RELOADED 12: Jacksonville

[jediPREZ]

RP DEADLINE: 6/24/12 11:59:59 Astral Standard Time
VENUE: Jacksonville Veterans Memorial Arena
IN-STORY SHOW DATE: 6/16/12
PREZ NOTE: ALL RP SHOULD GO IN THIS THREAD! YA HEARD ME!

ESEN TELEVISION AND NEW FRONTIER WRESTLING PRESENTS:

RELOADED 12
SUMMER GRUDGE SERIES #1: "GUILD FOR THE GOLD"
LIVE FROM JACKSONVILLE, FLORIDA

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

MAIN EVENT
WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP
No Disqualifications!
CASTOR STRIFE (c) vs. ERIC DANE

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

TRIPLE CROWN CHAMPIONSHIP
ROOK BLACK (c) vs. LEGION

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

EMT TITLE MATCH
ANDERSON/BANDIT (c) vs. The Winner of DRS/OSS from BRAWL 52

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

SPECIAL ATTRACTION
KNEEL & BE FREE!
DEACON, CHRISTIAN CRUISE & BOBBY JACK WINDHAM

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

HOLLYWOOD's ON FIRE...again
MIKE RANDALLS & TROY WINDHAM

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

Card subject to change
aka if you have anything to add - HOLLA!​

 

[Legion]

*laugh* It's amazing isn't it? Just wonderful how one thing seems to remain constant in my career at NFW..

You, Rook.

Ever since my time in NFW began you and I have fought over two things: Deception and titles, whether it be National or now the new entity which you hold in the Triple Crown title.

Of course we have a common enemy watching in the shadows and due to recent events the woman that helped play a part in the initial deception is no longer by my side, instead choosing to align herself with Jason Reeves and his Fallen. What I did see you try and do however before your match for the Triple Crown Championship was try and save her.

I have to thank you for that and at the same time hate you for it.

Why?

So far every attempt has led to Stalker unleashing his brand of hell onto me - sort of his warped and twisted way of the beatings will continue until morale improves or in this case join his Fallen...

He's only now starting to realise not to push ME. The room 429 of my mind has been opened and the darkness comes spilling out.

You however know what to expect from me, we've been through barbed wire, Judges and all manner of hell and unlike your grip on the National title this reign's going to be known not as Rook Black's ascension but my own.

Forget the former High Flyers, forget the Fallen or the National Guards, for once it's just you and I fighting for the title.

See you there.

 

[Rook Black]

ROOK: "Tenacity is very respectable."

(FADE IN: ROOK BLACK, grey wifebeater, black track pants with the double white stripe, NB 1080's. The dome has gone unshaven for a while and there's a fine layer of black stubble on his head. His skin is a little red and he glistens from sweat.)

ROOK: "It's certainly a principle that I hold in high regard, Legion. It has not escaped my notice that you've quite tenaciously remained competitive throughout your trials and tribulations."

(ROOK picks up the Triple Crown Championship and regards it.)

ROOK: "It matters to be tenacious, but it's never been enough all by itself."

(ROOK straps the title around his waste. His breathing slows, and his expression becomes cold.)

ROOK: "But things are different now."

ROOK: "And from my point of view, Legion, you don't look so good."

ROOK: "You've been displaced by Stalker. He's taken from you. You hitched your wagon to Castor Stryfe only to have his Guild for Creative Integrity evaporate."

ROOK: "And what do you have left? You've got the notion that Reloaded will mean your ascension? Interesting."

ROOK: "There's two points I have in mind right now."

ROOK: "The only stain on my time with the National Title came about because of how you chose to loosely interpret a pinfall on me. I had hoped to wait for you to have a grand opportunity so that acting in retaliation I could ruin that for you. Unfortunately, your Pure Title reign was short. I'd hoped that if I could bait Stalker into putting Luci4 in my care, I'd set her back on her music career, moving her even further out of your reach than she is now. He didn't bite, and the possibility remains that she could come back to you."

ROOK: "But fortunately, something has come up. It's far less devious, but perhaps it's all the better for that fact."

ROOK: "I get to stand in your way of your chance to `ascend'. Far more direct, simple, and unmistakable. No one can misunderstand, no one can claim confusion. You'll fail to defeat me, and your ascension will become a nosedive."

ROOK: "The second point: Join the Fallen."

ROOK: "It's your best bet at this juncture. Jason Reeves can't be any worse for you than Castor's turned out to be. It'll put you near someone you have feelings for, it'll give you support that you're clearly lacking, and get you started on making something of the mess you're in. I'm sure Stalker will promise you the Triple Crown Championship if you join, and well, regarding that, fat chance, but a numbers edge counts for something, and we all know that I ain't got any allies."

ROOK: "What have you got to lose anyway? Self respect? Yeah? How has that worked out so far?"

ROOK: "Wise up, create an effective plan of action, and come at me with something that resembles intelligence and passion."

(ROOK crosses his arms.)

ROOK: "The Triple Crown Champion does not care for having his time wasted."

(FTB.)

 

[LQJT86C]

Paragon in the Orange Hills

(FADEIN: Side-angle camera view follows CASTOR STRIFE as he hikes through the foothills of Orange County, CA. Twigs snap beneath his black boots, and a northern harrier is heard screeching in the trees that are bathed in a not-quite-red sunset glow. Castor’s brow is partially covered by the western-style black-rimmed hat he’s wearing; the side of his face framed by loose blonde hair that hangs to the neck. The rest of his attire is gypsy-esque in it’s random matching, with the top featuring an unbuttoned multi-color flannel, the bottom covered by brown stretch-leather pants. Not the most comfortable hiking material, but that never mattered to this creature of aesthetical impulse. Castor makes a stop, leaning on his wooden hiking stick to remove the hat, and wipes his sweaty forehead with a white cloth from his shirt pocket. Right above his left eyebrow is a square white bandage, marked with a splotch of blood. It has begun to leak, which he also wipes. Tied around his torso is a bag – presumably holding the NFW World Heavyweight Championship, which he carries with him everywhere – and a flask of water which he drinks from before re-fastening his hat and carrying on)

CASTOR: “Eric Dane wasn’t the first man to make his way to California in search of gold.”

