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krzy- Main Event Star!
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Join date : 2015-03-09
Re: Burned Cream
by krzy Tue Mar 20, 2018 12:26 pm
As soon as Genesis goes live, we're immediately whisked away backstage where Brulé are seen briskly walking down the hallway, men on a mission.
They turn a corner and finally come upon the man they're looking for: that damned referee. White is casually sitting on a chair, drinking water through a straw, reading a book called "Da Rulz" to ensure that his officiating is always compliant with the latest regulations.
ANGEL: Well...well...well...
ZAIRE: If it isn't the man himself in the flesh. Pinch me, Brett, I must be dreaming.
ANGEL: Am I gonna pinch you, or are we gonna confront our good friend here over what happened?
ZAIRE: What? Why does it have to be one or the other?
ANGEL: Look, I'm a busy...
White snaps the book shut.
WHITE: Can I help you two with something?
ANGEL: Yeah, we wanna know what your beef with us is.
WHITE: Sorry, but I have no idea what you're talking about.
ZAIRE: HA! Don't make me laugh.
WHITE: Honest, I have no idea what you're talking about. I officiate so many matches that it's a little hard to keep track of everything that happens.
ANGEL: We're talking about when it took you twenty-seven seconds to count me pinning Randy Borton.
ZAIRE: No, we're talking about last Sunday when you tripped me up when I tried to knock Adams off the apron.
ANGEL: Yeah, sure. That too.
WHITE: Right, right...it's all starting to come back to me. You mean this?
White points down the hallway, as one would point to a titantron...if they were in the ring. Zaire and Angel look down the empty corridor...and inexplicably a replay starts playing.
ANGEL: How did he do that?
ZAIRE: I...
WHITE: Oh, that was an honest mistake, guys. I was just trying to get out of the way, but you were running so fast Dulé, that we just got tangled up.
ZAIRE: So you're gonna play the accident card? You just happened to be in the line of fire?
ANGEL: See, I'm no detective, but to me that looked like a little revenge.
ZAIRE: Hold on, I don't think we can say that.
ANGEL: Why can't I say detective?
ZAIRE: No, Revenge. I think he has the word copyrighted or something, and the last thing I want to do is spend my money on legal fees.
ANGEL: You really think he'd be so petty to sue us for that?
ZAIRE: Who knows, man. I just wanna play it safe. He's already worked up that the logo on my shirt, available now on shop.CMV. com looks better than his.
ANGEL: Who? Chris Adams?
WHITE: Andrews.
ANGEL: Right, thank you.
ZAIRE: No, Tops Newsome.
ANGEL: But aren't those two different people?
ZAIRE: Actually...
WHITE: Actually, I won't lie and say that revenge hasn't been on my mind ever since you did this to me...
White points down the hallways, and somehow a new clip begins playing.
WHITE: ...but I decided to remain professional and call every macth down the middle.
ANGEL: That was an accident! I even made a sandwich to help make it up to you.
WHITE: Well if I was to wait on that all this time, I'd have starved to death by now!
ZAIRE: Okay what if I apologized on his behalf?
WHITE: Why because you're an innocent bystander? I don't think so, because I clearly remember this!
ANGEL: Stop that.
WHITE: You clipped my leg, and I was limping for the rest of the night.
ZAIRE: How was I supposed to know you were behind me? How about you stop getting in the way?
WHITE: Oh, so now you're victim blaming?
ZAIRE: If you're looking to be a real victim, I'll happily help you out with that.
ANGEL: What my partner means is that whatever's going on between us getting us nowhere. What say we put it all behind us and move forward with a clean slate?
ZAIRE: Nope, I want no part of this.
WHITE: Too big to apologize?
ZAIRE: Man, forget that. I'm not trying to wind up in court because Brett won't watch what he says.
Zaire storms off muttering to himself as he moves down the hallway.
ANGEL: Hey, so did I ever tell you about the time I beat Bob Luger and Kayden Kynra in the same match and never got a title match? It looked a little something like this...
Angel points the hallway to get a replay to start rolling, but the show cuts to commercial instead.
They turn a corner and finally come upon the man they're looking for: that damned referee. White is casually sitting on a chair, drinking water through a straw, reading a book called "Da Rulz" to ensure that his officiating is always compliant with the latest regulations.
ANGEL: Well...well...well...
ZAIRE: If it isn't the man himself in the flesh. Pinch me, Brett, I must be dreaming.
ANGEL: Am I gonna pinch you, or are we gonna confront our good friend here over what happened?
ZAIRE: What? Why does it have to be one or the other?
ANGEL: Look, I'm a busy...
White snaps the book shut.
WHITE: Can I help you two with something?
ANGEL: Yeah, we wanna know what your beef with us is.
WHITE: Sorry, but I have no idea what you're talking about.
ZAIRE: HA! Don't make me laugh.
WHITE: Honest, I have no idea what you're talking about. I officiate so many matches that it's a little hard to keep track of everything that happens.
ANGEL: We're talking about when it took you twenty-seven seconds to count me pinning Randy Borton.
ZAIRE: No, we're talking about last Sunday when you tripped me up when I tried to knock Adams off the apron.
ANGEL: Yeah, sure. That too.
WHITE: Right, right...it's all starting to come back to me. You mean this?
White points down the hallway, as one would point to a titantron...if they were in the ring. Zaire and Angel look down the empty corridor...and inexplicably a replay starts playing.
ANGEL: How did he do that?
ZAIRE: I...
WHITE: Oh, that was an honest mistake, guys. I was just trying to get out of the way, but you were running so fast Dulé, that we just got tangled up.
ZAIRE: So you're gonna play the accident card? You just happened to be in the line of fire?
ANGEL: See, I'm no detective, but to me that looked like a little revenge.
ZAIRE: Hold on, I don't think we can say that.
ANGEL: Why can't I say detective?
ZAIRE: No, Revenge. I think he has the word copyrighted or something, and the last thing I want to do is spend my money on legal fees.
ANGEL: You really think he'd be so petty to sue us for that?
ZAIRE: Who knows, man. I just wanna play it safe. He's already worked up that the logo on my shirt, available now on shop.CMV. com looks better than his.
ANGEL: Who? Chris Adams?
WHITE: Andrews.
ANGEL: Right, thank you.
ZAIRE: No, Tops Newsome.
ANGEL: But aren't those two different people?
ZAIRE: Actually...
WHITE: Actually, I won't lie and say that revenge hasn't been on my mind ever since you did this to me...
White points down the hallways, and somehow a new clip begins playing.
WHITE: ...but I decided to remain professional and call every macth down the middle.
ANGEL: That was an accident! I even made a sandwich to help make it up to you.
WHITE: Well if I was to wait on that all this time, I'd have starved to death by now!
ZAIRE: Okay what if I apologized on his behalf?
WHITE: Why because you're an innocent bystander? I don't think so, because I clearly remember this!
ANGEL: Stop that.
WHITE: You clipped my leg, and I was limping for the rest of the night.
ZAIRE: How was I supposed to know you were behind me? How about you stop getting in the way?
WHITE: Oh, so now you're victim blaming?
ZAIRE: If you're looking to be a real victim, I'll happily help you out with that.
ANGEL: What my partner means is that whatever's going on between us getting us nowhere. What say we put it all behind us and move forward with a clean slate?
ZAIRE: Nope, I want no part of this.
WHITE: Too big to apologize?
ZAIRE: Man, forget that. I'm not trying to wind up in court because Brett won't watch what he says.
Zaire storms off muttering to himself as he moves down the hallway.
ANGEL: Hey, so did I ever tell you about the time I beat Bob Luger and Kayden Kynra in the same match and never got a title match? It looked a little something like this...
Angel points the hallway to get a replay to start rolling, but the show cuts to commercial instead.
krzy- Main Event Star!
- Posts : 3402
Join date : 2015-03-09
Re: Burned Cream
by krzy Wed Mar 28, 2018 4:11 pm
When Genesis goes on the air, Brett Angel and Dulé Zaire are seated in front of Cass LaFave's office like students waiting to be reprimanded by the principal. Finally, Cass opens the door and invites them in. Brulé wordlessly walk by her and once they're inside the room, they plop down on the chair facing Cass' desk.
CASS: I think you two know why you're in here.
ZAIRE: No, I don't, officer. Please tell me why you pulled me over.
CASS: That doesn't work when I have you on camera hanging out in catering and tweeting when you claimed to have prior engagements and left Rey Furioso--
ANGEL: Who?
CASS: --to face the Seven Deadly Sins--
ANGEL: Cares!
CASS: --on his own. You two have contracts that you need to abide by, and skipping out on your matches will not be tolerated.
Zaire shakes his head in disbelief.
ZAIRE: We'd love nothing more than to go out there to kick ass, take names and laugh--
ANGEL: --but it's kind of hard to when you have a referee out there who doesn't want to play ball.
ZAIRE: I haven't laughed in weeks.
CASS: Brett, what's with you and playing victim? It was Dave Turner last year, and now Mr. White this time around. You can't keep doing that every time something doesn't go your way.
Angel leans forward in his cahir and looks Cass directly in the eyes.
ANGEL: We had Kliq dead to rights out there; those cameras that you have following us should have caught when I had Randy Borton pinned for twenty-seven seconds. One!
