A Strategic Showcase of Showmanship.
Mar 10, 2018 9:23:39 GMT -5
Alexander Pasternak, T.F.K., and 3 more like this
Post by Lockhart on Mar 10, 2018 9:23:39 GMT -5
He sat on the corner bar stool nonchalantly, wrapping the white tape round and round until it fitted upon the fist perfectly. He stood up, unbuttoned shirt swaying freely beneath him while he glanced to the other side of the clearing made by the people of the local bar. They had gathered around in the form of a circle - there must have been at least thirty of them - each waving their money and pointing in the direction of either him or the man who stood across from him on the opposite end of the small clearing. In the midst of the pack, an African-American man wearing a set of overalls held his hands out, accepting money from the bar patrons.
‘Get your bet in while you can! Young Lockhart will be going up against The Tank. We’ll be starting in five, call everyone you know and tell them it’s about to happen.’
A cheer went up amongst the people, some of which were frighteningly drunk, whilst others seemed content to simply watch the action that would soon be unfolding before them. Ryan looked on in interest, head cocked to the side while he proceeded to wrap the left hand. He only fought around town for an extra way to make money on the side, yet the people seemed to love it. The fighting here never went to the extreme; once one man went down and looked to be on the verge of defeat, the match would be over. But still, they admired it. They watched intently, the sound of the fist slamming into bone and flesh, the smell of blood that went up in the air - it would put the people into a frenzy. Maybe the human race hadn’t evolved as much as everyone had been told.
‘Don’t take too long, yeah? We’re meant to be performing down the road in 30.’
Ryan turned back to find Mark Pierre standing behind him, impatiently looking down at the wrist-watch he wore, while flattening out a small crease that appeared on the blue suit jacket that he had rented for the night. He gave him a reassuring smile, whilst reaching for a flask that he had attached to his belt loop earlier in the day. Ryan took a quick swig from it, nostrils and throat burning as the straight whiskey went down his throat.
‘Got a smoke? Need one to stop my hand shaking after I’m done.’
‘Yeah, yeah. You really need to quit.’ Mark replied while reaching into his pant pocket and coming away with a cigarette.
‘Gonna take a little more than that to convince me, friendo.’ Ryan said, chuckling a little while grabbing the smoke, pocketing it for the time being. ‘You sticking around? I’d hate to have to cave another man’s face in without your support.’
He watched Mark draw breath to comment but was swiftly cut off by the ringing of his phone. He opens his mouth, wordlessly apologizing, before holding a finger up and walking away, pulling out his phone and bringing it to his ear. Shrugging to himself, Ryan turns back around to face his upcoming opponent. Large and intimidating in stature, with a bicep and chest that were probably thrice the size of his own. No matter, that gave him the all-important advantage of speed.
The man taking the bets from before now stands in between them, flashing a toothy grin as he acknowledges the two men set to do battle.
‘Alright, fellas. Bets are in. Winner gets a cool two hundred and fifty, and a free room if they so desire! We ready to go?’
The Tank grunts, eyes set firmly upon Ryan, who merely nods and smirks. He couldn’t tell if he was just overly-confident, or if he was smiling at the fact that he was already tipsy after the night’s drinks. His reaction time would be hampered - but he was accustomed to that - when wasn’t he getting at least a little loose before a fight?
‘Then all that’s left to do… is FIGHT!’
At a blistering pace, Ryan scooted forward and fired off three stiff body shots, each of which caused The Tank to exhale sharply, but didn’t stop him from returning a heavy-handed blow of his own. However, by the time he had executed his full swing, Ryan had already disengaged, circling around and bouncing on the balls of his feet in a frenetic manner. The Tank frowned, taking two formidable steps forward, setting himself before Ryan’s swaying figure.
‘That all you got, little man?’ he said, nearly spitting the words out.
‘Wait and see.’ Ryan replied, a playful grin coming over him.
For the next few minutes, a similar routine played out. A replay of the same event. The Tank would swing a wicked blow, one that could potentially obliterate the head of a man, should the meatball of a fist land clean on one’s jaw or temple. Ryan picked each shot carefully, wearing down the bigger, stronger, and clearly more durable man. Then, it happened.