(Hocks and spits a wad of phlegm into the dirt. He stops, turns his head to the camera, and tilts his hat to show the bloody bandage)

“You weren’t the first to do that to me either, were you Eric?”

(Adjusts hat and carries on)

“You think you’re close, don’t you? Like all the prospectors who rushed into the mountains, and the many thousands who flock here looking for stardom, you’re just one audition away. One more broken rock…”

(He comes to a clearing, and sets his bag and water down. Now crouching down on his haunches, he turns the wood stick sideways and begins to draw letters into the dirt)

“Give him a ‘C’ for caring enough to want it in the first place. Eric Dane wasted no time when he came for my belongings, and broke the Guild’s allegiance. That gets him an ‘A’ too.”

“Here’s an ‘S’ for the signed match I gave you against my better judgment. The ‘T’ is yours as well, for how you ran me out of town.”

(‘CAST’ is spelled out, and the champion circles his finger into the next letter)

“This ‘O’ is for the odds you stacked against me. A smart man doesn’t play unless he’s rigged the game himself. One more letter, Eric, and you’ve won the game. I played a game like this once…”

“I spent an entire year stacking odds against Impulse, and by the time he figured it all out the knot was already tied, and his head was through the noose. On July 29, 2011, I spelled his name in full and hung IMPULSE in front of a Raleigh crowd. They never saw brighter eyes than the Xs I put in his on that night.”

“But you…you’re a trainrobber and a good one…”

(Wipes the dirt clear of drawn letters

“You robbed boxcars that belonged to Troy Windham and Calvin Carlton. Then you robbed mine. Eric, you weren’t the first one to do that either, no no. This frontier has known Montezuma, and it has known Dorchester. Some men steal belts, some steal women, dignity, and whole careers. It just so happens that you’re a swindler of money and personal belongings.”

“What you did accomplish, where every man before you has failed, is that you weakened me. Weakened me…and I didn’t see it coming. You drove a nail through the base of my power. You’re like Bill Shelly in that way…”

(Begins to draw ‘E’ ‘R’ ‘I’ ‘C’ ‘D’ ‘A’…)

“You, Bertha, and the rest of the gang decided to run game on me. But just like Bill Miner, just like the James-Younger Gang and every other small-time crook who grew into a big-time crook, Shelly got caught.”

“I’m going to do to you what H.B. Sartoris did to Bill Shelly. I am going to nail you to the boxcar like Jesus Christ, and send you down the line to the rest of the world with the salutations of a Son of Sam telegram.”

“Attention to all who would do to me as Eric Dane. This is what happens when you weaken but don’t kill me. Shoot first – shoot to kill, or else. I am on a different wavelength than everybody else. I don’t belong on earth. Have a Happy Easter. Mr. Strife”

“Something like that… (smiles) Something like that…”

(Stares at the dirt where ‘Eric Dane’ has been fully spelled)

“Look at that, I wrote your name. Can you write mine? Can you know me in the typographical sense, Eric, or will your fingers cramp and buckle and break before you get to ‘R’? Realize, ‘Only Star’, that you drained my power but not my strength. And until you’ve taken the source of that strength off my waist, you can never write me out completely. That golden title is where my strength lies, and with it, I can do incredible things. It’s driven me to the point of almost madness, but it’s done far worse to my opponents. Even before it was mine, the belt was calling to me from Joe, making me do harsh but incredible things.”

“It had to be mine, and now it has to stay mine.”

“How clever are you that we meet on your terms? As clever as Impulse when he met me under Marathon rules only to have me outlast him? Clever as Dan Ryan when he got his rematch and an extra 30 minutes? He unloaded his entire chamber that night.”

“These were men who thought they had me beat when they arranged to fight me on their terms, and now I say to you, Eric, where do you think your stipulation gets you but on your back, handing my company back to me?”

(Wipes Dane’s name out from the dirt, stands up, and spits in his hands which he rubs together. He smiles, shaking his head)

“When all those fingers that you severed from my hand are re-animated around you and close into a stranglehold, you will ask yourself the same internal questions that all the rest did.”

(Removes hat and pats beads of sweat on his forehead with a dry cloth)

“Is he man, or is he magic?”

(Fastens his hat once more and carries on. With his back turned to the camera, walking up the incline trail, he speaks the final words with a raised voice)

“What’s a fair fight when parasites meet paragons?”

(FADEOUT)

 

[Justin]

Great Expectations

Hesitant to ever take anyone at face value, Eric Dane cocked an inquisitive eyebrow at his personal assistant/lackey/gopher/executive producer, Angus Skaaland. “The contracts are settled, then?”

“Air-tight.” Angus dropped into the over-sized chair opposite of Castor Strife’s desk. He had a certain swagger about him that would annoy a normal person into a rage, but Eric liked him for the most part, thought of him as somewhat spunky.

“Heard that before.”

“Said that before.” Angus threw a leg up across the other, relaxing into the chair. “But I’m serious. I’ve had our lawyers go through it, had three sets of outside firms go through it, and I’ve personally went through it letter by letter at least four times. It’s air mother-effing tight.”

Eric allowed himself a smile. “They’ll never know what hit them.”

“Nope.” Angus produced a cigarette and a lighter. “You smokin’ in Castor’s house?”

“Quit, actually, but do what you want. Try not to ash too much on the Persian though.” Dane nodded in the direction of the priceless rug that was on the floor beneath them. Angus, for his part, lit up and took a deep drag.

