Post by Paradox on Jul 24, 2015 19:49:19 GMT -4
"This is NOT what I'm supposed to be doing."
Deep orange. For a few moments, the whole world is deep orange - then we suddenly zoom away and there is room for a mouth, pursed tightly amidst a bristly ginger beard; a nose, nostrils flared; blue eyes, narrowed and glaring into a cell-phone camera, now held at arm's length to take in the full face of its owner, recognisable from the posters plastered all over Oakland as one of APW's newest members, Jac Glyndŵr. He holds his furious expression for a few more seconds before speaking.
"Yeah, I'm supposed to be shaking, just like this... but it's supposed to be in anticipation of the biggest night of my career, not the same old disappointment I've been getting in high-school gyms and armories all over America. Yeah, I'm also SUPPOSED to be thinking of interesting ways to smash a human head - but that should be the head of my opponent and not, well..."
Jac cuts off abruptly and flips the phone's camera around to face the building opposite him - the sign above the door reads "ESTEBAN'S ALL-NIGHT GYM". The camera bobs with Jac's stride as he walks through the door, to be confronted by a hulking, heavily inked Hispanic man, whose massive stature almost entirely blocks out the gym behind the small reception desk he is manning.
"Hey ese, I see you're new here! I'm Esteban, owner of the finest independent gym in Oakland. You want to work out it's $20 for the night, but we should talk membership, I got some one-time only deals just for... hey man are you filming? Who said you could film in here?"
"Relax mate, you don't want your gym to appear on the first APW Deception show, just don't sign the release form you'll be getting right after I leave."
Esteban pauses for a moment as the cogs turn in his brain, then in a moment his brief anger dissipates and his sunny salesman's demeanour returns.
"Eh, no problem homes! Film all you want, especially in my cardio room, all the latest gear man... hey how about I hook you up with a free trial workout?"
"Actually, I was hoping you could help me find someone. Has this man been to your gym at all, maybe in the last couple of weeks?"
Jac pulls a photograph out of his pocket and places it on the desk in front of Esteban. It shows a handsome, well built man with a stylish beard - his tag partner Jackson Reid. Esteban considers the image for a while, before his eyes narrow slightly in suspicion.
"Listen man, I can't talk about clients, if this guy did something you need a warrant..."
(Cutting Esteban off mid sentence) "Come on mate, do I look like a policeman to you?"
"No, but you DO look a lot like a bounty hunter... but it doesn't matter, I never saw this guy in my life. What is he to you, anyway?"
(Jac sighs deeply) "Well he's SUPPOSED to be my partner. My entire damn future kind of depends on the guy, but he's nowhere to be found. He won't answer his phone or return an email, so now I'm reduced to searching every gym in Oakland for any trace of him and... nothing. This is the last place on my list and NOBODY has a clue where he is. Which means I'm doing this thing on my own..."
Esteban looks at Jac's angry, downcast expression for a moment - and then his face lights up in sudden comprehension.
"Oh... OOOOOOHHH! Oh man I get it... let me guess, your "partner" got cold feet, right? Everything good until you want to tell his parents, right ese?"
"Wha - NO! That's not what..."
"Hey man it's OK, this is 2015, we're in Cali, Obama's in power!"
"I get it, I'm just not..."
"You know, my cousin Manuel had the same problem, his partner Dave made him tell the world they were just roommates, then he just ran off one day... hey I should introduce you guys! Manuel is in real good shape, he's here every weekday around five-thirty... maybe you come round, spot him on the bench press, see if you hit it off...”
“HE’S NOT MY DAMN BOYFRIEND, HE’S JUST MY TAG-TEAM PARTNER!”
“Then why you trolling every gym in town, wasting my time if it’s just some casual thing? You really gonna interrogate me over some dude you met on Grindr? You starting to piss me off, ese!”
The camera lurches forward as Jac leans in aggressively towards Esteban… then just as quickly settles back down. When he speaks again, his words are measured, excessively, as if he is making a great effort to control his breathing.
“Sorry to have wasted your time, mate. This was the last gym, so I guess it’s time to start on the bars”.
“Yeah, you do that. Hey… you may want to start with the Castro district, just off Market Street. Lot of bars there that cater to your ‘persuasion’…”
“Shut up, Esteban.”
---
We rejoin the scene at a smoky bar, it could be anywhere in Oakland but judging by the college-age blonde girl sat on the barstool next to Jac, leaning tipsily towards him, it’s not the Castro district. She slurs her words ever so slightly as he speaks to him.
