment to draft The Guv’nor off her show was approaching. Finally, all the hurdles would be removed for her seamless control of Meltdown.
Well, so she thought.
Inside her office Sienna was dressed in strict business attire, sporting a superbly fitting designer dress. The contracts were ready: they’d passed due diligence, the terms verified and signed off from the very top. Now they just needed signatures. She thanked Alexander Duvall and President Jeff (acting on behalf of Asylum in light of the recent power struggle to control that brand), but she didn’t let them in on the nightmare they were about to begin.
A knock at the door interrupted Sienna’s thoughts. It was Alice, her PA.
“Mr. Lansbury and his attorney are here.”
“Thank you Alice, please see them.”
Sienna straightened the things on her desk.
“Oh, Alice, could you bring in some coffee too.”
Alice nodded and left. Moments later she showed in Lenny Lansbury (alter ego: The Guv’nor) and Mr. Black, shady attorney and representative of ‘Touchstone’ (The Guv’nor’s backers).
“Gentlemen welcome,” Sienna’s tone was warm and friendly. “Take a seat and make yourselves comfortable. Alice will bring us some coffee shortly.”
Sienna could already see there was a grumpiness about Lenny. Keep this short and business-like, she reminded herself.
“Okay, I’ve had the contracts ratified and signed off by President Jeff himself. You are at liberty to peruse the terms, but I promise you will find everything in order and very generous.”
Mr. Black looked at Lansbury, but he maintained his silence.
“Well, Miss Harrison I want to thank you for your professionalism in all of this. We are very grateful that you have facilitated this transition to the best of your abilities, and with no lack of courtesy.”
“Mr. Black, I just want to make the process as smooth as possible. I’ll concede that it’s been something of an uneasy truce between Lenny and I, but as I’ve said on many occasions, I am not ungrateful in regards to the contribution The Guv’nor has made to Meltdown programming.”
Lenny gave a derisive guffaw. Alice returned with the coffee, pouring for everyone except Lenny, who declined.
“So,” Sienna began over the rim of her cup, her eyes fixed on Lenny. “What’s it to be--- Overdrive or Asylum? Which of the dotted lines are you going to sign on?”
Lenny picked up one of the contracts and leafed through the pages.
“I think you will find Alexander Duvall has put together a very lucrative package. I spoke to him this morning and he seemed very keen for you to sign. They are in need of some fresh talent on Overdrive. Lord knows they are still feeling the burn of losing three top-line talents in Kurt Noble, Chris Hart and Michael Callahan. There are serious question marks about whether Johnny Rebel and Biggs have it anymore, so there are a few gaps to be filled over there.”
Mr. Black nodded along in agreement; Lenny kept his eyes on the contract.
“Play your cards right, it might be your name in lights over there. The Guv’nor, Overdrive Megastar. That has a certain charm to it.”
Lenny scoffed loudly, handed the Overdrive contract to Mr. Black, then grabbed the Asylum contract from Sienna’s desk.
“Obviously things are a little up in the air at the moment in terms of who’s running Asylum, or Raab-a-Mania. We should know by the end of Sunday’s show, but I have been assured by President Jeff that whoever is in charge of Asylum, they will honour the contract.”
Sienna finished her coffee and put her cup down on the desk.
“I’m not sure what you’re looking for Lenny, but Asylum certainly offers the kind of environment you may thrive in. I’ve been saying it for months you should be locked up in a nut house.”
Lenny lifts his eyes off the page and gives Sienna a quizzical look.
“I’m just saying, they love anarchy on Sunday nights.”
Lenny smirked and handed the Asylum contract to Mr. Black, then stood up from his chair.
“Uh, where are you going?”
“We didn’t come by for a social chat, sweetheart,” Lenny finally speaks.
“But you need to sign the contract....a contract.”
“I will,” Lenny says, before forming a smirk on his face, “and I promise I’ll give it to you on Monday.”
