Post by The Plague on Nov 17, 2005 23:16:20 GMT -5
Ravager has left, Lobo has exited, and Static & The Mayor have been helped out. The crowd is beginning to thin. Suddenly, the NAPW theme song cuts off. The crowd is momentarily confused. Pounding drums echo through the NAIT Athletic center. THEN.
"WA-AH-AH-AH-AH!"
And without warning, in street clothes, comes the NAPW's biggest star...THE PLAGUE. The Plague stalks to the ring, his theme music bruising behind him. The smirk is absent.
"GET UP, GET UP, COME ON GET DOWN WITH THE SICKNESS!"
The Plague stalks to the timekeeper's table and grabs a chair. He throws it in the ring and then rolls in himself. A quick set-up, and the chair is in the middle of the ring. The Plague sits down and pulls a microphone from the inside of his leather overcoat.
"CUT---MY---MUSIC."
Disturbed fades out. The crowd is sticking around, now. The boos are beginning, but most people are quite curious as to why Plague has shown up here and now, when Action! is off the air. The Plague waits, glaring.
"Now I'm sure every one of you pathetic losers is wondering why The Plague has come down here to brighten your lives. I mean, it's not like you got your money's worth, sitting through a little boy beating up a manager. Ravager versus Bill Fleming, oh yeah... snort ... that'll put asses in the seats! But although I might have come out here to question the sanity of good ol' "Wahoo" Bobby Winchell, our "esteemed" commissioner, it's not because of all that. No, I'm out here for one reason and one reason only...
The NAPW Championship. Which is STILL HELD BY A CRIPPLE NAMED D!"
The crowd erupts at the name of D!, breaking out in a spontaneous chant! D! D! D! D! Plague snarls into the microphone.
"You shut the hell up! You! And especially YOU. You're so proud of your so-called champion, aren't you? D! and his FLUKE wins. I'm sure all of you, being the geeks you are, have been following the drama on NAPW.ca! Well then you all know bloody well that the "champion"... nobody even knows where the hell he is! The NAPW Champion is missing, and that can only mean one thing..."
Plague stops. Oh, there it is. The SMIRK.
"That the NAPW Commission has no choice but to STRIP D! off the Championship and return it to the RIGHTFUL Champion, the NUMBER ONE CONTENDER... and that, for those of you to dense to realize it...is THE PLAGUE. I want my belt back! Oh, BOO all you want, but the sooner you realize that your precious "ONE LETTER, SAID REAL LOUD" is NEVER setting foot in an NAPW ring again, the happier you'll be! Oh, boo boo, The Plague is such a bad guy! Where's your hero now, huh? WHERE'S YOUR HERO, YOU SAD SACK LOSERS ----"
"RIIIIGHT . . . BEFORE YOUR EYES!"
The Plague's JAW DROPS. The crowd EXPLODES in a frenzy of cheers, relief and joy. THE SNITCHES ARE ON THE PA. THE NAPW CHAMPION.
BATTERED.
BRUISED.
BANDAGED.
D! IS STANDING IN THE AISLE. And there is NOTHING cheerful about his expression!
D!: No, I think the REAL question is, Plague ... Do you EVER shut up?!
The Plague, stunned, shocked, apoplectic.
THE PLAGUE: You...You're supposed to be in the hospital! Look at you! You're not in any condition! WHERE THE HELL IS MY BELT?
D!: Your belt, Plague? YOUR belt? The last time I checked, which was when I FINALLY woke up, I was STILL the NAPW Champion. I BEAT you in the center of that ring Monday Night! You might remember? Before you saw fit to Crucifix Powerbomb me until my ears started bleeding, you LOST.
THE PLAGUE: Having regained his composure somewhat. Kid, the ONLY reason you beat me on MNF is because I showed you MERCY. You didn't have anything left, "champ." Believe me, next time I won't make that mistake again.
D!: Jobber, please. Did I hear you say "next time?" Funny, because when me and the rest of us geeks looked at the NAPW Official Rankings, well...there IS no longer a number one contender! In fact, The Plague isn't even IN the top five for my title belt! You lost your automatic rematch, and you know what? I've already beaten you TWICE, peanut. I'm bored with you! You're boring! What the HELL could POSSIBLY motivate me to trust you in that ring AGAIN?
The Plague stands silent. D! is intense, ever-slowly walking closer to the ring. Plague looks down, as if contemplating a great decision. Then he looks up and speaks softly.
THE PLAGUE: My retirement.
The crowd gasps. Even D!, in his anger, stops in his tracks. He's clearly stunned by The Plague's pronouncement. Realizing he has the crowd in the palm of his hands, Plague goes on.
THE PLAGUE: That's right, D! I will put my career in New Alberta Pro Wrestling ON THE LINE for one...more...shot at my title belt.
