Post by estarr on Aug 20, 2008 7:58:05 GMT -4
Yes! inb4u! Jake, who we find walking through some back-alley streets of Vancouver. It's a nice warm (as warm as you're going to get in Canada) day. Walking with Jake is none other than martial arts expert Jackie Chan. What an honour it is ..... for Jackie to be in the presence of Jake Ruby. He's apparently big in China. Bigger than the Olympics!
Jackie Chan: So do you have it?
Jake: What are you talking about? Do I have what?
Jackie Chan: You know .. *He looks over his shoulder, making sure no one can overhear him, covering his mouth with his hand and a whisper covering his voice* .. it.
Jake stops to think, then twigs as to what he is talking about. He smiles, then nods a couple of times, before reaching into the inside of his coat and pulling out something wrapped in cloth, held together by twine string. Jackie looks at it with delight. Jake goes to hand it to the kung-fu master, who reaches for it, but retracts it, a stern look in his face.
Jake: You do know how to use it, right?
Jackie: What do you take me for?
Jake shrugs, as Jackie reaches for the parcel, this time getting a hand on it.
Jake: I'll be back for it before the end of next week. And if I see it showing up in the news or on T.V., there'll be hell to pay!
Jackie gives a look to Jake, and Jake stares him down. The air is thick with tension. It's the classic Asian film – two masters of martial arts squaring off. Bruce Lee and Jackie Chan. Jet Li and Jackie Chan. Chuck Norris and Jackie Chan. Jake Ruby and Jackie Chan is only natural. A gong sounds somewhere, and then some Asian music (you know the kind). Slowly, Jake steps away, and the two give a knowing nod to one another. They turn to walk away ..... quickly turn to face one another ..... and then walk backwards until there is enough distance between the two. Phew, that was close.
Ring!
The telephone begins to ring. Jake sits up, eyeing around, then spots the source of the noise. He picks up the reciever and holds it to his hear. From the look on his face, he hears a voice, and is shocked. The click of the other end hanging up can be heard, and Jake throws the phone down, then jumps up, gathering his things and running off – out of the -1 star hotel he is shacked up in for the weekend.
This scene fades out, and comes back in to find Jake, walking through a long, dark tunnel. Other than the rhythmic footsteps of Jake's sneakers, a constant drip-drip-drip can be heard. The lighting is dim, but enough to see that the e-fedder is carrying a box in front of him. What's in the box? Don't know yet, but you'll find out. He stops dead, turning around, making sure no one is following him. Slowly he sets off again with a cautious look, stopping at next port of call a door - tall, steel, rivets holding it in place. He has to knock a certain pattern, before the door even budges.
Knock ..... pause ..... knock knock ..... pause ..... Mars bar ..... pause ..... 5 quick knocks .....
As it swings open, light comes flooding out, Jake walks in and the door slams shut. Jake finds himself in a near-empty, huge room. As big as a warehouse. Up on the far wall, there's a massive screen, though not on. within sight of that is a long table, with a few people already sitting at it. Jake looks around for whoever opened the door, but doesn't see anyone. Shrugging, he makes his way towards the table. Sitting, or standing for one of them, along one side, is former president Richard Nixon, Julius Caesar, and Mr. Ed. Along the other side: John Locke (from Lost, not the other John Locke), Napoleon, and Elvis Presley. Sitting at the head of the table is a man blacked out by shadows, but from what can be made out from a burning glow, he's smoking a cigarette. Each person has a name plaque in front of them. Jake stands at the end of the table and puts the box down. He gives a look to everyone, a nod to the man chairing this meeting in the shadows, then pulls his seat out and sits.
Nixon: So, Jake, I hear that you ah .. have a match at APW's ... ah .. pay per view Shockwave.
Jake: Yes sir, I have a match. And for a title no less. It's rather important.
Mr. Ed: So why have you convened this meeting of E-e-elders?
Jake: Well, truth be told, I need some advice from you all.
Locke: What exactly is it you need of us? Words of advice?
Nixon: How about some "help"? I'm good at arranging those sorts of things.
Napoleon: Maybe eh little muscle?
