View Full Version : Borden v Tact -NonTitle-

06-13-04, 08:18 PM
All RP for the Non Title match between World Champion LARRY TACT and ALEX BORDEN should be done in this thread.

All RP and angles should be submitted by Sunday June 20th, at 11:59pm. All angles should be submitted to secandido@comcast.net .

06-16-04, 02:10 AM


Interstate 90 East
Somewhere in Illinois
3:13 AM

Alex Borden had traveled a great distance by the time he hit the Illinois state-line. He glanced at the green digital clock, going on eight hours now. Shifting his grip on the wheel and sighing deeply, he bore down on that never ending horizon all through the night. Alex amused himself with the changing radio stations and the old tapes he had. Playing, looping, droning on and on, the music kept his brain above the fog.

Everytime he thought back to his victory over Travis Smith he smiled.

That arrogant ass. he thought. His proudest victory to date, for sure. But what of the big question mark that loomed before him? Mindkiller. Alex knew next to nothing about this new masked character he was facing at Raucous. His ignorence left an uncomfortable nagging sensation in the back of his mind. Perhaps when he arrives in Michigan, he can look into his background...

The rearview mirror suddenly filled with light as a car from behind him revved its engine and rammed into Alex’s rear bumper.

“Ugh!” the impact whipped Alex’s head back Squinting through the light, Alex peered at the mirror and tried to get a glimpse of what was hitting him. Beyond the blinding headlights was darkness. He could not make out the vehicle. Just as he looked over his shoulder the car blew its horn and rammed itself into one of Alex’s rear fenders. The tires screeched and his car’s path swayed a little, but Alex managed to keep himself on the road.

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!! went the car behind him.

“What the f*ck?” Alex muttered and sped up.

The menicing vehicle matched his speed and rammed into him again; from the left side. It sped up to creep beside Alex’s car. He could see by then that it was a red pick-up truck that was harrassing him. It was new, clean. He strained his eyes trying to see the driver and/or passangers. Who could be behind this? Faces, names, and voices flashed through his mind. Someone from prison? Bigelow? Pauly? Was it someone from New ERA? Suicide? Smith? Was it Mindkiller? A second later, when the red truck pulled up window-to-window next to Alex, he got his answer.

Sitting in the leather-upholstered drivers seat, gleeming at Alex, was Marie Neiden; the wife of Alex’s comatose friend, Tom. She cursed and spat hate with madness and anguish in her eyes.

“Wha- what? Marie?!” Alex was shocked and confused. “What the hell are you doing?!”

She veered into him, grinding her wheels against his. She pushed his car against the granite shoulder of the interstate. The right window shattered inward and sparks flew as she used her truck to grind Alex against the concrete wall. For what seemed like an endless series of moments, Alex struggled frantically against the larger, crushing vehicle. He accelerated, breaked, swerved, and blasted his horn. Something, anything, to be free of this onslaught! Marie turned right, away from Alex, to veer back into him, smashing the drivers side door in.

Alex was thrown from his seat and was slammed against the passenger door. Immediately his car spun out tail-first. He was freed from Marie in her truck but his car spun 180 degrees, smoke flying from his screeching tires.

“Ahh f*ck!!” Alex cried. He was crumpled under the dashboard on the passenger side.

Marie’s truck stopped. She hesitated for a few quiet moments, then sped off down the highway.

Alex laid there silently to make sure she was really gone. He decided to take a little nap right there.

5834 Maplepark Drive
Cleveland, Ohio
10:00 PM
Alex Borden’s home
The Present

Alex called it an accident. The cops didn’t argue.

He got a ride to the local ER to see about his aching chest. His car was towed to some impound place in Illinois. Abandoning it, he withdrew some money from his budding bank account and caught a flight home. Time was far too short and Alex knew he wouldn’t make it to his match with Mindkiller. He flaked on Raucous.

He was back in his apartment, watching the news but not really paying any attention. His eyes skimmed the screen while he wondered what he should do about Marie. Something, surely, had to be done now.

Never, never in my wildest imagining, would I suspect that Marie would ever lay a hand on me. She seemed so small to me before. Funny Marie; sweet Marie. GOD!! He clenched his fist and felt that familiar anger flow through his essence like hot lava. That crazy b*tch! She tried to kill me! How? How the f*ck could she do this?! Running me off the road hundreds of miles from Parma. Who the f*ck does she think she is?! How did she even find me!? And what if she tries again...? The ladder thought chilled him. I won’t let it happen again. I will always live in the shadow of what happened to Tom, but I’ll be damned if I let this ***** f*ck up everything I’ve been working for. If she tries something again, I swear I’ll kill her.

Alex fed Marcus LaRoque the same story he gave to the cops and stuck with it. LaRoque, to put it mildly, did not like it. Still, he booked him in a match next week with none other than the Larry Tact, the reigning New ERA World Heavyweight Champion. It was a non-title match but Alex knew a great opportunity when he saw one.

This coming week, Alex had to push all these bizarre distractions in his life aside and concentrate on the single most important bout in his life. He had already looked into Tact’s history. He has an impressive title history, and he spent time in some major organizations but he found nil on his background. Where he came from, where he trained, ect. All he knew about Larry Tact is what he saw so far, and what he saw was in a very real way, unsettling. In a fed filled with masked mystery men, strange in-card promos, and sappy mic talk, Tact seemed like a man with a purpose. Like himself. This has always been cause for concern with Alex. Tact stuck out. Not only because he was the world champion and not only because he was a lockerroom legend, but because he has the burning in him. The Fire, the unbreakable will, burns in the eyes of every soul who possess it. Larry Tact has The Fire inside.

Like me. Thought Alex. His fire is my obsticle. He is the test that I have to pass. And by God, I will.