He saw the opening from a mile away, an overhand right coming at him from The Tank - which naturally would allow him to slip in undetected to land a nigh-unstoppable liver blow. He ducked in diagonally, swinging upward with a fist that would render the man incapable of moving after he landed it.
Which would have happened immediately, had his drunken state not left him unable to properly gauge the distance. The Tank and Ryan landed at the exact same time, a dual exchange. The hammerfist slammed against his cheek - a glancing blow that would have knocked him clean out, had his natural reflexes not allowed him to sway back momentarily. Ryan stumbled backward, his cheek flaring in agony as he nearly fell back into the stool he was seated upon mere minutes ago.
However, he had done enough. The Tank wavered for a moment, before falling to a knee. Ryan staggered forward, feeling the warmth of blood coming down his face due to a cut that he formed on his face - a sight that drew the excitement of the Bostonian crowd. However, they failed to notice that the liver-shot he had delivered to The Tank had been crucial, as the bigger man dropped to both knees with a thump, before crumpling down to the wooden flooring below.
Silence overcame the bar, which then turned into a cacophony of screams and chants for Ryan, who breathed a sigh of relief in the knowledge that he wouldn’t have to proceed with a ringing headache that now rattled him. The African-American man approached him with a small wad of cash in his hand wrapped together by an elastic band, handing it to him with a smile.
‘Trust a Lockhart to walk away with more of my money. I’ll be real - I nearly shed a tear when your old man retired from pub fighting. You woulda’ thought that stubborn old prick would’ve never quit - no offense.’
‘None taken. Get me an ice pack, yeah? And a lighter.’
‘You got it.’ the man said, before hurrying off to the bar to retrieve the requested items. By the time he returned, Ryan had slumped himself back into the stool, eyes nearly adrift. When the man sharply shook him by the arm, he returned to life, startling awake with widened eyes.
‘Shit, your booze nearly put me to bed.’
He boomed with laughter. ‘That’s the point!’ He said while handing him a packet of frozen peas, followed by a silver lighter. Ryan nodded in thanks, and then slowly worked his way to his feet, patting the man on the back before exiting from the establishment. Upon exiting, he is greeted once again by Mark, who has assumed a look of ridicule.
‘You lost the fight?'
Ryan scoffs. ‘Other guy couldn’t even stand.’
‘Good. After what I just heard, we can’t have your reputation being ruined by a random bar brawler.’
He tilts his head, quizzical. ‘What’s this?’
‘I, Mark Pierre, your loyal compatriot and forever best friend, just received a call from Action Wrestling. They want to give you a shot, man.’
Ryan, who had just been lighting the cigarette he had been given earlier, snaps his head back toward Mark, who is now smiling from ear to ear.
‘You’re fucking joking. You actually applied for me?’ He says, incredulous.
‘You’re damn right they did. They have a bunch of established talent there, but they’re open to giving new guys who are motivated a shot. Think you fall into that category?’
‘I’m twenty-three. In a year or two people will be expecting me to have a fuckin’ kid and be married or somethin, right?’
‘’Is that so? I missed the mark then.’
The two share a quick laugh, before Ryan leans back, bringing the smoke to his lips and having a drag of it. He brings the bag of frozen peas to his cheek, allowing it to bring a chill to him that brings him back down to reality, as realization dawns upon him as to the new journey that lies ahead of him.
‘Holy shit, I’m about to be a professional wrestler.’
‘Yep. Guess doing that backyard shit back in the day really paid off, huh?’
Ryan sits down upon the stone stairs leading up to the bar, blowing out a stream of smoke from his nostrils and mouth in the cool night air. He glances up to the stars and the dark sky above, whispering a short thank you to whoever, or whatever may be looking down on him from the heavens.
‘About damn time I started making some noise.’
‘I can’t believe you’re about to cut a promo at a fucking airport.’