Elvis: People! Let the man speak. *Elvis leans on the desk, looking down to Elvis* Go ahead man.
Jake: Thank-you Mister Elvis. Elders, I need advice from y'all in terms of words. Advice if you will. As you all full-well know, I've faced my opponent, Michael Lively, already. For his title too. And I lost. *A murmur goes around the table, and Jake raises a hand* I know, I'm as shocked as you are, but it happened. He probably cheated somewhere in the match, or bribed the official, whatever. But the fact remains I lost. I can't lose again. I cannot allow it, and I know you won't. I remember the last guy, before me, who you sent out and lost 2 title matches ...
Julius: Yes, and you do not want to end up like him.
Jake: I know, that's why I'm coming to you all for help.
There is a moment of silence, minds ticking over. It's finally broken.
Locke: Jake, you need to listen to all of the urges that you hear. The fans, your bosses, your opponents, they might all make demands of you, but you cannot ignore the voice inside of you. The ring will make demands of you, ask you to make sacrifices, but you have to know what and why you're doing some things.
Napoleon: This Jean Locke, he does not know what e-it is he is eh talking e-bout. I did eh listened to my eh feelings, and I en-vaded Russia. Look where that gooot me.
Julius: You could not win a war if you tried, man of Gaul!
Mr. Ed stomps his hoof, getting the attention of all at the table before it erupts into chaos. He looks up and down the table, making sure he has everyone's attention, then looks to Jake.
Mr. Ed: Now, men, let's not get into a-a-all of this again. Jake has a problem, and we have the answers for him.
Jake: Thank-you Mister Ed. Now, I brought with me a box of information. *Jake slides the box in front of him, taking the lid off, then pulling out sheets of paper* Information about my opponent for Shockwave. I have all kinds of things on him. *He holds up a sheet of paper* Here's something: He claims to have been trained by Sabu.
Julius: There's nothing to worry about there. Our research shows that Sabu was extremely overrated. Less of a wrestlers, more of an idiot. If he was actually trained by Sabu, Michael Lively has few actual wrestling moves in his repertoire outside of armbar, armdrag, and jumping off things. You shouldn't have a problem what-so-ever in out-wrestling Lively.
Jake: Well, that's reassuring. I was thinking that he'd been trained by someone who might actually know what to do in the ring. But *Jake scrunches up the sheet of paper, then tosses it over his shoulder* now that I you guys have given me the insider's scoop on what to expect, then that's one thing off my shoulders.
Nixon: What else do your ah .. facts have to say? Is there anything about our ah .. me?
Jake: No, nothing about you Rich. No, there nothing about Lively in here. His entire life fits in this one box. Here's more: He's taller and heavier than me. He might think that gives him a bit of an advantage. What do you all think? Does it come into play here?
Locke: How much taller are they than you?
Jake looks to his sheet of paper and begins to laugh.
Jake: Sorry, false alarms. He's a whole of an inch taller than me. Nothing to worry about there. He is, however, a whole of 15 pounds heavier than me.
Locke: That's not necessarily a bad thing Jake. If he's heavier, he weighs more. And if that's the case, he's going to be slower on his feet than you are. The ring balances all of these things out. He may be stronger than you, but remember, he has to catch you first. You're a light 15 pounds, which means he's going to have to catch you when your back is turned.
Jake: Right, I get you. And there's not going to be many chances when I turn my back to that fruit-loop. Seriously, both eyes on him at all times. That spider-monkey could get up to anything! I don't trust him, what with his dirty tactics, his cheating, his temper, and that mother of his. He's made it clear in the past that he wants the win over me – that's for sure. He'll be fighting tooth and nail for that belt, maybe just as hard as me. I expect he'll pull out every trick for it too. I'm sure one of these papers *Jake taps the box* says that he's a no-good dirty player. Like the sort of guy who would attack you when you're back is turned. Maybe in a match, when he's commentating, and you think everything's fine. That fink ...
Mr. Ed: And do you think you've e-e-earned your place at APW yet Jake? What have you done so f-a-a-ar that shows everyone that you deserve not only a roster position, but a win on Shockwave?