“Now all you gotta do is win the belt.”

The Only Star nodded, contemplating that very feat.

“Yep, only gotta beat the guy that nobody else can beat.”

A silence developed between them as Dane pondered and Angus smoked. Everything they’d been working for since setting foot in the New Frontier was just about to come to a head, and both of them knew that if they were going to pull it all off, it would have to be done with tactical precision down to the quantum level.

“Story of my life,” Eric said to nobody in particular. “Story of my career.”


===


“I want to preface this with an apology.”

[FADEIN: The terrace overlooking the South lawn behind Castor Strife’s former home and studio wasn’t your usual jaunt for a wrestling promo, though I can’t say for sure that nobody has ever been raped in front of rolling cameras on this very spot.]

[Come on, look who the place used to belong to.]

[The two-time Hall of Famer found himself perched in a wrought-iron patio chair, with one hand full of a glass of twenty year old scotch and the other hand drumming fingers on the matching table to the ensemble set. On his face was an honest, albeit Defiant glare. There doesn’t seem to be any tone of sarcasm or trickery to his voice, either.]

ERIC DANE:
I’m sorry, Cas, sorry for everything that I’ve done to you, for everything that I’ve taken from you, and for everything I’m going to do to you come Reloaded in Jacksonville.

I like you, Cas, hell I even respect you. That’s not something that I take lightly or even say to too terribly many of my opponents, either. The vast majority of them I consider little more than fodder, and the rest are the sprinkled remains of assholes and idiots and relics who outlived their usefulness way back before the new millennium ever rolled over.

But you, Castor, you I like. You I respect.

In you I see a man who understands why I do the things that I do, at least to a certain degree. In you, I see a man who I wouldn’t be totally opposed to having a drink with, or doing business with...

But all of that could only happen in the future.

[He takes a sip from the glass, savoring the burning sensation all the way down his throat and into his stomach.]

ERIC DANE:
But then, at the same time, I see a man who misses the point completely, just like so many of your contemporaries. You think that everything that I do revolves around you, and you’re more wrong than your overdeveloped id could ever allow you to understand.

I didn’t take your home because I wanted or needed it. I didn’t take your business because I have any interest in bad snuff films and obscure pornography, and I didn’t break up your precious Guild because I held them in any regard.

All of these things I’ve done to you because I have had to. Consider it a means to an end, Castor, that I’ve systematically tore down everything that you’ve spent years building up. Not for the money or the power or the glory, but simply because these were the things that had to be seen to in order to put you at your weakest point.

This, as you know, is what it takes to be a World Champion.

[He pauses, thoughtful, almost distracted.]

ERIC DANE:
I’ve swindled you, I’ve bloodied you, I’ve outsmarted you, and I’ve escaped your fiery vengeance at every single step of the game, Cas. Not for lack of trying I’m sure, but I’ve outclassed you in every way imaginable from Jump Street, and I’m not about to all of a sudden stop just because you think that the belt or the gas mask or the three months you’ve spent as a poor man’s Joe the Plumber gives you magic powers when it comes to stepping into the ring with me.

What I’ve done goes beyond gimmickry, it goes beyond a little bit of two-bit slight of hand and trickery. If I can be frank, what I’ve done to you is the exact same thing that you’ve done to Impulse and Dan Ryan, and the exact same thing that I’ll go on to do to the next guy and the next guy until somebody figures it out and does it to me.

Simply stated, I’ve turned you into a victim.

[Eric smirks winking at you through the camera.]

ERIC DANE:
Take that in. Realize it with all of your heart. Castor Strife, the conquering hero, has been cast in the one role that he never thought he’d find himself in, that of the scared housewife, flinching every time she thinks there might be too much mustard on a sandwich, or not enough ice in the soda.

Before this is done with you’ll be asking my permission to do your own laundry and plotting with your fellow hens for revenge that will surely never come. No matter what, the one thing you will do is come running when I ring your bell.

When I raise my hand at you, and I will raise my hand several dozen times, you will know that you’re about to be hit, and underneath it all you’ll know that you deserve it.

And in the end, Castor, you’ll be better for it. You’ll have come through this adversity with a much clearer mind having been made into the downtrodden for once, rather than suffering through it of your own volition. You will know what it means to bend at the will of a superior being, and it will make you tough.

Might even grow some hair on your chest.

[With a quick backward toss of his head he downs the rest of the scotch, leaving the lonely cubes of ice twinkling at the bottom of the glass, sitting on an iron table.]

ERIC DANE:
Hell, it might even give you the guts to become a two time champion.

How about that, Castor? Wouldn’t that be a feather in your gas mask, to become champion again. And that’s all so very fine for you, I do wish you the very best luck in all of your future endeavours...

But this isn’t the future, Cas, it’s the present, and presently you are no better than second best. Your time at the top is borrowed, because the next thirty minutes you spend inside of an NFW wrestling ring will be your last as a World Champion, at least for the foreseeable future. So bring your tricks, Castor, I can assure you that I’ll bring mine, and when it’s all said and done and the blood has clotted and the history has been made, I will expect one thing and one thing alone from you in concession of your title.

[Dane kicks the chair back and stands, his friendly, ponderous gaze hardening in the process.]

ERIC DANE:
I will expect your thanks, your whole-hearted appreciation of the lesson that I’m about to give you on what it means to be the World Heavyweight Champion.

[Absently he grabs the glass off of the table on his way back into the master bedroom through a sliding glass door.]

[F2B]

 

[Legion]

Funny Rook, you're not the first to say that to me. That's the cry I've heard from the fans on the internet, they say that's the reason she left and joined Jason's side. Join The Fallen, you've got nowhere else to go. Time to stop running.

