(FADEIN on a nondescript room with black walls and a black floor, with a single light source overhead: it's out of frame but the halo of light it produces makes it odds-on, a single uncovered bulb.
On the wall in direct view of the camera, there are four poster - sized images. First, 'Sub Pop' Scott Douglas, with a large red X drawn through him. Next to him, Rocko Daymon, with the same red X. In the middle is Erik Mateo, posing with the Las Vegas Wrestling Championship belt and a large red circle around the entire poster, and to the right is Perfection - with no decoration.
In front of the posters, a silhouetted man with a Mohawk walked back and forth.)
VIZIER ta SETI: My personal obligations are fulfilled.
VIZIER ta SETI: I promised Scott Douglas a title shot in return for doing the honorable thing, and watching my back in the tag team match. I promised Rocko Daymon that he would receive his due match once I learned that his absence was not due to his own inaction.
The future is now.
The future is the Emerald City.
VIZIER ta SETI: And as long as I am the Emerald City Champion... the future is my vision.
VIZIER ta SETI: Erik Mateo and Las Vegas Wrestling... is the past.
(He stopped, right in front of the posters.)
VIZIER ta SETI: And I am... insulted... that you would dare bring another title belt into my IWF.
To wear another promotion - a dead promotion's title - that's bad enough. To have desecrated the sanctity of the Emerald City Championship by using your worthless, lifeless belt to interfere in my title defense?
(Crossed his arms.)
VIZIER ta SETI: For that, you're going to pay.
VIZIER ta SETI: But, in the spirit of the IWF and its status as a more pure professional wrestling promotion... in order to give you what you deserve... you're going to receive a shot at what I treasure, more than anything else.
The Emerald City Championship.
VIZIER ta SETI: And if you should manage to overcome, Erik... then you will have the honor of leading the IWF into the highest peaks of this industry, while we don't have the budget of the overblown and overrated... um.... industry 'leaders' - we have what matters more.
You will have the opportunity to be the most respected Champion in the sport today.
But if I win...
VIZIER ta SETI: Then this will be a decisive, conclusive victory, Erik. And to punish you for your arrogance and your hubris... I'm going to take the LVW Title belt away from you as a trophy of the IWF's dominance.
(He stopped again, in the middle of the frame.)
VIZIER ta SETI: And you have nobody to blame but yourself.
Thanks...he's got room for a friend just like him...looky what YOU got!!
(Fadein, "Mateos' Pub" in Las Vegas, Nevada. Inside you see the usual, broken glass, chairs, tables, slow-swinging lightbulbs hanging without a shade-and-or-cover. A pool table with scuffs and torn-yet-faded-felt, scratched up pool cues with no tips. You know, the usual. The camera pans through the club as it passes by a dart board with dart board stuck in with no 'wings' on the back or just jammed into the 'bullseye' without a tip. Finally the camera locates our "hero", dressed in blue jeans and a black western-plaid shirt, sprawled on the floor, facedown with his black cowboy hat covering his head from the remaining light in the bar, but as if he just missed the door OUT of the 'Restroom'. From behind the camera we here the cameraman sigh, protrude a boot and stomp his shoulder HARD, provoking Mateo to roll over and wince, yelling out at the same time from the sharp wake-up call. He grabs at his shoulder as he sits up against the wall.)
EM: AAAHHHHHHHOOOOOOCH!!!! Watt en tha TAR-NATION deadja doe thayt 'fer??
(The Cameraman's hand protrudes this time and snaps his fingers ala "Thing" from "The Addams Family", as it snaps twice and points over to the left. The camera turns left and zooms in, past a broken television, past the resting place of the very majestic-looking LVW World Heavyweight Championship title, over towards a medium-sized chalk board that someone (most likely the cameraman), wrote on the board, "This Week's Special: Vizier ta Seti for the Emerald City Championship" as well as other specials that were either changed or are half-erased.)
EM (scratching his head): Nahn-nahtee-fahve fer way-ski?? En thays b'rr?? Thayts KNOTS!!!
("The Thing" slaps Mateo across the face and points again. Mateo looks again before being pointed to another television, showing Mateo Setis' promo. Mateo slowly stands up, intrigued and captivated as he moves toward the bar, sitting on a wobbly bar stool next to the LVW title, as he picks it up and slaps it over his right shoulder. Five minutes later he swivels around awkwardly, but with intent as he smirks.)
EM: Wale....ets ah-bot tahm.
Efftar awl thayt batchin' thayt thayt kade dead fer ah shout ayt tha tahtil....ol' "Poppa Squat" failed....jest lahk hay doss en rail lahf....
Loohk 'roun' youse i'norent FOOHL...jes' howl obten does youse t'inksah pies fer aneh thang??
Fack es...ain' nudden noo 'roun' har'....
(Mateo scratches his head again)
Thayts' 'bowt roit....
Bet youse say....ah downt PIE...fer nudden.
Eben say...brangin' anudder tahtil Ah wan en ah com'neh, ah tahtil thayt ahs' wan fer mah perdy ladle nice...
(The Camera cuts in for a short close up, as Mateo slaps his chest acouple times, closing his eyes. A beat or two passes before he opens them again and looks back at the camera.)
EM: Ahs' nose youse don' pie 'tension, Seddi....sow Ahs' tails youse ah say-con tahm.....thayt lil' gurl es mah hole whirl', youse unner-stain??