Jake: Oh I've earned my place. But what's he done to earn that belt? Or his place? Has he gone through the bumps and the pain I've had to to even get the shot? No. Did he get set on fire? Beat down by random opponents? Beat by that Fyre Angel!? I was beat by Fyre Angel for potatoes sake! All to get to where I am now. I've earned my spot, I've paid dues, and now it's time for a reward. I've lived the simple life of potatoes and farms, I blazed a name for myself through the e-fedding community, then I made a start for myself in APW. A well earned reward. I think it's only fair.
Elders, I've been showing APW a new way - the way to betterment. Since I've shown up, and brought in a whole new type of wrestler into the mix – a wrestler formed in the fiery depths of 1's and 0's, they've been having better shows, better pay per views, and better matches. There's always going to be better competition and better entertainment as long as I'm around.
Elvis: That's fine man, but what have you done yourself? Have you made sure that you're the king of wrestlin'? Does everyone know that you're one of the best yet?
Jake: Elvis, I'll be honest – I haven't had as many chances as I would like to show the whole world what I have. And even some of those chances I've let waste away. But here's a chance for me to get a belt – a real belt. Another chance! I've got thousands of belts on my resume, but here's a chance to have one that I don't have to print out on paper to wear. And I'm the guy who you want a belt on – a guy with charisma, with pride, with ethics and responsibility. I'm an upright and honest member of APW. I never do things that would cast a bad light on me. I don't attack people from dark alleys, I don't stab people. Sure, I might occasionally do a run in attack when someone has their back turned, is distracted by a match, and not expecting anything, but that was entirely called for! The guy insulted my honour! How he did it, I'm not sure about. But I know he did. Somewhere, somehow.
Julius: Do you have anything else of importance in that box?
Jake: Yeah, let me dig up some things he has said about me in the past. *Jake reaches into the box and pulls out a piece of paper again* Oh, yeah. He just disregardes my monumental and overwhelming achievements. My own personal glories. He just tosses them to the side. All my e-fedding career counts for naught with him. I have no idea why. You don't get to where I am without picking up quite a bit of knowledge and skills. I doubt he can do anything without spellcheck backing him up. He hasn't nearly won as many accolades as me. I won 15 titles in 1 month! That's one every 2 days! What can he say to that? That it doesn't count because it wasn't part of the “big time”, because I wasn't technically employed to do that? Then I discount anything he has done before coming to APW. If my past doesn't count, then his past doesn't count.
Napoleon: Jake, have you made arrangements for any ah-freinds to eh-help you in your match? Perhaps you may eh-need them?
Jake: I don't have friends to help me out. No one in this company sees it fit to hang out with me. I don't care – I'll climb to the top on my own. I don't need a stable of half the roster to back me up. I've worked my way into a match for the Overdrive Championship without having friends or allies or lackeys to do my bidding. Blood, sweat, and a whole lot of typed words have got me here. I've pushed people to the limit, I've shown people how serious they should take me. Look at this! I've even come to the Elders! That's how serious I am. I've poisoned the water in Australia, I've fallen off curbs, I've been to Canada, I've locked myself in a closet! Are those the actions of someone who isn't serious? You bet they are. So who knows what I'll get up to in this match. Look at my record, then imagine what I'll do next.
Mr. Ed: Jake. You se-e-em to have quite a box of information there. Perhaps if you leave it with us, we can contact you before your match, and tell you anything we find o-o-out?
Jake: Really? Thank-you Mr. Ed. If the Elders are willing to do that, I would be very grateful.
Nixon: Then it's settled. You'll leave the box with us, and we'll ah .. establish contact before your match.
Elvis: If that's everything, we've got to see our next visitor. He has some really big problems baby.
Jake: Thank-you Elders. I'll be reporting to you not before too long.
Julius: Very well.
Jake bows to the table, then walks away, as the council begins to murmur among themselves. What sort of international conspiracy has Jake become involved in? What just happened? Were you privy to something super-top secret? A Council of Elders? Famous people through the ages. Jake looks back at the table, as they continue to talk among themselves, then heads out the door he came in. Waiting, out side, holding a box of his own, is none other than President Bush. He looks pretty dejected. Jake nods to him.
Jake: Why are you here George?
Bush: I need the help of the Elders.
