Post by D! on Nov 19, 2005 5:17:38 GMT -5
Lights up. It's early Friday night. We are in the back alley of a non-descript apartment tower. D! exits through the back door--wincing as he uses his shoulder--bringing out large bags of recyclables. He gingerly hauls his load down the alley to a set of twin dumpsters, where there's another man already finishing his load.
MAN: Hey-a, neighbour.
D!: Hey.
MAN: Ya throwin' out yer re-cyclables? Huh? Re-cycling day?
D!: (Pause.) Yeah.
MAN: Well, ah, I just done that!
D!: Good for you, Don.
(Pause. Don just stands around as D! strains to get the recycling bags over his shoulder.)
DON: So, ah, I haven't seen you for a few days there, neighbour!
D!: Yeah. I was in the hospital.
DON: Oh yeah. (Pause.) So, uh, you're still doin' the wrestlin' thing? How's that . . . how's that workin' out for ya?
D!: I was in the hospital, Don.
DON: Oh yeah. Well, my little nephew, he wants to be a wrestler.
D!: (Whipping a bag fiercely over-hand.) Aaaaow. How fascinating.
DON: Yeah. I figure he could be the next Stone Cold Steve Austin. I always liked Stone Cold Steve Austin. You like him too?
D!: (Pause.) Yeah. Yeah, Stone Cold Steve Austin. Yeah.
(Pause. Both men are just standing there, waiting for the other one to do something different. Only Don looks happy about it.)
DON: What do they call that big event, that WrestleMania? 'Cause I figure they should put Stone Cold--
D!: What time is it, Don?
DON: It's eight o'clock. I should get upstairs and watch something, eh? I should do that.
(Except he doesn't. Don just stands around and watches D! labour to get his recyclables into the dumpster. Then, for reasons only Don knows, Don leaves.)
(Left to his lonesome, D! starts making quicker work of the bags. He is on his last one when a gloved hand shoots out and grabs D! by the shoulder. Springing to life, D! grabs the hand with his opposite hand, sidesteps quickly, hammerlocks his assailant behind his back and slams him, chest first, into the dumpster.)
RAVAGER: (Matter-of-factly.) Ow.
D!: Where the Hell do you get off! Where the Hell do you get off, huh?
RAVAGER: Calm down, D. I'm no threat to you.
D!: You enlist me--ME!--into your stupid feud with Static and Lobo? And you drag Plague into this? Where the Hell do you get off?
RAVAGER: It's what the fans want to see. I'm sorry that it presents such a dilemma to you.
D!: Like you give a crap about the fans!
RAVAGER: The fans would rather see me as Provincial Champion than Static or Lobo. I happen to be of the same mind as them. Would you mind terribly turning me around to face you? It's easier to talk that way, plus my arm's in danger of falling asleep.
(Pause. D! releases the hammerlock and Ravager turns around. D!, grunting, immediately braces his forearm against Ravager's throat and pins him to it again.)
RAVAGER: You're injured. More than you choose to let on.
D!: You know, Ravager, it's people like you.
RAVAGER: Pardon?
D!: I know all about you, Ravager. Beating up anyone that's smaller than you. Picking fights with innocent people!
RAVAGER: I don't have to justify my actions to you.
D!: And then you pretend to care about the NAPW, the fans or anyone but yourself! I know all about headgames, Ravager, and your act hasn't fooled me one bit!
RAVAGER: You know, I always thought that our first meeting would have been . . . funnier, somehow.
D!: And then you have the gall to find me, after everything that I've been through these last three weeks, and name me as your tag team partner? Well, GUESS WHAT, "partner" . . . I! Don't! Trust you!
(D! relinquishes his grip on Ravager, and the two men straighten up. They stare at each other, maintaining deadly eye contact.)
(Then a thought breaks in D!'s mind, and he checks him against the dumpster again.)
D!: Dammit! Why are you even here? Superstars' addresses are supposed to be a secret, just because of crap like this!
RAVAGER: They are! But you live in this neighbourhood, and you drive a mango PT Cruiser! Did you really think I needed Scotland Yard to find you?
(Pause.)
DON: (Off-camera.) Hey, ah, should I call the police?
D! and RAVAGER: NO!
(We hear a door click shut. D! steps back from Ravager again, who wastes no time distancing himself from the dumpster.)
RAVAGER: Listen. I may not have earned your precious trust, but you're going to have to give it anyways.
D!: Is that a fact?
RAVAGER: Plague's a desperate man right now, and he'll do anything to weaken you before Black Thursday. And if we didn't have this Handicap Match, he might decide to do something else. Like it or not, I've bought you some time.
D!: I don't need your help.
RAVAGER: (Sighs.) We need each other, D! You have a chance to put Plague on the shelf for good. How far are you willing to go to do that?