CASS: What?
ANGEL: Two!
CASS: Are you being serious right now?
ANGEL: Three!
ZAIRE: We don't wanna cry conspiracy or nothing, but we were on the verge of having the greatest winning streak of all time, and to have it end like that left a sour taste in our mouths.
ANGEL: Four!
ZAIRE: And then in our big match at the pay per view, my man just slapped me down to the ground.
ANGEL: Five!
CASS: I get it Brulé, but that looked like an honest mistake out there with Mr. White being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
ANGEL: Six!
ZAIRE: How can that be the case every. single. time. we have a match? I'm thinking we should have a ref out there who knows where to be and when to be there.
ANGEL: Sev...
The two turn to look over at Angel who got sidetracked mid-count by something on his phone.
CASS: I believe that there is a little confirmation bias. You keep expecting things to be...let's call it 'off' in your matches as far as officiating goes, and they keep happening, right? For all you know, you're subconsciously putting yourselves in these positions where nothing can go right. Answer this for me, Dulé: did you really have to try to knock him off the apron? He was already out of the ring and out of the way, or did you really have to try to take such a cheap shot to give yourself the advantage?
ZAIRE: A cheap shot?! How dare you.
ANGEL: There was nothing cheap about it. I subscribe to the motto that all's fair in love and war, and we did exactly what was necessary to win that match.
ZAIRE: Yeah, it wasn't cheating, it was smart, dare I say revolutionary, tag team wrestling. You don't wanna get knocked off the apron? Dodge!
CASS: The point is--
ZAIRE: Hold up. All's fair in love and war? Where does the love come into play in all of this?
ANGEL: You wouldn't understand; it was an incredible two weeks...
Angel looks off to the side, wistful.
CASS: The point is that this whole controversy is a two-way street of both parties doing questionable things and refusing to meet in the middle.
ANGEL: Why would we be in the middle of the street? Of all the places to hold a meeting...
CASS: The point is that I don't need this petty conflict to drag on forever and be just another thing I have to worry about when there are other, pressing matters that I have to address on a weekly basis.
ZAIRE: That you have to worry about? Ha! You're not with me wrestling in the ring with that nagging thought in the back of your head wondering when that snake is gonna strike again.
ANGEL: Our fear keeps us up at night.
Cass laughs incredulously.
CASS: Your fear?
ZAIRE: It starts with him slapping me down to the mat, and, all of a sudden, he's got a taste for blood. Who knows what he'll do next? Has anyone ever really stopped to think what that man is capable of? All that pent up rage and aggression and frustration of being pushed around all the time, and now he's looking for revenge, and he chose us to be his victims.
ANGEL: Look what happened to Guri! That poor oaf is so big that he couldn't help but take out White, and all of a sudden he's getting beaten by Paul Anderson? Coincidence?
ZAIRE: From where we were sitting in catering--
ANGEL:--in our prior engagement--
ZAIRE: --that three count seemed a little fast.
ANGEL: Definitely not regulation timing.
ZAIRE: We're gonna have to take matters into our own hands.
ANGEL: We're gonna have to investigate and solve this mystery just like Gum...
ZAIRE: Gumshoes?
ANGEL: No, like...
Cass slaps a palm on the oak desk, causing both men to jump but also successfully getting their attention.
CASS: I'm trying to help you guys resolve this issue, and you're not taking it seriously. If there's one thing I don't care for, it's having my time wasted. If you're set on exacerbating this issue, then for the sake of keeping the peace I'll just have to--
ZAIRE: What are you gonna do, suspend us?
CASS: Actually...
The eyes of both Angel and Zaire fly open wide as they realize they might have talked themselves into a bad situation.
ANGEL: Now, hang on, Cass, we were just playing.
ZAIRE: A little bit of fun, you know?
ANGEL: We love it here.
ZAIRE: We love not being suspended even more.
ANGEL: Wrestling every week? There's nothing like it.
ZAIRE: Nothing even comes close.
ANGEL: And have I ever mentioned how much I love the way you run Genesis?
ZAIRE: Firm, but fair. Simply not enough strong, independent women out there given a chance to shine.
ANGEL: I'm not a woman, and I'm inspired.
ZAIRE: We're truly lucky to have you, Cass. Did you do something with your hair recently, by the way?
ANGEL: And you get younger every time I see you. What is your secret?
ZAIRE: Wow, that dress looks amazing. Your stylist deserves a raise.
ANGEL: And you're kind, compassionate and caring enough to see how tragic it is that I beat Bob Luger and Kayden Kynra in--
Again, Cass slaps the desk. The action retains a 100% success rate.
CASS: ACTUALLY, I'm going to make sure that Mr. White remains the official in your matches, and, whether you like it or not, you will learn to coexist. And after the Cyborg Invitational, if you're still unhappy with the officiating, we'll have another sit down to discuss the matter. Let's get a bigger sample size before we go jumping to conclusions and making rash decisions.
ANGEL: I got a better idea.
Angel holds up his phone to show the webpage he's been looking at.
ANGEL: If Dulé's gonna be the research dummy to give you 'evidence' of what's already clear to us: that that crooked ref has it out for us over an honest mistake--
ZAIRE: Dummy? What do you mean dummy?
ANGEL: --then I'm going to take matters into my own hands and find a solution that will satisfy us all.
Cass squints her eyes to make out what's on the phone. She crosses her arms seconds later.
CASS: A referee bootcamp? You think I'm going to cave in and get you your own referee for your matches? An action that will open a whole other can of worms? What happens when everyone wants their own referee, huh? And what happens when two people in the same match each want their own referee to officiate?
ANGEL: You're thinking about this all wrong, Cass.
CASS: I'm thinking about this logically. That's not a realistic scenario, and not a proposition I'm willing to entertain.
ANGEL: We don't need an outside referee. I'll do the bootcamp myself, even pay for it out of pocket. Then, when I come back, I can guarantee that every match I call will be right down the middle.
CASS: Wow, I never thought about it like that. It's so genius that I feel like such a fool for it never occuring to me before. This is pretty much the perfect solution to everything except: How in the world are you going to officiate your own matches?
Angel looks back at Cass, dead serious.
ANGEL: You let me worry about that.
Angel gets up and walks off, leaving Dulé and Cass alone in the room.
ZAIRE: What did he mean by dummy?
CASS: Get out of my office.
CASS: I think you two know why you're in here.
ZAIRE: No, I don't, officer. Please tell me why you pulled me over.
CASS: That doesn't work when I have you on camera hanging out in catering and tweeting when you claimed to have prior engagements and left Rey Furioso--
ANGEL: Who?
CASS: --to face the Seven Deadly Sins--
ANGEL: Cares!
CASS: --on his own. You two have contracts that you need to abide by, and skipping out on your matches will not be tolerated.
Zaire shakes his head in disbelief.
ZAIRE: We'd love nothing more than to go out there to kick ass, take names and laugh--
ANGEL: --but it's kind of hard to when you have a referee out there who doesn't want to play ball.
ZAIRE: I haven't laughed in weeks.
CASS: Brett, what's with you and playing victim? It was Dave Turner last year, and now Mr. White this time around. You can't keep doing that every time something doesn't go your way.
Angel leans forward in his cahir and looks Cass directly in the eyes.
ANGEL: We had Kliq dead to rights out there; those cameras that you have following us should have caught when I had Randy Borton pinned for twenty-seven seconds. One!
CASS: What?
ANGEL: Two!
CASS: Are you being serious right now?
ANGEL: Three!
ZAIRE: We don't wanna cry conspiracy or nothing, but we were on the verge of having the greatest winning streak of all time, and to have it end like that left a sour taste in our mouths.
ANGEL: Four!
ZAIRE: And then in our big match at the pay per view, my man just slapped me down to the ground.
ANGEL: Five!
CASS: I get it Brulé, but that looked like an honest mistake out there with Mr. White being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
ANGEL: Six!
ZAIRE: How can that be the case every. single. time. we have a match? I'm thinking we should have a ref out there who knows where to be and when to be there.
ANGEL: Sev...
The two turn to look over at Angel who got sidetracked mid-count by something on his phone.
CASS: I believe that there is a little confirmation bias. You keep expecting things to be...let's call it 'off' in your matches as far as officiating goes, and they keep happening, right? For all you know, you're subconsciously putting yourselves in these positions where nothing can go right. Answer this for me, Dulé: did you really have to try to knock him off the apron? He was already out of the ring and out of the way, or did you really have to try to take such a cheap shot to give yourself the advantage?
ZAIRE: A cheap shot?! How dare you.
ANGEL: There was nothing cheap about it. I subscribe to the motto that all's fair in love and war, and we did exactly what was necessary to win that match.
ZAIRE: Yeah, it wasn't cheating, it was smart, dare I say revolutionary, tag team wrestling. You don't wanna get knocked off the apron? Dodge!
CASS: The point is--
ZAIRE: Hold up. All's fair in love and war? Where does the love come into play in all of this?
ANGEL: You wouldn't understand; it was an incredible two weeks...
Angel looks off to the side, wistful.
CASS: The point is that this whole controversy is a two-way street of both parties doing questionable things and refusing to meet in the middle.
ANGEL: Why would we be in the middle of the street? Of all the places to hold a meeting...