“But I thought-”
“That’s your problem, Sienna. You think too much, and it’s not a strength of yours.”
Mr. Black blushed with embarrassment; Sienna fumed
“There is one question I want answered before I go.”
“Okay.”
“What about this?”
Lenny unzipped his jacket to reveal the North American Championship belt around his waist.
“How does it work, if I’m on Overdrive or Asylum.”
“It’s in the contract Lenny. You retain the North American Championship, but will be expected to defend on every Meltdown until someone beats you for it.”
Lenny nodded his head, seemingly satisfied.
“And Test For The Best? How do I know when I beat your little pet project again on Monday that you won’t pull the rug from under me when the contract is signed?”
“Lenny, read the contract. If you beat Robina, your spot at Test For The Best is protected; you will take up one of Meltdown’s spots, if you win, regardless of whichever brand you choose.”
“Then I guess you thought of everything.”
Lenny turned towards the door. He was halfway through it when Sienna called out to him.
“Aren’t you going to even give a hint? Surely you’ve already made your mind up.”
With a smile Lenny signs off: “Oh sweetheart, I don’t want to spoil the surprise now, do I?”
Lenny left the room with Mr. Black in tow, leaving Sienna in a contemplative mood.
*
From the archives of Action Packed Wrestling: The Guv’nor’s Gab (transcript #16)
Mayhem should have been the end of it. We should have closed the book on this one that night. God knows that I don’t want to live through that hell too many times.
But you wouldn’t let it go, Robina. Would you?
It should have been enough. Respect was earned. Yeah, all the talk and the promotion beforehand was about ending careers, about proving domination, about making it that career-defining moment, but in the end it was all a question of respect, no matter how we try to dress it up.
But that wasn’t enough for you, Robina. Was it?
You threw me off the cage, sweetheart. Off the top of the cage. When I hit the deck for a moment I thought my back was broken; for a second I wondered whether I would ever get up with my own powers; I questioned whether I might be fed through a straw for the rest of my life. Robina, if you understood what that really meant, you would know that it was enough.
So few people in this world have earned The Guv’nor’s respect, but you did and more. You put the fear into me for just that split second. I may give it the big one every week, I may carry around more bravado than my money’s worth from one day to the next, but I value my life. In that one moment you questioned me in a way no person ever has. I’ve never been afraid to take a hit, but never once in all I’ve done, all the fights I’ve had, all the slags I’ve gone cut-throat with, I never once wanted to die.
Actually, it’s more than that. I never before felt close to death.
Until the cage.
So I ask myself: why would I want to go through that all over again?
It’s one thing to say you respect a person, and trust me, they aren’t just words in this case; but me telling you, Robina, that you earned my respect, it doesn’t mean I want to be friends with you any more than I did a month ago; more importantly, it doesn’t mean I loathe you any less.
I respect you not because you threw me off the cage and showed me fear, it’s more because after all we went through you looked me dead in the eyes afterwards. I won the match, but I never beat you.
And while every no-good bastard who I’ve smashed up on Meltdown will say the same, the eyes tell different. They will say they want another chance, but in their eyes I can see the beaten man or woman.
What was the significance of the Supershow? Michael Jennings, Tommy Knox: both beaten by The Guv’nor, and they both got the fuck out of dodge as soon as the offer came. The same thing happened to Nathaniel Havok. His puffed out chest was soon deflated after he realised he was a beaten man in The Guv’nor shadow. But you? Anyone who wants to tell me Robina Hood wasn’t offered a draft will get a slap on the chin for trying to rump The Guv’nor and taking him for a fool.
Instead, while the slags leave with their tail between their legs, you’re sticking around to call out The Guv’nor one more time.
Well good news, sweetheart: now you got him!
But the bad news is this one’s on you. This was your call, this is what you wanted, so I’m absolving myself of all responsibility in this match. What I do to you is not on my watch. On Monday night I am merely an agent of destruction, or in your case self-destruction.
