Post by Red Bull Icon on Jul 25, 2009 23:52:22 GMT -5
(Our scene opens to Randy Boolzian’s locker room. The first images we see are Conni in his corner, laying on a bed of new ‘Trophies’, tail wagging, GIW Hardcore Belt between his teeth. As always. We survey the surroundings as the heavy smoke smell saturates. We watch as the sounds of nothing invade our ears. There is no crowd noise buzzing after another exciting episode of Sentinel. There is no clatter of dozens of behind the scenes staff racing to finish their post production. There is only Conni grunting and gnawing on his chew toy.
Eventually we settle on the small two person couch, and Randy Boolzian. Randy is covered in dried sweat, his short hair somewhat roughed, his tights showing the dried sweat stains from another match, and his eyes sunken and fixed on the coffee table.
Past the unopened can of Red Bull, warmed to room temperature, sits the TWiSTeD Fight Club Belt.)
{{In an instant we’re in a completely different locker room. No more is it private. No where seen is Conni. When we see Randy he is garbed in a pair of short tights, his eyes convey the quiet confidence of a man in over his head, and he’s drinking his Red Bull from a small glass bottle.
Before we can take in to much of the room we notice Randy putting out his cigarette after what could have only been the second drag as the large double doors swing open. We turn to see who is entering the room, noting the row of small stools in front of what look like small showers lined up behind wooden buckets of soapy water, and see Steven Eldrich. Eldrich in his late twenties, wearing his red and white tights, and his standard stoic expression.
Eldrich~ Thank you, Randal. Though where I appreciate the sentiment, and am puzzled as to why anyone would poison themselves, I fail to see how putting out your cigarette has any impact on the lingering odor. You might as well of continued puffing away.
Randy~ Wish I knew. So that was quick.
Eldrich~ Unfortunately. I do not understand why Mitsugi insists on putting me in the ring with opponents who are unwilling to properly train. Oh how I long for a match to continue past the two minute mark, and to face an opponent who may be able to do something besides kick and flip.
Randy~ I don’t know about the kickin’ and flippin’, but have you considered not ending the match so soon?
Eldrich~ Randal that would be an insult to myself, to the fans, and to my opponent if I did not go out there and go at a hundred percent.
Randy~ Cool, what ever, then suffer.
Randy turns back to lighting a new cigarette as Eldrich disrobes, sits on a small stool, and begins to sponge himself down. An old rotary phone rings on the other side of the room, and a small but muscular Japanese man answers the phone. After some apparent confusion he turns to Randy, and calls out in his native language. BoolZ hops off of the trainers table, and approaches the phone.
Randy~ Moshi, Moshi?
Phone~ No, BoolZ, I need to speak with Rraanndddy Boooolziiaan!
Randy~ Doc, is that you? This is Randy.
Doc~ Damn yo, when you gonna get a cell phone?
Randy~ As soon as I want people callin’ me.
Doc~ Oh you want this call. Listen, I thought you were crazier than shit, but you were right. Your boy, mister coma clown, that gangly fuck you wanted me to keep an eye out for. Yeah, it looks like he’s ‘bout ready to get back in the ring. Nothing concrete yet, but he was sighted having a couple very serious type conversations with a Declan Prescott. Prescott owns a small upstart federation called the GIW, he’s smarter than all hell, and having Travis Roberts make his big return in his GIW has to be on Prescott’s wish list …
There is silence on the phone and a distant glare in Randy’s eyes.
Doc~ … Hello? God damned over seas calls! If I’m being charged for…
Randy~ No, Doc I’m here. Uh, how sure are you?
Doc~ Sure enough to stay up all damned night to call you about some rinky dink federation full of Nazi’s, pedophile clowns, and porn stars.
Randy~ Can you set it up?
Doc~ Just tell me when. Any thing to keep you away from my sister.
Randy~ Early next week.
Doc~ That gonna be enough… *CLICK*
Randy stands silent for what seems like forever as he stares off into the distance as Eldrich slowly sinks into a large steel soaking tub.
Eldrich~ Bad news, Randal?
Randy~ Huh, oh, uh, I can’t tell you how long I’ve waited for that call Eldrich.