06-16-04, 04:53 PM
OORP: My other handle doesn't seem to be working right now. So, throwin' it back to ''ye olde'' reliable handle. :D

Open scene. We find ourselves in a cozy looking apartment. It's a nice place -- sofas, entertainment set, mini bar with a few chairs in front, a kitchenette, some paintings on the walls -- enough to make someone feel comfortable. A door in one corner of the main room opens, and out walks a woman. She's certainly a few inches taller than the average woman, with a slim figure evident by the curves of her body, which her sunflower yellow sundress displays very nicely. She tosses her shoulder-length, auburn hair aside while walking into the main room, looking around, seemingly registering what's where. She then goes over to the counter of the mini bar and picks up a packet of papers.

From out of the other room comes another figure. Larry Tact. He's got on a pair of blue workout pants, a white stripe running down either outer side; a matching jacket, white undershirt underneath; and blue/yellow patterned sneakers, with fancy looking "T"s on the sides, and "speed lines" around them. Tact's colored, golden blonde hair is held out of his face by a blue headband. While walking and talking around the woman, he sounds a bit insecure.

Tact: Are you really going through with this, Cin?

Cindy: I'm doing what I feel is best for me. I could use a little vacation from the daily routine, anyway.

The way she says it makes Tact's stomach gargle internally, bubbling and popping inside. He doesn't like the sound of this. His girlfriend's "vacation" plans had been abruptly made, to begin with. Tact found out about them only a few days ago, when she had sprung them on him. Tact thought to keep cool and play things out just the same.

Tact: But we're going back to Hawaii in a couple days. Cindy, don't tell me you're bored with Hawaii?

Cindy: No, I'm not bored with Hawaii. I'm bored with this.

She motions around the room.

Tact: What's 'this?' The room? I can have it changed--

Cindy: Larry! Honestly, you can't expect to flick your wrist and snap your fingers to make every problem go away. This is something personal, something I want to do. Something I HAVE to do.

Tact: Look, I'm just worried about you. This isn't exactly a vacation you've got in store. It's more like being thrown into 'no man's land' for 38 days.

Cindy: Which is exactly why I want to do this.

Tact finally manages to round on Cindy and look her in the eyes. He can see she's not about to budge on this. But how could he just let her go? Tact puts his hands on her shoulders as they stare into one another's eyes. He gives a small smile, but his eyes show concern.

Tact: Hey, you don't need to prove anything to me. I already know how great you are. I know you can hold your own, it's not an issue. We've both got jobs, things to keep us busy, and we both have worked through that. We've been together for two years....what's wrong?

Tact sees Cindy's expression hardening, but not in anger. Tact's seen this before. She's trying to hide her true feelings. Tact's stomach rolls over again. Was this to do with their relationship? Did she want....

Tact: Cindy...are you tired of me? Of us?

Cindy's mouth opens slightly as she lets out a gasp, sheds a single tear, and shakes her head.

Cindy: No, Larry, it's not like that! This has nothing to do with us.

Tact embraces her, and she clutches to him, as his stomach settles a little, his nerves calming after that scare. He didn't think he was so dense as to not see if there was a problem with them. But then...

Tact: So what is it, then?

Cindy: I just...feel like I haven't done enough. I want to know that I can still make it on my own.

Tact: Cin, let me help you, then. You don't have to leave....

Cindy looks up at him, caressing his face with her hand.

Cindy: It's got nothing to do with us, but....it's not something I can find out with you, either. I need to do this on my own, Larry.

He certainly didn't understand why. She could depend on him. She could trust him. But then he began to understand. Cindy wanted to do this on her own, to reassure herself of that very fact. That she could still make her own way. Tact would only be a distraction to her efforts. He didn't know why she suddenly had this feeling of doubt, but he could understand. It was similar to what he'd been dealing with for the past months. Finding where you belong again.

Cindy: Oh, I'm sorry, Larry. I hope you can understand.

Tact nods and embraces her again.

Tact: Of course I do. It's just one of those things that you gotta do. I'll be rooting for you, and when you get back we'll celebrate.

Cindy smiles and they share a kiss before she sits at the counter of the bar and begins filling out the form. End scene.

Open scene. Tact is now alone in the main room of the apartment. He sips on a red drink in a glass, with an orange slice hanging off the side. Tact knows what his girlfriend is getting into. He just got back from the island not long ago, and the memories are still fresh in his mind. He doesn't have any desire to let her go off to Season Two of Wrestling Survivor, despite her being fully capable of holding her own. Tact simply doesn't want to think about the whole experience, what he went through, how it affected him.

Tact: I must have been inspiration for her own idea...(grunts)...wonderful.

Tact sighs. He still remembers, vividly, of the long nights and how elusive a thing like sleep was.

Tact: Not that there wasn't....a good thing or two about it...

Tact takes out his wallet and opens it. He takes out a small photo, of ten people. The final ten Season One survivor contestants on the island. Tact traces the picture with his finger, then shakes his head.

Tact: Nah, that wasn't meant to be. It almost turned into something that definitely...should have been....er...

Tact drifts off with his words, staring at the photo. Suddenly the door opens and Cindy comes in with a few grocery bags, closing the door behind her. After fumbling around for a couple of seconds, Tact stuffs the photo in his wallet and puts it away. He stands up and helps out Cindy with the bags while making small talk.

Cindy: I saw a commercial for the next Raucous on my way back.

Tact: Oh yeah? What did it say?

Cindy: You're scheduled in the Main Event.

Tact: They have me defending the title again, huh? Well, no matter. There isn't anyone who can stop me. My time is now, and that's not going to suddenly end in one match.

Cindy: Actually, I didn't hear anything about the title being on the line. All it said was you were facing Alex Borden....

Tact looks a bit surprised as he enters the kitchenette. He puts the bag he's holding on the counter.

Tact: Borden?