D!: Bullsh---
THE PLAGUE: But hold on! I'll put my career on the line and you put the title on the line, but I want something from you! I'll put my career on the line, but NOT so you can end it on some fluke win like you did Monday night, punk! It'll be D! THE PLAGUE! Championship vs Career...
Pregnant pause, and then The Plague spits five words out through clenched teeth.
TWO. OUT. OF. THREE. FALLS.
D!: So not only do you want another match, then you want YOUR stipulation? I'll take your career, Plague, and you can shove your stip!
THE PLAGUE: Hey, if I were in your shoes, I wouldn't blame you. But I want to remind you that on Monday night, the wrestling world saw you retain your title with the LAST GASP. I got your number now, kid. You didn't have anything left. I want two out of three falls so that IF --- and I stress IF --- you get a fluke roll-up win like you did at MNF, hey. I've got two more innings. I can outlast you. You had nothing left. So come on, prove me wrong D! Prove all these fans wrong, because deep down, they wonder if you're rejecting the stip because maybe, maybe Plague's right all along! Maybe D! doesn't have what it takes to outlast him, and he knows it! Prove me wrong, prove to all your fans, that you DESERVE that NAPW championship!
Now, D! is at the ring apron. He rolls in, and stands straight up in the ring. He stares at The Plague. And then, D!...smirks?
D!: You know what, Plague? I'd like nothing better than for you to be out of my hair, and the NAPW fans' hair, FOREVER. But here's the thing:
D! SMASHES THE MICROPHONE INTO THE PLAGUE'S EYE. Plague drops to his knees, agonized yells welling up out of him. D! snaps into his stance.
AND KICKS PLAGUE. IN THE FACE. SENDING HIS HEAD NEAR OFF OF HIS SHOULDERS.
The Plague slumps on the canvas, completely knocked out. D! looks over him, and the fans are roaring for the champion...even as the kick has clearly taken a lot out of him. The Plague is motionless on the ground as D! leans on the ropes for support. A moment passes. D! raises the microphone to his lips one more time.
D!: When The Plague wakes up... somebody check that he remembers names and dates, give him some Tylenol 3, shave off his STUPID-looking goatee, and tell him ... that I ACCEPT!
D! throws the mic across the ring, where it bounces once and sends distortion through the PA before somebody cuts it off. D! rolls out of the ring and walks through his pain up the aisle. The Plague still lies motionless in the ring as the crowd's chants echo through the night. "D! D! D! D! D!". Lights down.
Co-written by D!
"WA-AH-AH-AH-AH!"
And without warning, in street clothes, comes the NAPW's biggest star...THE PLAGUE. The Plague stalks to the ring, his theme music bruising behind him. The smirk is absent.
"GET UP, GET UP, COME ON GET DOWN WITH THE SICKNESS!"
The Plague stalks to the timekeeper's table and grabs a chair. He throws it in the ring and then rolls in himself. A quick set-up, and the chair is in the middle of the ring. The Plague sits down and pulls a microphone from the inside of his leather overcoat.
"CUT---MY---MUSIC."
Disturbed fades out. The crowd is sticking around, now. The boos are beginning, but most people are quite curious as to why Plague has shown up here and now, when Action! is off the air. The Plague waits, glaring.
"Now I'm sure every one of you pathetic losers is wondering why The Plague has come down here to brighten your lives. I mean, it's not like you got your money's worth, sitting through a little boy beating up a manager. Ravager versus Bill Fleming, oh yeah... snort ... that'll put asses in the seats! But although I might have come out here to question the sanity of good ol' "Wahoo" Bobby Winchell, our "esteemed" commissioner, it's not because of all that. No, I'm out here for one reason and one reason only...
The NAPW Championship. Which is STILL HELD BY A CRIPPLE NAMED D!"
The crowd erupts at the name of D!, breaking out in a spontaneous chant! D! D! D! D! Plague snarls into the microphone.
"You shut the hell up! You! And especially YOU. You're so proud of your so-called champion, aren't you? D! and his FLUKE wins. I'm sure all of you, being the geeks you are, have been following the drama on NAPW.ca! Well then you all know bloody well that the "champion"... nobody even knows where the hell he is! The NAPW Champion is missing, and that can only mean one thing..."
Plague stops. Oh, there it is. The SMIRK.
"That the NAPW Commission has no choice but to STRIP D! off the Championship and return it to the RIGHTFUL Champion, the NUMBER ONE CONTENDER... and that, for those of you to dense to realize it...is THE PLAGUE. I want my belt back! Oh, BOO all you want, but the sooner you realize that your precious "ONE LETTER, SAID REAL LOUD" is NEVER setting foot in an NAPW ring again, the happier you'll be! Oh, boo boo, The Plague is such a bad guy! Where's your hero now, huh? WHERE'S YOUR HERO, YOU SAD SACK LOSERS ----"
"RIIIIGHT . . . BEFORE YOUR EYES!"