Listen. The cage match, I can take my proportion of the blame for that. Sure I wasn’t the slag who decided to go around beating geezers up with a crowbar, but I know it wasn’t like I didn’t push any buttons. That was a war of two aggressors, no doubt. But this--- it’s like the desperate last offensive of a General who knows he is beaten. It’s like you’re tossing a can of aerosol into the fire and hoping that shit don’t explode in your face. It’s like you did a freefall and got the buzz from it; now you think you can fly without a parachute. Well that only has one outcome.
I heard it once said if you spend enough time with monsters you become a monster yourself. Likewise if you keeping poking a bear with a stick, sooner or later he’ll rip your face off. You should have been careful what you wished for Robina, because The Guv’nor isn’t Santa Claus and when he comes calling the only present he leaves behind is bruised pride and a broken body.
That said, I kind of agree this is a fitting way for me to go out. If this is to be my last match as a Meltdown megastar, it right that I go out fighting you. Not because of the respect thing. Nah, because the lasting image of The Guv’nor on Meltdown should be domination, it should be action; it should be going to Test For The Best to represent Meltdown against the best Overdrive and Asylum has to offer; it should be me stamping an exclamation mark on the face of Robina Hood.
I know what you’re thinking Robina. You’re seeing this as a moment of redemption. Mayhem was your lowest ebb, and last week when you put me down, rendered me incapable outside the ring, you got your ray of sunshine. Religious people call it an epiphany, but I’ll prove it a false hope.
There is no redemption for souls like you because a man like The Guv’nor has no mercy to offer. I know you think this is in some ways about so much more than the cage match was. In comparison, that was just a match, right? Now this is an event in which you save yourself, and you finally beat The Guv’nor, go on to try and achieve something so much bigger.
Test For The Best.
The last laugh.
Absolution.
For you and Sienna.
The Final victory.
Funny, I see it a different way.
It reminds me of a story. Back in London, before all this wrestling took off I came home one day from a hard day’s work. It was one of those days when there was a lot of waste to dispose of, know what I’m saying? That’s the thing about a place like London: there’s always some litter that needs getting rid of.
Anyway, I get home and find Cher has bought this little kitten. A little crazy bastard with all black fur. Earthquake we called him, because in a matter of minutes he turned the house to ruins. Well, as Earthquake got bigger and bigger he took to gazing outside the window; seemed to me like the house just wasn’t enough for him. He’s just a cat so I can’t hold it against him, but so often the problem with people: they always think they need more space than they deserve.
So he’s staring out the window and he sees all the birds buzzing about, carrying with whatever business it is a bird’s to do. Little Earthquake is watching the birds and he’s making his weird chirping and clicking noise and kind of grinding his teeth like some mug who speedfreak. I tell you, bruvs, it was one of the funniest things I ever saw. But he did this every morning: sat at the window, chirping away and grinding his teeth at the birds.
Well since the modern way is to Google everything, I did so. Turns out this is what cats do when they see something they are excited about, the chirping that is, and the grinding teeth is little Earthquake’s way of practicing what’s called ‘the killing bite’. Fucking luvvly jubbly that. In short it’s the final bite, the coup de grace if you want to say it the posh way. When Earthquake’s had enough of his quarry and he wants to start chomping away, the killing bite does the trick.
So we lets Earthquake out one day and soon enough he’s got hold of some kind of rodent. He’s tossing this poor furry thing around for about twenty minutes. Fair play, the little thing did its best to get away, but there was no stopping Earthquake, he always found it and the torment never stopped until the kitty decided he’d enough. Then came the killing bite and what followed was a nice snack for that purr machine.
You see it isn’t an exact replica, but I feel like the parallels are there, know what I’m saying? Me and Robina we’ve been staring at each other through the window. There’s been a lot of chirping, definitely some teeth grinding, and no shortage of aggro. But we’re at the critical stage when we find out who’s the cat with the claws and who’s the bird that’s about to get fucked.
