Post by Lord Hastings on Jul 31, 2009 21:07:33 GMT -5
Donovan is walking down the hallway, whistling as he does. He smiles and waves to a stage hand as he goes. In his left hand, he holds a Burnt Sienna crayon, and in his right is Razzmatazz. He rolls the crayon in his left hand along his fingers. Donovan pauses, and he looks back and forth between the two crayons. After a few moments, he tosses the crayon in his right hand over his shoulder.
Stage Hand: Ow! Mother fucker in my eye!
Donovan glances back, and holds the crayon up in his left hand.
Hastings: Burnt Sienna for the win!
Donovan raises the crayon and reaches forward with it, but the crayon taps against glass. He stares at it.
Voice: Lord-Chief!
Owen runs up. Donovan is staring at the glass.
Hastings: You see this? They've got the card behind glass.
Peterson: They blaspheme against their Lord!
Donovan shrugs.
Hastings: Eh, whatever.
He throws the crayon over his other shoulder.
Stage Hand: Agh! Stab my eyes!
Donovan and Owen both look off-camera for a moment in the direction of the voice. They exchange a glance.
Hastings: Walk with me, Owen.
They begin walking together down the hallway.
Peterson: I know you're upset about what happened with Ms. Harding.
Hastings: It's okay.
Peterson: They'll get their comeuppance at Toxic Intent. Edwards is a peasant, a pitch-fork wielding fool. He will bow before his Lord, and his pitiful claim to the co-Undisputed Championship will be all for naught.
Donovan smiles, his head down as he walks.
Peterson: It's destiny's call, Lord-Chief, Blessed Immortality will defend the Global Heavyweight Championship and-
Hastings: Is that really what I sound like?
They stop.
Peterson: Lord-Chief?
Hastings: It really is pretty out there, isn't it.
Peterson: What...what are you talking about?
Hastings: All the ranting and raving, it's a wonder I've accomplished anything.
Peterson: Lord-Chief?
Hastings: I'm just saying, it's time to move on, Owen. Accept reality for what it is. Calypso left in December. December. That's seven months ago. What have I done since then?
Peterson: You've...you've triumphed over adversity!
Donovan laughs.
Hastings: No, Owen. I refused to accept she left, and then I took it out on you. You didn't deserve that. And then I've spent the last few months thinking that if I do this, or I do that, she'll come back. You know what? She's not coming back, Owen.
Peterson: But...
Hastings: She's not. It's time to move forward from that. It's time to find a new purpose, a real purpose. It's time to do something with my career.
Peterson: What about the pretender to the throne? Moss Edwards?
Hastings: I'll deal with Edwards at Toxic Intent. A win over one of the top contenders should put me right back in the mix against Roberts.
Peterson: And you will do battle with your co-Undisputed Champion?
Hastings: I'll be the Global Heavyweight Champion, Owen. If you're willing to settle for any less, you don't belong in this business.
Peterson: It...it is inevitable?
Hastings: It's just what I have to do, Owen.
Peterson: So how do we handle Edwards?
Donovan shakes his head.
Hastings: I don't think you hear me, Owen. Listen...what I've put you through all these months...for what it's worth, I'm sorry.
Peterson: You...you what?
Hastings: I'm sorry, Owen. For everything. Good luck to you.
Donovan holds opens the door to their locker room.
Peterson: I...I guess you'll be staying here in the NiggaCave.
Donovan smiles, his head lowered.
Hastings: No, it's your locker room, Owen. It always was.
Donovan pats Owen on the shoulder and smiles again, and then walks away down the hall. Owen slowly enters the locker room, and takes a seat on the couch. He stares into space for a few moments, and then turns his head to see the plastic title belt sitting on the couch next to him. Owen picks it up and holds it in his hands, staring at it, and he lays it across his lap as he buries his head in his hands.
Stage Hand: Ow! Mother fucker in my eye!
Donovan glances back, and holds the crayon up in his left hand.
Hastings: Burnt Sienna for the win!
Donovan raises the crayon and reaches forward with it, but the crayon taps against glass. He stares at it.
Voice: Lord-Chief!
Owen runs up. Donovan is staring at the glass.
Hastings: You see this? They've got the card behind glass.
Peterson: They blaspheme against their Lord!
Donovan shrugs.
Hastings: Eh, whatever.
He throws the crayon over his other shoulder.
Stage Hand: Agh! Stab my eyes!
Donovan and Owen both look off-camera for a moment in the direction of the voice. They exchange a glance.
Hastings: Walk with me, Owen.
They begin walking together down the hallway.
Peterson: I know you're upset about what happened with Ms. Harding.
Hastings: It's okay.
Peterson: They'll get their comeuppance at Toxic Intent. Edwards is a peasant, a pitch-fork wielding fool. He will bow before his Lord, and his pitiful claim to the co-Undisputed Championship will be all for naught.
Donovan smiles, his head down as he walks.
Peterson: It's destiny's call, Lord-Chief, Blessed Immortality will defend the Global Heavyweight Championship and-
Hastings: Is that really what I sound like?
They stop.
Peterson: Lord-Chief?
Hastings: It really is pretty out there, isn't it.
Peterson: What...what are you talking about?
Hastings: All the ranting and raving, it's a wonder I've accomplished anything.
Peterson: Lord-Chief?
Hastings: I'm just saying, it's time to move on, Owen. Accept reality for what it is. Calypso left in December. December. That's seven months ago. What have I done since then?
Peterson: You've...you've triumphed over adversity!
Donovan laughs.
Hastings: No, Owen. I refused to accept she left, and then I took it out on you. You didn't deserve that. And then I've spent the last few months thinking that if I do this, or I do that, she'll come back. You know what? She's not coming back, Owen.
Peterson: But...
Hastings: She's not. It's time to move forward from that. It's time to find a new purpose, a real purpose. It's time to do something with my career.
Peterson: What about the pretender to the throne? Moss Edwards?
Hastings: I'll deal with Edwards at Toxic Intent. A win over one of the top contenders should put me right back in the mix against Roberts.
Peterson: And you will do battle with your co-Undisputed Champion?
Hastings: I'll be the Global Heavyweight Champion, Owen. If you're willing to settle for any less, you don't belong in this business.
Peterson: It...it is inevitable?
Hastings: It's just what I have to do, Owen.
Peterson: So how do we handle Edwards?
Donovan shakes his head.
Hastings: I don't think you hear me, Owen. Listen...what I've put you through all these months...for what it's worth, I'm sorry.
Peterson: You...you what?
Hastings: I'm sorry, Owen. For everything. Good luck to you.
Donovan holds opens the door to their locker room.
Peterson: I...I guess you'll be staying here in the NiggaCave.
Donovan smiles, his head lowered.
Hastings: No, it's your locker room, Owen. It always was.
Donovan pats Owen on the shoulder and smiles again, and then walks away down the hall. Owen slowly enters the locker room, and takes a seat on the couch. He stares into space for a few moments, and then turns his head to see the plastic title belt sitting on the couch next to him. Owen picks it up and holds it in his hands, staring at it, and he lays it across his lap as he buries his head in his hands.
