Guess who's coming to dinner?

[fugginVOSS]

(FADE IN: on a shot of a set table. There are two chairs and two places set. In the middle of the table is a serving platter with a silver lid on top of it. A hand comes down on top of the silver lid and the camera traces up the arm towards the owner. They’re wearing a long sleeve button up shirt but as we move up the arm we see a blood red t-shirt over the top of it. Then it frames out a little more, to include the owner in the shot. The t-shirt reads “#LEGITBEASTMODE” with the words on top of one another. The owner of the shirts is GREG HERPIN, former NFW referee-come-manager to the PHILADELPHIAN NIGHTMARE. TEDDY ALEXANDER stands behind HERPIN, wearing a t-shirt which has had the sleeves unceremoniously removed by hand. His shirt is a LEYENDA DE OCHO “1-UP” brand. He has his hands behind his back and across his mouth is a piece of black duct tape, making somewhat of a statement in itself.)

GREG HERPIN:
“Leyenda de Ocho. Congratulations on proving you're ring readiness. May I say, on behalf of my client, we are extremely pleased to see that you’re willing and able to compete inside the wrestling ring again.”

(HERPIN begins to clap, looking over his shoulder at TEDDY, who simply rolls his shoulders and bounces his head from side-to-side.)

GREG HERPIN:
“As you may be aware, Teddy isn't in the mood to address you. The time for talk is over. The time for back and forth? Trading threats, promises and getting the hopes of the NFW Nation up? That's... All... Over.”

(Slicing through the air with his hands, HERPIN’s gesture reiterates his words.)

GREG HERPIN:
(squinting) “Your victory over Cojones Mercado was impressive only in the way you could last the duration of a bout. And don't take my tone as sarcasm, Leyenda... It's just that Teddy and I? We're losing our patience.

“See, Teddy isn't interested in taking to that ring unless it's to face you. He's not interested in wrestling for anything other than that NFW Triple Crown Championship. He's not interested in putting anybody else on the shelf other than you.”

(TEDDY slowly shakes his head, confirming HERPIN’s points. GREG shrugs at the camera.)

GREG HERPIN:
“How long is it going to take, Leyenda? You tell us you're not scared of Teddy but we don't hear you calling for the defense.

“You say you've figured out that it's YOU that is in fact the "final boss", but you continue to hide.

(looking at TEDDY) “What are we to believe?” (back to the camera) “You're like an eighth grade girl, Leyenda. You’re just teasing us. We want to take you to the prom but you just keep avoiding answering the question.

“Leyenda... We're waiting. And albeit, our patience wears thin and I have to keep this Kaiju's temper in tow, we're merely human.”

(GREG turns slowly and looks at TEDDY. He looks him up and down and then back to the camera, with a shark-like grin on his face.)

GREG HERPIN:
“Well... I am.

(thumbing over his shoulder) “Teddy Alexander is raw power, brute strength and pure ferocity. Or as he tells it...

(squints) “Legit – EFF’ing – beast – mode.”

(Behind him, TEDDY pulls his hands out from behind his back and begins to massage the knuckles on his right hand.)

GREG HERPIN:
“And I can only hold him at bay for so long. You best get the ball in motion, Leyenda. You’d better set the table because guess… Who's coming… To dinner?”

(HERPIN leans in to the silver lid. The camera moves its focus from the duo to the lid in HERPIN’s grip as he removes it to reveal a neck brace which has “OCHO” written crudely in black Sharpie across the front of it.)

GREG HERPIN: (V/O)
“With... Or without invitation.”

(FADE to BLACK!)

 

[brusch]

NEVER would've guessed.

“I hope you’ve got the message loud and clear.”

(A so-pixelated-you’d-swear-it-was-Commodore-64 NFW backdrop, the Cartridge Cruiser standing before it with the Triple Crown Championship around his waist. Ocho wears an all-black Ninja Gaiden-inspired mask with his still-selling-pretty-good “1UP” t-shirt. The faintest hint of blue Kinesiology tape peeks beneath his left shoulder and onto his tricep. A golden triforce slowly rotates on the title belt’s touchscreen.)

LDO: “You keep calling it dodging, Greg – you keep trying to put this idea out there that I’m hiding from something. You call me a coward, a paper champion, anything in the world you can conjure up that Teddy Alexander can buy into and sink his teeth into.

I’m no coward.

Teddy beat the ever-loving hell out of me at the Random Rumble, and injured me pretty significantly. Even though no one wants to give him credit, Cojones Mercado is the kind of guy who could snap at any moment and decide to let his chair do the talking – and I took him down. Was I 100%? Physically…no.

Mentally? Psychologically? All systems are go at a level you might not be ready for, Teddy.

Even at my worst, when I couldn’t quite get my timing right and the shoulder barked at me, I got it DONE. Because that’s what champions DO. It’s really easy to succumb to the circumstances people present you, you know? To say ‘yep, this is too much right now. Time to cash in and check out.’ But, well…my head’s never been screwed on that straight, fellas.