I know which side of the window I’m on and I’m bored now of tossing my little rodent around. I’ve had my fun with you Robina, and you’ve done your best to ensure I haven’t had it all my own way. But now it ends, now it’s time for the killing bite. It’s time for me to this, to end you.
After this there will be no re-match. This is it, the final chapter. I’m sick of grinding my teeth, now it’s time to put them to work. The Hackney Hammer is turned up for maximum, Robina, so bring a helmet.
As one book opens, another closes. The resistance of Hood ends on Monday as the story of the Best begins, and that story was MADE IN HACKNEY.
End.
Mayhem should have been the end of it. We should have closed the book on this one that night. God knows that I don’t want to live through that hell too many times.
But you wouldn’t let it go, Robina. Would you?
It should have been enough. Respect was earned. Yeah, all the talk and the promotion beforehand was about ending careers, about proving domination, about making it that career-defining moment, but in the end it was all a question of respect, no matter how we try to dress it up.
But that wasn’t enough for you, Robina. Was it?
You threw me off the cage, sweetheart. Off the top of the cage. When I hit the deck for a moment I thought my back was broken; for a second I wondered whether I would ever get up with my own powers; I questioned whether I might be fed through a straw for the rest of my life. Robina, if you understood what that really meant, you would know that it was enough.
So few people in this world have earned The Guv’nor’s respect, but you did and more. You put the fear into me for just that split second. I may give it the big one every week, I may carry around more bravado than my money’s worth from one day to the next, but I value my life. In that one moment you questioned me in a way no person ever has. I’ve never been afraid to take a hit, but never once in all I’ve done, all the fights I’ve had, all the slags I’ve gone cut-throat with, I never once wanted to die.
Actually, it’s more than that. I never before felt close to death.
Until the cage.
So I ask myself: why would I want to go through that all over again?
It’s one thing to say you respect a person, and trust me, they aren’t just words in this case; but me telling you, Robina, that you earned my respect, it doesn’t mean I want to be friends with you any more than I did a month ago; more importantly, it doesn’t mean I loathe you any less.
I respect you not because you threw me off the cage and showed me fear, it’s more because after all we went through you looked me dead in the eyes afterwards. I won the match, but I never beat you.
And while every no-good bastard who I’ve smashed up on Meltdown will say the same, the eyes tell different. They will say they want another chance, but in their eyes I can see the beaten man or woman.
What was the significance of the Supershow? Michael Jennings, Tommy Knox: both beaten by The Guv’nor, and they both got the fuck out of dodge as soon as the offer came. The same thing happened to Nathaniel Havok. His puffed out chest was soon deflated after he realised he was a beaten man in The Guv’nor shadow. But you? Anyone who wants to tell me Robina Hood wasn’t offered a draft will get a slap on the chin for trying to rump The Guv’nor and taking him for a fool.
Instead, while the slags leave with their tail between their legs, you’re sticking around to call out The Guv’nor one more time.
Well good news, sweetheart: now you got him!
But the bad news is this one’s on you. This was your call, this is what you wanted, so I’m absolving myself of all responsibility in this match. What I do to you is not on my watch. On Monday night I am merely an agent of destruction, or in your case self-destruction.
Listen. The cage match, I can take my proportion of the blame for that. Sure I wasn’t the slag who decided to go around beating geezers up with a crowbar, but I know it wasn’t like I didn’t push any buttons. That was a war of two aggressors, no doubt. But this--- it’s like the desperate last offensive of a General who knows he is beaten. It’s like you’re tossing a can of aerosol into the fire and hoping that shit don’t explode in your face. It’s like you did a freefall and got the buzz from it; now you think you can fly without a parachute. Well that only has one outcome.