The Plague's JAW DROPS. The crowd EXPLODES in a frenzy of cheers, relief and joy. THE SNITCHES ARE ON THE PA. THE NAPW CHAMPION.
BATTERED.
BRUISED.
BANDAGED.
D! IS STANDING IN THE AISLE. And there is NOTHING cheerful about his expression!
D!: No, I think the REAL question is, Plague ... Do you EVER shut up?!
The Plague, stunned, shocked, apoplectic.
THE PLAGUE: You...You're supposed to be in the hospital! Look at you! You're not in any condition! WHERE THE HELL IS MY BELT?
D!: Your belt, Plague? YOUR belt? The last time I checked, which was when I FINALLY woke up, I was STILL the NAPW Champion. I BEAT you in the center of that ring Monday Night! You might remember? Before you saw fit to Crucifix Powerbomb me until my ears started bleeding, you LOST.
THE PLAGUE: Having regained his composure somewhat. Kid, the ONLY reason you beat me on MNF is because I showed you MERCY. You didn't have anything left, "champ." Believe me, next time I won't make that mistake again.
D!: Jobber, please. Did I hear you say "next time?" Funny, because when me and the rest of us geeks looked at the NAPW Official Rankings, well...there IS no longer a number one contender! In fact, The Plague isn't even IN the top five for my title belt! You lost your automatic rematch, and you know what? I've already beaten you TWICE, peanut. I'm bored with you! You're boring! What the HELL could POSSIBLY motivate me to trust you in that ring AGAIN?
The Plague stands silent. D! is intense, ever-slowly walking closer to the ring. Plague looks down, as if contemplating a great decision. Then he looks up and speaks softly.
THE PLAGUE: My retirement.
The crowd gasps. Even D!, in his anger, stops in his tracks. He's clearly stunned by The Plague's pronouncement. Realizing he has the crowd in the palm of his hands, Plague goes on.
THE PLAGUE: That's right, D! I will put my career in New Alberta Pro Wrestling ON THE LINE for one...more...shot at my title belt.
D!: Bullsh---
THE PLAGUE: But hold on! I'll put my career on the line and you put the title on the line, but I want something from you! I'll put my career on the line, but NOT so you can end it on some fluke win like you did Monday night, punk! It'll be D! THE PLAGUE! Championship vs Career...
Pregnant pause, and then The Plague spits five words out through clenched teeth.
TWO. OUT. OF. THREE. FALLS.
D!: So not only do you want another match, then you want YOUR stipulation? I'll take your career, Plague, and you can shove your stip!
THE PLAGUE: Hey, if I were in your shoes, I wouldn't blame you. But I want to remind you that on Monday night, the wrestling world saw you retain your title with the LAST GASP. I got your number now, kid. You didn't have anything left. I want two out of three falls so that IF --- and I stress IF --- you get a fluke roll-up win like you did at MNF, hey. I've got two more innings. I can outlast you. You had nothing left. So come on, prove me wrong D! Prove all these fans wrong, because deep down, they wonder if you're rejecting the stip because maybe, maybe Plague's right all along! Maybe D! doesn't have what it takes to outlast him, and he knows it! Prove me wrong, prove to all your fans, that you DESERVE that NAPW championship!
Now, D! is at the ring apron. He rolls in, and stands straight up in the ring. He stares at The Plague. And then, D!...smirks?
D!: You know what, Plague? I'd like nothing better than for you to be out of my hair, and the NAPW fans' hair, FOREVER. But here's the thing:
D! SMASHES THE MICROPHONE INTO THE PLAGUE'S EYE. Plague drops to his knees, agonized yells welling up out of him. D! snaps into his stance.
AND KICKS PLAGUE. IN THE FACE. SENDING HIS HEAD NEAR OFF OF HIS SHOULDERS.
The Plague slumps on the canvas, completely knocked out. D! looks over him, and the fans are roaring for the champion...even as the kick has clearly taken a lot out of him. The Plague is motionless on the ground as D! leans on the ropes for support. A moment passes. D! raises the microphone to his lips one more time.
D!: When The Plague wakes up... somebody check that he remembers names and dates, give him some Tylenol 3, shave off his STUPID-looking goatee, and tell him ... that I ACCEPT!
D! throws the mic across the ring, where it bounces once and sends distortion through the PA before somebody cuts it off. D! rolls out of the ring and walks through his pain up the aisle. The Plague still lies motionless in the ring as the crowd's chants echo through the night. "D! D! D! D! D!". Lights down.
Co-written by D!