CASS: The point is that I don't need this petty conflict to drag on forever and be just another thing I have to worry about when there are other, pressing matters that I have to address on a weekly basis.
ZAIRE: That you have to worry about? Ha! You're not with me wrestling in the ring with that nagging thought in the back of your head wondering when that snake is gonna strike again.
ANGEL: Our fear keeps us up at night.
Cass laughs incredulously.
CASS: Your fear?
ZAIRE: It starts with him slapping me down to the mat, and, all of a sudden, he's got a taste for blood. Who knows what he'll do next? Has anyone ever really stopped to think what that man is capable of? All that pent up rage and aggression and frustration of being pushed around all the time, and now he's looking for revenge, and he chose us to be his victims.
ANGEL: Look what happened to Guri! That poor oaf is so big that he couldn't help but take out White, and all of a sudden he's getting beaten by Paul Anderson? Coincidence?
ZAIRE: From where we were sitting in catering--
ANGEL:--in our prior engagement--
ZAIRE: --that three count seemed a little fast.
ANGEL: Definitely not regulation timing.
ZAIRE: We're gonna have to take matters into our own hands.
ANGEL: We're gonna have to investigate and solve this mystery just like Gum...
ZAIRE: Gumshoes?
ANGEL: No, like...
Cass slaps a palm on the oak desk, causing both men to jump but also successfully getting their attention.
CASS: I'm trying to help you guys resolve this issue, and you're not taking it seriously. If there's one thing I don't care for, it's having my time wasted. If you're set on exacerbating this issue, then for the sake of keeping the peace I'll just have to--
ZAIRE: What are you gonna do, suspend us?
CASS: Actually...
The eyes of both Angel and Zaire fly open wide as they realize they might have talked themselves into a bad situation.
ANGEL: Now, hang on, Cass, we were just playing.
ZAIRE: A little bit of fun, you know?
ANGEL: We love it here.
ZAIRE: We love not being suspended even more.
ANGEL: Wrestling every week? There's nothing like it.
ZAIRE: Nothing even comes close.
ANGEL: And have I ever mentioned how much I love the way you run Genesis?
ZAIRE: Firm, but fair. Simply not enough strong, independent women out there given a chance to shine.
ANGEL: I'm not a woman, and I'm inspired.
ZAIRE: We're truly lucky to have you, Cass. Did you do something with your hair recently, by the way?
ANGEL: And you get younger every time I see you. What is your secret?
ZAIRE: Wow, that dress looks amazing. Your stylist deserves a raise.
ANGEL: And you're kind, compassionate and caring enough to see how tragic it is that I beat Bob Luger and Kayden Kynra in--
Again, Cass slaps the desk. The action retains a 100% success rate.
CASS: ACTUALLY, I'm going to make sure that Mr. White remains the official in your matches, and, whether you like it or not, you will learn to coexist. And after the Cyborg Invitational, if you're still unhappy with the officiating, we'll have another sit down to discuss the matter. Let's get a bigger sample size before we go jumping to conclusions and making rash decisions.
ANGEL: I got a better idea.
Angel holds up his phone to show the webpage he's been looking at.
ANGEL: If Dulé's gonna be the research dummy to give you 'evidence' of what's already clear to us: that that crooked ref has it out for us over an honest mistake--
ZAIRE: Dummy? What do you mean dummy?
ANGEL: --then I'm going to take matters into my own hands and find a solution that will satisfy us all.
Cass squints her eyes to make out what's on the phone. She crosses her arms seconds later.
CASS: A referee bootcamp? You think I'm going to cave in and get you your own referee for your matches? An action that will open a whole other can of worms? What happens when everyone wants their own referee, huh? And what happens when two people in the same match each want their own referee to officiate?
ANGEL: You're thinking about this all wrong, Cass.
CASS: I'm thinking about this logically. That's not a realistic scenario, and not a proposition I'm willing to entertain.
ANGEL: We don't need an outside referee. I'll do the bootcamp myself, even pay for it out of pocket. Then, when I come back, I can guarantee that every match I call will be right down the middle.
CASS: Wow, I never thought about it like that. It's so genius that I feel like such a fool for it never occuring to me before. This is pretty much the perfect solution to everything except: How in the world are you going to officiate your own matches?
Angel looks back at Cass, dead serious.
ANGEL: You let me worry about that.
Angel gets up and walks off, leaving Dulé and Cass alone in the room.
ZAIRE: What did he mean by dummy?
CASS: Get out of my office.
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Re: Burned Cream
by krzy Wed Mar 28, 2018 10:18 pm
you're always praising them yet 0 main events this season
krzy- Main Event Star!
- Posts : 3402
Join date : 2015-03-09
Re: Burned Cream
by krzy Tue Apr 03, 2018 11:38 am
Genesis comes back from a commercial break with Dulé Zaire standing by with famed CMV interviewer: Guy.
GUY: Hey, Dulé, it's nice to have someone to interview again ever since Teddy left.
ZAIRE: Who?
GUY: Are you...are you doing the thing?
ZAIRE: What? I actually really don't kn...forget it. You wanted to ask me something?
GUY:We're one week into the Cyborg Invitational, and ... well, you're already down two matches.
Zaire laughs and rubs the back of his head.
ZAIRE: Yeah, the math seems off, doesn't it?
GUY:It really feels like you're gonna have a huge mountain to climb if you want to finish in the top four, much less as the winner.
ZAIRE: And that's you professional opinion?
GUY: If watching wrestling counts as a profession, sure.
ZAIRE: I know you could look at my record and think, 'damn, no wonder Dulé retired.' And you'd be half right, but the other half is that I'm having the time of my life. In a different timeline, you know I woulda loved to pick up those W's, but you saw those matches. I went down swinging, and when this tournament is over, people will be talking about how these were the greatest series of matches they've ever seen one man have. I made Reece and Ortiz and Wolf sweat a little for those wins, if I do say so myself.
GUY:Reece and Ortiz? But that's the same..
ZAIRE: It's an inside joke; you wouldn't understand.
GUY:Oh my god.
ZAIRE: What I'm trying to say is that: I might go zero and five, but those are gonna be the best damn five matches you've ever seen. BUT, I'm not out here trying to drop every match, what kind of mindset is that? Check this out: I've been in a tag team for months, and, before that, I was retired. So there's a little ring rust. Even Ortiz...are you happy I called him that?
GUY:That you called him by his name?
ZAIRE: Even he tried out the whole singles wrestling thing before he called in his boyfriend to help him out. And that's not offensive, Guy., 'cause that's actually his boyfriend.
GUY: Husband, actually.
ZAIRE: What's the difference?
GUY: Well...
ZAIRE: The difference is that he has a boyfriend and a husband....
GUY:They're the same pers...
ZAIRE: While I have a beautiful wife, a gorgeous little girl who's gonna get a baby brother or sister in a couple of months, not to mention that my bar is looking better than it ever has before. Speaking of, why have you never stopped by to visit?
GUY:I'd love to! Where is it?
ZAIRE: Don't ask silly questions. The point is that I'm a lucky man, and I have plenty enough to be happy about and grateful for that I'm not gonna let two losses weigh be down. Besides, we're missing the most important part: now I'm in position to make history by being the FIRST man to lose two matches and go on to win the whole thing.
GUY:The mathematical possibility of that aside, you've caused quite a stir with the altercations you've gotten into with referee Perry White. You're not worried that will come into play during the remainder of the Invitational?
ZAIRE: Man, I was trying to remain upbeat by giving Ortiz and Wolf their props, even shook the guy's hand, then you had to go and bring that up.
GUY:I'm sorry if that's a touchy subject, but it's also been kind of hard to ignore.
ZAIRE: Nah, man it's cool, but I'm starting to think that Cass was right when she called this a self-fulfilling prophecy. We keep expecting things to go wrong with the officiating, and then it does. Now I won't say they've got it out for me, but I feel like they're trying to send a message, and they're trying their best to be slick with it. I'm thinking they're feeling threatened that Brett is trying to become one of them.
GUY:Even on Reality Wrestling?
ZAIRE: Does no one else see it but us? Let me get my phone, check this out:
ZAIRE: Now why did he have to walk in front of me like that? And why did he have to look so deeply into my eyes when he counted the pin? They may not be physically getting involved, but their mind games haven't gone unnoticed. I'm not gonna let it get to me, though. I'm gonna be the bigger man, and I'm gonna take the high road. If they want to hold a grudge because we rightly called them out on their nonsense, let them be that way. When Brett's back, we won't have to waste our energy on them anymore.
GUY:But how is he going to referee your own matches?
ZAIRE: You let us worry about that.
GUY: Hey, Dulé, it's nice to have someone to interview again ever since Teddy left.
ZAIRE: Who?
GUY: Are you...are you doing the thing?
ZAIRE: What? I actually really don't kn...forget it. You wanted to ask me something?
GUY:We're one week into the Cyborg Invitational, and ... well, you're already down two matches.
Zaire laughs and rubs the back of his head.
ZAIRE: Yeah, the math seems off, doesn't it?
GUY:It really feels like you're gonna have a huge mountain to climb if you want to finish in the top four, much less as the winner.
ZAIRE: And that's you professional opinion?
GUY: If watching wrestling counts as a profession, sure.