Remember prior to our Barbed Wire ropes match at Wrestlestock II I mentioned about the scars I'd acquired they were part of a fall from grace many moons ago, a place that I had intended not to go back to again, that is until Jason Reeves and his band of miscreants kept pushing me then I had to suffer losing two allies in one night thanks to him and by proxy Eric Dane.

Castor says at the moment there's no Guild so for now I'm alone like you say but the door is open on room 429 and for all those times I said Luci was the Loose Cannon of the Rejects all of nFW are now going to see the true unhinged side of me.

I'm not going to be wasting your time at Reloaded Rook, far from it. Let's take the wars from before and turn it up because this time the Crown belongs to ME.

 

[LQJT86C]

The Real Thing

(FADEIN: LOS ANGELES PUBLIC LIBRARY – Sitting on a rolling ladder between stacks of books is CASTOR STRIFE, who clearly has nothing better to do on this fine afternoon but smoke a giant stogie surrounded by paper. What? Yeah, he’s smoking a cigar in the f*cking library. Just kind of staring ahead, relaxing and contemplating what he just heard from Eric Dane. Castor blows out a waft of smoke, just in time for a librarian to catch him in the act)

MALE LIBRARIAN: “Sir! Excuse me!”

(Castor flicks his eyes at the man, continuing to puff)

MALE LIBRARIAN: “We absolutely cannot have you smoking in here!”

CASTOR: (sucks in, blows out another cloud) “Here take it…”

MALE LIBRARIAN: (takes the cigar from Castor) “We do appreciate your three hundred dollar donation, but smoking is…it’s simply not allowed!”

(Castor coughs, hocks, but swallows his spit. As he adjusts his boot, you notice the books on shelf above his head, one of which is On War by Von Clausewitz)

CASTOR: “Well…(disinterested, searching for the words) I’m a man of the arts.”

(He motions for the librarian to leave him alone, and is accommodated. The camera swings to the center, and Castor cracks his neck from left to right, exhales, and addresses the lens)

CASTOR: “Take a look at this face, Eric, and get reacquainted with the main point. Everything you have done in the past few months, everything…has revolved around me.”

“Remember that it’s only off of MY shoulders that you can claim the World Championship. And in hurting me, a feat which I admit you did a FINE job of, you traded for a pound of flesh that, really, I’m not sure you can afford.”

(Hops off the ladder and casually grabs his book from the top shelf)

“For what it’s worth, friend…this life you relegated me to: the public buses, the sh*t flights, the toned down wardrobe, the rental cars…spending leisure time in the Los Angeles Public Library…it’s a pain that I can deal with on a temporary basis. It’s caused me to re-evaluate things that needed re-evaluation. It has kept me focused on your unique challenge. Every pain you’ve caused me is far from permanent.”

“That’s a world away from the price I’m exacting on you, on June 16[SUP]th[/SUP].”

(Flips through the pages at whim. Somebody SHOOSHES him from a table nearby, but he ignores them and moves on)

“When you lose, you lose for good. There is no second chance. You go to the BACK of the line, forced to claw your way up, this time without the element of surprise as your advantage. Everyone knows how you operate.”

“And can I let you in on something? Can I upturn my cards and show the hand that cannot fail to solve your novice equation?”

(Closes book hard and looks into the camera)

“You should have resented me. You should have found a reason, and loathed me. But you…(smiles) you like me. RESPECT ME. Hell, why wouldn’t you? For most of 2012, your world has revolved around me. Fact is, my world and your world have been one and the same.”

(Begins walking into one of the more remote areas of the largely empty library)

“My home, my cars, my office…you made it your own. And you liked it. You liked being me. It was a vicarious get-away vacation – Club Med couldn’t sell you the chance to live like a champion for a day or a lifetime – Sandals won’t offer the Paragon Package, an all-inclusive ride through the life of wrestling’s one true Renaissance Man.”

(Stops, pulls out another stogie, and lights it up)

“But Castor Strife Productions gave you just that, and you like, respect, or even LOVE ME for it.”

(Puts the cigar to his mouth and puffs it live. He takes it out and blows a hoop)

“You’re not my enemy, Eric. You’re my biggest fan.”

“And like a fan, you know that at your very core, you could never be what I am. You can only watch, pretend, or dream. When the moment comes, and you can look into my eyes one final time before the bell rings, you will know undoubtedly that I am the real thing – the REAL MCCOY – and that I’ve come back for the keys.”

(Sits on a table and leans forward as the camera closes in)

“Check-out time is nigh, Eric. The fantasy is over. You’ve burned through your Disney Dollars.”

“Of course, there’s even greater proof you’ve severely overplayed your hand. Want to know how you can really match what I did against Impulse and Dan Ryan?”

“Step into the ring with both of them for a combined 120 minutes, and walk out the champion.”

(Wags cigar at the camera)

“Not even Joe did that. In fact, I challenge you to comb through the NFW video library and find 120 minutes of the alleged ‘Rich Man’s Castor Strife’ defending the World Championship against any quality challengers. It can’t be done! Ninety-five percent of The Plumber’s World Championship mythos was forged in a single night two years ago. And, sadly, one hundred percent of it was destroyed in three seconds two weeks ago. (flicks hand) Se la vis.”

“Hindsight, Eric? You should have destroyed all my belongings. You should have bulldozed my home, folded my company, and bribed Eddie to make the match anyway. But you didn’t, because you’re not like me. You don’t quite punch like I do.”

“You aim for a target and stop when you’ve reached it. Sometimes it breaks; sometimes it dents.”

(Blows out smoke and stands up)

“I don’t aim for people, Eric. I aim through them. They don’t get my love, or my respect, and I certainly don’t wonder what it would be like to have a beer with them. My goal is annihilation PERIOD. I break necks, Eric. I love gold, Eric.”

“You may not realize it yet, but you’ve already gotten what you came for. You made the goal to get a title shot, and it’s happening at Reloaded 12. But I know that you didn’t plan on winning. (smiles) You tell yourself different. (shakes head slowly) But it’s a lie.”