From behind a wobbly camera, the voice of Mark Pierre can be heard loud and clear, even amidst the general ruckus that comes from being centralized in the ceaseless busyness of the Boston Logan International Airport. Ryan Lockhart, wheeling along with him nothing but an inconspicuous carry-on luggage bag, shakes his head dismissively.
‘You got that camera working? I’m about to go to work.’
‘Yeah, yeah. Get on with it.’
With a smile, Ryan sits himself down cross-legged in a rather unpopulated corner of the airport, an impressive task considering the nature of the location He buttons up the top of his shirt, before addressing the camera directly.
‘Action Wrestling! Glad to make your acquaintance. Right now, you’re taking a look at the biggest, brightest and undoubted best young star in the organization.’
Before he can carry on, he simply starts to laugh, shaking his head in dismay.
‘I’m kidding. I ain’t about to sit here and come at you all with the same old shit that you’ve heard time and time again. All that typical drabble you hear? That’s not me. If there’s one thing you DO need to know about me - it’s that I’m straightforward and unfearful of any consequences that my reprimand me in the future.
‘Basically, I’m the most real fucking guy you’re going to be hearing from today, and probably for the rest of my time here in Action Wrestling which - if you haven’t guessed already - is going to be a while. How long exactly? Probably until I’m thirty. That’s one ugly fucking age, and I’d rather be dead before I have to look at myself in the mirror and witness my own deterioration before my very eyes.
‘Anyway, enough of that. You came here to hear me talk some shit, right? See what the new guy on the block has to say to his opposition? Well, you’ve come to the right place! This week, I find myself coming up against Sloane Atreyu. She’s an interestin’ one, that’s for sure. But a challenging one? Well, that remains me to be seen.
‘Remember just a few moments ago, when I said I’m the most real guy you’ll ever meet? That’s the opposite of Sloane over there, and I don’t mean that in a rude way. Not in the slightest. It’s just that Sloane hasn’t even gotten her own identity together.
‘For those who don’t know, Sloane over here likes to play dress-up. And as I’ll repeat probably numerous times throughout this little promo here… there’s nothing wrong with that. But it does tell me something about you, Sloane, and that’s that you’re not comfortable enough with yourself to even show your true face to the world.
‘Now, take a look at me. If you’re not aware yet, I’m a self-admitted former drug addict who has been prone to relapse in the past. Along with that, I still love my booze and love to fight - two characteristics which have probably been passed down from my extensive, hard-headed bloodline. I’m not a role-model, and I sure as hell ain’t about to be the type of guy you find doing good deeds everywhere he goes. But you know what? I try and do my part every now and again. Sure, I’m rough around the edges, but we all have flaws that we try to work around and overcome.
‘Sloane over here? She’s still a little naive. It’s a common thing, and it’s no surprise to me that she tries to hide her own flaws underneath the facade of pop culture references. It’s creative and fun, sure. But on the other hand, it also demonstrates a clear lack of identity - something that probably also stems from the fact that she has been a tag team competitor for most of your career.
‘And ya know what, Sloane? I’m happy for you. I’m glad you split away from the tag-team scene and you’re trying to make it big out here in the dark world of Action Wrestling. Have you seen the motherfucker’s that have rolled up into his joint? This is the biggest and best collection of talent that any wrestling fed has arguably EVER seen. To make it here, you NEED to have a huge personality, and the talent to back it up.
‘Maybe that’s why you hide beneath costumes, to disguise something that you personally don’t like about yourself. If that’s the case, then I pity you. For we all have something to show the world, and right now? You’re keeping it tucked away.
‘Identity is the first and most important thing that anyone can establish about themselves. That’s why I’m proud to say that I am the way I am today. Sure, people are gonna come out here and say that I dress weird for a pro wrestler. Or that I’m too scrawny to really compete with the best of the best. Hell, they may even come out here and criticize me for the fact that I smoke, drink, and that I’m not the type of person who is going to give up everything - my morals and beliefs - just to make sure that I’m out here winning matches. That’s not who I am, and if people want to get on me for that? Then be my fuckin’ guest.