(We’re back in the locker room. BoolZ hasn’t moved. His Red Bull hasn’t opened, his cigarettes haven’t been lit, Conni hasn’t stopped chewing on that old belt, and the TFC Belt hasn’t stopped mocking the Red Bull Icon.)
{{From the locker room to the board room. BoolZ now in a pair of jeans and a Family Guy ‘Blue Harvest’ t-shirt enters carrying a large duffle bag. The squat Asian man at the far end of the room looks up with distain before mumbling something in Japanese in a low gruff voice.
Randy~ Mr. Saotome I want out of my contract.
Saotome~ What?!?! No. Go away.
Randy~ Mitsugi, I have wrestled my last match for you. Allow me to leave.
Saotome~ No, people pay too much to watch you wrestle. People pay me too much to come and see Americans wrestle. Now go away. I will not let you out of the last three months of your contract.
Randy places the large bag on Saotome’s desk, unzips the duffle, and Mitsugi is instantly drawn to the pile of Yen. Thousands of colorful pieces of paper.
Randy~ I will pay you.
With a simple dismissive wave of his plump hand Mitsugi Saotome releases BoolZ, and captures the money.}}
(We’re back in the locker room, and Randy is now leaning forward inspecting the TFC Belt again. Noting the small clump of black hair left by Alex Kiseragi’s scalp. Noting the small extra curvature from the impact. Noticing the name plate reading ‘Travis Roberts’.)
{{We’re not in Japan anymore. It feels good to be back on U.S. soil. It felt good wrestling in front of an American crowd. BoolZ sits in a locker room in the GIW Arena having won his debut match last week, slightly dejected not being on tonight’s card. As he puffs away on his cigarette there is a small quiet knock at the door. BoolZ stands up to answer it, and after looking left then right then left again.
eD~ Uhm, excuse me?
Looking down, BoolZ knows this man from television anyway. From the nightmares that have haunted his every waking moment for far too long.
BoolZ~ What the hell are you?
eD~ I’m eD cASe, I’m ‘The Blessed Ones’ agent. Listen, uh, I know you’re teaming up with Travis Roberts tonight, and I need a favor.
BoolZ~ No, seriously, what the hell are you?
eD~ I’m, never mind. Uhm, listen I know Travis is Travis and all, but really this is his first match in a really long time. This match, though he won’t admit it is very important. Please just don’t…
BoolZ~ Relax little man. Travis Roberts will have a successful return to professional wrestling if I have anything to do about it. I mean, why would I do anything less than all I can to help not ruin the big return match? Where is ‘The Headliner’ anyway? I’m really looking forward to meeting him.}}
(We’re back in what became Randy Boolzian’s private locker room. We’re still in his head as he remembers the promise to Ashton McCourt to chili dog that brunette on Roberts’ arm, to be bigger than the ‘Blessed One’, the accident on their way to the TFC’s tour of Southern California that killed his best friend, Maddy, the tag match against Global Domination, Toxic Intent, knowing who he wanted to face with his BattleGrounds victory, Mary-Joanna, Horizons, January, Infinity, what he’s done to Alex Kiseragi as a result, his promise.
Randy picks up the warm Red Bull as he leans back lighting a cigarette. Only one puff, only cracking the seal on the can, only a flick of foot, and the small coffee table flips over spilling the worthless TFC. Randy stands on somewhat wobbly legs, takes a swig from the can, and heads to the door.)
Randy; “So close. This ain’t good enough. Conni, I’m going for a walk.”
~*~*~
(We cut to a shot of the GIW Cafeteria. It’s almost empty save for a lone foursome sitting at a far table. Doctor Professor sits at the head with a small tablet in front of him. Obese Tony sits to his right with a plate of grilled cheese sandwiches. Half a plate anyway. Old Man Hermit sits opposite the Doctor as he reaches into a large trash bag, takes out an empty Red Bull can, and crushes it merrily. Bones rounds out the foursome sitting on Dr. Professor’s left. His far left.)
Doctor Professor; “Very well then. Next is the match to decide the stipulation at Affirmative Action for the Hastings Gabrielle match. It pits Diamond Jack Severino against Donovan Hastings.”