I heard it once said if you spend enough time with monsters you become a monster yourself. Likewise if you keeping poking a bear with a stick, sooner or later he’ll rip your face off. You should have been careful what you wished for Robina, because The Guv’nor isn’t Santa Claus and when he comes calling the only present he leaves behind is bruised pride and a broken body.
That said, I kind of agree this is a fitting way for me to go out. If this is to be my last match as a Meltdown megastar, it right that I go out fighting you. Not because of the respect thing. Nah, because the lasting image of The Guv’nor on Meltdown should be domination, it should be action; it should be going to Test For The Best to represent Meltdown against the best Overdrive and Asylum has to offer; it should be me stamping an exclamation mark on the face of Robina Hood.
I know what you’re thinking Robina. You’re seeing this as a moment of redemption. Mayhem was your lowest ebb, and last week when you put me down, rendered me incapable outside the ring, you got your ray of sunshine. Religious people call it an epiphany, but I’ll prove it a false hope.
There is no redemption for souls like you because a man like The Guv’nor has no mercy to offer. I know you think this is in some ways about so much more than the cage match was. In comparison, that was just a match, right? Now this is an event in which you save yourself, and you finally beat The Guv’nor, go on to try and achieve something so much bigger.
Test For The Best.
The last laugh.
Absolution.
For you and Sienna.
The Final victory.
Funny, I see it a different way.
It reminds me of a story. Back in London, before all this wrestling took off I came home one day from a hard day’s work. It was one of those days when there was a lot of waste to dispose of, know what I’m saying? That’s the thing about a place like London: there’s always some litter that needs getting rid of.
Anyway, I get home and find Cher has bought this little kitten. A little crazy bastard with all black fur. Earthquake we called him, because in a matter of minutes he turned the house to ruins. Well, as Earthquake got bigger and bigger he took to gazing outside the window; seemed to me like the house just wasn’t enough for him. He’s just a cat so I can’t hold it against him, but so often the problem with people: they always think they need more space than they deserve.
So he’s staring out the window and he sees all the birds buzzing about, carrying with whatever business it is a bird’s to do. Little Earthquake is watching the birds and he’s making his weird chirping and clicking noise and kind of grinding his teeth like some mug who speedfreak. I tell you, bruvs, it was one of the funniest things I ever saw. But he did this every morning: sat at the window, chirping away and grinding his teeth at the birds.
Well since the modern way is to Google everything, I did so. Turns out this is what cats do when they see something they are excited about, the chirping that is, and the grinding teeth is little Earthquake’s way of practicing what’s called ‘the killing bite’. Fucking luvvly jubbly that. In short it’s the final bite, the coup de grace if you want to say it the posh way. When Earthquake’s had enough of his quarry and he wants to start chomping away, the killing bite does the trick.
So we lets Earthquake out one day and soon enough he’s got hold of some kind of rodent. He’s tossing this poor furry thing around for about twenty minutes. Fair play, the little thing did its best to get away, but there was no stopping Earthquake, he always found it and the torment never stopped until the kitty decided he’d enough. Then came the killing bite and what followed was a nice snack for that purr machine.
You see it isn’t an exact replica, but I feel like the parallels are there, know what I’m saying? Me and Robina we’ve been staring at each other through the window. There’s been a lot of chirping, definitely some teeth grinding, and no shortage of aggro. But we’re at the critical stage when we find out who’s the cat with the claws and who’s the bird that’s about to get fucked.
I know which side of the window I’m on and I’m bored now of tossing my little rodent around. I’ve had my fun with you Robina, and you’ve done your best to ensure I haven’t had it all my own way. But now it ends, now it’s time for the killing bite. It’s time for me to this, to end you.
After this there will be no re-match. This is it, the final chapter. I’m sick of grinding my teeth, now it’s time to put them to work. The Hackney Hammer is turned up for maximum, Robina, so bring a helmet.
As one book opens, another closes. The resistance of Hood ends on Monday as the story of the Best begins, and that story was MADE IN HACKNEY.
End.