‘I’m here to do my family proud, and to do myself proud. To build a legacy that I can look back on and say “Yeah, I accomplished everything I wanted to and more. And if that didn’t live up to everyone else’s expectations? Then fuck ‘em.”
‘That’s who I am, Sloane. So when you see me walking down that ramp toward the ring on Monday, just know that I’m bringing the fight to you, and that I’m carrying nothing but excitement and a true passion for the fight in these young veins of mine.
‘By the way, everything I’m saying? None of it is personal. I’m just calling everything how I see it, and right now I see someone who has so much potential locked away, but won’t be able to bring any of it out until I open her eyes.
‘So that’s what I’m abouta do, Sloane. Make you realize that you’re missing a vital ingredient to your future success. It’s nothing you could’ve controlled, like I said earlier, every single one of us has something crucial that we need to be working on. Even me. It’s only a matter of finding out what that is, and doing the very best we can to eliminate it from our beings.
‘’If you haven’t figured it out yet, you’re probably gonna lose this match. I'd never rule someone like you out, you’ve clearly got the talent to fuck around and pull out some surprise wins here and there... but I'm not about to let that happen. Not at my expense, anyway. When it comes to wrestling, momentum is one of the best things a guy can have. And with someone like me, who is keen and ready to start climbing up these championship ladders? Putting away skilled opponents like you will only increase my stock until everyone has to recognize that the work I’ve put in to get here wasn’t just a fluke.
‘And that’s all there is to it. A young kid from Boston, about to do my damned best to put the world on notice. Generations of hard work and effort from those who have come before me have put me in the prime position to do all my predecessors justice… and that journey begins right here, and right now.
‘So give me your best, Action Wrestling! And I’ll throw it back at ya ten-fold.’
He slaps both his knees, smiling as he energetically bounds back up to his feet, surveying the expression on Matt’s face.
‘How’d I do?’
‘You’re a natural.’
‘Are you qualified to make that assessment?’ Ryan replies, with an underlying tone of mockery.
‘Hell yeah I do, I’m about to be your manager! Now, let’s get out of here and catch this flight. We’re going to Sacramento, baby!’
‘You’re the first and probably the last person I’ll ever hear be excited about that.’
‘You’d best be nice to the guy who's paying for your ticket.’
With an exaggerated sigh, Ryan concedes.
‘Alright, alright. Time to get this show on the road.’
With that said, he picks up his carry-on bag and proceeds to exit out of the camera’s frame, which quickly turns to black as the feed ends.
‘Get your bet in while you can! Young Lockhart will be going up against The Tank. We’ll be starting in five, call everyone you know and tell them it’s about to happen.’
A cheer went up amongst the people, some of which were frighteningly drunk, whilst others seemed content to simply watch the action that would soon be unfolding before them. Ryan looked on in interest, head cocked to the side while he proceeded to wrap the left hand. He only fought around town for an extra way to make money on the side, yet the people seemed to love it. The fighting here never went to the extreme; once one man went down and looked to be on the verge of defeat, the match would be over. But still, they admired it. They watched intently, the sound of the fist slamming into bone and flesh, the smell of blood that went up in the air - it would put the people into a frenzy. Maybe the human race hadn’t evolved as much as everyone had been told.
‘Don’t take too long, yeah? We’re meant to be performing down the road in 30.’
Ryan turned back to find Mark Pierre standing behind him, impatiently looking down at the wrist-watch he wore, while flattening out a small crease that appeared on the blue suit jacket that he had rented for the night. He gave him a reassuring smile, whilst reaching for a flask that he had attached to his belt loop earlier in the day. Ryan took a quick swig from it, nostrils and throat burning as the straight whiskey went down his throat.
‘Got a smoke? Need one to stop my hand shaking after I’m done.’
‘Yeah, yeah. You really need to quit.’ Mark replied while reaching into his pant pocket and coming away with a cigarette.
‘Gonna take a little more than that to convince me, friendo.’ Ryan said, chuckling a little while grabbing the smoke, pocketing it for the time being. ‘You sticking around? I’d hate to have to cave another man’s face in without your support.’