Her daddeh es ah mane peace o' shet....bet sheh day-surfs are'thang thayt mayks har' happeh....an' beleb meh wayne ahs' tails youse...whennin' thayt tahtil...ets gon' mayk them fowks happeh....ets gon' mayk MEH happeh...bet mos'uv awl...
Ets...gon' mayk HER happeh....an' owl does whut ah hafta, tah mayke thayt hapen...
Tha' ownleh pearson ah RESPECK'...ahs loohk ayt en tha mearohr.
Are'thang ails...hail....thayts jes' BON'ES.
Udderwize....eff et warnt fer thayt....hail...Ahs maht faht'cha' jes fer tha' sheeyr fack thayt youse sed...whut waz thayt ward??
Nahw....ahs down' zactleh now whut thayt meens, an' ahs don' rally need tah....bet tha fack es kwhite sem-pole: Ahs' down lahk et wayne youse canah' gahs youse wards ahs down' neber herd obb...
Ahs dowen' beh-coss howls does ahs nose eff youse es cowlin' meh a nam' er' nawt....sow ahs gon' ASS-soom...thayt et was nawt jes' ah ward ahs down' now....bet et waz an en-sault frum youse yer-self too...ayn tah meh...
Et down' gate aneh-warse thane thayt, thayt ah jes' p'ncha en tha nose...
(FADEIN on a quarter moon. It's red, like it's filled with blood.)
VIZIER ta SETI (V/O): If I understand you correctly, Erik... then you just said a bunch of gibberish.
Do you honestly expect the incoherent ramblings of a drunken buffoon to be the face and soul of the most important wrestling promotion to come along in twenty years? Do you honestly mean to tell me that... you... are the best that this promotion can offer, and that... you... think you deserve to wear my title?
The fact that you took it upon yourself to interfere in the Championship match is proof positive that you do not deserve to wear the Emerald City Championship.
The fact that you would disgrace yourself and disgrace this promotion by daring to wear another company's title belt in the IWF is proof positive that you do not deserve to wear the Emerald City Championship.
And it's a dead title that you wear... which is even more tragic.
Look at yourself, Erik. Take a good, long look at what you are. As much as James Witherhold is a joke... look at yourself.
Holding the Emerald City Championship isn't what makes me special, Erik. Being the fiercest warrior in the IWF is what does. Refusing to do such things as come to the ring drunk and make a complete ass of myself on IWF Television is why I am on a different plane than you. It's why I'm on a different plane than the rest of the IWF.
If you show up to Chain Reaction eight this drunk, then not only will you lose, but you'll be hurt and humiliated and removed from my arena.
You won't get three strikes, either.
Erik, you don't know anything about this title. You don't know anything about the vision that I have for the IWF... and the future that you do not have the ability to guide.
And yes... you are going to pay. Like you said, you haven't paid for anything. Like you said, you've been handed things.
Which is another reason why you will never hold my IWF Emerald City Championship. You'll have a much better chance trying to win that Ultratitle thing, it's filled with overblown, overhyped also - rans, and sponsored by a long - dead, and long - since - relevant wrestling promotion.
You'll have a lot in common with them.
But between telling me that you should be holding my title... and James Witherhold doing the same... Rocko Daymon telling me I don't know the first thing about being a Champion because I didn't show respect to a man who didn't show up for his appointment... you should be thanking me.
You should all be thanking me.
Every one of you gets a shot at this belt, and every one of you gets to try your hand at The One Who Saw All. The fact that I will not be denied shouldn't be a discouraging one... the lack of respect you show me is incentive for me to do exactly what I say I will: raise the bar.
Nobody promised you this would be easy, Erik. You want easy, go enter a meaningless tournament.
After all, can you really see yourself as the Champion of this promotion? What would it be like if Erik Mateo was the face of a wrestling company?
Oh, wait a second...
What did happen to Las Vegas Wrestling, after all?
"The one day the world chooses ham over anything else, and this guy comes in wanting chicken wings, a pitcher of beer and a philly-cheesesteak....I'd laugh in his face and turn him away if it was anyone else, but did you see that BELT?!?!! He's gotta be LOADED!!"
(CUTTO: Two waitresses, "Brenda" and "Carrie", are standing behind a counter/barrier, hidden from the one guy in the restaurant this afternoon, a day dedicated to a Resurrection. The man wears a plaid shirt, a black pair of wranglers, brown cowboy boots and a white stetson cowboy hat sits on the table next to him, as does the LVW World Heavyweight Championship. He stops eating the wings for a minute and notices the chalkboard with the one other possible reason not to come to that place, the Specials, written on the Chalkboard. He squints his eyes to focus on reading it. Brenda rushes over, appeasing his need for clarity, and looks over at the board as well.)
B: We have Cephalopodac Phalanges, on Special today sir. Would you like---
EM: HAN' OWN AH DAYUM SAY-CON!!!
Dead ya'll jest tail meh whut Ah thank youse toweds meh?? Youse trun' tah gimmeh OAK-TAH-PUSSY FANGERS??
(Mateo's sudden outburst frightens the young lady and she starts to protest before Mateo sends her back into the kitchen for something different. Mateo leans his chair back to angle it so the waitresses can hear him from the dining room.)
EM: THROAW AH CHECK'N DECK EN SEM FESH-BOWS EN THAR ON AH BADE O' LETTUS WHILER AYT ET!!!!
(Mateo shakes his head and returns to his meal)
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