Post by Jet Somers on Aug 12, 2010 0:20:27 GMT -5
The door to the office of Dexter Vines', office slams open and Jet Somers strides in, holding limply in his left hand the UGWC Chaos Championship belt, and wearing a fiery scowl. The belt drags the ground until Jet reaches the desk, and flings the entire award across the desk at the Sports Entertainment Executive. Paperweights, pens, framed photos, and various memoranda scatter from the surface of the desk as the belt comes to rest cockeyed , half of one strap hanging off in Vines' lap. Vines snaps an angry look back up at Jet.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he demands.
"What does this mean to you?" Jet crosses his arms expectantly.
"You flinging championship belts at me?" Vines asks.
"No, idiot," Jet rolls his eyes, "THAT belt. What does it mean to this company? Is it a joke?"
"Why would you think that?" Vines furrows his brow.
"Well let's see," Jet unfolds one arm to enumerate the reasons on his fingers. "To begin with, the 'Chaos' title is awarded to maybe the most wholesome and respectable person in the company; then one after another, unknown talent is paraded into the ring to try and take it from me, something we both know isn't going to happen. The one and only time I had a decent opponent for that belt, he basically walked away from the match to prove a point. Not only do I have to constantly open the show by quickly defeating someone unproven, I seem to be facing the same few EPs over and over. How many times do I have to defend against Enigma before you people realize he's not going to win? I'm guessing this is the last time, because then he goes on to challenge for the UGWC Championship, which brings me to my last point... I'm the only unrepresented champion in the selected Outlast captains."
"If this is about the Outlast Tournament, it wasn't just about selecting Champions," Vines begins.
"Oh really?" Jet grunts, "The Cross-Hemisphere Champion, one Cooperative Champion, and the two men who have never been more than a hair's-breadth from recapturing the Cross-Hemisphere Championship are all in it... hell, had Russo lost it on Synergy, you'd still have a Cross-Hemisphere Champion involved, because after Paul Cockatoo lost, you selected Travis Pierce, the very next challenger. Are you telling me that wasn't 'just in case?'
"Jet, really, how does your theory explain Enigma?" Vines smiles as if he's explaining something simple to a stubborn child.
"He only recently broke his contract with CWA... until this week he was the CWA Champion." Jet waits for him to ask about the other captain.
Vines closes his eyes and massages his right temple, "And Travis Roberts?"
Jet chuckles without humor, "Tell me one tournament for the top championship he hasn't been involved in in some way since he lost the GIW Championship? Not to mention, he is more than likely, now with Donovan Hastings-who only recently lost the UGWC Championship-the top contender for the Cooperative Championships. Which means you got every champion in the company, top to bottom, their number one contenders, and even a champion from another company, and still managed to leave out your Chaos Champion."
"I see," Dexter rolls his eyes, "Look, how do you know you aren't going to get picked to be someone's partner? You've worked with both Kiseragi and Roberts in the past, and Enigma is pretty fond of you."
"That's not the point," Jet slams his palms on the desk, "You didn't pick me. I've always said it-"
He scoops up the belt and makes to leave.
"-this is the bottom tier championship, and no one really gives a crap about it." Jet walks through the door, not bothering to shut it behind him, 'And you just proved it."
----------
The generic titles flash by, cheap white labels on stock plastic cases. Mostly, it's old out of date games from EA Sports, but any dedicated player knows that the two dollar bin at GameStop can hold a diamond in the rough if you're willing to take the time to flip past seventeen copies of Orphen and take a chance on something no one, not even the clerk, has ever heard of.
"Oh my god, what is this doing in here?!"
From the X-Box markdowns, his older brother cheeses viciously as he holds up a pristine copy of Synergy 2010. It's not a miss-shelf: there's a sticker on it marking it at $3.50.
Thomas rolls his eyes. Caleb was obsessed with wrestling. He was the only seventeen year old Thomas knew with wrestling action figures from the 80s. Still in the box.
Neither of them had much pocket money most of the time, but what they did have inevitably ended up in the drawer at the local GameStop. They lived for the cheapo bins, and this was the fabled diamond in the rough, even if Thomas had no interest in wrestling games. He stops flipping. Today was Caleb's day. There'd be no more buried treasures.