Cindy: Yeah...why? What's the matter?

Tact: Nothing...(smiles)...nothing at all. I guess LaRoque finally had a word with Marceau...told her to give me a little of my due.

Cindy wets a towel and wipes off some jars.

Cindy: Why do you say that?

Tact: Cuz Alex Borden certainly isn't a prime candidate to take me down. He's a rookie, and despite things going well for him thus far, he's not ready for me. Not yet.

Cindy: Well, you never know when a star will show his talent. He DID manage to get past Suicide.

Tact: Pure luck. Besides, you've seen him recently, haven't you? Ulysis? A month ago, he wasn't the same person as he is now. Right now, if Borden faced him, it'd be a much different match. But I'm not Ulysis, in any case. I've been on a run here since my debut. I came out of the gate full steam and passed everyone. I bet they all thought I'd fall off my pace, lose a bit of steam and falter, then fade away from the top tier. Well that's not happening. And that's not GOING to happen. Why would I lose momentum if I just keep winning? Every time someone doubts me, I just pull further ahead. Right now, there isn't even a number one contender to the World Championship.

Cindy: What about Rabesque?

Tact: He's my opponent for Destrucity. But what has he done to prove he deserves a shot anymore than Chaos?

Cindy: Larry, come on. You have to admit his TV Title reign was something....

Tact: No, it wasn't. Cin, he had a run. But when he stepped in the ring with an opponent of his caliber, look what happened.

Cindy: Larry! I know you saw the tape of the show. You know that isn't true. It was a stalemate until that person came into the ring--

Tact: Oh, so that suddenly excuses him from losing the match? Just cuz there's some loose cannon on the run, we're supposed to overlook the result?

Cindy: Larry, I didn't mean it like that....

Tact: Just like how Edmunds let some stupid twink in to 'injure' him, so the end result of the match would be overlooked? Is THAT more how you meant it?

Cindy slams a jar down on the counter. Tact flinches.

Cindy: YOU KNOW what I meant! The end result of Rabesque and Chaos' match didn't tell all, and you know what? The way Rabesque was looking at you when you left, I think he blames YOU for that attack! So you'd better be careful when you face him, or else you might not have the World Title with you when you leave Chicago, Larry!

Ensue the awkward silence. Cindy puts away items in the fridge, while Tact stands lost in thought. Finally, Tact breaks the silence.

Tact: I know....

Cindy: Know what?

Tact: I know Rabesque is a threat. He's a challenge. But I'm ready for him. I've been waiting for this match...for nearly four years I've been waiting. And I'm not about to let myself be unprepared for this match. There's no way he's going to catch me off guard. I'm too good for that, and HE had better realize that. Otherwise, he's going to be less of a challenge than I thought.

Cindy: I don't really care how famed and "legendary" Rabesque is. As long as YOU know what he brings to the ring, then I don't care what he does, because I know you'll be ready. That's what matters to me.

Cindy smiles and waves a finger scoldingly.

Cindy: And don't look past Borden, either!

Tact smirks and gives Cindy a kiss.

Tact: Yes, dear.

Cindy: Rabesque is a big match, I know you want to face him. That's no reason to lose what you've worked up to so far, all these months.

Tact: No, I don't see Alex Borden ruining my perfection. If I was going to look to Destrucity now, then maybe. But I'm not. Raucous will be what matters this week. One more Raucous, one more opponent. One more tactful surrender. Alex Borden doesn't understand what he's going up against. I'm no legend. I'm not some all-time great in the record books, yet. I'm like the Pistons. I'm not flashy, or have a sparkly name, or give plenty of soundbites for the highlight reel. But what I do is put in more effort than the flashy names. I don't hold back, looking for a challenge. I take EVERY opponent as some sort of challenge. Alex Borden isn't going to be expected to win this match. But he's going to do everything he can to win. That's all I need to know, cuz it tells me that I'm going to have a challenge, indeed. I won't hold back. I won't bring anything but my best. So far, that's been more than anyone could handle. I'm not going to let that change. I'll show him what taking on the World Champion, the New Era, means. What atmosphere there is when you take on the top. I'll show him how far apart we are. I will break him...just like the others.

Tact goes back to the mini bar and picks up his drink. He admires it while holding it to the light.

Tact: And when it's all over with, Alex Borden will have been...

Tact takes a sip of the drink, then smacks his lips and smiles.

Tact: ...tactilized.

Tact finishes the drink and takes off the orange slice, sucking on it while walking back into the kitchen. End scene.

06-16-04, 11:38 PM

Alex was tired. Way too tired. He was home for a single night before he got the call from his promoter, Greg Birel. Apparently, it was time to get back on the road.

He was riding in a spacious, deluxe tour bus fully equipped with the comforts of home: shower, queen sized bed, kitchenette, lounge space with a television, the works. Everything a bright young superstar might need on the road to wrestling glory. It was longer then a school bus and taller then an RV, the exterior was the color of ivory with brown and green ribbons painted on the sides. The interior was all polished grey steel and solid, natural oak. It was a real vision. Lovingly provided by Greg Birel.

There was some autograph gigs down south that Alex was booked for; a couple outlet malls and a CD Warehouse. Not only that, but he needed to promote his match with Larry Tact. All these efforts were brainchilds of Greg Birel. And as time passed by Alex as slowly and surely as the landscape outside his window, his spirit grew more and more morose.

He hated traveling this way, encased in a steel fortress, with a way to indulge any whim he might experience. This was far more luxurious then anything he had ever experienced before. Although he was comfortable and relaxed, it was awkward for him. It was wrong. Alex felt like a freak parading around the nation in this rolling spectacle.

