Post by D.A. Boston on Mar 25, 2015 20:54:48 GMT -6
[The scene opens on "Fame," a club in Winnipeg. Twenty-somethings in flamboyant clothing grind on the dance floor while heavy EDM blares from the speakers, a DJ spinning on the main stage as the strobe pulses and smoke drifts across the crowd. We move through the crowd -- a woman taking Molly, a man failing as he tries to hit on her, drinks spilling everywhere while people make generally bad decisions -- towards a velvet rope. A bouncer moves the rope as we breeze through into a back room, with private booths. We head toward the largest one, and there, surrounded by a crowd of people enjoying bottle service, is our boy: "The Phenomenal" one himself, Steve Herring, fresh off his first victory at the last Breakthrough. Its been a few weeks of training to keep in fighting shape, but now it's time to unwind before his first VoW Pay-Per-View. Herring is talking to two women in club clothes on either side of him. He's wearing a dark blue suit with black lapels, and a black button down shirt underneath. It's a dark room... but he's wearing sunglasses? It's a thing, I guess.]
SH: Maybe it was the feel of steel in my hands as I smashed it over that homeless idiot's head, maybe it was throwing that piece of trash in the trash, but beating the hell out of Ollie the Magic Bum felt damn good. And shoving it in the face of those stupid fans at ringside, it doesn't get any better than that.
Girl#1: It was so amazing.
Girl#2: A-may-zing.
SH: But it doesn't matter how good it felt, it didn't take away from the fact that I was above that match, I was above my opponent, I'm above most of the competition in this damn place. I'm certainly above those mongoloids in the crowd, and don't get me started on that dunce Axel Reid, basically sitting there rooting for my quote-unquote "competition" while I was putting on one of the best damn matches he'd ever seen.
Girl#2: You should relax and have a good time. Do you want to dance?
SH: With you? haha
[She stands. disgusted by this jerk in front of her, and walks away.]
SH: Can you believe her? Manitoba trash.
Girl#1: I'm from Manitoba, rude.
SH: Oh come on--
[Girl#1 also walks away in disgust.]
SH: --Come on! Don't be like that!
[Herring turns to his recently fired -- and now rehired -- manager, Francis. Francis is a slightly chubby, short, balding Italian guy from the Bronx. He's wearing a frumpy gray suit, with a loose cotton plaid tie. He's also just a little too sweaty. He calls Herring "champ," despite him not being the champion of... well, anything, yet.]
SH: Do you believe this? I don't believe this! What is this world *coming* to??! Two chicks from Winnipeg turning *me* down!
Francis: You were maybe a lil bit rude, ta be honest, champ.
SH: Excuse me?
Francis: I'm jus' sayin.
SH: What do I pay you for, huh? To bring me down? I'm trying to unwind here, I'm paying for this whole thing. Do I need to hear it from some tubby scrub who can't squeeze together two nickels to make a dime? Tell me, what do you have for me tonight?
Francis: Well champ, we've got to talk some last minute strategy for the Pay-Per-View. We're coming up on Nothing Else Matters, it's important to prep, to make a big statement!
SH: Strategy-- ha! You've got to be kidding me. Here's some more trash they've thrown my way. Let's see, let's run down what we have here, shall we? A 30-pound teddy bear from the girls high-school track team: No business being in the same ring as me. Some lumbering Irishman with a negative IQ who barely speaks English despite living about an hour away from the damn country that invented the language: No business being in the same ring as me. And what, some cornbread hillbilly from duhhhhh Ken-tuhk-ee? No. Business. Being in the same ring as me. Give me a break. What am I Frank?
Francis: Too good.
SH: Say it again.
Francis: Too good.
SH: You're damn right I am. And let me tell you something else, there's not a damn thing that's gonna stop me from wiping the floor with this pack of scrubs, and taking the next step toward the VoW Zero Gravity championship. And I don't care if that means Chase Michaels, Michael Adrian, or even that selfie-taking adolescent Ziu Zhong. That belt might as well have my damn name on it. You want to talk about a Visionary of Wrestling? Look no further than the handsome son-of-a-b***h you see in front of you, the No.1 Stunner of the squared circle, the damn Phenom himself.