Making his way over, he comments on the game.
"Wow, not only a markdown, but that game has to be fresh," he points out, "Isn't that promotion less than a year old?"
"Yeah, but the Consortium supposedly had banks of money to launch it," Caleb explains while gazing fondly at the front cover. He flips it over, "It doesn't surprise me that they'd go ahead and release merch like this."
What the hell is a Consortium?
"Holy hell, it's so new it's got The Saints as Co-Op Champs!" he exclaims with glee. Thomas glances nervously at the counter.
"Keep it down, dude," he shushes his brother. "You don't want them to realize their mistake before you buy it."
"Ha! Look at the weapons: one is Phrixus Deimos' diary!" Caleb chuckles, a little quieter.
"What's a Frick Sucks Dime O?" In spite of himself, Thomas takes the game and peruses the screenshots.
"Phrixus Deimos," Caleb corrects his FPS loving brother, "He's awesome! The embodiment of fear. Real mysterious. He's the champ right now, but no one knows much about him. Every week he writes in his journal about messing with people's heads, like Jet Somers who he's caused to flip the hell out already. That's Jet right there."
"That goofy grinning All American type?" Thomas smirks, "He looks like a guy who was on the edge anyway. Bet you anything he's got a switch that's easy to throw."
"Well, he's flipped out before-" Caleb admits.
"So, Deimos didn't really accomplish much by flipping him out, did he?" Thomas sports a self satisfied smirk.
Caleb rolls his eyes, not taking the bait. This is an old game, Thomas deconstructing the larger than life heroes Caleb practically worships.
"Whatever, dude," Caleb snatches the game out of Thomas's hands and heads for the counter, "He is the champion, after all. An no one's going to take that away from him."
He stops cold, flipping the game back over, "Oh shit."
"What?" Thomas sees an opening and steps up beside his brother.
"I just realized," Caleb slumps his shoulders, "It says 'diary.' Deimos doesn't carry a pussy diary. It's a journal. This thing's gotta be a bootleg."
He tosses it back in the bin. Thomas considers resuming the search in the Playstation bin, but realizes it's a lost cause today. You were really scraping the bottom of the barrel when the best things you could find were bootlegs. Another day.
"Let's go get a hot dog," he suggests, counting the wad of bills from his pocket.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he demands.
"What does this mean to you?" Jet crosses his arms expectantly.
"You flinging championship belts at me?" Vines asks.
"No, idiot," Jet rolls his eyes, "THAT belt. What does it mean to this company? Is it a joke?"
"Why would you think that?" Vines furrows his brow.
"Well let's see," Jet unfolds one arm to enumerate the reasons on his fingers. "To begin with, the 'Chaos' title is awarded to maybe the most wholesome and respectable person in the company; then one after another, unknown talent is paraded into the ring to try and take it from me, something we both know isn't going to happen. The one and only time I had a decent opponent for that belt, he basically walked away from the match to prove a point. Not only do I have to constantly open the show by quickly defeating someone unproven, I seem to be facing the same few EPs over and over. How many times do I have to defend against Enigma before you people realize he's not going to win? I'm guessing this is the last time, because then he goes on to challenge for the UGWC Championship, which brings me to my last point... I'm the only unrepresented champion in the selected Outlast captains."
"If this is about the Outlast Tournament, it wasn't just about selecting Champions," Vines begins.
"Oh really?" Jet grunts, "The Cross-Hemisphere Champion, one Cooperative Champion, and the two men who have never been more than a hair's-breadth from recapturing the Cross-Hemisphere Championship are all in it... hell, had Russo lost it on Synergy, you'd still have a Cross-Hemisphere Champion involved, because after Paul Cockatoo lost, you selected Travis Pierce, the very next challenger. Are you telling me that wasn't 'just in case?'
"Jet, really, how does your theory explain Enigma?" Vines smiles as if he's explaining something simple to a stubborn child.
"He only recently broke his contract with CWA... until this week he was the CWA Champion." Jet waits for him to ask about the other captain.
Vines closes his eyes and massages his right temple, "And Travis Roberts?"