He was sitting on one of the built-in couches, his face turned toward an open window, puffing on a cigarette. His brown hair was pulled back in a short ponytail. For the first time in weeks, Alex had a little time to himself, free of pressing responsibilities for the moment. And within the safety of the bus, he didn’t need to worry about Marie Neiden going after him again, or anyone else for that matter. It bothered him that he was in a position to fear for his safety because of a deranged woman.

And not just a woman. Her! Alex thought, inhaling sharply on his Newport. I never in a million years would say she had it in her to do what she did. But she’ll regret it. She’s not brave, just stupid.

Birel sat down next to him.

“Hey, champ.” He greeted Alex.

Alex gave him a sideways glance. He really didn’t care much for him. He grunted in reply.

Birel sighed. “I don’t know what the hell you’re so mopey about. Look at your digs! You’re travelling in style, like you should! You’ve got a date with your adoring public, and you have the biggest match in your career to promote! You’re f*ckin’ golden, man!”

“You don’t know, Greg. You just have no f*ckin’ idea.” Alex kept his gaze on the wet farmland in the distance. “The more I get into this superstar bullsh*t, the more the sh*t from before keeps piling up.”

“What do you mean, ‘from before’?” Birel asked.

Alex was silent for a moment. He took another drag. “Nevermind.” he said.

Birel pulled out a leather case and opened it. He pulled out a peice of paper and held it to Alex.

“Whats this?” asked Alex, looking away from the window to examine the paper.

“Its your script. For the promo we’re going to shoot.”

“Another script? Look, we’ve talked about this! I told you, I’m not doing it that way!” he glared at Birel.

“What way? The right way? I know! Thats why you hired me!”

“Hired you?! I never hired you for anything. You told me this entire arrangement was completely un-official, off the books. Right?!”

“Oh absolutely! Completely casual, but... there is the matter of that contract you signed.” Birel assured him.

“Yeah? What of it?” Alex arched his brow.

“Well, it’s all there in black in white, Alex. It clearly stipulates that all creative control over televised promos belongs solely to NEW writers and executives. And... to me, of course.”

“WHAT?!” Alex exclaimed.

“I can’t say I know why this comes as a surprise. You read the contract didn’t you?

He hadn’t. Alex never paid a lot of attention to little details like ‘contracts’ and ‘pledges’. He really never gave it much thought at all. It was just one of those little things he always took for granted. For a second Alex was speachless. This sudden bomb hit him hard. He got up and walked across the tour bus to the kitchenette. Bracing himself on the sink, he closed his eyes and cleared his head. “You... you gave me your word.”

“I did-” said Birel from the couch. “-and you signed it.”

“You son of a b*tch.” Alex turned on him, seething.

“Alex. Calm down. Now just relax and listen to me. A deals a deal.” Birel got up and set the paper in his hand down on a counter next to Alex. “You need to look over this script I have. Believe me its great. You’ll love it, and you’ll thank me when I make you famous and stinking rich. But right now you have to play ball.” he put his hand on Alex’s shoulder. “Make no mistake, my friend. We are going to do things my way from now on. Understand?”

He pushed Birel’s hand from his shoulder and got in his face.

“Understand?” Greg Birel repeated, keeping his cool.

Alex breathed in sharply and, through clenched teeth, said “Yes.”


It wasn’t long after that that they arrived at their first destination- an autograph session at the grand opening of a CD Warehouse in a small town. The turn-out was slightly disappointing- to Greg Birel anyway. Alex really didn’t care. Still, about two hundred fifty people came with various peices of New ERA merchandise in hand for Alex to sign.

He played nice. Most of the people were tolerable to Alex when they were too flustered to speak. All he had to do was smile and sign away. Maybe pose for a picture or too... answer a few questions, whatever. For the first hour it really wasn’t that bad. But the incessent babble began to grate his nerves. The sound of hundreds of teenagers and kids chattering and laughing cut through him like a knife, though all these people were here for him.

These people are here because they’re grubby little consumers who do what they’re told. Alex thought, referring to the media.

None of them had anything interesting to say. They would just ask mundane, redundant questions like, “Wow, are you really that Alex Borden from the TV?!”, “Are you nervous about your match?”, “Are you really going to wrestle Larry Tact?”, “Who do you think is going to be tougher in the ring, Suicide or Tact?”

It was all about Larry Tact.

Larry Tact.
Larry Tact.
Larry Tact.

Jesus Christ. Why bother to promote the match at all? Everyone’s already sh*tting themselves with excitement. They really think I’m a sure loser. They just want to see Tact kick my ass.

Even the idle conversations being held in the line was filled with rambling about Larry Tact. When they were within earshot of Alex, he picked up-

“Why’d it have to be Alex Boredom? Isn’t he a rookie?”

“You know, he’s facing the World Champion next week!”

“He’s all right. But I want to meet Larry Tact someday. He is sooo hot!

“Yeah, his hair is gorgeous!”

After two hours he finally lost his patience. Alex calmly got up from his table, told Greg Birel to kindly suck his balls, and walked through the back of the building to the bus.

Birel, utilizing his usual P.R. proficiency, thanked everyone for coming and that Alex Borden would be available for autographs at The Easton Mall in Ashton. He also reminded everybody to be sure to tune in to Raucous to watch the exciting Larry Tact/Alex Borden exhibition.

Alex went immediately to the shower in his bus and locked himself inside. He sat on the ground and just rocked a little in the dark.

“This is stupid. This is stupid. This is so stupid.” He repeated aloud.

He needed to take some time. The gazes of all those people so happy to see a real wrestler bore into him and began to feel almost tangible. It was as if a billion ants were crawling all over his prone body. He shuttered. After all this, he felt that if he didn’t get out he would break someone’s neck. It didn’t matter where, just out. Some bar, some club, whatever. Anywhere where he wouldn’t be recognized and he could become Joe Shmoe just like he always was before.

Alex got up from the shower and prepared a disguise for a night out on the town.....