ZAIRE: I know you could look at my record and think, 'damn, no wonder Dulé retired.' And you'd be half right, but the other half is that I'm having the time of my life. In a different timeline, you know I woulda loved to pick up those W's, but you saw those matches. I went down swinging, and when this tournament is over, people will be talking about how these were the greatest series of matches they've ever seen one man have. I made Reece and Ortiz and Wolf sweat a little for those wins, if I do say so myself.
GUY:Reece and Ortiz? But that's the same..
ZAIRE: It's an inside joke; you wouldn't understand.
GUY:Oh my god.
ZAIRE: What I'm trying to say is that: I might go zero and five, but those are gonna be the best damn five matches you've ever seen. BUT, I'm not out here trying to drop every match, what kind of mindset is that? Check this out: I've been in a tag team for months, and, before that, I was retired. So there's a little ring rust. Even Ortiz...are you happy I called him that?
GUY:That you called him by his name?
ZAIRE: Even he tried out the whole singles wrestling thing before he called in his boyfriend to help him out. And that's not offensive, Guy., 'cause that's actually his boyfriend.
GUY: Husband, actually.
ZAIRE: What's the difference?
GUY: Well...
ZAIRE: The difference is that he has a boyfriend and a husband....
GUY:They're the same pers...
ZAIRE: While I have a beautiful wife, a gorgeous little girl who's gonna get a baby brother or sister in a couple of months, not to mention that my bar is looking better than it ever has before. Speaking of, why have you never stopped by to visit?
GUY:I'd love to! Where is it?
ZAIRE: Don't ask silly questions. The point is that I'm a lucky man, and I have plenty enough to be happy about and grateful for that I'm not gonna let two losses weigh be down. Besides, we're missing the most important part: now I'm in position to make history by being the FIRST man to lose two matches and go on to win the whole thing.
GUY:The mathematical possibility of that aside, you've caused quite a stir with the altercations you've gotten into with referee Perry White. You're not worried that will come into play during the remainder of the Invitational?
ZAIRE: Man, I was trying to remain upbeat by giving Ortiz and Wolf their props, even shook the guy's hand, then you had to go and bring that up.
GUY:I'm sorry if that's a touchy subject, but it's also been kind of hard to ignore.
ZAIRE: Nah, man it's cool, but I'm starting to think that Cass was right when she called this a self-fulfilling prophecy. We keep expecting things to go wrong with the officiating, and then it does. Now I won't say they've got it out for me, but I feel like they're trying to send a message, and they're trying their best to be slick with it. I'm thinking they're feeling threatened that Brett is trying to become one of them.
GUY:Even on Reality Wrestling?
ZAIRE: Does no one else see it but us? Let me get my phone, check this out:
ZAIRE: Now why did he have to walk in front of me like that? And why did he have to look so deeply into my eyes when he counted the pin? They may not be physically getting involved, but their mind games haven't gone unnoticed. I'm not gonna let it get to me, though. I'm gonna be the bigger man, and I'm gonna take the high road. If they want to hold a grudge because we rightly called them out on their nonsense, let them be that way. When Brett's back, we won't have to waste our energy on them anymore.
GUY:But how is he going to referee your own matches?
ZAIRE: You let us worry about that.
krzy- Main Event Star!
- Posts : 3402
Join date : 2015-03-09
Re: Burned Cream
by krzy Wed Apr 04, 2018 3:27 pm
SERGEANT: Ten hut!
The aerial shot of the scene depicts a sea of black as around a dozen of the nation's finest men and women gather here donning solid t-shirts. They're standing in a neat 3 x 4 grid, orderly, neat, already showing signs of how this drill sergeant has been whipping them into shape. They're inside of a large training facility, big enough to house two full-sized wrestling rings and still have ample room to spare.
It's easy to spot Brett Angel in the crowd. He's the only bla-- person over six foot here, just about towering over everyone else. However, just like everyone else, he stands straight, back erect, feet shoulder-width apart, and hands clasped behind his back. He eyes are pointed straight ahead as the sergeant's voice carries throughout the room, shouts loud enough to carry over into the next state.
SERGEANT: Listen up, ladies and germs! I would like to take some time to remind you all that this ain't no vacation. This ain't a place for the weak of mind, body or soul. This is a place that will change your life. This is a place that will break you down then rebuild you back up into a better person than you were before. The weeks that you're here will be the most grueling, the most trying, the most taxing stretch of time that you have ever and will ever experience in your lives. This bootcamp will challenge you and push you harder than anything or anyone ever has before.
Forgive me for using an old wrestling cliché, but it rings true to this day: you will shed blood, sweat and tears in the coming days. Hell, I've had a man piss himself when the stress and physical exertion became too much for that poor sap to handle. There's not a second that will go by where you won't want to quit.
This older gentlemen, with a thick mustache salt and peppered like the hair on his head, looks over at the group in front of you.
SERGEANT: And I won't lie to you: a lot of you won't make it. A lot of you simply aren't cut out for this. We've already lost twenty-seven of you and--
There's a snicker, sharp and deafening in contrast to the silence that hangs in the air whenever the sergeant isn't speaking. Sarge squints, eyes sharp, sizing up and analyzing.
SERGEANT: Who was that? Answer me!
No one gives themselves up, though the camera zooms in on Angel who has on a fantastic poker face.
SERGEANT: No takers, huh? Nobody wants to own up to their mistake? That's fine. Because the same person who would have the nerve to show such disrespect, is the same kind of weak-willed HACK who will quickly find that he, or she, doesn't have what it takes to become a referee and will disqualify themselves sooner or later.
Most likely sooner.
I've never had a graduating class bigger than five people, and they're always the toughest, hardest-working sons and daughters of bitches I've ever had the pleasure of working with. They're the men and women who fight through the pain, they overcome their mental hurdles, and they surprise themselves when they realize that deep down inside they had the strength and persistence to persevere and make it to the finish line.
He reaches into his back pocket to retrieve the fabric that was hanging from there. He holds up a referee shirt, the iconic black and white stripes.
SERGEANT: A lot of people come here like lost puppies looking for a second or even third chance at life. Things didn't go their way, and they hope that becoming referee will set them on the right track. Admirable right? I've heard some of the most heartbreaking stories imaginable and bore witness to some of the most heartwarming comebacks.
Except here's a mistake so many make: they think I'll take pity on them. They think I'll show mercy and turn a blind eye to their mistakes. Wrong! You're all the same in my eyes: recruits who I will push to their breaking point. You want the privilege of wearing this shirt, of officially becoming a referee? Then you will have to earn it. No shortcuts. No pity. No exceptions.
A common misconception is that being a referee is simple. It's easy. Any braindead monkey can do it. All we have to do is count to three, right? Hardy Har Har! Wrong! Those are usually the despots who don't make it past the first day of this bootcamp. I've been at this for thirty-two years and I can count on half of one hand how many people have gone on to sully the referee name.
He puts the shirt on his shoulder freeing up his hands to be placed behind his back.
SERGEANT: The truth of the matter is that being a referee is one of the hardest, and most unforgiving jobs in the wrestling world. A position where you could get everything right millions of times, but slip up once and everything goes straight to hell. As any referee will tell you, human error is part of the job. There are simply things that cannot be avoided when you're officiating thousands of matches a year. But we're not expecting perfection. We want competence. We want dignity when those errors inevitably happen. We want those errors to be few and far inbetween.
Here's the thing, though: it may be hard, but being a referee is one of the most rewarding things you can do. We are the backbone of the professional world. We may not be the biggest or the strongest or the fastest, yet WE are the ones who wield the true power. The power to change careers, affect lives. The power to make decisions that could shake the company down to its very core. We are the ones companies all over the world rely on and lean to keep things impartial and fair.
We will never break that trust.
In these coming weeks, you will all learn the tips and tricks and tools of the trade. From counting, to how to deal with getting knocked down and everything else that you will face on a nightly basis. The things you second guess will eventually become second nature. If you apply yourself, truly dedicate every fiber of your being to being the best damn referee you can be, then I see no reason why every one of you can't make it to graduation.
Together now:
"WITH POWER, HUMILITY.
IN SPOTLIGHTS, INVISIBILITY.
I AM A REFEREE."
SERGEANT: Beautiful. Now let's get to work. We've got a long road ahead of us.
The group disperses toward various areas in the gym to get started on their training. The sergeant pulls Angel to the side.
SERGEANT: I know that was you who laughed.
ANGEL: I have no idea...
SERGEANT: And I know all about you and your tomfoolery. I almost have to admire the set of balls you must have to just waltz right in here after disrespecting my people. Let me make something very clear to you, punk. You're living in my world now, and you're living under my roof, and you're living by my rules. Here you're nothing, and you're no one. I'm gonna make your life a living hell. If you want to make it to the end of this, you're gonna work twice as hard as everyone else, and there's not a damn thing you can do about it.
I've bet you've been in some hellacious matches, huh? Maybe sprained something, tore something, broke something, right? Believe me when I tell you that nothing that you've ever endured in your life will be as torturous as what you're about to go through. There will come a point, maybe by even tomorrow, that you'll fear waking up. You'll dread what the next day brings. You'll hate yourself for ever thinking that this would be a good idea. In fact, you'll soon find that this could be the stupidest decision that you've ever made. Which is saying something because you seem like the type of guy who has made many.
