t r e
New member
- Joined
- Dec 15, 2006
- Messages
- 234
- Points
- 0
- Age
- 44
- Location
- saratoga springs, new york
- Website
- www.paulbrisbin.com
FADEIN: Just outside the emergency entrance of Des Moines Mercy Medical Center. EMT's hastily rushed an occupied stretcher past the cameraman and inside. Friends and family of the in-need milled about, worried looks on nearly all their faces. Suddenly a battered, bandaged and bruised bad ass of a brawler appeared in the doorway. Arm in a sling, no spring in his step ... he was clearly down-trodden. Stopping a moment to note the chill in the air, the man known to the wrestling world as THE fastest-rising superstar in the sport's recorded history to ever rock a fourteen pound crucifix around his neck grimaced -- he is Ice Tre. And today ... had not been his day.
ICE TRE: ...sheeeee-iiiiiiit...
Spotting the camera crew, Tre adjusted the awkward and blood-stained bandage wrapped around his head and tried with all of his considerable might to look unphased by it all. Unphased by the merciless beating he'd received at Sean Stevens hands just hours prior. Unphased by the two broken ribs, dislocated shoulder, and slight concussion he'd been dealt. And above all, he tried to appear unphased by being ELIMINATED from the tournament he'd been BORN to win -- the tournament he'd guaranteed to all of EPW and the world that he would win.
ICE TRE: *sigh*
Trying not to limp, Tre treated the camera as if it weren't there, as if they weren't side-stepping from his path as he trudged along towards the parking lot. Cassidy, who'd remained in San Diego to conduct business regarding the VZ Wrestling School, had arranged for a limo to take Tre to the nearest airport, and a jet to take him back to California to meet with Stewart's personal physician. But there was no limo in sight. No where to run. Coming to a rest on the curb, Tre glanced over his shoulder as the cameraman squatted down on one knee. Another sigh from the King of the Streets as he turned around, face humorless and exhausted. Black and blue.
ICE TRE: Y'all really wanna do this right now?
Silence from the production staff.
ICE TRE: VULTURES! That's who you be! Buncha LEECHES, an' ****! Man ... F__K Y'ALL! You ain't gettin' NOTHIN' outta me!
Tre venomously flashed his four-finger ring (the word 'BANK' cheaply encrusted across it) to the camera before turning away as the crew held their ground. Hands on his hips, Tre knew just how badly he'd been broken down in that ring. For maybe the first time in his life, Ice Tre truly understood what had REALLY happened during one of his matches. This time he got it. This time ... he really felt it. And he didn't like it.
He muttered under his breathe, soundman struggling with his knobs, straining his sub-par equipment to pick up Tre's bitter words.
ICE TRE: ...man, they don't KNOW Me! Always stickin' a camera in a brother's face, see where THAT gets you. Punk snitches. Yeah. That's right. Kick me when I'm down, an' ****. Gon' ahead, yo! The world been doggin' me out the GATE and *STILL* I thrive, baby! So WHAT if he got me. So WHAT if he got LUCKY tonight. I admit it, yo! He BESTED me. I admit it! He bested me TONIGHT. And that's IT. Don't go no further, baby. Nuh-uh. Sean Stevenz thinks he can FADE me! Fade WHO? ME?!? King of the STREETS?!? Ice Tre, All Day! I don't die -- I INTENSIFY!
He spun around, hyped. Snatching the bloody bandaged from his head he spiked it on the ground stiffly, wrenching his right arm out of it's sling with a grunt and cerimoniously dropping it to the pavement. Eyes wildly wide and stern, Tre almost looked intimidating; if only for the unexpectedness of his outburst.
ICE TRE: Stevenz! You may have survived tonight! You scraped by me and moved on in the tournament. I know you as busted up as I am, son. I know you lickin' your wounds ... or Ivy's wound ... who knows. You and I *both* know that our match could have gone either way! Don't lie, Triple. Err'body here in Des Moines and err'body watchin' around the world knows that if, maybe, I'd taken you a little more seriously... believed even a smidge of your watered down HYPE... that it'd be *ME* movin' on to face AA in the semi-finals! Not YOU! But, sheeee-iiiit. They tellin' me I ain't even cleared to wrestle. Tell me I can't compete at Aggression 31. That I won't be booked there *and* that I MAY not even be able to do my thang at EPW/NEW Shindig 2007, or whatever they be callin' it! But know THIS, Stevenz. You ain't off my radar. You still in my cross-hairs, G -- and Ice Tre shoots to mother****ing KILL. Best believe, son ... at Aggression 31 and every event going forward ... whether I'm allowed on the card or not ... Ice Tre will be all up in your grill, all up in your area, and all up in your BID'NESS like no other!
He winced momentarily, hand clutching his chest protectively -- no shame in his game.