Jake puts a hand on his shoulder of the President.
Jake: You're beyond help buddy. Well beyond.
The President's shoulders drop, and Jake pats him, then heads off, back down the long, dark corridor .....
Jackie Chan: So do you have it?
Jake: What are you talking about? Do I have what?
Jackie Chan: You know .. *He looks over his shoulder, making sure no one can overhear him, covering his mouth with his hand and a whisper covering his voice* .. it.
Jake stops to think, then twigs as to what he is talking about. He smiles, then nods a couple of times, before reaching into the inside of his coat and pulling out something wrapped in cloth, held together by twine string. Jackie looks at it with delight. Jake goes to hand it to the kung-fu master, who reaches for it, but retracts it, a stern look in his face.
Jake: You do know how to use it, right?
Jackie: What do you take me for?
Jake shrugs, as Jackie reaches for the parcel, this time getting a hand on it.
Jake: I'll be back for it before the end of next week. And if I see it showing up in the news or on T.V., there'll be hell to pay!
Jackie gives a look to Jake, and Jake stares him down. The air is thick with tension. It's the classic Asian film – two masters of martial arts squaring off. Bruce Lee and Jackie Chan. Jet Li and Jackie Chan. Chuck Norris and Jackie Chan. Jake Ruby and Jackie Chan is only natural. A gong sounds somewhere, and then some Asian music (you know the kind). Slowly, Jake steps away, and the two give a knowing nod to one another. They turn to walk away ..... quickly turn to face one another ..... and then walk backwards until there is enough distance between the two. Phew, that was close.
Ring!
The telephone begins to ring. Jake sits up, eyeing around, then spots the source of the noise. He picks up the reciever and holds it to his hear. From the look on his face, he hears a voice, and is shocked. The click of the other end hanging up can be heard, and Jake throws the phone down, then jumps up, gathering his things and running off – out of the -1 star hotel he is shacked up in for the weekend.
This scene fades out, and comes back in to find Jake, walking through a long, dark tunnel. Other than the rhythmic footsteps of Jake's sneakers, a constant drip-drip-drip can be heard. The lighting is dim, but enough to see that the e-fedder is carrying a box in front of him. What's in the box? Don't know yet, but you'll find out. He stops dead, turning around, making sure no one is following him. Slowly he sets off again with a cautious look, stopping at next port of call a door - tall, steel, rivets holding it in place. He has to knock a certain pattern, before the door even budges.
Knock ..... pause ..... knock knock ..... pause ..... Mars bar ..... pause ..... 5 quick knocks .....
As it swings open, light comes flooding out, Jake walks in and the door slams shut. Jake finds himself in a near-empty, huge room. As big as a warehouse. Up on the far wall, there's a massive screen, though not on. within sight of that is a long table, with a few people already sitting at it. Jake looks around for whoever opened the door, but doesn't see anyone. Shrugging, he makes his way towards the table. Sitting, or standing for one of them, along one side, is former president Richard Nixon, Julius Caesar, and Mr. Ed. Along the other side: John Locke (from Lost, not the other John Locke), Napoleon, and Elvis Presley. Sitting at the head of the table is a man blacked out by shadows, but from what can be made out from a burning glow, he's smoking a cigarette. Each person has a name plaque in front of them. Jake stands at the end of the table and puts the box down. He gives a look to everyone, a nod to the man chairing this meeting in the shadows, then pulls his seat out and sits.
Nixon: So, Jake, I hear that you ah .. have a match at APW's ... ah .. pay per view Shockwave.
Jake: Yes sir, I have a match. And for a title no less. It's rather important.
Mr. Ed: So why have you convened this meeting of E-e-elders?
Jake: Well, truth be told, I need some advice from you all.
Locke: What exactly is it you need of us? Words of advice?
Nixon: How about some "help"? I'm good at arranging those sorts of things.
Napoleon: Maybe eh little muscle?
Elvis: People! Let the man speak. *Elvis leans on the desk, looking down to Elvis* Go ahead man.