(Paces to his right, the camera follows)

“Just like all the others, it’s going to hit you at some point during the match. That moment when you realize: My GOD! I really am lost. And you are. More than you think.”

“Two time champion? (laughs) No friend, no I don’t think so. I’m the type of champion who wasn’t built for second chances. I only need one. And your apparent dream of renting the belt from me and losing it back in the not too far off future…that’s a lost cause as well.”

(Stops, looks into the camera with dead green eyes and blows smoke into the lens)

“Keep your lessons, broken teacher. I’m the one true Professor, here and everywhere. Stand to me like the rest, and I will operate like a surgeon in front of 15,000 people.”

“Cut, cover, claim.”

(FADEOUT)

 

[Justin]

Realer than Real Deal Holyfield

Kelly Evans gently tugged at the wire connecting Eric Dane to his Android. He paused the music-player and pulled out his earbuds before engaging her.

“Yes?”

She curled her arms between his and the armrest that separated them and cooed softly into his ear. He chuckled, but shook his head negatively. “Angus might be asleep, but he won’t stay asleep. Not with you being all loud the way you like to get.”

Pouting, she released her grip on his arm. “You never let me have any fun.”

“Besides,” Eric continued. “Castor’s jet is too small, the angles are all wrong for that kind of thing. Maybe next time I’ll hijack Calvin Carlton or Troy Windham’s life, at least they know how to properly drown themselves in over-abundance. Castor tries, but he puts so much effort into being eccentric that it shows in his personal tastes.”

“You know he thinks you’re a one trick pony, right?” Kelly leaned back and propped bare feet and bare legs into Eric Dane’s lap. He didn’t seem to mind, even going so far as to absently brush a hand up the outside of her leg to her thigh.

“I do.”

“And you know everything he says is a trap, right?” She knows he knows this.

“I do, and a good one, too. The problem is, I’m not nearly as single-minded as people like Impulse and Dan Ryan have tended to be lately and because of that fact alone hghI’m not as easily baited.” He was about to continue but Kelly had other ideas.

“Hang on a minute, hold that thought.” She straightened herself and plucked the Android out of his hands. “Let me just get this set up...” She keyed in his passcode, tapped at a couple of applications, and smiled. “Alright, go.”

Irritated, he raised an eyebrow. “What are you doing?”

“Youtube.”

“Are you serious? We just left a giant studio, and we’re on the way to an arena full of recording equipment and backdrops, and you want me to do this now?” His face contorted in an incredulous half scowl/half smirk.

“Yep.” She winked.

“Why?”

“Because it’s your job to put asses into seats, and you do that by creating interest, and you do that by exploiting Castor on a public forum, thereby developing sympathy, thereby pushing trailer trash and little kids and overweight middle-aged smarks into buying tickets to see you get your neck broken by Castor Strife in person.”

Eric blinked. “Are you lecturing me on the business?”

“So what if I am?” She held the Android up as if it were a camera, smiled her smile and winked her wink at him before pressing one last button. “Now, go.”


===


OSV:
Now, go.

[FADEIN: Surprisingly well-framed handheld footage of ERIC DANE inside the cab of Castor Strife’s private Learjet. That snoring sound in the background is to be ignored.]

ERIC DANE:
What’s happening here, Castor, is that you’re talking in too many circles and not listening to what I’m telling you.

[Wink.]

ERIC DANE:
I haven’t been trying to destroy you, and I haven’t been trying to debilitate you. If I were, I’d have ran that Maybach you decided to hop onto in Hollywood into a tree and squashed you like a bug.

For all of your bragging and all of your bravado and all of your know-it-all artsy fartsy bullshit you’re forgetting the one thing that matters most with gold and pride on the line. You’re forgetting the one mechanic that won you that World Title in the first place...

It only takes distracting you for three seconds to take it all away.

I’ve been distracting you from yourself, me, the title, the company, and everything else since the moment I laid eyes on you. What makes you so sure that I can’t do it inside of that ring in Jacksonville for three more measly seconds?

One.

Two.

Three.

That’s all it takes and you’re pissing in the wind with nothing, not even the hardware that drives you to perform such feats as not beat Dan Ryan twice and outlast Impulse in a “Who can out-dull whom” Marathon of Must-Change-the-Channel Mayhem.

[He cracks a knowing grin.]

ERIC DANE:
You take this business entirely too personally, Castor. I don’t have to hate you to ruin your life and cherry-pick your belongings to make them my own. Matter of factly, if I hated you I’d probably not gone through so much trouble setting you up for the fall, I’d have just taken you out from behind and then gone on to win whatever tournament that Eddo and T-Roy cooked up to reappropriate the World Championship after you went mysteriously missing.

Bulldoze your house? Why would I waste energy and money on such a petulant little girl power play like bulldozing your house? I like your house, Castor, and now it’s my house. It fits in well with the penthouse I keep in Las Vegas, the ranch I keep in Texas, and the plantation I keep outside of New Orleans. I liked it, and now it’s mine.

Such is my lot in life.

I see things that I want, and I take them. I’ve made a career on it, and I’ve broken several other careers in the process. Just like your company, just like your cars, and just like your house, I’ll take that shiny trinket from you like like you’re new fish and I’m planning on raping you in the shower later after yard time. Before it’s over I’ll have you tethered to me, holding onto my out-flipped pocket as I walk around my territory and dare anybody to stand up and say word one about it.

[A malicious giggle is heard from somewhere off screen, the camera jiggles ever so slightly in time with the laughter.]

[Pause. Eric takes this time to reload the chamber.]

ERIC DANE: [mocking]
Can I upturn my cards and blah blah blah bullshit.

