Post by Holden Ross on Dec 2, 2018 20:11:27 GMT -5
Frank: I’m tellin ya, he ain’t someone to take lightly. Not sayin I knew him all that well. Hell, I don’t even think I faced him all that many times but I do know he wasn’t soneone to take lightly…
*Holden rolls his eyes as he turns into the parking lot of a meat shop in a rural part of Greenville and arks next to one of their butchering trucks. These trucks go out to farms to slaughter animals right there on the property. Frank's voice is piped through the vehicle's speakers via blu-tooth.*
Yeah, yeah…. I know. He was good when you wrestled what? Fifteen years ago?
Frank: Don’t dismiss me like I don’t know what the fuck I'm talkin bout! I'm tryin to help you here! If you don’t want it –
I don’t need it, there's a difference, Frank. Tyler, like Rick, and even you, is a has been. A dinosaur that has somehow made it past the ice age and into modern times. The sport has evolved and has shown that it has left him, you, and even Rick on the side of the road. Sorry, Frank; truth hurts but it’s still the truth all the same….
*His cousin Wes, the Dwarf, has emerged from an alley behind the butcher’s shop and is making his way towards Holden in his parked Three Hundred. Holden gives his Father a brief apology and ends the call as he exits the vehicle. The two make small talk, and pass a joint back and forth, as they head for the mouth of the alley. The blacktop is cracked, scarred, and has weeds and grass sprouting up through said cracks. The two ditch the joint before descending a few steps and enter a basement door into darkness.
When his eyes adjust, he is walking down a damp hall before coming to a closed, steel door. The once white paint has either faded or has been rubbed or scraped clean. Wes wraps his knuckles against the door a few times before it is yanked open from within. The hinges squeal and grind and on the other side, bathed in the yellow glow of a single bulb hanging bare from the ceiling, is a young man. Maybe twenty-two. Dressed to the nine’s. Out of place in this environment.
He is sitting in an antique wingback chair, clad in crushed red velvet. All part of the show, Holden thinks. The rest of the room is bare aside from a table with three Haliburton cases on it, a closed door behind the man in the chair, and the man who opened the door in the first place. He stands about six feet tall and weighs close to four hundred pounds. There is no illusion of muscle here, he is all fat and dressed to the nine’s as well.*
Wes: Holden, Carter. Carter, Holden.
Carter: Your, cousin, is it? Can he step outside while we talk?
*Wes turns to leave but motions for the extra large partner of Carter's to go first. With a nod from his boss, the big man exits with Wes tugging the door closed behind him.*
Carter: My apologies, I prefer to make such transactions as discreetly as possible. My driver doesn’t want, nor need, to know what is in the cases. I am sure he has his suspicions but… they are just that. Suspicions.
*Holden lights another joint and exhales the plume of smoke as he crosses over to the table. Carter joins him at the table.*
I ain’t worried bout your boy. That bundle I got from you guys last month was on point. My people back home really dug it. So I tell ya what, I'll take four cases a week, if you’re able…
*Carter smirks at him. He was told his client was a professional wrestler and was expecting a meathead. True, this guy is a stoner but far from dumb. From the conversations they have had on the phone, Holden is a lot smarter than he lets on. It takes just a moment for Carter to unlock each of thw cases and prop their lids open.
Within each case are two large, plastic containers full of a clear liquid. The side brings a grin similar to the one in his mask for his wrestling entrances. A shark-like grin, ear-to-ear, as his eyes play over the contents of the cases. In his mind, number whirl like on an old school cash register.*
Carter: Pure, Lysergic Acid Diethylamide. I assume you have the cash nearby?
*Holden nods while closing and locking the cases.*
My cousin is getting it. Now, you understand, if this isn’t what you say….
*Carter's turn to scoff*
Carter: Trust me, this is exactly as promised. Guaranteed to see Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.
*Carter opens the door and Holden grabs two of the cases by the handles. Carters “driver” grabs the other two and the trio head back to the parking lot where Wes is waiting next to the Three Hundred, the trunk lid just barely open, and a pistol tucked into the front of his waistband. Holden opens the trunk and unzips the duffle bag within, showing the bundles of fifties and hundreds. The fat man swaps the Haliburton's for the duffle bag and stalks back to the building, his boss at his side, leaving Holden and Wes to take their leave in the Three Hundred.*
Saturday night. The Scrap Yard.