06-19-04, 02:07 PM
Fade in: sand from the beach kicks up in small grainy groups, dancing along the rest as if in performance. Some of the grains find their way onto towels or stomachs of sun tanners, while other grains go into the ocean, melting and being absorbed at the touch of the salt water. Walking up the beach are many people trying to catch the best heat of the sun while it's available today. They look for a spot on the sand, and set down their towels and lotion or tanning oil, ready to try for that award-winning tan-- or maybe just a light browning. Other people swim in the ocean water, which is such a deep blue it seems like a void, ready to suck in someone just by gazing at it. As enchanting as the view of it is, people enjoy swimming in it just as much, as they wade through the cool blue liquid. One of them, coming out from the water at this time, is Larry Tact. He's got on a pair of blue and green swim trunks, and walks along the point where the sand and water meet every few seconds, as the tide washes over the sand. Tact looks cool and calm while speaking.

Tact: I've been thinking about a lot of things this past week or so. After Raucous, I had to wonder just what was going on around NEW. Being the New Era, I need to make sure to keep on track with all the things happening, of course. And there ARE plenty of things going on right now. You have Suicide and Chaos giving each other hell, and pulling Jeanie into it as well. Douglas and Marx seem to be ready to collide, not to mention Travis Smith and John Doe. There are a few mysteries needing solving, and of course agendas that must be kept in mind. MWG wants to come in and stir things up in more ways than one, as if he really believes he can do much of anything to those that matter. He's still living in the past if he can really buy into all of his own bull(BLEEP). But, as always....

Tact grins and gives a slight nod.

Tact: ....I'm a step or two ahead of everyone. I know what requires my highest priority, and what the chain of command are trying to do. I know this "mystery person'' surfacing around Jean and I is probably just another contender. Think you can get the jump on me if I'm wrestling? Or send a message through attacking Rabesque? Well anyone who thinks that is wrong. I'm not going to be intimidated by some person running around in a generic Halloween ninja outfit. In fact, my patience is growing thin with this person. If they believe it's so easy to run around NEW and try making a statement to me, then I've got a proposal....a CHALLENGE to this mystery person. You think you're hot stuff? Alright, then....why don't you find me at this coming Raucous. And when you find me, come at me. Yeah, you try and attack me at this Raucous. I dare you. Cuz the fact of the matter is....you won't even get close. You may have gotten Iris, the little speed bug....and you might have caught Rabesque, as he was obsessing over getting to apply his...(snickers)...LEGENDARY submission hold. But you won't...get...Larry...Tact. You'll be lucky to lay a FINGER on me. If you were to, just remember, it's cuz I would LET you get that close...just so I could lay you out PERSONALLY. Then, maybe you'll understand that, even if you WANT to be a contender...after all the running around you've done....you just can't meet the standards of the New Era. You'll just be left behind.

Tact continues walking along the beach, the wind sending strands of his colored blonde hair in front of his face. He brushes them away, his expression taking on a less smug look.

Tact: I've even been keeping track of New Era's promotional schedule-- other than my own dates, of course. Mainly, this is where I'm hearing one ALEX BORDEN has been. I've yet to hear him speak to me, as he most certainly should if he wants to make ANY sort of impression. I'm GENEROUSLY taking the initiative, and speaking to you, Alex, right now. But keep in mind, without saying a word, you've already begun to make your impression on me. It's not a good one, Alex. I'm not here to make friends, Borden, so don't mistake my words. But with an agent that is reportedly writing pretty big checks for his client to fill....I'D advise that YOU get talking. Either to your agent, to everyone else, or both. Cuz otherwise, those expectations will continue to be high....too high for you to achieve. Maybe that wouldn't be the case against someone else....but that's not the case. You're going up against the top at Raucous....the New Era World Heavyweight Champion. You're going against me. In case your agent didn't tell you....you can't run from the match. Not a rookie like you, who NEEDS this. You gotta get your feet wet, after all. This is a TRUE test for you. This match will show just how far you have to go, Alex. I remember being in such a situation, a long time ago. It wasn't easy, and I wasn't expected to win. But I came out and took it to my opponents. I didn't hold back my words. I didn't pull any punches. And I came out of it having made a statement. Now, Alex, I find myself on the other end of that match. I see my opponent has been HIDING from me, something I would never allow myself to do. And you know what, Alex Borden?

Tact's expression takes on a look of disgust, his mouth curling in a frown.

Tact: That doesn't satisfy me. That doesn't show me anything. It doesn't give me the sense that you're going to give me ANY sort of challenge in this match. Truthfully....that really sucks. Don't tell me you're going to fall short of even what I expected, Borden. I don't want NEW giving me matches I could yawn through and win. I want a match that I can SHOWCASE my talent! I look for matches where I can receive a CHALLENGE. So far, I haven't gotten a challenge here that's been too big for me to take on. I don't know if you've got some kind of plan or not, Alex, but I can say this much. HIDING isn't going to get you anywhere in the eyes of the twinks and the people. Of course....maybe you're just another one of the people, really. Not a true challenger.

Tact smirks again, though still looking like he has a bad taste left in his mouth. He pauses in walking and spits into the water, then continues on.

Tact: But, it's a free country, and so I suppose you can do what you want, Alex. You chose to be a wrestler, and now you choose not to voice yourself to me. Fine. So be it. Then you'll have to deal with the consequences of those choices, at Raucous. These days, not many rookies make it through the first six months, Alex. You're about halfway there, and now you have to face a World Champion. Maybe you find that pretty good, heh Alex? Think you've impressed the hierarchy a bit, so they put you in this match? Who knows, I don't, but I doubt many people envy you right now. Cuz as difficult as the first six months may be for a rookie...facing a man like me at this time is not what you need. Cuz I break spirits, Alex. I make my money off of twisting people in ways they aren't meant to be....and not just physically. I AM a true test, Alex. So if you can beat me, or even SURVIVE me and continue going here? Then maybe you have what it takes to be included in the New Era. MY era. Maybe.