Jake: Thank-you Mister Elvis. Elders, I need advice from y'all in terms of words. Advice if you will. As you all full-well know, I've faced my opponent, Michael Lively, already. For his title too. And I lost. *A murmur goes around the table, and Jake raises a hand* I know, I'm as shocked as you are, but it happened. He probably cheated somewhere in the match, or bribed the official, whatever. But the fact remains I lost. I can't lose again. I cannot allow it, and I know you won't. I remember the last guy, before me, who you sent out and lost 2 title matches ...
Julius: Yes, and you do not want to end up like him.
Jake: I know, that's why I'm coming to you all for help.
There is a moment of silence, minds ticking over. It's finally broken.
Locke: Jake, you need to listen to all of the urges that you hear. The fans, your bosses, your opponents, they might all make demands of you, but you cannot ignore the voice inside of you. The ring will make demands of you, ask you to make sacrifices, but you have to know what and why you're doing some things.
Napoleon: This Jean Locke, he does not know what e-it is he is eh talking e-bout. I did eh listened to my eh feelings, and I en-vaded Russia. Look where that gooot me.
Julius: You could not win a war if you tried, man of Gaul!
Mr. Ed stomps his hoof, getting the attention of all at the table before it erupts into chaos. He looks up and down the table, making sure he has everyone's attention, then looks to Jake.
Mr. Ed: Now, men, let's not get into a-a-all of this again. Jake has a problem, and we have the answers for him.
Jake: Thank-you Mister Ed. Now, I brought with me a box of information. *Jake slides the box in front of him, taking the lid off, then pulling out sheets of paper* Information about my opponent for Shockwave. I have all kinds of things on him. *He holds up a sheet of paper* Here's something: He claims to have been trained by Sabu.
Julius: There's nothing to worry about there. Our research shows that Sabu was extremely overrated. Less of a wrestlers, more of an idiot. If he was actually trained by Sabu, Michael Lively has few actual wrestling moves in his repertoire outside of armbar, armdrag, and jumping off things. You shouldn't have a problem what-so-ever in out-wrestling Lively.
Jake: Well, that's reassuring. I was thinking that he'd been trained by someone who might actually know what to do in the ring. But *Jake scrunches up the sheet of paper, then tosses it over his shoulder* now that I you guys have given me the insider's scoop on what to expect, then that's one thing off my shoulders.
Nixon: What else do your ah .. facts have to say? Is there anything about our ah .. me?
Jake: No, nothing about you Rich. No, there nothing about Lively in here. His entire life fits in this one box. Here's more: He's taller and heavier than me. He might think that gives him a bit of an advantage. What do you all think? Does it come into play here?
Locke: How much taller are they than you?
Jake looks to his sheet of paper and begins to laugh.
Jake: Sorry, false alarms. He's a whole of an inch taller than me. Nothing to worry about there. He is, however, a whole of 15 pounds heavier than me.
Locke: That's not necessarily a bad thing Jake. If he's heavier, he weighs more. And if that's the case, he's going to be slower on his feet than you are. The ring balances all of these things out. He may be stronger than you, but remember, he has to catch you first. You're a light 15 pounds, which means he's going to have to catch you when your back is turned.
Jake: Right, I get you. And there's not going to be many chances when I turn my back to that fruit-loop. Seriously, both eyes on him at all times. That spider-monkey could get up to anything! I don't trust him, what with his dirty tactics, his cheating, his temper, and that mother of his. He's made it clear in the past that he wants the win over me – that's for sure. He'll be fighting tooth and nail for that belt, maybe just as hard as me. I expect he'll pull out every trick for it too. I'm sure one of these papers *Jake taps the box* says that he's a no-good dirty player. Like the sort of guy who would attack you when you're back is turned. Maybe in a match, when he's commentating, and you think everything's fine. That fink ...
Mr. Ed: And do you think you've e-e-earned your place at APW yet Jake? What have you done so f-a-a-ar that shows everyone that you deserve not only a roster position, but a win on Shockwave?
Jake: Oh I've earned my place. But what's he done to earn that belt? Or his place? Has he gone through the bumps and the pain I've had to to even get the shot? No. Did he get set on fire? Beat down by random opponents? Beat by that Fyre Angel!? I was beat by Fyre Angel for potatoes sake! All to get to where I am now. I've earned my spot, I've paid dues, and now it's time for a reward. I've lived the simple life of potatoes and farms, I blazed a name for myself through the e-fedding community, then I made a start for myself in APW. A well earned reward. I think it's only fair.