”Glinn – doooooo – urrrrrr” (She giggles)
”That’s good, but there’s no gap between the ‘ooo’ and the ‘rrr’ sound… you’ve got to roll the R off your tongue, like this…”
He places a finger under her chin and lifts her face up towards his as he demonstrates, then watches intently as she says his name back to him.
”Glinn – dooowrrrr”
Jac stares vacantly at the girl, his eyes a little glazed from the drink.
”Well? Was that better”
Jac continues to stare until the girl nudges him playfully in the ribs, bringing him back around with exaggerated shock.
”Well?”
”I… I’m sorry, for some reason my mind started to wander when you did that with your tongue. Now come on, we’ve got lotsh... losht… we’ve still got bars to search!
”Whadda you mean more bars? Aren’t you having fun here?”
”Yeah, of coursh I’m having fun, but I gotta search AAAAALLLL the bars in Oakland tonight, and thish is only number… nine? I wanna say nine… or maybe ten…”
”Ummm… I’m just gonna go…”
”…YES! Good idea! You search the other end of the bar, I’ll go on ahead! You’re a GREAT team-mate, no’like that Jackshun Reid… catch me up at the next bar!”
The scene bobs and sways wildly as Jac staggers out of the bar and into the warm Californian night air. The scene fades out as late-night revellers shuffle nervously away from the powerfully built stranger.
---
We rejoin Jac on a nearly deserted 14th street. It’s late enough that only a couple of people are still out on the streets, lurching unsteadily home. Jac is sat on a low wall, the cellphone picking him up at an odd angle, having apparently been propped up against some piece of debris on the ground. He seems steadier and clearer than when we last saw him, as if he has sobered up somewhat.
”Like I said earlier… this isn’t what I’m supposed to be doing.
I’ve spent the last few years working every far-flung indy show there is, desperate to get noticed, DESPERATE to get a chance like I’m getting this weekend with APW, so right now I’m supposed to be showing a world-wide audience what Jac Glyndŵr is all about. I should be telling the fans about the name and the history behind it, teaching you all about how the wrestling business saved my life, describing the aimless delinquent hooligan I was and the better man I’m trying to be. But here I am, on the streets of Oakland at four AM, without a partner, preparing to walk into a meat grinder.
Because make no mistake, a meat grinder is exactly what awaits me on Deception. The Dying Breed… the actual Dying Breed, the same Bailey and Hopkins who were winning the tag titles at Rasslemania X while I was sleeping in a van I shared with two other wrestlers. That very week, I sold just enough t-shirts at a show in Jacksonville to buy a few drinks at a sports bar that was showing Rasslemania, so I could watch the Dying Breed wrestle… and now I’m facing them… on my damn own.
So what do I do about it? Well, there’s only one thing I can do, and that’s where you boys need to listen REALLY carefully, because Jair, Anthony… it leaves you with a decision to make. You see, anyone who’s ever been in a riot knows that even if you’re tough as hell, it’s REALLY hard to fight two men at once, it’s RIDICULOUSLY hard to fight two men who both know how to fight, and it’s nigh-on IMPOSSIBLE to fight two men who can both fight AND are good at working as a team. In fact, the only way… the ONLY way that one man has a chance in that situation… is to jump on one of those men and tear him to shreds before his friend even knows what’s happening. I mean, you’ve got to come out like a polar bear on crystal meth and just WRECK the first unlucky bastard that comes near you. You’ve got to rag-doll the poor unfortunate around the place and bounce his head off the scenery, put your boots to his skull, choke him, jump on him, drop him from the highest spot you can find with no regard for how he lands, dive on him and put the elbows to his face and if his mate tries to intervene, you shrug off those blows and you keep on doing what you’re doing until it is DONE and that first man is OUT. Then, and only then, do you give yourself a chance to win a fair fight.
So Bailey, Hopkins… I’ve got nothing against you boys… I LIKE you boys… but I’ve been working my fingers to the bone for the chance to fight on the same stage as you and if I have to leave one or both of you in an unholy mess to make that chance count, then I won’t hesitate to do it. So boys, my question to you is simply this… bearing in mind my not-at-all-secret strategy for our match…
Who’s first?
Jac suddenly drops down to street level and crawls rapidly towards the camera-phone. The scene ends as it began, with an extreme close-up of his bearded face as he flicks off the camera app and the feed abruptly cuts out.
OOC NOTE: A couple of hundred words over the 1500, I had to work on the principle that with what appears to be an AWOL tag partner I'd get a bit of grace on that front. Hope it's not an issue.