I know the type of guy you are. You've been wronged once or twice--and I bet you've got one hell of a sob story--and now you think the whole world owes you something. Here we don't tolerate shenanigans, and I swear on my grandmother's grave--God bless that woman--that I will not stand by and allow you to make a mockery of my people and shit on a legacy decades in the making because you want to play tough and be a bully.
We are all equals here. We are all working toward the same common goal: to be better people. Even me. No matter how old you get, no matter how long you've managed to stick around on this crazy rollercoaster ride known as life, there's always room for improvement, so your holier-than-thou tomfuckery won't cut it here. I can see it in your eyes: you don't like being told you can't do something. Just because you don't like it doesn't mean you can.
ANGEL:I--
SERGEANT: NOW GET TO WORK!
The aerial shot of the scene depicts a sea of black as around a dozen of the nation's finest men and women gather here donning solid t-shirts. They're standing in a neat 3 x 4 grid, orderly, neat, already showing signs of how this drill sergeant has been whipping them into shape. They're inside of a large training facility, big enough to house two full-sized wrestling rings and still have ample room to spare.
It's easy to spot Brett Angel in the crowd. He's the only bla-- person over six foot here, just about towering over everyone else. However, just like everyone else, he stands straight, back erect, feet shoulder-width apart, and hands clasped behind his back. He eyes are pointed straight ahead as the sergeant's voice carries throughout the room, shouts loud enough to carry over into the next state.
SERGEANT: Listen up, ladies and germs! I would like to take some time to remind you all that this ain't no vacation. This ain't a place for the weak of mind, body or soul. This is a place that will change your life. This is a place that will break you down then rebuild you back up into a better person than you were before. The weeks that you're here will be the most grueling, the most trying, the most taxing stretch of time that you have ever and will ever experience in your lives. This bootcamp will challenge you and push you harder than anything or anyone ever has before.
Forgive me for using an old wrestling cliché, but it rings true to this day: you will shed blood, sweat and tears in the coming days. Hell, I've had a man piss himself when the stress and physical exertion became too much for that poor sap to handle. There's not a second that will go by where you won't want to quit.
This older gentlemen, with a thick mustache salt and peppered like the hair on his head, looks over at the group in front of you.
SERGEANT: And I won't lie to you: a lot of you won't make it. A lot of you simply aren't cut out for this. We've already lost twenty-seven of you and--
There's a snicker, sharp and deafening in contrast to the silence that hangs in the air whenever the sergeant isn't speaking. Sarge squints, eyes sharp, sizing up and analyzing.
SERGEANT: Who was that? Answer me!
No one gives themselves up, though the camera zooms in on Angel who has on a fantastic poker face.
SERGEANT: No takers, huh? Nobody wants to own up to their mistake? That's fine. Because the same person who would have the nerve to show such disrespect, is the same kind of weak-willed HACK who will quickly find that he, or she, doesn't have what it takes to become a referee and will disqualify themselves sooner or later.
Most likely sooner.
I've never had a graduating class bigger than five people, and they're always the toughest, hardest-working sons and daughters of bitches I've ever had the pleasure of working with. They're the men and women who fight through the pain, they overcome their mental hurdles, and they surprise themselves when they realize that deep down inside they had the strength and persistence to persevere and make it to the finish line.
He reaches into his back pocket to retrieve the fabric that was hanging from there. He holds up a referee shirt, the iconic black and white stripes.
SERGEANT: A lot of people come here like lost puppies looking for a second or even third chance at life. Things didn't go their way, and they hope that becoming referee will set them on the right track. Admirable right? I've heard some of the most heartbreaking stories imaginable and bore witness to some of the most heartwarming comebacks.
Except here's a mistake so many make: they think I'll take pity on them. They think I'll show mercy and turn a blind eye to their mistakes. Wrong! You're all the same in my eyes: recruits who I will push to their breaking point. You want the privilege of wearing this shirt, of officially becoming a referee? Then you will have to earn it. No shortcuts. No pity. No exceptions.
A common misconception is that being a referee is simple. It's easy. Any braindead monkey can do it. All we have to do is count to three, right? Hardy Har Har! Wrong! Those are usually the despots who don't make it past the first day of this bootcamp. I've been at this for thirty-two years and I can count on half of one hand how many people have gone on to sully the referee name.
He puts the shirt on his shoulder freeing up his hands to be placed behind his back.
SERGEANT: The truth of the matter is that being a referee is one of the hardest, and most unforgiving jobs in the wrestling world. A position where you could get everything right millions of times, but slip up once and everything goes straight to hell. As any referee will tell you, human error is part of the job. There are simply things that cannot be avoided when you're officiating thousands of matches a year. But we're not expecting perfection. We want competence. We want dignity when those errors inevitably happen. We want those errors to be few and far inbetween.
Here's the thing, though: it may be hard, but being a referee is one of the most rewarding things you can do. We are the backbone of the professional world. We may not be the biggest or the strongest or the fastest, yet WE are the ones who wield the true power. The power to change careers, affect lives. The power to make decisions that could shake the company down to its very core. We are the ones companies all over the world rely on and lean to keep things impartial and fair.
We will never break that trust.
In these coming weeks, you will all learn the tips and tricks and tools of the trade. From counting, to how to deal with getting knocked down and everything else that you will face on a nightly basis. The things you second guess will eventually become second nature. If you apply yourself, truly dedicate every fiber of your being to being the best damn referee you can be, then I see no reason why every one of you can't make it to graduation.
Together now:
"WITH POWER, HUMILITY.
IN SPOTLIGHTS, INVISIBILITY.
I AM A REFEREE."
SERGEANT: Beautiful. Now let's get to work. We've got a long road ahead of us.
The group disperses toward various areas in the gym to get started on their training. The sergeant pulls Angel to the side.
SERGEANT: I know that was you who laughed.
ANGEL: I have no idea...
SERGEANT: And I know all about you and your tomfoolery. I almost have to admire the set of balls you must have to just waltz right in here after disrespecting my people. Let me make something very clear to you, punk. You're living in my world now, and you're living under my roof, and you're living by my rules. Here you're nothing, and you're no one. I'm gonna make your life a living hell. If you want to make it to the end of this, you're gonna work twice as hard as everyone else, and there's not a damn thing you can do about it.
I've bet you've been in some hellacious matches, huh? Maybe sprained something, tore something, broke something, right? Believe me when I tell you that nothing that you've ever endured in your life will be as torturous as what you're about to go through. There will come a point, maybe by even tomorrow, that you'll fear waking up. You'll dread what the next day brings. You'll hate yourself for ever thinking that this would be a good idea. In fact, you'll soon find that this could be the stupidest decision that you've ever made. Which is saying something because you seem like the type of guy who has made many.
I know the type of guy you are. You've been wronged once or twice--and I bet you've got one hell of a sob story--and now you think the whole world owes you something. Here we don't tolerate shenanigans, and I swear on my grandmother's grave--God bless that woman--that I will not stand by and allow you to make a mockery of my people and shit on a legacy decades in the making because you want to play tough and be a bully.
We are all equals here. We are all working toward the same common goal: to be better people. Even me. No matter how old you get, no matter how long you've managed to stick around on this crazy rollercoaster ride known as life, there's always room for improvement, so your holier-than-thou tomfuckery won't cut it here. I can see it in your eyes: you don't like being told you can't do something. Just because you don't like it doesn't mean you can.
ANGEL:I--
SERGEANT: NOW GET TO WORK!
krzy- Main Event Star!
- Posts : 3402
Join date : 2015-03-09
Re: Burned Cream
by krzy Mon Apr 09, 2018 9:42 pm
Wild Card rolls on with Dulé Zaire sitting pretty in the GM's office, a place he's spending an increasing amount of time in, to Cass' chagrin.
LAFAVE So run this grand idea by me one more time.
ZAIRE: I need a rain check on my match with Adam Valentine.
LAFAVE No, no. I got that part. It's the reason why I should entertain that idea that's lost on me.
ZAIRE: Didn't you see what happened last week?
LAFAVE You won your match, Dulé, how do you even find something to complain about?
ZAIRE: So you're just gonna play dumb and act like you didn't see Rhys Matthews pat me down after the match like I was some kind of criminal? Let me guess, I fit the profile, right?
LAFAVE That was--
ZAIRE: That wasn't even the best part. Here's the kicker: your boy, the esteemed referee of the Genesis brand, who's supposed to have our best interests at heart, or so we're told, just stood there and watched as it all went down. See, I shook his hand because I thought we were one, of a common mind, as two men bold enough to stand against that crooked ref, but I didn't give consent to be felt up on national television.
LAFAVE But how does this tie into needing the week off?
ZAIRE: I need time to recover from that mental and emotional trauma and that physical abuse. As a matter of fact, I'm officially filing a formal complaint against Rhys Matthews. You all can point and laugh and tell me I'm seeing things when it comes to that ref, but everyone saw what that maniac did, and I want something to be done about it.
LAFAVE Like what, Dulé? This isn't something I can suspend him over. And with the Cyborg Invitational going on...