*Footage from what appears to be a drone, circling the scrap yard we have seen Holden at before, specifically a burning hulk of a what appears to be a dump truck. The shot the switches to a hard camera set upon the dump bed of the truck, which has been converted to a platform, with Holden's “Throne” front and center. Holden is also there, standing next to the Throne, with Tessa looming just over his left shoulder, mostly obscured by the chair. In his hand, the barbed-wire wrapped business end of his axe handle resting on his right shoulder. He takes a seat and hands the weapon off to Tessa, who disappears off camera with it.*
I have been told by everyone but Seromine, and Tessa of course, that I need to watch myself when it comes to you, Tyler. My Father said you weren't someone I should take lightly. Ethan Andrews, someone you know, I'm sure, said you were a “force to be reckoned with.” Two men, past their prime, speaking about someone who is equally and unarguably past their prime. Don’t get me wrong, their advice has been invaluable but I have surpassed them, and you, in the ring.
You may have more accolades, more respect, more praise than me. But that’s gonna change. You got a decade more experience than me and it isn’t going to do you a damn bit of good. This time it’s you and me, one-on-one, in the ring. Fortunately for you it’s not “Underground” rules or I'd beat you within an inch of your life with my toy that I handed of to Tessa. Instead, I’m gonna beat ya the old fashioned way, by pinning your shoulders to the mat. Nobody gets up from “Sins.” Not from me or when my Father wielded it as a finisher.
You stabbed me in the back and directly contributed to my loss of the Underground Championship. Then, against Hunter, you once again cost me the belt. And I’m sure there are plenty questioning why I didn’t tear your head off when I saw you. Honestly, I thought maybe you came out to right you wrong, and atone for the sins you committed against me. Again, I paid for my greenness. My belief in others doing the right thing. It’s just like Seromine told me later that night; He and Tessa are the only ones I can trust!
My Father tells me to be careful and how you can take me if I don’t watch it. Ethan Andrews; same thing just different words. But Seromine, told me I can do it. And with ease. Tessa, she said it best; you’re cake and pie. And lately, I’ve been studying up on some of your old stuff, back in the day when you were working for N.L.C.W. and then, later, L.C.W. Fun stuff. You showed a flash of brilliance but, obviously, turned into a stepping stone for guys like me. Fresh blood. Talented performers. Vicious dogs let off their chains. You can hide over in England or some shithole here in the States; you will have to face me in the ring at Collision Course, and I’m gonna prove everyone wrong….
*Holden digs a blunt out from an inside pocket of his coat and lights it with a match that he sparks with his thumb. The shot switches back to the drone as it circles overhead and the scene fades to black.*
*Holden rolls his eyes as he turns into the parking lot of a meat shop in a rural part of Greenville and arks next to one of their butchering trucks. These trucks go out to farms to slaughter animals right there on the property. Frank's voice is piped through the vehicle's speakers via blu-tooth.*
Yeah, yeah…. I know. He was good when you wrestled what? Fifteen years ago?
Frank: Don’t dismiss me like I don’t know what the fuck I'm talkin bout! I'm tryin to help you here! If you don’t want it –
I don’t need it, there's a difference, Frank. Tyler, like Rick, and even you, is a has been. A dinosaur that has somehow made it past the ice age and into modern times. The sport has evolved and has shown that it has left him, you, and even Rick on the side of the road. Sorry, Frank; truth hurts but it’s still the truth all the same….
*His cousin Wes, the Dwarf, has emerged from an alley behind the butcher’s shop and is making his way towards Holden in his parked Three Hundred. Holden gives his Father a brief apology and ends the call as he exits the vehicle. The two make small talk, and pass a joint back and forth, as they head for the mouth of the alley. The blacktop is cracked, scarred, and has weeds and grass sprouting up through said cracks. The two ditch the joint before descending a few steps and enter a basement door into darkness.
When his eyes adjust, he is walking down a damp hall before coming to a closed, steel door. The once white paint has either faded or has been rubbed or scraped clean. Wes wraps his knuckles against the door a few times before it is yanked open from within. The hinges squeal and grind and on the other side, bathed in the yellow glow of a single bulb hanging bare from the ceiling, is a young man. Maybe twenty-two. Dressed to the nine’s. Out of place in this environment.
He is sitting in an antique wingback chair, clad in crushed red velvet. All part of the show, Holden thinks. The rest of the room is bare aside from a table with three Haliburton cases on it, a closed door behind the man in the chair, and the man who opened the door in the first place. He stands about six feet tall and weighs close to four hundred pounds. There is no illusion of muscle here, he is all fat and dressed to the nine’s as well.*
Wes: Holden, Carter. Carter, Holden.
Carter: Your, cousin, is it? Can he step outside while we talk?