He watched Mark draw breath to comment but was swiftly cut off by the ringing of his phone. He opens his mouth, wordlessly apologizing, before holding a finger up and walking away, pulling out his phone and bringing it to his ear. Shrugging to himself, Ryan turns back around to face his upcoming opponent. Large and intimidating in stature, with a bicep and chest that were probably thrice the size of his own. No matter, that gave him the all-important advantage of speed.
The man taking the bets from before now stands in between them, flashing a toothy grin as he acknowledges the two men set to do battle.
‘Alright, fellas. Bets are in. Winner gets a cool two hundred and fifty, and a free room if they so desire! We ready to go?’
The Tank grunts, eyes set firmly upon Ryan, who merely nods and smirks. He couldn’t tell if he was just overly-confident, or if he was smiling at the fact that he was already tipsy after the night’s drinks. His reaction time would be hampered - but he was accustomed to that - when wasn’t he getting at least a little loose before a fight?
‘Then all that’s left to do… is FIGHT!’
At a blistering pace, Ryan scooted forward and fired off three stiff body shots, each of which caused The Tank to exhale sharply, but didn’t stop him from returning a heavy-handed blow of his own. However, by the time he had executed his full swing, Ryan had already disengaged, circling around and bouncing on the balls of his feet in a frenetic manner. The Tank frowned, taking two formidable steps forward, setting himself before Ryan’s swaying figure.
‘That all you got, little man?’ he said, nearly spitting the words out.
‘Wait and see.’ Ryan replied, a playful grin coming over him.
For the next few minutes, a similar routine played out. A replay of the same event. The Tank would swing a wicked blow, one that could potentially obliterate the head of a man, should the meatball of a fist land clean on one’s jaw or temple. Ryan picked each shot carefully, wearing down the bigger, stronger, and clearly more durable man. Then, it happened.
He saw the opening from a mile away, an overhand right coming at him from The Tank - which naturally would allow him to slip in undetected to land a nigh-unstoppable liver blow. He ducked in diagonally, swinging upward with a fist that would render the man incapable of moving after he landed it.
Which would have happened immediately, had his drunken state not left him unable to properly gauge the distance. The Tank and Ryan landed at the exact same time, a dual exchange. The hammerfist slammed against his cheek - a glancing blow that would have knocked him clean out, had his natural reflexes not allowed him to sway back momentarily. Ryan stumbled backward, his cheek flaring in agony as he nearly fell back into the stool he was seated upon mere minutes ago.
However, he had done enough. The Tank wavered for a moment, before falling to a knee. Ryan staggered forward, feeling the warmth of blood coming down his face due to a cut that he formed on his face - a sight that drew the excitement of the Bostonian crowd. However, they failed to notice that the liver-shot he had delivered to The Tank had been crucial, as the bigger man dropped to both knees with a thump, before crumpling down to the wooden flooring below.
Silence overcame the bar, which then turned into a cacophony of screams and chants for Ryan, who breathed a sigh of relief in the knowledge that he wouldn’t have to proceed with a ringing headache that now rattled him. The African-American man approached him with a small wad of cash in his hand wrapped together by an elastic band, handing it to him with a smile.
‘Trust a Lockhart to walk away with more of my money. I’ll be real - I nearly shed a tear when your old man retired from pub fighting. You woulda’ thought that stubborn old prick would’ve never quit - no offense.’
‘None taken. Get me an ice pack, yeah? And a lighter.’
‘You got it.’ the man said, before hurrying off to the bar to retrieve the requested items. By the time he returned, Ryan had slumped himself back into the stool, eyes nearly adrift. When the man sharply shook him by the arm, he returned to life, startling awake with widened eyes.
‘Shit, your booze nearly put me to bed.’
He boomed with laughter. ‘That’s the point!’ He said while handing him a packet of frozen peas, followed by a silver lighter. Ryan nodded in thanks, and then slowly worked his way to his feet, patting the man on the back before exiting from the establishment. Upon exiting, he is greeted once again by Mark, who has assumed a look of ridicule.
‘You lost the fight?'
Ryan scoffs. ‘Other guy couldn’t even stand.’