ZAIRE: I expected as much--a whole bunch of nothing. I'm a father of two, and I had to deal with a very long and awkward conversation with my wife, reassuring her that I had nothing to do with that. But how do you convince someone that there's a man who's lost his mind about gum? And just like Brett, I'm gonna take a stand. If you're not gonna give me the rightful time that I need to collect myself, then I'm walking out.
LAFAVE Wal--are you kidding me?
ZAIRE: Oh, I'm serious.
LAFAVE If you walk out, you forfeit that match and your chances at finishing in the top three.
ZAIRE: This is bigger than all that.
Zaire rises out of her chair and storms out of the room.
LAFAVE So run this grand idea by me one more time.
ZAIRE: I need a rain check on my match with Adam Valentine.
LAFAVE No, no. I got that part. It's the reason why I should entertain that idea that's lost on me.
ZAIRE: Didn't you see what happened last week?
LAFAVE You won your match, Dulé, how do you even find something to complain about?
ZAIRE: So you're just gonna play dumb and act like you didn't see Rhys Matthews pat me down after the match like I was some kind of criminal? Let me guess, I fit the profile, right?
LAFAVE That was--
ZAIRE: That wasn't even the best part. Here's the kicker: your boy, the esteemed referee of the Genesis brand, who's supposed to have our best interests at heart, or so we're told, just stood there and watched as it all went down. See, I shook his hand because I thought we were one, of a common mind, as two men bold enough to stand against that crooked ref, but I didn't give consent to be felt up on national television.
LAFAVE But how does this tie into needing the week off?
ZAIRE: I need time to recover from that mental and emotional trauma and that physical abuse. As a matter of fact, I'm officially filing a formal complaint against Rhys Matthews. You all can point and laugh and tell me I'm seeing things when it comes to that ref, but everyone saw what that maniac did, and I want something to be done about it.
LAFAVE Like what, Dulé? This isn't something I can suspend him over. And with the Cyborg Invitational going on...
ZAIRE: I expected as much--a whole bunch of nothing. I'm a father of two, and I had to deal with a very long and awkward conversation with my wife, reassuring her that I had nothing to do with that. But how do you convince someone that there's a man who's lost his mind about gum? And just like Brett, I'm gonna take a stand. If you're not gonna give me the rightful time that I need to collect myself, then I'm walking out.
LAFAVE Wal--are you kidding me?
ZAIRE: Oh, I'm serious.
LAFAVE If you walk out, you forfeit that match and your chances at finishing in the top three.
ZAIRE: This is bigger than all that.
Zaire rises out of her chair and storms out of the room.
krzy- Main Event Star!
- Posts : 3402
Join date : 2015-03-09
Re: Burned Cream
by krzy Thu Apr 12, 2018 9:30 pm
@brettangel
------
Dulé you're being dumb.
@dulézaire
-------
Yeah, you're right. Lemme go beat Valentine's ass real quick.
@brettangel
------
Who?
Smash cut to Brett Angel inside of a well equipped referee training facility, tapping away at his phone while everyone else around him is busting their asses to become the best damn referees they can be.
Angel, to his credit, at the very least, for what it's worth, is looking damn good in those referee slacks, sneakers and solid Polo, his sculpted, mouth-watering body visible beneath the taut fabric.
The cameraman, clearly enticed by the view, allows the image to rest on this impeccable view for a second that doesn't stretch long enough. It isn't until the drill sergeant steps into the frame that the camera is forced to pan over.
SERGEANT: You have GOT to be kidding me. I give you explicit instructions to take five and collect your thoughts, and this is what I catch you doing?
ANGEL: Has it been more than five minutes? I don't see what the problem is here.
SERGEANT: And I don't see why you insist on wasting my time, everyone else's time and your company's time, by keeping up this charade that you want to be here. You don't want to be a referee, and based on your childish antics, I'm starting to get the sneaking suspicision that you don't really want to be a wrestler either. You just want to be a pain in everyone's ass and run away to be a nuisance elsewhere when we finally get fed up with your bullshit.
Angel sighs and begins pocketing the phone, but the sergeant is faster. Sarge snatches the phone out of his hand, and in a fluid motion flings it against the fall with all of his might like a major league pitcher. The phone explodes on impact with the brick wall, and there's a look of shock that melts away into raw fury on Angel's face. He pivots around from looking at the wall and gets right into Sarge's face, so angry that he can't speak through his tightly clenched teeth.
SERGEANT: And just what are you gonna do about it, punk? You lay a finger on me, and you're out of here--even your breathing on me is getting damn close to crossing the line. Then what happens in the fallout? You go back to your show, tail tucked tight between your legs, and admit that you failed. The best part, though, is that it won't come as a surprise to anyone because that's all that they've come to expect from you.
Angel takes in a deep breath and takes a step back, but doesn't take his eyes off of the sergeant.
ANGEL: You know, I can't help but notice that I'm the only one around here that gets these tonguelashings, and if this is your idea of a motivating speech, then you're gonna have to try a little harder than that. I've heard worse, been through worse, so if you're trying to break me, you'll need to dig a little deeper into your bag of tricks.
SERGEANT: I don't care if you leave or if you stay, but if you do decide to take your head out of your ass and stick around, then you'll have to understand that my word is law around here. You do what I say, when I say it, how I say it, or you're not making it to the end of this bootcamp. And what I need you to do right now is get back into the ring and finish the exercise.
Angel slides back into the ring and braces himself near the corner. The sergeant blows his whistle and two casually dressed wrestlers enter the ring as well. One of the wrestlers irish whips the other into the corner and the man only bumps into Angel. The wrestler gets out of the way just as his opponent comes flying through the air with a forearm, striking Angel instead. While it wasn't the hardest hit Angel has ever had to endure, he takes a spill to the ground. Seconds later he pops back up to his feet prompting the sergeant to blow his whistle.
SERGEANT: No! No! How many times do I need to tell you? When you get knocked down during a match, you always stay down for at least sixty seconds. Why? So that you have time to cool down and not pick a fight because cooler heads always prevail. If we don't remain impartial and call things without bias, then all hope is lost. Remember, we have the power to change lives, make or break careers, and change history. That is a power we never abuse, otherwise we're failures as referees. So let's restart this training exercise. This is, what, attempt thirty-two? Maybe this time you'll get it right. Maybe.
Angel sighs, slightly in annoyance and partly in frustration, as he pulls himself off the ground and positions himself in the corner once more. The scene fades as the sergeant blows his whistle.
------
Dulé you're being dumb.
@dulézaire
-------
Yeah, you're right. Lemme go beat Valentine's ass real quick.
@brettangel
------
Who?
Smash cut to Brett Angel inside of a well equipped referee training facility, tapping away at his phone while everyone else around him is busting their asses to become the best damn referees they can be.
Angel, to his credit, at the very least, for what it's worth, is looking damn good in those referee slacks, sneakers and solid Polo, his sculpted, mouth-watering body visible beneath the taut fabric.
The cameraman, clearly enticed by the view, allows the image to rest on this impeccable view for a second that doesn't stretch long enough. It isn't until the drill sergeant steps into the frame that the camera is forced to pan over.
SERGEANT: You have GOT to be kidding me. I give you explicit instructions to take five and collect your thoughts, and this is what I catch you doing?
ANGEL: Has it been more than five minutes? I don't see what the problem is here.
SERGEANT: And I don't see why you insist on wasting my time, everyone else's time and your company's time, by keeping up this charade that you want to be here. You don't want to be a referee, and based on your childish antics, I'm starting to get the sneaking suspicision that you don't really want to be a wrestler either. You just want to be a pain in everyone's ass and run away to be a nuisance elsewhere when we finally get fed up with your bullshit.
Angel sighs and begins pocketing the phone, but the sergeant is faster. Sarge snatches the phone out of his hand, and in a fluid motion flings it against the fall with all of his might like a major league pitcher. The phone explodes on impact with the brick wall, and there's a look of shock that melts away into raw fury on Angel's face. He pivots around from looking at the wall and gets right into Sarge's face, so angry that he can't speak through his tightly clenched teeth.
SERGEANT: And just what are you gonna do about it, punk? You lay a finger on me, and you're out of here--even your breathing on me is getting damn close to crossing the line. Then what happens in the fallout? You go back to your show, tail tucked tight between your legs, and admit that you failed. The best part, though, is that it won't come as a surprise to anyone because that's all that they've come to expect from you.
Angel takes in a deep breath and takes a step back, but doesn't take his eyes off of the sergeant.
ANGEL: You know, I can't help but notice that I'm the only one around here that gets these tonguelashings, and if this is your idea of a motivating speech, then you're gonna have to try a little harder than that. I've heard worse, been through worse, so if you're trying to break me, you'll need to dig a little deeper into your bag of tricks.
SERGEANT: I don't care if you leave or if you stay, but if you do decide to take your head out of your ass and stick around, then you'll have to understand that my word is law around here. You do what I say, when I say it, how I say it, or you're not making it to the end of this bootcamp. And what I need you to do right now is get back into the ring and finish the exercise.
Angel slides back into the ring and braces himself near the corner. The sergeant blows his whistle and two casually dressed wrestlers enter the ring as well. One of the wrestlers irish whips the other into the corner and the man only bumps into Angel. The wrestler gets out of the way just as his opponent comes flying through the air with a forearm, striking Angel instead. While it wasn't the hardest hit Angel has ever had to endure, he takes a spill to the ground. Seconds later he pops back up to his feet prompting the sergeant to blow his whistle.