ERIC DANE:
Go ahead and turn up your cards, it’s not as if you have a hand left to play. Matter of fact you ran out of chips a long time ago and there’s nobody left to deal you in. Your credit is no good here, Mister Strife, we’ll not be giving you any more markers, and the only thing left is for me to drag you out into the desert in your tighty-whities and fill up an unmarked hole in the sand with your useless carcass.

Your vanity is going to be what brings you down, you know.

Your thirst to be remembered and even revered will be your downfall, because I’ve already had my hall of fame career, Castor, and I don’t give a shit about putting on anymore five-star matches at this point. I give a shit about padding my resume and dwarfing your bank account with the precious few years that I’ve got left as an active wrestler in this business. Check the internet, there are more “Best of:” DVD sets on Amazon with my face on the cover than there are hits to a Google search of your name.

I don’t have to make a big production out of beating you, I’ve already taken my sweet time to soften you up for the biggest fall of your career.

[Eric smiles again, this the smile of a confident man.]

ERIC DANE:
I hate to be the bearer of bad news here, Castor, but one thing that nobody ever accused you of being was a five-star Ring General. You had to get that imp Alex Austin to get you ready for Impulse, and if you’ll remember I ripped his face halfway off of his skull and pulled his arm damned near off in a match of his own making.

What in Christ’s name do you expect you’re going to be able to do against me come Reloaded when I’m chopping your chest to threads, dropping you on your neck like it’s a drug and I’ve got a habit, and gouging your face with everything I can get my hands on?

That’s why it had to be you, Castor. While I have zero problem in the world with taking any and every shortcut in the entire canon of wrestling to win the match, I also understand that one can’t achieve true greatness by bullying around scrubs in the ring for five minutes at a time. Take a look around, Castor, there’s nobody around to even form the line that I’m hypothetically going to the back of. Dan Ryan lost his smile. Impulse forgot how to win matches. Nobody takes JJ DeVille seriously, and Troy Windham and Mike Randalls are going to kill each other. Who else am I to contest this with? Eddie Mayfield? God? My Father? Bill Shatner? The Ghost of Christmas Past?

There’s nobody left in the New Frontier that I could run through that’d cause so much as a ripple, either in my own esteem or in the history books, and you have the absolute sack to assume that I’ve already shot my load?

[Tsk, tsk.]

ERIC DANE:
You’re overestimating yourself, Cas, the only thing even keeping you floating around corporeal in my reality is that belt that I’ve only just now been scheduled to wrestle for.

[Eric stops, chuckling to himself at the mere thought.]

ERIC DANE:
You’re right about one thing, the entire year of two-thousand and twelve has been dedicated to you. Don’t pat yourself too hard on the back though, Champ, the entire reason for that is the gold and the leather that you so desperately cling to. I set my sights on the World Title the day I walked into the new Frontier and started outsmarting, outfighting, and outmaneuvering the entire roster of this company. You took the belt in a tournament and that put the target directly around your waistline, and I’ve wasted zero time in closing in on the only goal that matters in this business...

Crowning myself Champion.

[The smile fades and his eyes go narrow.]

ERIC DANE:
Go ahead, tell yourself that I’m done with you already. Convince yourself and all of your indoctrinated masses that I swing for the target and you swing through it. That’ll be one more distraction for you to figure out when I show you and the rest of the New Frontier that I don’t swing for either...

I swing for record books.

I play for myself, and I swing for forever.

Meanwhile, you can have yourself a nice time convincing the gas mask that you’re the greatest of all time because you ran through Legion and Magnus on your way to losing your first serious title defense to a man who’s been with the company for less than a year. I’m in your house Castor, I’m in your private jet...

I’m in your head.

I know what it is that you want, Castor, what you crave. You want with all of your little heart and soul to be remembered.

[Smirk.]

ERIC DANE:
Well, because I like you so much I’m going to do you a solid. I’m going to make sure that you’ll be remembered among the names of the greats. I’ll make your legend mean something, Castor, only bad news for you is that it’s not going to be for specifically what you’d like to be remembered for.

When this is all over and the talking heads are flapping about Reloaded I’ll be in your spot as the Champion of the New Frontier, too.

[He snorts, unceremoniously.]

ERIC DANE:
Now go ahead, tell me what you think about that.

[Snicker.]

ERIC DANE:
As a matter of fact, don’t. I’ve figured your whole spiel out months ago.

[End.]

 

[LQJT86C]

Stick to What You're Good At, While You Can

(FADEIN: Camera moves across a dimly lit liquor establishment in North Miami. The bar is in the middle of the room, it’s seats moderately populated, and prop sand has been laid along the wood floor for a beach theme. In one corner is a pool table, currently in use – a big tatted up guy breaks first winds up sinking the striped three-ball. In the other corner, CASTOR STRIFE is sitting in a half-circle booth facing the camera dead on, with a pouty-lipped Cuban female all over him and a bottle of Maker’s Mark next to his rocks glass)

CASTOR: “It seems to me, Eric, that you’re the type of man who measures his cock starting from the tailbone. Lying about a number to convince others is one thing. But reinventing the decimal system so that you can believe the lie yourself…that isn’t healthy.”

(Pours himself another glass)

“Do you hear me, Eric Dane? I said you’re sick. You’re not well. If there is anyone qualified to know the difference between greatness and delusional grandeur, it’s me. I’m the one they accuse of being so-called “DELUSIONAL”. Yet I can find water in a desert not for want of mirage. I can call my shot any damn time I please. Mine is the name that travels here, there, and everywhere around the world pulling grandeur from grain like a toy-prize from cereal, and they…they, they, they…have the audacity to call ME delusional?”

(Smiles, shakes his head and takes a sip before lightly putting his glass down. He pulls his lip over his teeth at the bite of the whiskey as his lady friend mouths playfully at his ear)

“Dreams are not dreams when they’re brought to living color. I am the painter, the poet, the architect, and the auteur, and… (pauses, takes a breath and smiles) …and you’re still lying to yourself, Eric.”