Jet chuckles without humor, "Tell me one tournament for the top championship he hasn't been involved in in some way since he lost the GIW Championship? Not to mention, he is more than likely, now with Donovan Hastings-who only recently lost the UGWC Championship-the top contender for the Cooperative Championships. Which means you got every champion in the company, top to bottom, their number one contenders, and even a champion from another company, and still managed to leave out your Chaos Champion."
"I see," Dexter rolls his eyes, "Look, how do you know you aren't going to get picked to be someone's partner? You've worked with both Kiseragi and Roberts in the past, and Enigma is pretty fond of you."
"That's not the point," Jet slams his palms on the desk, "You didn't pick me. I've always said it-"
He scoops up the belt and makes to leave.
"-this is the bottom tier championship, and no one really gives a crap about it." Jet walks through the door, not bothering to shut it behind him, 'And you just proved it."
----------
The generic titles flash by, cheap white labels on stock plastic cases. Mostly, it's old out of date games from EA Sports, but any dedicated player knows that the two dollar bin at GameStop can hold a diamond in the rough if you're willing to take the time to flip past seventeen copies of Orphen and take a chance on something no one, not even the clerk, has ever heard of.
"Oh my god, what is this doing in here?!"
From the X-Box markdowns, his older brother cheeses viciously as he holds up a pristine copy of Synergy 2010. It's not a miss-shelf: there's a sticker on it marking it at $3.50.
Thomas rolls his eyes. Caleb was obsessed with wrestling. He was the only seventeen year old Thomas knew with wrestling action figures from the 80s. Still in the box.
Neither of them had much pocket money most of the time, but what they did have inevitably ended up in the drawer at the local GameStop. They lived for the cheapo bins, and this was the fabled diamond in the rough, even if Thomas had no interest in wrestling games. He stops flipping. Today was Caleb's day. There'd be no more buried treasures.
Making his way over, he comments on the game.
"Wow, not only a markdown, but that game has to be fresh," he points out, "Isn't that promotion less than a year old?"
"Yeah, but the Consortium supposedly had banks of money to launch it," Caleb explains while gazing fondly at the front cover. He flips it over, "It doesn't surprise me that they'd go ahead and release merch like this."
What the hell is a Consortium?
"Holy hell, it's so new it's got The Saints as Co-Op Champs!" he exclaims with glee. Thomas glances nervously at the counter.
"Keep it down, dude," he shushes his brother. "You don't want them to realize their mistake before you buy it."
"Ha! Look at the weapons: one is Phrixus Deimos' diary!" Caleb chuckles, a little quieter.
"What's a Frick Sucks Dime O?" In spite of himself, Thomas takes the game and peruses the screenshots.
"Phrixus Deimos," Caleb corrects his FPS loving brother, "He's awesome! The embodiment of fear. Real mysterious. He's the champ right now, but no one knows much about him. Every week he writes in his journal about messing with people's heads, like Jet Somers who he's caused to flip the hell out already. That's Jet right there."
"That goofy grinning All American type?" Thomas smirks, "He looks like a guy who was on the edge anyway. Bet you anything he's got a switch that's easy to throw."
"Well, he's flipped out before-" Caleb admits.
"So, Deimos didn't really accomplish much by flipping him out, did he?" Thomas sports a self satisfied smirk.
Caleb rolls his eyes, not taking the bait. This is an old game, Thomas deconstructing the larger than life heroes Caleb practically worships.
"Whatever, dude," Caleb snatches the game out of Thomas's hands and heads for the counter, "He is the champion, after all. An no one's going to take that away from him."
He stops cold, flipping the game back over, "Oh shit."
"What?" Thomas sees an opening and steps up beside his brother.
"I just realized," Caleb slumps his shoulders, "It says 'diary.' Deimos doesn't carry a pussy diary. It's a journal. This thing's gotta be a bootleg."
He tosses it back in the bin. Thomas considers resuming the search in the Playstation bin, but realizes it's a lost cause today. You were really scraping the bottom of the barrel when the best things you could find were bootlegs. Another day.
"Let's go get a hot dog," he suggests, counting the wad of bills from his pocket.