SERGEANT: No! No! How many times do I need to tell you? When you get knocked down during a match, you always stay down for at least sixty seconds. Why? So that you have time to cool down and not pick a fight because cooler heads always prevail. If we don't remain impartial and call things without bias, then all hope is lost. Remember, we have the power to change lives, make or break careers, and change history. That is a power we never abuse, otherwise we're failures as referees. So let's restart this training exercise. This is, what, attempt thirty-two? Maybe this time you'll get it right. Maybe.
Angel sighs, slightly in annoyance and partly in frustration, as he pulls himself off the ground and positions himself in the corner once more. The scene fades as the sergeant blows his whistle.
krzy- Main Event Star!
- Posts : 3402
Join date : 2015-03-09
Re: Burned Cream
by krzy Wed Apr 25, 2018 11:56 pm
We're gathered back inside of the gym housed inside of the legendary training facility where the world's greatest referees are born.
Sounds of exertion and action are almost white noise as a little over a dozen men and women are either doing training exercises or lifting weights, either way not a single person is loitering and wasting precious seconds of their time here.
The camera pans over to the side of the room where a cluter of rings are situated. Inside of one, the drill sergeant is furiously blowing his whistle when he's not barking orders that can be heard from the next state over. He's sitting on a top rope, as a lifeguard would perch on a high chair, looking down in disgust at a woman who's looks to be having a tough go at this particular exercise.
Sarge blows the whistle signaling for the current group to resume what they were doing. As soon as the shrill shriek of the whistle hits their ears, two men begin wrestling a little. One man hits an awkward looking suplex, though hits it nonetheless, then floats over into the pin. All eyes of the other future referee focus on the woman who freezes, stunned by stage fright. Sarge, facepalms at the same moment he blows the whistle, nearly knocking down his throat in his frustration.
SERGEANT: You've gotta be kidding me, Hazel. This is the fifth time we've gone over this! You think you can just freeze up in the middle of the match with the spotlight on you burning a thousand times brighter than this?! No! That's how you get unwanted attention when we're supposed to be invisible inside of the ring. A delay like that could cost someone a match, a VERY important match, and I don't care whether or not you're a man or woman, that's a surefire way to piss off a wrestler and put yourself in danger. Now let's try this again.
There's a quick cut over to Brett Angel who's lined up on the apron with the other recruits wearing an expression that essentially says, "at least it's not me getting chewed out this time."
There's another whistle followed by another suplex followed by another pin. This time Hazel only hesitates for a second before awkwardly sliding onto the mat and counting the pin in an erratic rhythm:
1!
.
.
.
.
.
2!
.
.
3?
This time Sarge hops down from the top rope and gets into her face.
SERGEANT:No! How many times do I have to explain it? And this goes to just about all of you because I've seen this mistake made too many times today alone. A consistent, even, count--that's what I need to hear because that's what wrestlers are expecting from professional referees. Take five, Hazel, we'll get back to you later. So who's next? Let's see...let's see...oh, brother.
Angel has a shiteating grin on his face as he enters the ring
SERGEANT: Okay, Brett, I'll be expecting to say the same thing to you since you're so adept at being hard of hearing. So let's get right to it so my incoming criticisms are justified.
Sarge leans into the corner instead of reclaiming his seat, ready to pounce on the first mistake he sees Angel make. That moment never comes. Instead what we witness is what the sergeant later describes as one of the most incredible, beautiful, awe-inspiring things he's ever had the privilege of watching in his long, storied career and even longer life.
The whistle blows, the suplex is hit, the cover is made.
And then Angel springs into action.
As soon as that leg is hooked, Angel has already executed a flawless slide that puts him in perfect view of the pinned man's shoulders. The pin count that follows is punctuated with expertly-timed, sharp slaps of the palm that echo in the room when he hits the mat the cherry on top is the way he authoritatively belts out the numbers in perfect symphony with the count.
1
.
.
.
.
.
2
.
.
.
.
.
.
3!
Times seems to freeze.
The whole room, even people on the other side of the building who weren't initially paying attention have crowded around the ring to watch an event unfold that no one will believe happened because they weren't here to see it with their own two eyes.
The whistle dangles from Sarge's mouth, eyes open wide in a mix of awe and surprise.
SERGEANT: In all my years doing this training camp, not once have I seen someone do it perfectly on the first try. Your form, your technique all rival, maybe even surpass the best to ever do it. And the way you subtly delayed that three count to increase the tension...that's a skill it takes years for the best to master. Out of all the prospects to have walked through these doors, you are the first to have such a natural instinct to have picked up this all so quickly, after the stinkers you had in the first couple of days. I...I don't think there's anything more I can teach you.
Sarge exits the ring, needing a second to compose himself. The other recruits swarm Angel, a chrous of voices overlapping. Some give him praise, others ask for advice, and the rest ask him to remind them of the time he beat Bob Luger and Kayden Kynra in the same match and didn't get a title shot.
Sounds of exertion and action are almost white noise as a little over a dozen men and women are either doing training exercises or lifting weights, either way not a single person is loitering and wasting precious seconds of their time here.
The camera pans over to the side of the room where a cluter of rings are situated. Inside of one, the drill sergeant is furiously blowing his whistle when he's not barking orders that can be heard from the next state over. He's sitting on a top rope, as a lifeguard would perch on a high chair, looking down in disgust at a woman who's looks to be having a tough go at this particular exercise.
Sarge blows the whistle signaling for the current group to resume what they were doing. As soon as the shrill shriek of the whistle hits their ears, two men begin wrestling a little. One man hits an awkward looking suplex, though hits it nonetheless, then floats over into the pin. All eyes of the other future referee focus on the woman who freezes, stunned by stage fright. Sarge, facepalms at the same moment he blows the whistle, nearly knocking down his throat in his frustration.
SERGEANT: You've gotta be kidding me, Hazel. This is the fifth time we've gone over this! You think you can just freeze up in the middle of the match with the spotlight on you burning a thousand times brighter than this?! No! That's how you get unwanted attention when we're supposed to be invisible inside of the ring. A delay like that could cost someone a match, a VERY important match, and I don't care whether or not you're a man or woman, that's a surefire way to piss off a wrestler and put yourself in danger. Now let's try this again.
There's a quick cut over to Brett Angel who's lined up on the apron with the other recruits wearing an expression that essentially says, "at least it's not me getting chewed out this time."
There's another whistle followed by another suplex followed by another pin. This time Hazel only hesitates for a second before awkwardly sliding onto the mat and counting the pin in an erratic rhythm:
1!
.
.
.
.
.
2!
.
.
3?
This time Sarge hops down from the top rope and gets into her face.
SERGEANT:No! How many times do I have to explain it? And this goes to just about all of you because I've seen this mistake made too many times today alone. A consistent, even, count--that's what I need to hear because that's what wrestlers are expecting from professional referees. Take five, Hazel, we'll get back to you later. So who's next? Let's see...let's see...oh, brother.
Angel has a shiteating grin on his face as he enters the ring
SERGEANT: Okay, Brett, I'll be expecting to say the same thing to you since you're so adept at being hard of hearing. So let's get right to it so my incoming criticisms are justified.
Sarge leans into the corner instead of reclaiming his seat, ready to pounce on the first mistake he sees Angel make. That moment never comes. Instead what we witness is what the sergeant later describes as one of the most incredible, beautiful, awe-inspiring things he's ever had the privilege of watching in his long, storied career and even longer life.
The whistle blows, the suplex is hit, the cover is made.
And then Angel springs into action.
As soon as that leg is hooked, Angel has already executed a flawless slide that puts him in perfect view of the pinned man's shoulders. The pin count that follows is punctuated with expertly-timed, sharp slaps of the palm that echo in the room when he hits the mat the cherry on top is the way he authoritatively belts out the numbers in perfect symphony with the count.
1
.
.
.
.
.
2
.
.
.
.
.
.
3!
Times seems to freeze.
The whole room, even people on the other side of the building who weren't initially paying attention have crowded around the ring to watch an event unfold that no one will believe happened because they weren't here to see it with their own two eyes.
The whistle dangles from Sarge's mouth, eyes open wide in a mix of awe and surprise.
SERGEANT: In all my years doing this training camp, not once have I seen someone do it perfectly on the first try. Your form, your technique all rival, maybe even surpass the best to ever do it. And the way you subtly delayed that three count to increase the tension...that's a skill it takes years for the best to master. Out of all the prospects to have walked through these doors, you are the first to have such a natural instinct to have picked up this all so quickly, after the stinkers you had in the first couple of days. I...I don't think there's anything more I can teach you.
Sarge exits the ring, needing a second to compose himself. The other recruits swarm Angel, a chrous of voices overlapping. Some give him praise, others ask for advice, and the rest ask him to remind them of the time he beat Bob Luger and Kayden Kynra in the same match and didn't get a title shot.
krzy- Main Event Star!