[Herring gets up and stands on the table, throws down a wad of cash and addresses his entourage.]
SH: WHAT AM I?
Entourage: TOO GOOD FOR THE GAME!
SH: DAMN RIGHT! Now everybody get your asses up. We're headed to the afterparty.
[He jumps down, and the crowd walks out.]
SH: Maybe it was the feel of steel in my hands as I smashed it over that homeless idiot's head, maybe it was throwing that piece of trash in the trash, but beating the hell out of Ollie the Magic Bum felt damn good. And shoving it in the face of those stupid fans at ringside, it doesn't get any better than that.
Girl#1: It was so amazing.
Girl#2: A-may-zing.
SH: But it doesn't matter how good it felt, it didn't take away from the fact that I was above that match, I was above my opponent, I'm above most of the competition in this damn place. I'm certainly above those mongoloids in the crowd, and don't get me started on that dunce Axel Reid, basically sitting there rooting for my quote-unquote "competition" while I was putting on one of the best damn matches he'd ever seen.
Girl#2: You should relax and have a good time. Do you want to dance?
SH: With you? haha
[She stands. disgusted by this jerk in front of her, and walks away.]
SH: Can you believe her? Manitoba trash.
Girl#1: I'm from Manitoba, rude.
SH: Oh come on--
[Girl#1 also walks away in disgust.]
SH: --Come on! Don't be like that!
[Herring turns to his recently fired -- and now rehired -- manager, Francis. Francis is a slightly chubby, short, balding Italian guy from the Bronx. He's wearing a frumpy gray suit, with a loose cotton plaid tie. He's also just a little too sweaty. He calls Herring "champ," despite him not being the champion of... well, anything, yet.]
SH: Do you believe this? I don't believe this! What is this world *coming* to??! Two chicks from Winnipeg turning *me* down!
Francis: You were maybe a lil bit rude, ta be honest, champ.
SH: Excuse me?
Francis: I'm jus' sayin.
SH: What do I pay you for, huh? To bring me down? I'm trying to unwind here, I'm paying for this whole thing. Do I need to hear it from some tubby scrub who can't squeeze together two nickels to make a dime? Tell me, what do you have for me tonight?
Francis: Well champ, we've got to talk some last minute strategy for the Pay-Per-View. We're coming up on Nothing Else Matters, it's important to prep, to make a big statement!
SH: Strategy-- ha! You've got to be kidding me. Here's some more trash they've thrown my way. Let's see, let's run down what we have here, shall we? A 30-pound teddy bear from the girls high-school track team: No business being in the same ring as me. Some lumbering Irishman with a negative IQ who barely speaks English despite living about an hour away from the damn country that invented the language: No business being in the same ring as me. And what, some cornbread hillbilly from duhhhhh Ken-tuhk-ee? No. Business. Being in the same ring as me. Give me a break. What am I Frank?
Francis: Too good.
SH: Say it again.
Francis: Too good.
SH: You're damn right I am. And let me tell you something else, there's not a damn thing that's gonna stop me from wiping the floor with this pack of scrubs, and taking the next step toward the VoW Zero Gravity championship. And I don't care if that means Chase Michaels, Michael Adrian, or even that selfie-taking adolescent Ziu Zhong. That belt might as well have my damn name on it. You want to talk about a Visionary of Wrestling? Look no further than the handsome son-of-a-b***h you see in front of you, the No.1 Stunner of the squared circle, the damn Phenom himself.
[Herring gets up and stands on the table, throws down a wad of cash and addresses his entourage.]
SH: WHAT AM I?
Entourage: TOO GOOD FOR THE GAME!
SH: DAMN RIGHT! Now everybody get your asses up. We're headed to the afterparty.
[He jumps down, and the crowd walks out.]