Obese Tony; “I bet Jack has ate’d at some really nice rest-o-rwants.”
Old Man Hermit; “When I’m in my cave I like to think about crushing cans with Gabrielle, but I don’t think she’s in my league. Still I might slum it one day, and give her a highlight.”
Bones; “J-j-j-jack is my f-f-friend. Ga-ga-gabby should take him back, s-s-s-so I c-ca-c-can m-mo-m-m-mo-molest her… ah, g-g-get to kn-n-know her.
Doctor Professor; “That is perhaps the most disturbing thing I’ve heard on this day. I think Donovan Hastings will win at twelve minutes.”
Obese Tony; “I’m hungry, and Diamond Jack will win by disqualification I think. Yeah, put my money on him.”
Old Man Hermit; “It will be Donovan. Game recognizes game, and I see Donovan taking it when that little punk Severino starts regretting his lose, and gets counted out. He’s my pick.”
Bones; “I want t-t-to m-m-mmop G-g-g-gabby’s ear! I-I-I, I b-b-bet sh-sh-sh-she’s got r-r-r-real good w-w-wax. J-j-j-jack w-w-w-will w-w-w-win b-b-by pin f-f-fall th-th-then I can cl-cl-c-clean up there ce-c-cel-c-c-cel-party.
(Doctor Professor makes his notes, then adds a pad of butter to his coffee, and reads the next match.)
Doctor Professor; “Right oh, so the next match is Randal Boolzian versus Alex Kiseragi. I am uncertain if the old Global Title Belt is up for grabs however.”
Obese Tony; “BoolZ eats here sometimes, but he broke my sink. I don’t think neither of that will help him. Kiseragi by pinfall.”
Old Man Hermit; “Tony, that is crazy and you’re a loser for thinking it. BoolZ is a cool cat, yo. Plus he gives me a lot of empty cans to smash. BoolZ all the way, and I hope he smashes that square Kiseragi.”
Bones; “Y-y-yeah. B-b-b-boolZ l-l-lets me cl-c-c-mop up a-a-af-after h-h-his gr-g-g-gr-gro-females. I-I-I w-w-wa-want B-b-b-boo-bo-boolZ to win.
Doctor Professor; “Well I do believe Alex Kiseragi will win this match. I have seen what young Randal has done to Alex. I had to use horse tranquilizer to calm him down two weeks ago, and Randal has proved he is nothing but a petulant heathen. Factoring in Kiseragi’s higher level of education that he surely has, and the result should be academic. Kiseragi to outwit the nitwit. Our last match will be…”
~*~*~
(We cut away from the cafeteria to a shot of Randy walking down one of the endless hallways of the GIW Arena alone. He has finished his Red Bull, and stuffed the empty can into the hip of his wrestling gear. As he lights a new cigarette, and turns a corner he’s stopped in his tracks as he avoids running into Marek Diasuke.
Marek simply stands in Randy’s way not saying a word with his hands in his pockets. Randy makes the attempt to side step around the Human Missile, but War of War and Peace matches his move.)
Randy; “Excuse me.”
Marek; “There no excuse for you.”
(Randy tilts his head as a puzzled look washes across the former contemplative stare on his face.)
Randy; “Yeah, you’re probably right. But you’re definitely in my way. Excuse me.”
Marek; “Or what? You act bad at me? You act bad at friend Alex, you no act bad at me?”
Randy; “Act bad?”
Marek; “Alex try make peace. Offer belt you lost, but you sneak attack friend. You no have honor. Make me sick.”
(It doesn’t take long but during the brief silence Randy tilts his head back, a calm seemingly seeps from his core, and the faintest smirk slips from his lips.)
BoolZ; “I make you sick? You make me sick. You and your little ‘TRob Light’ tag partner. Let me ask you, when exactly did Xavier’s house become the refuge for my opponents. You’ve been running around kissing Alex’s feet for weeks now. At least Pax provided a service to Roberts. You, you just glare and pass judgment.