Tact stops walking and turns to face forward.

Tact: Are my words confusing you, Alex? Do they seem harsh one minute, and light the next? Can you really paint me as a villain or a hero? Speak to me, Alex, and let me know. Make me see why I've been training as hard as I always have, DESPITE the fact that you've shown me NOTHING so far. They say you're having trouble with your agent...blew a bit of a gasket at one of your promotional appearances. You supposedly walked out. QUIT. Alex...that's not the attitude that will beat me. You better shape up your act. Otherwise, you won't be tactilized...you won't be worth it.

Tact shakes his head slowly, staring grimly.

Tact: You'll just be...HUMBLED.

Tact walks off down the beach shore once more. Fade out.

06-20-04, 01:58 AM
OORP: I’m trying something new with the first part of this one, so bare with me. Let’s see if it works.

A few hours after Alex Borden left the autograph signing, or escaped from it, he was on the lamb again. Though it wasn’t easy.

He put on a weathered Chicago Bulls cap adorned with the number Micheal Jordan wore when Alex bought it: 23. He slipped on some shades, pulled his hair back, and wore his favorite jacket- an old, ratty leather item that looked like it had seen better days. It was not so much a disguise as a throwback to better days for Alex, days when he wore this uniform out everyday. He wasn’t a master of disguise, but he found that wearing the clothing he felt comfortable in was actually quite effective camouflage.

He slipped out while the road crew packed up all the banners, posters and set pieces. Even then there were a ridiculous amount of security guards posted on every corner, every bench, every soda machine. They looked for all the world like menacing CIA operatives in civilian clothing. Alex couldn’t tell if they were there to keep people out, or to keep him in. Whatever. Alex was gone all the same.

A thief at heart, he could have hotwired any convenient vehicle on hand, but happily it did not come to that. Besides, it would have been a pain to drag out his old gear, which was a part of his ever present survival fun-bag. Instead, he simply hailed a cab.

He asked the driver if he knew of any decent watering holes in the area. He didn’t, so Alex instructed him to just drive around until he saw a place. He was searching for a very specific type of establishment- someplace small, loud, dark and above all, common. He rode around for twenty minutes keeping his eyes open. He caught himself staring at the sky, an old habit of his. The sun was going down. The sky went from light blue striped with pink stratus clouds to royal blue with crimson clouds. By the time he found a suitable bar, the sky was black. He paid the driver reasonably, enough to cover the fair but not so much that he would distinctly remember him later.

The said bar was a crowded joint called Bev’s Place. Alex thought it was a novel name for a bar. It sat on a street corner connecting to a long series of buildings filled with various business. Apartments sat above. Biker’s lounged just outside the door talking and laughing, smoking cigarettes and telling tails. Inside was more of the same. As soon as he walked in, he was greeted by George Thorogood and the Destroyers playing on the jukebox, and the scent of cigars, beer and wood saturating the air. A neon beer sign hung in every window. Along the rear was a brick wall with an unmanned dartboard. Two occupied pool tables rested beyond the crowded bar which was decorated with white christmas lights. This place looked like a dive that a person could drunk in peace in if one kept to oneself. It wasn’t quite home, but it was good enough for Alex.

He got a pitcher of Budwieser and a frosted mug and sat at a table in the back. Lighting up a Newport, he took one more look around to be sure he wasn’t recognized. As soon as he filled his mug and took his first gulp of beer, he felt a deep relief from somewhere inside.

Finally. He thought, savoring the familier flavor. He sighed. What a day.

He just needed to stop being a celebrity for a while. He wanted to be alone, indeed, to hide in this dank spot for a spell. Then, he could go back to the bus and continue down the road to whatever family sh*thole Birel had in store for him next. He intended to finish his pitcher and leave. He intended to blow off some steam and hit the road. But of course, it could not be that simple.

Ninety minuets and two-thirds of a pitcher of beer later, Alex had a nice buzz going. He had his head set right and everything was okay... for a while. Across the room some guy playing pool scratched the table and launch the cue ball. The cue ball arched through the air and bounced and rolled its way to Alex’s feet. A skinny fellow with long blonde hair ran over to get it. Alex didn’t move to help. The guy picked up the ball, glancing at Alex in passing. A second later, he did a double-take and looked at him curiously. Alex hung his head low and sipped his beer. Blondie eyeballed him all the way back to his pool table with his easyriding buddies. Alex cautiously watched as the blonde guy whispered in his friend’s ear and looked his way. Moments later, four guys walked over to Alex’s table.


“Hey. Hey, dude. Aren’t you Alex Borden?” asked Blondie, smiling.

Alex didn’t answer.

“Dude! Are you Alex Borden? The wrestler?” he asked again. The four of them moved closer, right next to him.

“No.” Alex said curtly.

Another guy dipped down to see below his hat and laughed out loud. “You are! You’re Alex Borden from NEW!”

“No. I’m not.” Alex looked up and shot a cold look at the group.

The four of them busted out laughing. “Ah, sh*t! It’s f*cking Alex Borden!” One of them pulled up a chair and sat next to him. Two others tapped people on the shoulder and pointed at Alex. People started looking. That was it.

Alex shoved the guy sitting next to him to the ground and stood. “Now you just leave me alone!” Alex warned.

“Hey, man. Whats your problem?!” the guy on the ground got up and pushed Alex. Alex pushed back, causing him to stumble backward into some big guy, spilling his beer all over his shirt.

“What the F*CK?!” boomed the large man.

A fist flew from beyond Alex’s vision and clipped him in the jaw. Immediatly Alex shot back and decked the guy who hit him. Suddenly, all four pool players were on him and a brawl ensued.