Deep orange. For a few moments, the whole world is deep orange - then we suddenly zoom away and there is room for a mouth, pursed tightly amidst a bristly ginger beard; a nose, nostrils flared; blue eyes, narrowed and glaring into a cell-phone camera, now held at arm's length to take in the full face of its owner, recognisable from the posters plastered all over Oakland as one of APW's newest members, Jac Glyndŵr. He holds his furious expression for a few more seconds before speaking.
"Yeah, I'm supposed to be shaking, just like this... but it's supposed to be in anticipation of the biggest night of my career, not the same old disappointment I've been getting in high-school gyms and armories all over America. Yeah, I'm also SUPPOSED to be thinking of interesting ways to smash a human head - but that should be the head of my opponent and not, well..."
Jac cuts off abruptly and flips the phone's camera around to face the building opposite him - the sign above the door reads "ESTEBAN'S ALL-NIGHT GYM". The camera bobs with Jac's stride as he walks through the door, to be confronted by a hulking, heavily inked Hispanic man, whose massive stature almost entirely blocks out the gym behind the small reception desk he is manning.
"Hey ese, I see you're new here! I'm Esteban, owner of the finest independent gym in Oakland. You want to work out it's $20 for the night, but we should talk membership, I got some one-time only deals just for... hey man are you filming? Who said you could film in here?"
"Relax mate, you don't want your gym to appear on the first APW Deception show, just don't sign the release form you'll be getting right after I leave."
Esteban pauses for a moment as the cogs turn in his brain, then in a moment his brief anger dissipates and his sunny salesman's demeanour returns.
"Eh, no problem homes! Film all you want, especially in my cardio room, all the latest gear man... hey how about I hook you up with a free trial workout?"
"Actually, I was hoping you could help me find someone. Has this man been to your gym at all, maybe in the last couple of weeks?"
Jac pulls a photograph out of his pocket and places it on the desk in front of Esteban. It shows a handsome, well built man with a stylish beard - his tag partner Jackson Reid. Esteban considers the image for a while, before his eyes narrow slightly in suspicion.
"Listen man, I can't talk about clients, if this guy did something you need a warrant..."
(Cutting Esteban off mid sentence) "Come on mate, do I look like a policeman to you?"
"No, but you DO look a lot like a bounty hunter... but it doesn't matter, I never saw this guy in my life. What is he to you, anyway?"
(Jac sighs deeply) "Well he's SUPPOSED to be my partner. My entire damn future kind of depends on the guy, but he's nowhere to be found. He won't answer his phone or return an email, so now I'm reduced to searching every gym in Oakland for any trace of him and... nothing. This is the last place on my list and NOBODY has a clue where he is. Which means I'm doing this thing on my own..."
Esteban looks at Jac's angry, downcast expression for a moment - and then his face lights up in sudden comprehension.
"Oh... OOOOOOHHH! Oh man I get it... let me guess, your "partner" got cold feet, right? Everything good until you want to tell his parents, right ese?"
"Wha - NO! That's not what..."
"Hey man it's OK, this is 2015, we're in Cali, Obama's in power!"
"I get it, I'm just not..."
"You know, my cousin Manuel had the same problem, his partner Dave made him tell the world they were just roommates, then he just ran off one day... hey I should introduce you guys! Manuel is in real good shape, he's here every weekday around five-thirty... maybe you come round, spot him on the bench press, see if you hit it off...”
“HE’S NOT MY DAMN BOYFRIEND, HE’S JUST MY TAG-TEAM PARTNER!”
“Then why you trolling every gym in town, wasting my time if it’s just some casual thing? You really gonna interrogate me over some dude you met on Grindr? You starting to piss me off, ese!”
The camera lurches forward as Jac leans in aggressively towards Esteban… then just as quickly settles back down. When he speaks again, his words are measured, excessively, as if he is making a great effort to control his breathing.
“Sorry to have wasted your time, mate. This was the last gym, so I guess it’s time to start on the bars”.
“Yeah, you do that. Hey… you may want to start with the Castro district, just off Market Street. Lot of bars there that cater to your ‘persuasion’…”
“Shut up, Esteban.”
---
We rejoin the scene at a smoky bar, it could be anywhere in Oakland but judging by the college-age blonde girl sat on the barstool next to Jac, leaning tipsily towards him, it’s not the Castro district. She slurs her words ever so slightly as he speaks to him.