Charge when you should retreat. Play when you should pause. Fly when you should fall. That’s the M.O. that made me a champion in NFW, and that’s the M.O. that I will live and die by in my quest to be the next final boss of this company.

I know this isn’t done. I’ll see you in Houston, Teddy. Table for two. ”

(FTB)

 

[fugginVOSS]

Re: NEVER would've guessed.

(FADE-IN: on GREG HERPIN, standing in front of the camera, beaming a shark-like grin. His eyes glimmer with anticipation, staring down the barrel of the camera. You can’t wipe the grin off his face. He stands before a green screen that plays vision of TEDDY ALEXANDER, driving Angerbash kick’s through people’s heads, folding them up like concertina’s with the Ragekill Driver, pretty much just murdering people in a public forum being a beast. GREG is rubbing his hands together with anticipation, but he looks more like a fly. He wears a red t-shirt over the top of a cream button-up collared shirt. The black Japanese lettering on the front of the shirt most probably mean “KAIJU”. HERPIN smoothes his hair down before he speaks.)

GREG HERPIN:
“It’s finally approaching. It’s finally coming. The moment WILL arrive.”

(HERPIN lets out a weird cackle, thumbing over his shoulder at the green screen.)

GREG HERPIN:
“Teddy still isn’t all that interested in addressing you, Leyenda. He has nothing to say to you. I’ve told you before; he wants it ALL to be said in the ring. That’s where he speaks the clearest. And THAT’S where he has your undivided attention.

“That’s where the FRONTIER has his undivided attention.

“And now?”

(A grateful smile spreads across his face. HERPIN runs his hand through his hair and hold his hands up to the skies, as if thanking the gods for what had finally arrived.)

GREG HERPIN:
“Now the Powers that Be, Mr. President Eddie Mayfield, has determined that it has been long enough. It’s been FAR – TOO – LONG for the NFW NATION to wait for this and the deal will be done. The contract signed. The moment will arrive.

“The moment… WILL… arrive!”

(Letting out a sigh of relief, HERPIN is almost a juxtaposition to the cycling violent footage on the green screen behind him. TEDDY putting his boot through the NFW World Champion’s head as he lay on the apron; pounding his chest like a silverback gorilla; TEDDY ragdolling JACK BRYANT into the corner by the scruff of the neck.)

GREG HERPIN:
“The moment will arrive. The moment HAS arrived. The moment has arrived where you’re signing your life away. Signing your championship away. Signing EVERY-THING you fought for, against Rook Black, away. Everything. Everything you did. Everyone you defeated. All the hoops you jumped through. All the time. The blood. The sweat. The tears. All of it.

“It was all just a waste of time. All just a big, fat WASTE of your time. The man I represent… The Kaiju. The Phildelphian Nightmare. The Spinal Smash Monger. Teddy Alexander. The man I represent is coming to Reloaded Double-Deuce and he’s looking forward to stepping inside of a ring with you. He’s looking forward to wrestling you. He’s looking forward…”

(As if on cue – and let’s face it, it probably was – the green screen changes to TEDDY making gestures with neckbraces. Holding it up to the camera with a name scrawled on it in Sharpie; making his way down to the ring with it around his own neck; wrapping it around a completely motionless opponent with a sadistic grin on his face.)

GREG HERPIN:
“To wrapping that neckbrace around your scrawny, flimsy, pencil neck. He’s looking forward to seeing the EEE-EMM-TEE’s testing the feeling in your toes. He’s looking forward to putting you out of your misery ONCE and for all when he walks into the American Airlines Arena in Miami, Florida, and walks out of there with YOUR New Frontier Wrestling Triple Crown Championship wrapped around his waist and YOUR - SCALP.

“Leyenda – Leyenda – Leyenda… It all comes undone for you. It all unravels. It all – falls – APART! You see, I’ve done everything I could to make sure that Teddy keeps his focus on this moment. On that moment when you actually venture out of your comfort zone and ACTUALLY put the belt on the line. I’ve been focusing him on that moment. That moment alone. The blinkers were on. We ran through it time and time and time again. Strategised to the wee hours of the morning. And we’re ready.”

(HERPIN’s sharky grin spread wider and toothier as the old man rubbed his hands together like he were about to devour a meal.)

GREG HERPIN:
“And finally it’s happening. Finally the deal will be done. Finally…”

(CUT-TO: EXTREME CLOSE UP: HERPIN’s eyes lit up with the delight.)

GREG HERPIN:
“Finally it’s GAME… O… VAH!”

(GREG ducks out of the way to allow the camera to focus on the last shot on the green screen. OCHO being wheeled up the ramp on a gurney with EMT’s fussing over him.)

(FADE to BLACK!)