You don’t like what I did to Alex but you turn a blind eye to what he’s done. You don’t like how I beat him in the dome with the Hardcore belt, but you forget about when he attacked me on the way to the ring with that stupid sword of his. I get the feeling you don’t like the fact that because of his stupid holier than thou attitude, and condescending actions he’s put himself in my cross hairs. I can tell you really don’t like the prospect that like Roberts before him, your little buddy is having his month fucked by the Red Bull Icon.
I’m going to take that Global belt from him, just like I said I would. Just like I said I’d make Travis Roberts stand up and fight me, and then I did. Just like I told him I was gonna take that TFC belt from KisKis. Just like I might just take his title match at the pay-per-view. But you know what. I don’t really give two shits about poor little AKis. He’s not worth my time. What I’m doing to him, I’m doing because he’s forced RBI’s hand. No, the real question is, if you don’t like it so much. What are you going to do about?”
(Marek’s eyes squint in anger as he leaves his hands in his pockets.)
Marek; “You no want fight me. You no fast like me. You no hit like me. You no good enough like me.”
BoolZ; “Funny. I’m sure I wasn’t ‘good like’ your partner either, but had Raenius not shut off the lights, the world would have seen me dump ‘Zeke on his head. I’m sure I wasn’t ‘good like’ your idol Kiseragi last week when I gave him the finger, and then gave him an up close last look at what I was taking from him.
And you’re right. I’m not as fast as you, and I don’t hit like you do, but it doesn’t matter. See I’m not as fast as you, but I’m fast enough. I’m not the striker you are, but I hit hard enough. Hell you might even actually be better than me, but it doesn’t matter. Because I’m good enough not to lose to some punk kid worshipping a man I’ve beaten to the point that he needs some punk kid standing up for him. Now get out of BoolZ’s way before you find yourself in BoolZ’s way.”
(Marek relaxes his stance, and turns to walk away as BoolZ takes a drag from his cigarette.)
Marek; “Hmm. You no worth it.”
BoolZ; “Bitch, turn your back on the Red Bull…”
(BoolZ reaches out, grabs Marek by the shoulder, and before he can react Diasuke has turned and let lose a right leg. BoolZ stands locked in an icy stare with Marek as Diasuke slowly lowers his still bent leg, and backs away.)
Marek; “Hmm, no fast like me.”
(With Marek gone BoolZ finally exhales the smoke from his lunges before shaking his head.)
Randy; “That was very damn fast.”
Eventually we settle on the small two person couch, and Randy Boolzian. Randy is covered in dried sweat, his short hair somewhat roughed, his tights showing the dried sweat stains from another match, and his eyes sunken and fixed on the coffee table.
Past the unopened can of Red Bull, warmed to room temperature, sits the TWiSTeD Fight Club Belt.)
{{In an instant we’re in a completely different locker room. No more is it private. No where seen is Conni. When we see Randy he is garbed in a pair of short tights, his eyes convey the quiet confidence of a man in over his head, and he’s drinking his Red Bull from a small glass bottle.
Before we can take in to much of the room we notice Randy putting out his cigarette after what could have only been the second drag as the large double doors swing open. We turn to see who is entering the room, noting the row of small stools in front of what look like small showers lined up behind wooden buckets of soapy water, and see Steven Eldrich. Eldrich in his late twenties, wearing his red and white tights, and his standard stoic expression.
Eldrich~ Thank you, Randal. Though where I appreciate the sentiment, and am puzzled as to why anyone would poison themselves, I fail to see how putting out your cigarette has any impact on the lingering odor. You might as well of continued puffing away.
Randy~ Wish I knew. So that was quick.
Eldrich~ Unfortunately. I do not understand why Mitsugi insists on putting me in the ring with opponents who are unwilling to properly train. Oh how I long for a match to continue past the two minute mark, and to face an opponent who may be able to do something besides kick and flip.
Randy~ I don’t know about the kickin’ and flippin’, but have you considered not ending the match so soon?
Eldrich~ Randal that would be an insult to myself, to the fans, and to my opponent if I did not go out there and go at a hundred percent.
Randy~ Cool, what ever, then suffer.