“You don’t really believe you’re receiving a shot at my title because there’s no one else, do you? You don’t actually think you are in this position because somebody – anybody – thinks you would make a better champion, right?”

“Let me put it this way…”

(Clears throat; swirls liquid around the rocks glass, contemplating another sip, but deciding to pass)

“Magnus challenged me for the World Title, and that was interesting because he had never lost a match to that point, and owned a fairly decisive victory over Impulse in an Openweight tournament final.”

“Legion also challenged me, and that was interesting because he is a long-time NFW competitor who was coming off of a heavyweight championship victory, holding a renegade title that needed to be unified.”

“JJ Deville could vie for my belt next month and that match would sell out (presses finger on table) tonight because aside from his name value, he scored a pinfall over me in a high profile elimination match.”

“You on the other hand…”

(Cracks neck from left to right; smiles)

“You shouldn’t forget why you’re here. It has almost nothing to do with your ability in the ring. Why would it? You haven’t beaten anybody.”

“Who’s left you ask? Mayfield, Shatner, GOD?”

(Looks at female friend and raises eyebrows; looks back at camera soberingly)

“How about you start with BRET KELLY. How about MIKE F[BLEEP]KING MCGEE. Or better yet, how about somebody who has won a match in New Frontier Wrestling?”

“Oh I embellish nothing. In fact this is all very true – I took your advice, Googled you, and found some information. It seems that the seven opponents you’ve beaten in NFW are a combined 3-33 here, and that’s only because Shawn Hart had three wins a decade ago. Your last six opponents? WINLESS FOR THEIR CAREERS.”

“You talk about ‘no one left to run through’ and Castor Strife barely floating corporeal in your reality, and this is based on…what, slicing through P. King Duk, Peter Windham, Barry Lawler, Bandit, and Adrian Willard like a hot knife through butter?”

“Your first-ballot nomination to the Speak ‘N Spell Hall of Fame, over in Smallpond, USA?”

“Please know that I’ve pissed white gold into wrestling river streams wider than your tunnel-shaped eyes, for no other reason than I was bored on a weekend. Eddie Mayfield may not love what I’m about, but I promise you there is a coaster on his desk melted down from the gold I won on a lazy Sunday from some organization that would likely ID you at the door, Eric. There is a COASTER ON HIS DESK that is of equal or greater value to your penny-dreadful career.”

“You are easily the most undeserving contender for a major title in NFW history, possibly in wrestling history. 10-12 people are unquestionably ahead of you, maybe more. STALKER is mad that you’re getting a shot before him, Eric. Think about it.”

“And you leapfrogged them all. In spite of everything I just said, it’s you and not them who is going to face me in one of the most anticipated title matches in NFW history. That is impressive on it’s own merit, friend. You don’t have to lie to me, the public, or yourself – you were that smart, that cunning, and that resourceful. Consider me utterly impressed.”

(Smiles, takes a sip from his glass)

“But you should know, as should everybody else, that this golden opportunity of yours owes nothing to your supposed skill level. It has everything to do with what you took from me. Everything to do with what I’m going to take from you…”

“Now you’ve surprised me twice. Because I always knew you were smart, but I never understood why you stopped short of driving the knife through my brain when you had the chance. I now understand why you weren’t smart enough, weren’t cunning enough, or even resourceful enough to nail my coffin shut…”

“It’s because you actually believe you’re on my level. You really thought you needed only to tease me into a fight, where you could win on merit of cunning and skill.”

(Lady friend curls her hand around Castor’s neck and begins rubbing it, kissing him in a devoted but absent-minded way. Lovely little pill-wh0re she is)

“This might be the saddest story ever told, and I almost regret being the one to tell it. How a man wasted an entire career and in the end, was unmade by a belief in his own hype.”

“See I don’t have that problem, Eric. People say I’m delusional, but where’s the chicanery in a man who keeps his promises to the very letter? (Smiles, gives a patronizing look to the camera) Seems I’m not the one who’s deluded.”

(In the background, the noise of pool balls being broken is heard. Castor takes a drink, licking his teeth while starting for a moment at the glass he slammed to the table. He pauses for a moment to reflect, then starts again)

“Unlike me, you won’t be remembered for greatness. You will be remembered mostly for what you failed to do.”

“The worst thing you could have done to me, was destroy Castor Strife Productions and put me in a position where the only thing to gain from a match with you…was a win over Eric Dane.”

“Instead, I find myself in a position to set everything right by putting you to pasture. I can have my company back, I can have my house back, I can have my respect, my art, my everything…just the way it was, sans one statue. And I can have all of that and your head, when I pass through Jacksonville.”

“Because the truth of it all, Eric, is that you took NOTHING from me – you only borrowed it. You’re the guy who picked my f[BLEEP]king locker combination.”

“And to borrow my sh[BLEEP] on the collateral of your own skill?”

(Shakes head, wags finger)

“Not wise. The fact that you think this was some GENIUS plan is either a testament to your own grand stupidity, or proof-positive that NFW is ironic in a way that warms my f[BLEEP]king heart.”

“My advice? Same as it was to Dorchester, the last man-child who thought he could play my game and win: CHEAT. Sit down with a handful of people, and figure out a way to beat me five or six at a time. Take full advantage of your stipulation, of the cunning intelligence I THOUGHT you had, because it might be your only reprieve.”

“Do this…or feel the truth as I beat it into your head.”

“In Jacksonville they’re going to witness firsthand what the big fish do to the little ones.”

(FADEOUT)

 

[Justin]

If you're Homeless and you know it Clap your Hands!

“For a man who wants to be a visionary, you sure as shit spend a lot of time transcribing my words and trying to come up with snarky little retorts to each and every bullet-point that I send your way.”