ICE TRE: This ain't over, yo! Not by a LONGSHOT! Not for NOTHIN'! ... Sean Stevenz? Best reckonize. WAR, son. WAR. That's what I'm bringing. Til the last man's standin'.
A limosine slowly glided into view behind him. Spotting it, he flashes a confident smirk before stacking what probably weren't a series of gang signs. But, hey ... he tried.
ICE TRE: Ungh. What.
He hopped inside, slammed the door behind him and we FADEOUT.
ICE TRE: ...sheeeee-iiiiiiit...
Spotting the camera crew, Tre adjusted the awkward and blood-stained bandage wrapped around his head and tried with all of his considerable might to look unphased by it all. Unphased by the merciless beating he'd received at Sean Stevens hands just hours prior. Unphased by the two broken ribs, dislocated shoulder, and slight concussion he'd been dealt. And above all, he tried to appear unphased by being ELIMINATED from the tournament he'd been BORN to win -- the tournament he'd guaranteed to all of EPW and the world that he would win.
ICE TRE: *sigh*
Trying not to limp, Tre treated the camera as if it weren't there, as if they weren't side-stepping from his path as he trudged along towards the parking lot. Cassidy, who'd remained in San Diego to conduct business regarding the VZ Wrestling School, had arranged for a limo to take Tre to the nearest airport, and a jet to take him back to California to meet with Stewart's personal physician. But there was no limo in sight. No where to run. Coming to a rest on the curb, Tre glanced over his shoulder as the cameraman squatted down on one knee. Another sigh from the King of the Streets as he turned around, face humorless and exhausted. Black and blue.
ICE TRE: Y'all really wanna do this right now?
Silence from the production staff.
ICE TRE: VULTURES! That's who you be! Buncha LEECHES, an' ****! Man ... F__K Y'ALL! You ain't gettin' NOTHIN' outta me!
Tre venomously flashed his four-finger ring (the word 'BANK' cheaply encrusted across it) to the camera before turning away as the crew held their ground. Hands on his hips, Tre knew just how badly he'd been broken down in that ring. For maybe the first time in his life, Ice Tre truly understood what had REALLY happened during one of his matches. This time he got it. This time ... he really felt it. And he didn't like it.
He muttered under his breathe, soundman struggling with his knobs, straining his sub-par equipment to pick up Tre's bitter words.
ICE TRE: ...man, they don't KNOW Me! Always stickin' a camera in a brother's face, see where THAT gets you. Punk snitches. Yeah. That's right. Kick me when I'm down, an' ****. Gon' ahead, yo! The world been doggin' me out the GATE and *STILL* I thrive, baby! So WHAT if he got me. So WHAT if he got LUCKY tonight. I admit it, yo! He BESTED me. I admit it! He bested me TONIGHT. And that's IT. Don't go no further, baby. Nuh-uh. Sean Stevenz thinks he can FADE me! Fade WHO? ME?!? King of the STREETS?!? Ice Tre, All Day! I don't die -- I INTENSIFY!
He spun around, hyped. Snatching the bloody bandaged from his head he spiked it on the ground stiffly, wrenching his right arm out of it's sling with a grunt and cerimoniously dropping it to the pavement. Eyes wildly wide and stern, Tre almost looked intimidating; if only for the unexpectedness of his outburst.
ICE TRE: Stevenz! You may have survived tonight! You scraped by me and moved on in the tournament. I know you as busted up as I am, son. I know you lickin' your wounds ... or Ivy's wound ... who knows. You and I *both* know that our match could have gone either way! Don't lie, Triple. Err'body here in Des Moines and err'body watchin' around the world knows that if, maybe, I'd taken you a little more seriously... believed even a smidge of your watered down HYPE... that it'd be *ME* movin' on to face AA in the semi-finals! Not YOU! But, sheeee-iiiit. They tellin' me I ain't even cleared to wrestle. Tell me I can't compete at Aggression 31. That I won't be booked there *and* that I MAY not even be able to do my thang at EPW/NEW Shindig 2007, or whatever they be callin' it! But know THIS, Stevenz. You ain't off my radar. You still in my cross-hairs, G -- and Ice Tre shoots to mother****ing KILL. Best believe, son ... at Aggression 31 and every event going forward ... whether I'm allowed on the card or not ... Ice Tre will be all up in your grill, all up in your area, and all up in your BID'NESS like no other!
He winced momentarily, hand clutching his chest protectively -- no shame in his game.
ICE TRE: This ain't over, yo! Not by a LONGSHOT! Not for NOTHIN'! ... Sean Stevenz? Best reckonize. WAR, son. WAR. That's what I'm bringing. Til the last man's standin'.
A limosine slowly glided into view behind him. Spotting it, he flashes a confident smirk before stacking what probably weren't a series of gang signs. But, hey ... he tried.
ICE TRE: Ungh. What.
He hopped inside, slammed the door behind him and we FADEOUT.