Randy turns back to lighting a new cigarette as Eldrich disrobes, sits on a small stool, and begins to sponge himself down. An old rotary phone rings on the other side of the room, and a small but muscular Japanese man answers the phone. After some apparent confusion he turns to Randy, and calls out in his native language. BoolZ hops off of the trainers table, and approaches the phone.
Randy~ Moshi, Moshi?
Phone~ No, BoolZ, I need to speak with Rraanndddy Boooolziiaan!
Randy~ Doc, is that you? This is Randy.
Doc~ Damn yo, when you gonna get a cell phone?
Randy~ As soon as I want people callin’ me.
Doc~ Oh you want this call. Listen, I thought you were crazier than shit, but you were right. Your boy, mister coma clown, that gangly fuck you wanted me to keep an eye out for. Yeah, it looks like he’s ‘bout ready to get back in the ring. Nothing concrete yet, but he was sighted having a couple very serious type conversations with a Declan Prescott. Prescott owns a small upstart federation called the GIW, he’s smarter than all hell, and having Travis Roberts make his big return in his GIW has to be on Prescott’s wish list …
There is silence on the phone and a distant glare in Randy’s eyes.
Doc~ … Hello? God damned over seas calls! If I’m being charged for…
Randy~ No, Doc I’m here. Uh, how sure are you?
Doc~ Sure enough to stay up all damned night to call you about some rinky dink federation full of Nazi’s, pedophile clowns, and porn stars.
Randy~ Can you set it up?
Doc~ Just tell me when. Any thing to keep you away from my sister.
Randy~ Early next week.
Doc~ That gonna be enough… *CLICK*
Randy stands silent for what seems like forever as he stares off into the distance as Eldrich slowly sinks into a large steel soaking tub.
Eldrich~ Bad news, Randal?
Randy~ Huh, oh, uh, I can’t tell you how long I’ve waited for that call Eldrich.
(We’re back in the locker room. BoolZ hasn’t moved. His Red Bull hasn’t opened, his cigarettes haven’t been lit, Conni hasn’t stopped chewing on that old belt, and the TFC Belt hasn’t stopped mocking the Red Bull Icon.)
{{From the locker room to the board room. BoolZ now in a pair of jeans and a Family Guy ‘Blue Harvest’ t-shirt enters carrying a large duffle bag. The squat Asian man at the far end of the room looks up with distain before mumbling something in Japanese in a low gruff voice.
Randy~ Mr. Saotome I want out of my contract.
Saotome~ What?!?! No. Go away.
Randy~ Mitsugi, I have wrestled my last match for you. Allow me to leave.
Saotome~ No, people pay too much to watch you wrestle. People pay me too much to come and see Americans wrestle. Now go away. I will not let you out of the last three months of your contract.
Randy places the large bag on Saotome’s desk, unzips the duffle, and Mitsugi is instantly drawn to the pile of Yen. Thousands of colorful pieces of paper.
Randy~ I will pay you.
With a simple dismissive wave of his plump hand Mitsugi Saotome releases BoolZ, and captures the money.}}
(We’re back in the locker room, and Randy is now leaning forward inspecting the TFC Belt again. Noting the small clump of black hair left by Alex Kiseragi’s scalp. Noting the small extra curvature from the impact. Noticing the name plate reading ‘Travis Roberts’.)
{{We’re not in Japan anymore. It feels good to be back on U.S. soil. It felt good wrestling in front of an American crowd. BoolZ sits in a locker room in the GIW Arena having won his debut match last week, slightly dejected not being on tonight’s card. As he puffs away on his cigarette there is a small quiet knock at the door. BoolZ stands up to answer it, and after looking left then right then left again.
eD~ Uhm, excuse me?
Looking down, BoolZ knows this man from television anyway. From the nightmares that have haunted his every waking moment for far too long.
BoolZ~ What the hell are you?
eD~ I’m eD cASe, I’m ‘The Blessed Ones’ agent. Listen, uh, I know you’re teaming up with Travis Roberts tonight, and I need a favor.