‘Good. After what I just heard, we can’t have your reputation being ruined by a random bar brawler.’
He tilts his head, quizzical. ‘What’s this?’
‘I, Mark Pierre, your loyal compatriot and forever best friend, just received a call from Action Wrestling. They want to give you a shot, man.’
Ryan, who had just been lighting the cigarette he had been given earlier, snaps his head back toward Mark, who is now smiling from ear to ear.
‘You’re fucking joking. You actually applied for me?’ He says, incredulous.
‘You’re damn right they did. They have a bunch of established talent there, but they’re open to giving new guys who are motivated a shot. Think you fall into that category?’
‘I’m twenty-three. In a year or two people will be expecting me to have a fuckin’ kid and be married or somethin, right?’
‘’Is that so? I missed the mark then.’
The two share a quick laugh, before Ryan leans back, bringing the smoke to his lips and having a drag of it. He brings the bag of frozen peas to his cheek, allowing it to bring a chill to him that brings him back down to reality, as realization dawns upon him as to the new journey that lies ahead of him.
‘Holy shit, I’m about to be a professional wrestler.’
‘Yep. Guess doing that backyard shit back in the day really paid off, huh?’
Ryan sits down upon the stone stairs leading up to the bar, blowing out a stream of smoke from his nostrils and mouth in the cool night air. He glances up to the stars and the dark sky above, whispering a short thank you to whoever, or whatever may be looking down on him from the heavens.
‘About damn time I started making some noise.’
‘I can’t believe you’re about to cut a promo at a fucking airport.’
From behind a wobbly camera, the voice of Mark Pierre can be heard loud and clear, even amidst the general ruckus that comes from being centralized in the ceaseless busyness of the Boston Logan International Airport. Ryan Lockhart, wheeling along with him nothing but an inconspicuous carry-on luggage bag, shakes his head dismissively.
‘You got that camera working? I’m about to go to work.’
‘Yeah, yeah. Get on with it.’
With a smile, Ryan sits himself down cross-legged in a rather unpopulated corner of the airport, an impressive task considering the nature of the location He buttons up the top of his shirt, before addressing the camera directly.
‘Action Wrestling! Glad to make your acquaintance. Right now, you’re taking a look at the biggest, brightest and undoubted best young star in the organization.’
Before he can carry on, he simply starts to laugh, shaking his head in dismay.
‘I’m kidding. I ain’t about to sit here and come at you all with the same old shit that you’ve heard time and time again. All that typical drabble you hear? That’s not me. If there’s one thing you DO need to know about me - it’s that I’m straightforward and unfearful of any consequences that my reprimand me in the future.
‘Basically, I’m the most real fucking guy you’re going to be hearing from today, and probably for the rest of my time here in Action Wrestling which - if you haven’t guessed already - is going to be a while. How long exactly? Probably until I’m thirty. That’s one ugly fucking age, and I’d rather be dead before I have to look at myself in the mirror and witness my own deterioration before my very eyes.
‘Anyway, enough of that. You came here to hear me talk some shit, right? See what the new guy on the block has to say to his opposition? Well, you’ve come to the right place! This week, I find myself coming up against Sloane Atreyu. She’s an interestin’ one, that’s for sure. But a challenging one? Well, that remains me to be seen.
‘Remember just a few moments ago, when I said I’m the most real guy you’ll ever meet? That’s the opposite of Sloane over there, and I don’t mean that in a rude way. Not in the slightest. It’s just that Sloane hasn’t even gotten her own identity together.
‘For those who don’t know, Sloane over here likes to play dress-up. And as I’ll repeat probably numerous times throughout this little promo here… there’s nothing wrong with that. But it does tell me something about you, Sloane, and that’s that you’re not comfortable enough with yourself to even show your true face to the world.
‘Now, take a look at me. If you’re not aware yet, I’m a self-admitted former drug addict who has been prone to relapse in the past. Along with that, I still love my booze and love to fight - two characteristics which have probably been passed down from my extensive, hard-headed bloodline. I’m not a role-model, and I sure as hell ain’t about to be the type of guy you find doing good deeds everywhere he goes. But you know what? I try and do my part every now and again. Sure, I’m rough around the edges, but we all have flaws that we try to work around and overcome.