Elders, I've been showing APW a new way - the way to betterment. Since I've shown up, and brought in a whole new type of wrestler into the mix – a wrestler formed in the fiery depths of 1's and 0's, they've been having better shows, better pay per views, and better matches. There's always going to be better competition and better entertainment as long as I'm around.
Elvis: That's fine man, but what have you done yourself? Have you made sure that you're the king of wrestlin'? Does everyone know that you're one of the best yet?
Jake: Elvis, I'll be honest – I haven't had as many chances as I would like to show the whole world what I have. And even some of those chances I've let waste away. But here's a chance for me to get a belt – a real belt. Another chance! I've got thousands of belts on my resume, but here's a chance to have one that I don't have to print out on paper to wear. And I'm the guy who you want a belt on – a guy with charisma, with pride, with ethics and responsibility. I'm an upright and honest member of APW. I never do things that would cast a bad light on me. I don't attack people from dark alleys, I don't stab people. Sure, I might occasionally do a run in attack when someone has their back turned, is distracted by a match, and not expecting anything, but that was entirely called for! The guy insulted my honour! How he did it, I'm not sure about. But I know he did. Somewhere, somehow.
Julius: Do you have anything else of importance in that box?
Jake: Yeah, let me dig up some things he has said about me in the past. *Jake reaches into the box and pulls out a piece of paper again* Oh, yeah. He just disregardes my monumental and overwhelming achievements. My own personal glories. He just tosses them to the side. All my e-fedding career counts for naught with him. I have no idea why. You don't get to where I am without picking up quite a bit of knowledge and skills. I doubt he can do anything without spellcheck backing him up. He hasn't nearly won as many accolades as me. I won 15 titles in 1 month! That's one every 2 days! What can he say to that? That it doesn't count because it wasn't part of the “big time”, because I wasn't technically employed to do that? Then I discount anything he has done before coming to APW. If my past doesn't count, then his past doesn't count.
Napoleon: Jake, have you made arrangements for any ah-freinds to eh-help you in your match? Perhaps you may eh-need them?
Jake: I don't have friends to help me out. No one in this company sees it fit to hang out with me. I don't care – I'll climb to the top on my own. I don't need a stable of half the roster to back me up. I've worked my way into a match for the Overdrive Championship without having friends or allies or lackeys to do my bidding. Blood, sweat, and a whole lot of typed words have got me here. I've pushed people to the limit, I've shown people how serious they should take me. Look at this! I've even come to the Elders! That's how serious I am. I've poisoned the water in Australia, I've fallen off curbs, I've been to Canada, I've locked myself in a closet! Are those the actions of someone who isn't serious? You bet they are. So who knows what I'll get up to in this match. Look at my record, then imagine what I'll do next.
Mr. Ed: Jake. You se-e-em to have quite a box of information there. Perhaps if you leave it with us, we can contact you before your match, and tell you anything we find o-o-out?
Jake: Really? Thank-you Mr. Ed. If the Elders are willing to do that, I would be very grateful.
Nixon: Then it's settled. You'll leave the box with us, and we'll ah .. establish contact before your match.
Elvis: If that's everything, we've got to see our next visitor. He has some really big problems baby.
Jake: Thank-you Elders. I'll be reporting to you not before too long.
Julius: Very well.
Jake bows to the table, then walks away, as the council begins to murmur among themselves. What sort of international conspiracy has Jake become involved in? What just happened? Were you privy to something super-top secret? A Council of Elders? Famous people through the ages. Jake looks back at the table, as they continue to talk among themselves, then heads out the door he came in. Waiting, out side, holding a box of his own, is none other than President Bush. He looks pretty dejected. Jake nods to him.
Jake: Why are you here George?
Bush: I need the help of the Elders.
Jake puts a hand on his shoulder of the President.
Jake: You're beyond help buddy. Well beyond.
The President's shoulders drop, and Jake pats him, then heads off, back down the long, dark corridor .....