BoolZ~ No, seriously, what the hell are you?
eD~ I’m, never mind. Uhm, listen I know Travis is Travis and all, but really this is his first match in a really long time. This match, though he won’t admit it is very important. Please just don’t…
BoolZ~ Relax little man. Travis Roberts will have a successful return to professional wrestling if I have anything to do about it. I mean, why would I do anything less than all I can to help not ruin the big return match? Where is ‘The Headliner’ anyway? I’m really looking forward to meeting him.}}
(We’re back in what became Randy Boolzian’s private locker room. We’re still in his head as he remembers the promise to Ashton McCourt to chili dog that brunette on Roberts’ arm, to be bigger than the ‘Blessed One’, the accident on their way to the TFC’s tour of Southern California that killed his best friend, Maddy, the tag match against Global Domination, Toxic Intent, knowing who he wanted to face with his BattleGrounds victory, Mary-Joanna, Horizons, January, Infinity, what he’s done to Alex Kiseragi as a result, his promise.
Randy picks up the warm Red Bull as he leans back lighting a cigarette. Only one puff, only cracking the seal on the can, only a flick of foot, and the small coffee table flips over spilling the worthless TFC. Randy stands on somewhat wobbly legs, takes a swig from the can, and heads to the door.)
Randy; “So close. This ain’t good enough. Conni, I’m going for a walk.”
~*~*~
(We cut to a shot of the GIW Cafeteria. It’s almost empty save for a lone foursome sitting at a far table. Doctor Professor sits at the head with a small tablet in front of him. Obese Tony sits to his right with a plate of grilled cheese sandwiches. Half a plate anyway. Old Man Hermit sits opposite the Doctor as he reaches into a large trash bag, takes out an empty Red Bull can, and crushes it merrily. Bones rounds out the foursome sitting on Dr. Professor’s left. His far left.)
Doctor Professor; “Very well then. Next is the match to decide the stipulation at Affirmative Action for the Hastings Gabrielle match. It pits Diamond Jack Severino against Donovan Hastings.”
Obese Tony; “I bet Jack has ate’d at some really nice rest-o-rwants.”
Old Man Hermit; “When I’m in my cave I like to think about crushing cans with Gabrielle, but I don’t think she’s in my league. Still I might slum it one day, and give her a highlight.”
Bones; “J-j-j-jack is my f-f-friend. Ga-ga-gabby should take him back, s-s-s-so I c-ca-c-can m-mo-m-m-mo-molest her… ah, g-g-get to kn-n-know her.
Doctor Professor; “That is perhaps the most disturbing thing I’ve heard on this day. I think Donovan Hastings will win at twelve minutes.”
Obese Tony; “I’m hungry, and Diamond Jack will win by disqualification I think. Yeah, put my money on him.”
Old Man Hermit; “It will be Donovan. Game recognizes game, and I see Donovan taking it when that little punk Severino starts regretting his lose, and gets counted out. He’s my pick.”
Bones; “I want t-t-to m-m-mmop G-g-g-gabby’s ear! I-I-I, I b-b-bet sh-sh-sh-she’s got r-r-r-real good w-w-wax. J-j-j-jack w-w-w-will w-w-w-win b-b-by pin f-f-fall th-th-then I can cl-cl-c-clean up there ce-c-cel-c-c-cel-party.
(Doctor Professor makes his notes, then adds a pad of butter to his coffee, and reads the next match.)
Doctor Professor; “Right oh, so the next match is Randal Boolzian versus Alex Kiseragi. I am uncertain if the old Global Title Belt is up for grabs however.”
Obese Tony; “BoolZ eats here sometimes, but he broke my sink. I don’t think neither of that will help him. Kiseragi by pinfall.”
Old Man Hermit; “Tony, that is crazy and you’re a loser for thinking it. BoolZ is a cool cat, yo. Plus he gives me a lot of empty cans to smash. BoolZ all the way, and I hope he smashes that square Kiseragi.”
Bones; “Y-y-yeah. B-b-b-boolZ l-l-lets me cl-c-c-mop up a-a-af-after h-h-his gr-g-g-gr-gro-females. I-I-I w-w-wa-want B-b-b-boo-bo-boolZ to win.