It didn’t last long. Though it was after he acquired a few painful blows to the face and chest, he held his own against the four of them, causing them to momentarily retreat. By now he was the center of the bar’s attention. He heard his name on people’s lips all over the place. His intuition screamed at him, telling him to get the hell out of there before a mob formed. He didn’t argue. Alex forced his way through the gathering crowd and left the bar with a bloody nose and a sore jaw.

It was all coming apart again.

Alex laughed.


The next day. Promo one for Raucous

Alex Borden is at the site of his latest and still one of his first promos ever shot, inside the Allstate Arena. He sits in one of the seats one the upper levels. The ring and set of Raucous is in peices below. A big crew of people bustle around, working tirelessly to put everything together. Alex is wearing black jeans and a red Cleveland Indians t-shirt. His nappy brown hair is down, his bangs hanging slightly over his face. His body language is open, with his arms back behind his head and his feet crossed on the seat in front of him.

“Larry Tact. Hello, Larry. I had a chance to watch your stately address earlier today. Now, I’ve gotten this opportunity to grant your wish, you get to hear me banter. Another promo, another big speech, right?” he smiles. “I’m sorry if I seem a little too relaxed. Its just that I’m beginning to look at things a little differently. I’m really not sure why, but this whole situation just strikes me as a little humorous. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the implications of this match. I know it doesn’t mean much to you, but I assure you, it means everything to me. As it should, you would say. So why do you need to hear my voice so badly? Is it because you want to know what kind of man I am? Does the ignorence bother you? If it did, I wouldn’t blame you. That sort of thing tends to bother me a lot. Thats why I tried to peep the scenes with your history. There isn’t much though. Just facts, no clue, no whisper about your real background. Nothing I can use against you in a bizarre head game. But thats fine with me. Head games aren’t really my bag anyway. See, I like to let actions do the explaining and posturing for me. Talk is cheap. But I guess thats breaking some kind of Pro Wrestling rule.”

Alex puts his feet down and crosses his arms. Hes not smiling anymore but his eyes still twinkle with amusment.

“I’m afraid you’ve been misinterpreting my silence, Larry. I’m beginning to imagine that you think I’m maybe afraid of you? That maybe the weight of taking on such an opponent is too much for my little psyche to take. No such luck, friend. The truth is, you’re the only person I want to talk to. Its unfortunate that the only way to do that is through this thick membrane of cameras and hype. I’m not good with words and I don’t have a pretty face like you, so perhaps I’m a little camera shy. Don’t worry though, that won’t translate at all in the ring. If you’ve really been keeping yourself up to speed like you say you have, you should already know that. And know this, Larry, I’m bringing my A-game. Don’t you have any doubts in your mind about that.

I’m pleased to tell you though, and I suspect you’ll be happy to hear this as well, that I am not hiding, not from you. The world is one thing, but, you? I don’t think so. In fact, I look forward, eagerly to when you can finally show me what it means exactly to be TACTILIZED. I respect you; I don’t fear you. I respect you for all the obvious reasons that you know, after all, you’re a real tough (bleep), right? But not just that, I gotta respect the attitude. Big talk abounds in this business, case in point Travis Smith, but I know you can back it up, which is just dandy because I will do anything, ANYTHING to win.”

Alex’s eyes harden and he leans his elbows against the seat in front of him. His mouth bends into a tight frown.

“You know it really is a divine comedy, this bit. The levels of sadism and passion itself is what makes it so funny. Larry Tact, please believe me, that I will do all I can do... to make you suffer. Because I believe that you won’t ever give up unless I do it this way, and I respect you for it. And so I intend on using these...” Alex raises his fists. “To knock your godd*mn teeth down your throat. I’m gunna bash you’re f[bleep]in’ face in, you arrogant little ass flea. And it’s gunna be hilarious.”

Alex flashes a great, big smile, showing teeth. As the camera fades to black, he waves Larry Tact hello and goodbye.

06-21-04, 12:55 AM
OORP: Received permission to post after the deadline. Sorry it's a bit late, though.

Open scene. Larry Tact and Cindy Winsted are sitting at a round, checked tablecloth covered table outdoors-- an extension of a cafe. There are several other identical tables around them, most of them occupied. Enclosing the cafe's outdoor area are stands with various types of flowers on each one, creating a colorful, calm atmosphere; one that a person could just sit and drift off in a daze. The air is cool, with a light breeze to tickle the faces of those sitting outdoors, while the sky has a few white clouds floating around. The sun shines down, reflecting off city buildings' glass windows and providing warmth to mix with the cool air. Tact and Cindy chat while sipping on a hot chocolate and cappuccino, respectively. A copy of the Wrestling Torch and Wrestling Illustrated sit between them on the table.

Cindy: So, how do you think Borden's going to do at Raucous?

Tact: He's young, so I won't say he's going to be Jean Rabesque or anything. But he'll probably have a few good moves in him. He doesn't understand how wrestling has changed. Heck, he may not have seen it back when it was "the good old days." Either way, you can tell he's a bit overwhelmed by the business end of it.

Cindy: You know, he's got a shoddy agent it seems. That Mr. Birel. He seems to have a lot of things for Alex to do. He's effectively pushing a kid into the masses.

Tact: Well...I wouldn't call him a kid, really. Anyone who's in this industry is only a kid at heart, if that.

Cindy: I just mean, Borden's barely dove through the surface of wrestling yet, you know? It doesn't seem fair.

Tact: Agents don't look at things for what's fair. They want what'll make them the most money. And if you don't stare them down and tell them how you want it, then they'll never give any consideration to the client. Unless they're negotiating a contract. But even then, with ten percent on the line for them...they won't listen too long.

Cindy: Is that why you fired your agent when you were still with NYWA?