[FADEIN: Freakville.]

“I can’t imagine why, either. The one thing that you can’t do with a man like me is take anything that I say for what it looks like at face value. As you have been harping on for a week now, I tend to say and do whatever it takes to both make my point, and get what I want. You’ve got me confused with a man who likes to repeat himself, Castor, when in reality what I am is a man who is so far ahead of his so-called peers that the only joy left for me aside from winning titles and spending money is pulling their little strings every now and again, just to see what kind of blind rhetoric that they spit back at me.

[The Only Star finds himself days early to the Veterans Memorial Arena. Behind him is your usual New Frontier stressed logo, to one side is a ficus and directly in front of him would be the recording camera.]

ERIC DANE:
I’ll be honest, Cas, I’m a little surprised at how easy it’s been with you especially. You’ve led the world to believe that you’re some kind of misunderstood prophet, to be observed and studied for your trailblazing march through the wrestling giants en route to becoming some kind of unfettered monolith standing tall above the competition.

[Smirk.]

ERIC DANE:
In the real world, what you are is an easily broken little man who has managed to string together several years worth of decent luck into a passable career that’ll make you just a big enough hit on the convention circuit when you retire that you can bilk little kids for twenty bucks a pop to get a picture in that ridiculous gas mask you carry around with you like a security blanket.

You’re not even doing your schtick anymore, Castor, you’ve given up your artistic integrity for the inside of a library on one side of the continent and a hole-in-the-wall bar on the other. I’ve got your head turned so far around that you’ve forgotten what got you here in the first place and decided to try and beat me at Point-Counterpoint.

Well, Castor, if you want to go tit-for-tat I’m sure I can bring Kelly out here and her tits will surely outmatch your tats and once again I’ll have bested you at something that doesn’t really matter one-quarter of one cunthair as far as Reloaded is concerned. The point of it though, as has been every point that I’ve made as yet, would be that in no matter what the category of argument, Eric Dane is your complete and total superior.

[His smile widens.]

ERIC DANE:
That’s what kills you, isn’t it?

I’ve accomplished more in eight months here in the New Frontier solely by outsmarting you than you’ve done in half-a-dozen years by beating pretty much everyone they’ve put in front of you. I actually literally and figuratively leapfrogged the entire list of World Title contenders by making a mockery out of you and everything you stand for, and all you can do is bitch and moan about it because you didn’t have the brains to figure it out first.

And me?

I just took your house on I Don’t Give a Fuck Avenue.

I did it not only because I could, but more so because you couldn’t stop me to save your half-assed little career. You rant and you rave about how much I’ve impressed you, and in the same breath you lie and cajole about how you have the answer to everything that I am.

I am not the liar here, Cas. I am the Guardian of Absolute Truth. You’re the one backtracking at every other step because for all of your vision and all your machinations you can’t see the forest for the goddamned trees. Of COURSE I’m lying to you, Castor, it’s so very easy. But at the very same time I’ve done nothing but tell you exactly what I’ll do to you to take that belt from you, and I’ve exaggerated so little that I can’t even be bothered to go back and re-iterate it.

[The Only Star begins pacing.]

ERIC DANE:
Let’s think this through, shall we Castor?

You didn’t sign the match with me to get your things back any more than Magnus got his World Title shot out of anything resembling merit. You signed the contract with me because Eddie Mayfield told you to, and I signed your match with Magnus because you thought that I’d blow my load and sign it myself.

As always, your befuddlement is my gain.

Me, I paid off Eddie Mayfield with Troy Windham and Calvin Carlton’s money just to cover my bases and to keep his dogs out of my business, which as you’ve so politely pointed out several dozen times, is you and your big gold belt. And hey, look at that, I’ve been left alone to do as I please on my way to this upcoming match and I haven’t had anybody of any worth thrown in my path, and all you can come up with is how regardless of the fact that I’ve had you stumped since the word go, you still think you’re somehow ahead in the game.

[The pacing stops.]

ERIC DANE:
Ain’t that cute.

[He rolls his eyes.]

ERIC DANE:
And don’t think for one iota of one second that I haven’t already figured my cheating business out. I’ll jab my thumb in your eyes, knee you in the sack with my titanium knee-brace, grab the ropes for extra leverage in submission holds and you can better fuckin’ believe I’ll have Angus sitting in your Maybach in the parking garage with his foot on the pedal just in case you decide to let this match get that out of control, and I can promise you he’ll run over you, throw it in reverse, and run over you again.

Why?

Because I pay him to, and because I will stop at nothing to become what you are trying so hard to convince the world that you are, a world champion. Your reign has been a joke, punctuated at every single juncture by your inability to win a match when it counts or see a feint for what it is or even react to what you’d like people to believe is obvious gimmickry.

You see, when I become Champion, I won’t spend my time not beating Dan Ryan and barely handling Legion, I’ll be too busy picking apart every challenger at the seams, just as I’ve done with you, and I will show you the definition of domination while I have the run that you so pathetically wish you could have for yourself.

You’re a fuckin’ joke, Castor...

[Cerulean eyes pierce through the camera.]

ERIC DANE:
And I’m the everlasting godfucker of a punchline.

As for that drink, I think I’ll have one of my secretaries send a warm bottle of Night Train on over to whatever bus station you’ll call home for the night after our business is concluded in Jacksonville so that you can feel right at home bathing in the sewer with the rest of the unwashed masses that eat up your never ending cache of uninspired discourse.

[XCU: Eric flashes a row if perfect pearly whites.]

ERIC DANE:
You bring the belt, Castor, I’ll bring the keys. We can leave it all in the ring and then I can get on with the business of my legacy and you can go back to squabbling with Impulse over who’s the second-best wrestler in the world.

The answer is JJ DeVille, by the way, neither of you seem to be able to carry his jock.

[The smile widens.]

[FADE2BLACK]