Doctor Professor; “Well I do believe Alex Kiseragi will win this match. I have seen what young Randal has done to Alex. I had to use horse tranquilizer to calm him down two weeks ago, and Randal has proved he is nothing but a petulant heathen. Factoring in Kiseragi’s higher level of education that he surely has, and the result should be academic. Kiseragi to outwit the nitwit. Our last match will be…”
~*~*~
(We cut away from the cafeteria to a shot of Randy walking down one of the endless hallways of the GIW Arena alone. He has finished his Red Bull, and stuffed the empty can into the hip of his wrestling gear. As he lights a new cigarette, and turns a corner he’s stopped in his tracks as he avoids running into Marek Diasuke.
Marek simply stands in Randy’s way not saying a word with his hands in his pockets. Randy makes the attempt to side step around the Human Missile, but War of War and Peace matches his move.)
Randy; “Excuse me.”
Marek; “There no excuse for you.”
(Randy tilts his head as a puzzled look washes across the former contemplative stare on his face.)
Randy; “Yeah, you’re probably right. But you’re definitely in my way. Excuse me.”
Marek; “Or what? You act bad at me? You act bad at friend Alex, you no act bad at me?”
Randy; “Act bad?”
Marek; “Alex try make peace. Offer belt you lost, but you sneak attack friend. You no have honor. Make me sick.”
(It doesn’t take long but during the brief silence Randy tilts his head back, a calm seemingly seeps from his core, and the faintest smirk slips from his lips.)
BoolZ; “I make you sick? You make me sick. You and your little ‘TRob Light’ tag partner. Let me ask you, when exactly did Xavier’s house become the refuge for my opponents. You’ve been running around kissing Alex’s feet for weeks now. At least Pax provided a service to Roberts. You, you just glare and pass judgment.
You don’t like what I did to Alex but you turn a blind eye to what he’s done. You don’t like how I beat him in the dome with the Hardcore belt, but you forget about when he attacked me on the way to the ring with that stupid sword of his. I get the feeling you don’t like the fact that because of his stupid holier than thou attitude, and condescending actions he’s put himself in my cross hairs. I can tell you really don’t like the prospect that like Roberts before him, your little buddy is having his month fucked by the Red Bull Icon.
I’m going to take that Global belt from him, just like I said I would. Just like I said I’d make Travis Roberts stand up and fight me, and then I did. Just like I told him I was gonna take that TFC belt from KisKis. Just like I might just take his title match at the pay-per-view. But you know what. I don’t really give two shits about poor little AKis. He’s not worth my time. What I’m doing to him, I’m doing because he’s forced RBI’s hand. No, the real question is, if you don’t like it so much. What are you going to do about?”
(Marek’s eyes squint in anger as he leaves his hands in his pockets.)
Marek; “You no want fight me. You no fast like me. You no hit like me. You no good enough like me.”
BoolZ; “Funny. I’m sure I wasn’t ‘good like’ your partner either, but had Raenius not shut off the lights, the world would have seen me dump ‘Zeke on his head. I’m sure I wasn’t ‘good like’ your idol Kiseragi last week when I gave him the finger, and then gave him an up close last look at what I was taking from him.
And you’re right. I’m not as fast as you, and I don’t hit like you do, but it doesn’t matter. See I’m not as fast as you, but I’m fast enough. I’m not the striker you are, but I hit hard enough. Hell you might even actually be better than me, but it doesn’t matter. Because I’m good enough not to lose to some punk kid worshipping a man I’ve beaten to the point that he needs some punk kid standing up for him. Now get out of BoolZ’s way before you find yourself in BoolZ’s way.”
(Marek relaxes his stance, and turns to walk away as BoolZ takes a drag from his cigarette.)
Marek; “Hmm. You no worth it.”
BoolZ; “Bitch, turn your back on the Red Bull…”
(BoolZ reaches out, grabs Marek by the shoulder, and before he can react Diasuke has turned and let lose a right leg. BoolZ stands locked in an icy stare with Marek as Diasuke slowly lowers his still bent leg, and backs away.)
Marek; “Hmm, no fast like me.”
(With Marek gone BoolZ finally exhales the smoke from his lunges before shaking his head.)
Randy; “That was very damn fast.”