‘Sloane over here? She’s still a little naive. It’s a common thing, and it’s no surprise to me that she tries to hide her own flaws underneath the facade of pop culture references. It’s creative and fun, sure. But on the other hand, it also demonstrates a clear lack of identity - something that probably also stems from the fact that she has been a tag team competitor for most of your career.
‘And ya know what, Sloane? I’m happy for you. I’m glad you split away from the tag-team scene and you’re trying to make it big out here in the dark world of Action Wrestling. Have you seen the motherfucker’s that have rolled up into his joint? This is the biggest and best collection of talent that any wrestling fed has arguably EVER seen. To make it here, you NEED to have a huge personality, and the talent to back it up.
‘Maybe that’s why you hide beneath costumes, to disguise something that you personally don’t like about yourself. If that’s the case, then I pity you. For we all have something to show the world, and right now? You’re keeping it tucked away.
‘Identity is the first and most important thing that anyone can establish about themselves. That’s why I’m proud to say that I am the way I am today. Sure, people are gonna come out here and say that I dress weird for a pro wrestler. Or that I’m too scrawny to really compete with the best of the best. Hell, they may even come out here and criticize me for the fact that I smoke, drink, and that I’m not the type of person who is going to give up everything - my morals and beliefs - just to make sure that I’m out here winning matches. That’s not who I am, and if people want to get on me for that? Then be my fuckin’ guest.
‘I’m here to do my family proud, and to do myself proud. To build a legacy that I can look back on and say “Yeah, I accomplished everything I wanted to and more. And if that didn’t live up to everyone else’s expectations? Then fuck ‘em.”
‘That’s who I am, Sloane. So when you see me walking down that ramp toward the ring on Monday, just know that I’m bringing the fight to you, and that I’m carrying nothing but excitement and a true passion for the fight in these young veins of mine.
‘By the way, everything I’m saying? None of it is personal. I’m just calling everything how I see it, and right now I see someone who has so much potential locked away, but won’t be able to bring any of it out until I open her eyes.
‘So that’s what I’m abouta do, Sloane. Make you realize that you’re missing a vital ingredient to your future success. It’s nothing you could’ve controlled, like I said earlier, every single one of us has something crucial that we need to be working on. Even me. It’s only a matter of finding out what that is, and doing the very best we can to eliminate it from our beings.
‘’If you haven’t figured it out yet, you’re probably gonna lose this match. I'd never rule someone like you out, you’ve clearly got the talent to fuck around and pull out some surprise wins here and there... but I'm not about to let that happen. Not at my expense, anyway. When it comes to wrestling, momentum is one of the best things a guy can have. And with someone like me, who is keen and ready to start climbing up these championship ladders? Putting away skilled opponents like you will only increase my stock until everyone has to recognize that the work I’ve put in to get here wasn’t just a fluke.
‘And that’s all there is to it. A young kid from Boston, about to do my damned best to put the world on notice. Generations of hard work and effort from those who have come before me have put me in the prime position to do all my predecessors justice… and that journey begins right here, and right now.
‘So give me your best, Action Wrestling! And I’ll throw it back at ya ten-fold.’
He slaps both his knees, smiling as he energetically bounds back up to his feet, surveying the expression on Matt’s face.
‘How’d I do?’
‘You’re a natural.’
‘Are you qualified to make that assessment?’ Ryan replies, with an underlying tone of mockery.
‘Hell yeah I do, I’m about to be your manager! Now, let’s get out of here and catch this flight. We’re going to Sacramento, baby!’
‘You’re the first and probably the last person I’ll ever hear be excited about that.’
‘You’d best be nice to the guy who's paying for your ticket.’
With an exaggerated sigh, Ryan concedes.
‘Alright, alright. Time to get this show on the road.’
With that said, he picks up his carry-on bag and proceeds to exit out of the camera’s frame, which quickly turns to black as the feed ends.