Tact: I have a business degree. I don't need someone else telling me what's best for me. I know what's best for me. And based on where it's gotten me, I think I've done alright.

Cindy: (smiles and nods) Maybe you should tell that to Alex.

Tact: People have to learn, sooner or later. Besides, I don't hand out free advice to anyone. I'm not a psychiatrist. Still....

Cindy: What is it?

Tact: I just hope Birel doesn't burn him out. I wouldn't want to see him go the route of some other guys that have cracked under the pressure from the business end of things. It's one thing for someone to learn what's best for them, but having people snap and think they understand is a totally different territory.

There's a pause. Both sip their drinks, Tact swirling his around.

Cindy: Well....I don't think he's been pushed that far, yet, but he's certainly not doing well with regards to his reputation.

Tact: Eh...what's reputation mean in wrestling? It's all a shallow, transparent front.

Cindy: Maybe, but getting recognized for bar fights is not what I'd call a good direction.

Tact raises an eyebrow and sips his hot chocolate.

Tact: A bar fight

Cindy slides the copy of the Torch over.

Cindy: It was just in time for a last minute entry into this month's issue.

Tact takes the magazine in hand and flips through it. Cindy peruses the cafe scene with a sweeping look, as two more couples seat themselves at tables, and one leaves.

Cindy: Page Five, second column. Ugh....yellow tie with purple pokadots? That's one unlucky daddy....that guy would've been better off just getting a card.

End scene.

Fade in: on the Raucous logo. Zooming out, the logo is shown to be on a royal blue backdrop. Larry Tact walks in front of the backdrop, donning black leather pants and boots, blue lensed/silver framed sunglasses, and a blue t-shirt with "The New Era of Wrestling...." written in gold cursive on the front. Tact takes a seat on the steel chair set in front of the backdrop, so the Raucous logo is just above him. He gives a small smile.

Tact: Nice to hear from you, Alex. I see you had a question or two for me, as I had for you. Let me assure you that, while I WAS waiting for you to make your presence known to NEW, on camera, I did have other things on my mind. Meaning, don't think I'm taking you lightly. As I said, Alex....you could take my words however you wanted. But make no mistake, you aren't facing someone who expects to walk over you. As I said before, I've got expectations for you to fill. I EXPECT a challenge from you, Borden. Otherwise, there's no reason for me to have gone through all of my training, all of my work. It'll have been a WASTE of MY TIME. And believe me, Alex, I don't enjoy having my time wasted. And I don't EXPECT a promotion I've joined to waste my time. So, as a result, I expect all opposition to be worth training for as I always have. You are no exception.

Tact leans back in the chair, crossing his arms over his chest.

Tact: Which brings me to something you said, Alex. What does this match MEAN...to me? You might be a tad surprised to know, this match DOES mean something to me, Alex. You're one of the youth of wrestling, currently. You're one of the new blood who's come into this sport to infuse something fresh to it. I'd like to see what you've got to offer, and what better way to do that then...wrestle you myself? Aside from that, I do happen to have the little matter of a perfection that's lasted longer than anyone else's streak in NEW. That's because I lead by example here, and I do so in the ring. And for you, if there's ANYTHING you can take positively from our match, it's that you can see what a Champion is capable of. Maybe you'll find yourself thinking that you have what it takes, or maybe not. But once the match is over with, Alex...you'll see the humble truth. You won't know what it means to be tactilized, however.

Tact cranes his neck around, trying to look at the back of his shirt. He then turns around, returning his neck to its regular position. The back of the shirt says, "...Simply Tactilizing!" After a few seconds, Tact turns back to face forward.

Tact: In time, perhaps you'll realize what it means to be tactilizing, Alex Borden. But as of right now, you don't deserve to be tactilized. And anyway, before you start pondering the punch of my words, you should be considering your own. After all, you're all over the place. One second you're saying how talk is cheap...(nods)...fair enough. But then, the next minute, you're giving me verbal assurances. Then making threats the next minute, and telling me you'll do anything to win. Well Alex, if it's all talk, and talk is cheap to you, then why should I think you aren't just throwing out some bull(BLEEP) for the masses? One grand, steaming pile of hollow notions? You're right. Talk CAN be cheap...if it's cheapened. If someone can't back up what they say on a consistent basis, or make claims that they can't cash in, or go around zinging one liners that would only be taken in by the lowest common denominator, then yeah, the talk does become cheap. But if someone keeps themselves credible, and doesn't give the garbage that the media can't get enough of, then maybe you shouldn't be so quick to generalize. Of course, I hear you've been real pleasing to the media lately, with your latest stunts. First walking out of the autograph session, then the bar fight just a couple nights ago? And now you're giving me the generic "I'll make you suffer!" bit. Plus you threw in the whole respect bit.

Tact leans forward, uncrossing his arms and resting his forearms on his knees.

Tact: Alex, I'll be honest with you. I'm not going to take your words at face value. I'm not going to take them for anything. I don't care what you THINK you can do to me. I'll show you what you CAN -- or canNOT -- do to me, come Raucous. When the bell rings, you'll see if I care whether or not you're intimidated by me. You'll see whether or not I'm overestimating you. And you'll find out if I'm just a big talker with a good, tough exterior...a good front...or if I'm a wrestler who doesn't just zing the one liners and talk tough...but BACKS IT UP.

Tact gets up from his seat and shrugs.

Tact: Which brings the choice back to you. Whether you believe me or not now, though, my objective doesn't change. Respect doesn't mean much to me when it comes from wrestlers, Alex, so you don't have to sugar coat your messages to me. As it turns out, I DIDN'T need to hear you speak, after all. Cuz all it did was reassure ME...that come Raucous, you're in need of a humbling. And I AM...just the person you should wrestle right now.

Tact walks off from the shot, the camera zooming in on the NEW Raucous logo. Fade out.