*Wes turns to leave but motions for the extra large partner of Carter's to go first. With a nod from his boss, the big man exits with Wes tugging the door closed behind him.*
Carter: My apologies, I prefer to make such transactions as discreetly as possible. My driver doesn’t want, nor need, to know what is in the cases. I am sure he has his suspicions but… they are just that. Suspicions.
*Holden lights another joint and exhales the plume of smoke as he crosses over to the table. Carter joins him at the table.*
I ain’t worried bout your boy. That bundle I got from you guys last month was on point. My people back home really dug it. So I tell ya what, I'll take four cases a week, if you’re able…
*Carter smirks at him. He was told his client was a professional wrestler and was expecting a meathead. True, this guy is a stoner but far from dumb. From the conversations they have had on the phone, Holden is a lot smarter than he lets on. It takes just a moment for Carter to unlock each of thw cases and prop their lids open.
Within each case are two large, plastic containers full of a clear liquid. The side brings a grin similar to the one in his mask for his wrestling entrances. A shark-like grin, ear-to-ear, as his eyes play over the contents of the cases. In his mind, number whirl like on an old school cash register.*
Carter: Pure, Lysergic Acid Diethylamide. I assume you have the cash nearby?
*Holden nods while closing and locking the cases.*
My cousin is getting it. Now, you understand, if this isn’t what you say….
*Carter's turn to scoff*
Carter: Trust me, this is exactly as promised. Guaranteed to see Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.
*Carter opens the door and Holden grabs two of the cases by the handles. Carters “driver” grabs the other two and the trio head back to the parking lot where Wes is waiting next to the Three Hundred, the trunk lid just barely open, and a pistol tucked into the front of his waistband. Holden opens the trunk and unzips the duffle bag within, showing the bundles of fifties and hundreds. The fat man swaps the Haliburton's for the duffle bag and stalks back to the building, his boss at his side, leaving Holden and Wes to take their leave in the Three Hundred.*
Saturday night. The Scrap Yard.
*Footage from what appears to be a drone, circling the scrap yard we have seen Holden at before, specifically a burning hulk of a what appears to be a dump truck. The shot the switches to a hard camera set upon the dump bed of the truck, which has been converted to a platform, with Holden's “Throne” front and center. Holden is also there, standing next to the Throne, with Tessa looming just over his left shoulder, mostly obscured by the chair. In his hand, the barbed-wire wrapped business end of his axe handle resting on his right shoulder. He takes a seat and hands the weapon off to Tessa, who disappears off camera with it.*
I have been told by everyone but Seromine, and Tessa of course, that I need to watch myself when it comes to you, Tyler. My Father said you weren't someone I should take lightly. Ethan Andrews, someone you know, I'm sure, said you were a “force to be reckoned with.” Two men, past their prime, speaking about someone who is equally and unarguably past their prime. Don’t get me wrong, their advice has been invaluable but I have surpassed them, and you, in the ring.
You may have more accolades, more respect, more praise than me. But that’s gonna change. You got a decade more experience than me and it isn’t going to do you a damn bit of good. This time it’s you and me, one-on-one, in the ring. Fortunately for you it’s not “Underground” rules or I'd beat you within an inch of your life with my toy that I handed of to Tessa. Instead, I’m gonna beat ya the old fashioned way, by pinning your shoulders to the mat. Nobody gets up from “Sins.” Not from me or when my Father wielded it as a finisher.
You stabbed me in the back and directly contributed to my loss of the Underground Championship. Then, against Hunter, you once again cost me the belt. And I’m sure there are plenty questioning why I didn’t tear your head off when I saw you. Honestly, I thought maybe you came out to right you wrong, and atone for the sins you committed against me. Again, I paid for my greenness. My belief in others doing the right thing. It’s just like Seromine told me later that night; He and Tessa are the only ones I can trust!
My Father tells me to be careful and how you can take me if I don’t watch it. Ethan Andrews; same thing just different words. But Seromine, told me I can do it. And with ease. Tessa, she said it best; you’re cake and pie. And lately, I’ve been studying up on some of your old stuff, back in the day when you were working for N.L.C.W. and then, later, L.C.W. Fun stuff. You showed a flash of brilliance but, obviously, turned into a stepping stone for guys like me. Fresh blood. Talented performers. Vicious dogs let off their chains. You can hide over in England or some shithole here in the States; you will have to face me in the ring at Collision Course, and I’m gonna prove everyone wrong….
*Holden digs a blunt out from an inside pocket of his coat and lights it with a match that he sparks with his thumb. The shot switches back to the drone as it circles overhead and the scene fades to black.*