”Glinn – doooooo – urrrrrr” (She giggles)
”That’s good, but there’s no gap between the ‘ooo’ and the ‘rrr’ sound… you’ve got to roll the R off your tongue, like this…”
He places a finger under her chin and lifts her face up towards his as he demonstrates, then watches intently as she says his name back to him.
”Glinn – dooowrrrr”
Jac stares vacantly at the girl, his eyes a little glazed from the drink.
”Well? Was that better”
Jac continues to stare until the girl nudges him playfully in the ribs, bringing him back around with exaggerated shock.
”Well?”
”I… I’m sorry, for some reason my mind started to wander when you did that with your tongue. Now come on, we’ve got lotsh... losht… we’ve still got bars to search!
”Whadda you mean more bars? Aren’t you having fun here?”
”Yeah, of coursh I’m having fun, but I gotta search AAAAALLLL the bars in Oakland tonight, and thish is only number… nine? I wanna say nine… or maybe ten…”
”Ummm… I’m just gonna go…”
”…YES! Good idea! You search the other end of the bar, I’ll go on ahead! You’re a GREAT team-mate, no’like that Jackshun Reid… catch me up at the next bar!”
The scene bobs and sways wildly as Jac staggers out of the bar and into the warm Californian night air. The scene fades out as late-night revellers shuffle nervously away from the powerfully built stranger.
---
We rejoin Jac on a nearly deserted 14th street. It’s late enough that only a couple of people are still out on the streets, lurching unsteadily home. Jac is sat on a low wall, the cellphone picking him up at an odd angle, having apparently been propped up against some piece of debris on the ground. He seems steadier and clearer than when we last saw him, as if he has sobered up somewhat.
”Like I said earlier… this isn’t what I’m supposed to be doing.
I’ve spent the last few years working every far-flung indy show there is, desperate to get noticed, DESPERATE to get a chance like I’m getting this weekend with APW, so right now I’m supposed to be showing a world-wide audience what Jac Glyndŵr is all about. I should be telling the fans about the name and the history behind it, teaching you all about how the wrestling business saved my life, describing the aimless delinquent hooligan I was and the better man I’m trying to be. But here I am, on the streets of Oakland at four AM, without a partner, preparing to walk into a meat grinder.
Because make no mistake, a meat grinder is exactly what awaits me on Deception. The Dying Breed… the actual Dying Breed, the same Bailey and Hopkins who were winning the tag titles at Rasslemania X while I was sleeping in a van I shared with two other wrestlers. That very week, I sold just enough t-shirts at a show in Jacksonville to buy a few drinks at a sports bar that was showing Rasslemania, so I could watch the Dying Breed wrestle… and now I’m facing them… on my damn own.
So what do I do about it? Well, there’s only one thing I can do, and that’s where you boys need to listen REALLY carefully, because Jair, Anthony… it leaves you with a decision to make. You see, anyone who’s ever been in a riot knows that even if you’re tough as hell, it’s REALLY hard to fight two men at once, it’s RIDICULOUSLY hard to fight two men who both know how to fight, and it’s nigh-on IMPOSSIBLE to fight two men who can both fight AND are good at working as a team. In fact, the only way… the ONLY way that one man has a chance in that situation… is to jump on one of those men and tear him to shreds before his friend even knows what’s happening. I mean, you’ve got to come out like a polar bear on crystal meth and just WRECK the first unlucky bastard that comes near you. You’ve got to rag-doll the poor unfortunate around the place and bounce his head off the scenery, put your boots to his skull, choke him, jump on him, drop him from the highest spot you can find with no regard for how he lands, dive on him and put the elbows to his face and if his mate tries to intervene, you shrug off those blows and you keep on doing what you’re doing until it is DONE and that first man is OUT. Then, and only then, do you give yourself a chance to win a fair fight.
So Bailey, Hopkins… I’ve got nothing against you boys… I LIKE you boys… but I’ve been working my fingers to the bone for the chance to fight on the same stage as you and if I have to leave one or both of you in an unholy mess to make that chance count, then I won’t hesitate to do it. So boys, my question to you is simply this… bearing in mind my not-at-all-secret strategy for our match…
Who’s first?
Jac suddenly drops down to street level and crawls rapidly towards the camera-phone. The scene ends as it began, with an extreme close-up of his bearded face as he flicks off the camera app and the feed abruptly cuts out.
OOC NOTE: A couple of hundred words over the 1500, I had to work on the principle that with what appears to be an AWOL tag partner I'd get a bit of grace on that front. Hope it's not an issue.