- Posts : 3402
Join date : 2015-03-09
Re: Burned Cream
by krzy Thu May 03, 2018 10:49 pm
Brett Angel and the notorious drill sergeant sit in his small office in the referee training facility, a half-empty bottle of Jim Beam on the table between them. Angel is reclined is his chair, the graduation cap he's wearing titled down obscuring his eyes. He reaches for his glass, lifts it to his mouth and downs its contents. He sighs deeply, half breaking the long silence that has lingered for a while.
ANGEL: It was the first time it really hit me that life isn't fair.
The sergeant only nods in response, allowing silence to once again creep into the room and sink its claws in.
ANGEL: She was everything. And now she's...
SERGEANT: What was her name?
Angel helps himself, refilling his glass then emptying it in a few hasty gulps.
ANGEL: Rosemary.
It feels like a lifetime ago since I last spoke to her, held her. A lifetime since we vowed to spend the rest of our lives together. A life erased in one fucking night.
Imagine that.
It doesn't hurt any less. I've been hit with chairs, fallen off ladders...nothing compares to having to pull off that engagement ring.
No matter how much time passes.
No matter what I do in the ring, no matter how much of myself I devote to my career, that sense of loss always finds a way to hit me when I least expect it, and it takes a hell of a lot to recover.
SERGEANT: So what's this whole refereeing thing supposed to be?
ANGEL: A distraction.
SERGEANT: It won't help.
ANGEL: Something has to.
SERGEANT: You--
ANGEL: I'm tired of everything I touch shriveling up and falling apart. My engagement. My UnMatched career. HALO. My Genesis career. Leona...and it's always just when I hit my stride. Then I trip up, fall flat on my face, then find myself trying to pick up the pieces again. It's getting old.
SERGEANT: You're still there, aren't you?
ANGEL: Despite myself.
They both chuckle. Then the room is filled with the sound of liquor being poured into glasses.
ANGEL: I've burned a lot of bridges.
There have been plenty of times when I've had my back against the wall, and I've always found a way to punch through. Not this time. This feels like the end of the road if I can't get it to work. Do you know how many times I've been asked who I want to induct me into the Hall of Fame? Or how many people have spoken to me like I'm days away from retirement? Asking for advice, sharing their favorite moments from my career...
It gets to the point where you question if you've been around too long. But I can't help but be too stubborn to die just yet.
SERGEANT: You don't have to tell me about that stubbornness.
ANGEL: There's a method to the madness.
SERGEANT: Yeah "piss people off until they give you want" can be pretty effective, until it isn't.
ANGEL: I didn't say it was a good strategy. Just the one I've stuck with.
Angel leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest.
SERGEANT: And where has that left you? Barely holding on? Fighting a losing battle against the winds of change?
ANGEL: I wouldn't call it a losing battle.
SERGEANT: Bullshit. You're here on some wild sidequest for some vindication in a petty rivalry while your friend is back there on Genesis doing what you should be doing: wrestling. Do you get off on seeing just how close you can come to throwing it all away before stepping away from the ledge?
ANGEL: I shouldn't be here. This shouldn't be my life. She should be here. She should have the championships, the accolades. She should be dealing with the politics and the bureaucracy.
SERGEANT: She's gone, Brett. And there's nothing you can do about that. But you can either stick on the path you've chosen or take a new one, but you can't keep toeing that line. Trust me, I've trained some of the finest referees who have been all over and they've seen and heard more than you wrestlers may realize. These half measures aren't gonna cut it. Whether you're still good enough enough to hang around with the up and coming talent is up to you. If you're gonna be in a tag team, then be in one. Commit to it.
You're so bitter and resentful about that one night -- that you couldn't have done anything to change -- that you've let it taint and ruin everything that's come after. What was the lady's name? Leona? You ever wonder why that didn't work out? Why it took the same turn everything else has? And she's still alive, so what's your excuse? This is gonna sound cold, but you either need to let it go or accept that this shit's gonna keep happening in cycles until you have nothing left worth losing.
The sergeant lets things drop there, and Angel doesn't immediately pick up the thread of conversation. He cocks his head to the side pondering the other man's words.
ANGEL: You're right. That was cold.
Angel rises from his chair and adjusts the cap on his head.
SERGEANT: So what's next?
ANGEL: I'm gonna commit. I can here to show I can be a better referee than we have now, and I'm gonna do just that. What was it you said? Something about graduation in record time?
SERGEANT: What can I say? You're a jackass, but you're a motivated one. All you have to do is officiate one match within a year, and you'll be a certified referee.
They shake hands in a show of respect, a far cry from the way they were at each other's throats when this all began. Angel turns and walks toward the door.
SERGEANT: I wish Brulé the best of luck.
ANGEL: Don't call us that.
The sergeant shakes his head then reaches for his bottole of bourbon, only to find out far too late that Angel helped himself to a graduation present.
ANGEL: It was the first time it really hit me that life isn't fair.
The sergeant only nods in response, allowing silence to once again creep into the room and sink its claws in.
ANGEL: She was everything. And now she's...
SERGEANT: What was her name?
Angel helps himself, refilling his glass then emptying it in a few hasty gulps.
ANGEL: Rosemary.
It feels like a lifetime ago since I last spoke to her, held her. A lifetime since we vowed to spend the rest of our lives together. A life erased in one fucking night.
Imagine that.
It doesn't hurt any less. I've been hit with chairs, fallen off ladders...nothing compares to having to pull off that engagement ring.
No matter how much time passes.
No matter what I do in the ring, no matter how much of myself I devote to my career, that sense of loss always finds a way to hit me when I least expect it, and it takes a hell of a lot to recover.
SERGEANT: So what's this whole refereeing thing supposed to be?
ANGEL: A distraction.
SERGEANT: It won't help.
ANGEL: Something has to.
SERGEANT: You--
ANGEL: I'm tired of everything I touch shriveling up and falling apart. My engagement. My UnMatched career. HALO. My Genesis career. Leona...and it's always just when I hit my stride. Then I trip up, fall flat on my face, then find myself trying to pick up the pieces again. It's getting old.
SERGEANT: You're still there, aren't you?
ANGEL: Despite myself.
They both chuckle. Then the room is filled with the sound of liquor being poured into glasses.
ANGEL: I've burned a lot of bridges.
There have been plenty of times when I've had my back against the wall, and I've always found a way to punch through. Not this time. This feels like the end of the road if I can't get it to work. Do you know how many times I've been asked who I want to induct me into the Hall of Fame? Or how many people have spoken to me like I'm days away from retirement? Asking for advice, sharing their favorite moments from my career...
It gets to the point where you question if you've been around too long. But I can't help but be too stubborn to die just yet.
SERGEANT: You don't have to tell me about that stubbornness.
ANGEL: There's a method to the madness.
SERGEANT: Yeah "piss people off until they give you want" can be pretty effective, until it isn't.
ANGEL: I didn't say it was a good strategy. Just the one I've stuck with.
Angel leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest.
SERGEANT: And where has that left you? Barely holding on? Fighting a losing battle against the winds of change?
ANGEL: I wouldn't call it a losing battle.
SERGEANT: Bullshit. You're here on some wild sidequest for some vindication in a petty rivalry while your friend is back there on Genesis doing what you should be doing: wrestling. Do you get off on seeing just how close you can come to throwing it all away before stepping away from the ledge?
ANGEL: I shouldn't be here. This shouldn't be my life. She should be here. She should have the championships, the accolades. She should be dealing with the politics and the bureaucracy.
SERGEANT: She's gone, Brett. And there's nothing you can do about that. But you can either stick on the path you've chosen or take a new one, but you can't keep toeing that line. Trust me, I've trained some of the finest referees who have been all over and they've seen and heard more than you wrestlers may realize. These half measures aren't gonna cut it. Whether you're still good enough enough to hang around with the up and coming talent is up to you. If you're gonna be in a tag team, then be in one. Commit to it.
You're so bitter and resentful about that one night -- that you couldn't have done anything to change -- that you've let it taint and ruin everything that's come after. What was the lady's name? Leona? You ever wonder why that didn't work out? Why it took the same turn everything else has? And she's still alive, so what's your excuse? This is gonna sound cold, but you either need to let it go or accept that this shit's gonna keep happening in cycles until you have nothing left worth losing.
The sergeant lets things drop there, and Angel doesn't immediately pick up the thread of conversation. He cocks his head to the side pondering the other man's words.
ANGEL: You're right. That was cold.
Angel rises from his chair and adjusts the cap on his head.
SERGEANT: So what's next?
ANGEL: I'm gonna commit. I can here to show I can be a better referee than we have now, and I'm gonna do just that. What was it you said? Something about graduation in record time?
SERGEANT: What can I say? You're a jackass, but you're a motivated one. All you have to do is officiate one match within a year, and you'll be a certified referee.
They shake hands in a show of respect, a far cry from the way they were at each other's throats when this all began. Angel turns and walks toward the door.
SERGEANT: I wish Brulé the best of luck.
ANGEL: Don't call us that.
The sergeant shakes his head then reaches for his bottole of bourbon, only to find out far too late that Angel helped himself to a graduation present.
krzy- Main Event Star!
- Posts : 3402
Join date : 2015-03-09
Re: Burned Cream
by Mr. Dashing Fri May 04, 2018 3:01 am
What a story, uniquely done and I very much enjoyed it, great job
Mr. Dashing- Admin
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Join date : 2015-03-08
Age : 27
Location : The Hood
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