D!: Would I side with the lesser evil, in other words.
RAVAGER: Those are your words.
(Pause.)
D!: A Handicap Match.
RAVAGER: It's old news to me. While you've had the luxury of facing one opponent at a time, well . . .
I believe you know the term "Provincial Title Fever"? In any event, the only Handicap will be if we refuse to work together.
Sun Tzu teaches us that an entire war may be won before the first sword is even drawn. I have a wealth of information on Lobo and Static. You know The Plague better than anybody in NAPW . . .
D!: . . . so we educate each other.
RAVAGER: In a manner of speaking. (Turns in the direction of Whyte.) We need to walk in your neighbourhood, D!
D!: Oh? And why's that?
RAVAGER: I've always had the urge to do your "Friday Night Whyte."
D!: Oh, Hell no!
RAVAGER: (Walking away.) Everything's already been set into motion, D! If you have any intention of succeeding on Monday Night Fight, you'd best follow me.
(D! is frozen on the spot, thinking. In the end, he takes his frustrations out on his last recycling bag, punting it off-camera. He runs off in Ravager's direction as the lights come down.)
----------
With permission from Ravager.
Ravager writes Part Two!
MAN: Hey-a, neighbour.
D!: Hey.
MAN: Ya throwin' out yer re-cyclables? Huh? Re-cycling day?
D!: (Pause.) Yeah.
MAN: Well, ah, I just done that!
D!: Good for you, Don.
(Pause. Don just stands around as D! strains to get the recycling bags over his shoulder.)
DON: So, ah, I haven't seen you for a few days there, neighbour!
D!: Yeah. I was in the hospital.
DON: Oh yeah. (Pause.) So, uh, you're still doin' the wrestlin' thing? How's that . . . how's that workin' out for ya?
D!: I was in the hospital, Don.
DON: Oh yeah. Well, my little nephew, he wants to be a wrestler.
D!: (Whipping a bag fiercely over-hand.) Aaaaow. How fascinating.
DON: Yeah. I figure he could be the next Stone Cold Steve Austin. I always liked Stone Cold Steve Austin. You like him too?
D!: (Pause.) Yeah. Yeah, Stone Cold Steve Austin. Yeah.
(Pause. Both men are just standing there, waiting for the other one to do something different. Only Don looks happy about it.)
DON: What do they call that big event, that WrestleMania? 'Cause I figure they should put Stone Cold--
D!: What time is it, Don?
DON: It's eight o'clock. I should get upstairs and watch something, eh? I should do that.
(Except he doesn't. Don just stands around and watches D! labour to get his recyclables into the dumpster. Then, for reasons only Don knows, Don leaves.)
(Left to his lonesome, D! starts making quicker work of the bags. He is on his last one when a gloved hand shoots out and grabs D! by the shoulder. Springing to life, D! grabs the hand with his opposite hand, sidesteps quickly, hammerlocks his assailant behind his back and slams him, chest first, into the dumpster.)
RAVAGER: (Matter-of-factly.) Ow.
D!: Where the Hell do you get off! Where the Hell do you get off, huh?
RAVAGER: Calm down, D. I'm no threat to you.
D!: You enlist me--ME!--into your stupid feud with Static and Lobo? And you drag Plague into this? Where the Hell do you get off?
RAVAGER: It's what the fans want to see. I'm sorry that it presents such a dilemma to you.
D!: Like you give a crap about the fans!
RAVAGER: The fans would rather see me as Provincial Champion than Static or Lobo. I happen to be of the same mind as them. Would you mind terribly turning me around to face you? It's easier to talk that way, plus my arm's in danger of falling asleep.
(Pause. D! releases the hammerlock and Ravager turns around. D!, grunting, immediately braces his forearm against Ravager's throat and pins him to it again.)
RAVAGER: You're injured. More than you choose to let on.
D!: You know, Ravager, it's people like you.
RAVAGER: Pardon?
D!: I know all about you, Ravager. Beating up anyone that's smaller than you. Picking fights with innocent people!
RAVAGER: I don't have to justify my actions to you.
D!: And then you pretend to care about the NAPW, the fans or anyone but yourself! I know all about headgames, Ravager, and your act hasn't fooled me one bit!
RAVAGER: You know, I always thought that our first meeting would have been . . . funnier, somehow.
D!: And then you have the gall to find me, after everything that I've been through these last three weeks, and name me as your tag team partner? Well, GUESS WHAT, "partner" . . . I! Don't! Trust you!
(D! relinquishes his grip on Ravager, and the two men straighten up. They stare at each other, maintaining deadly eye contact.)
(Then a thought breaks in D!'s mind, and he checks him against the dumpster again.)
D!: Dammit! Why are you even here? Superstars' addresses are supposed to be a secret, just because of crap like this!
RAVAGER: They are! But you live in this neighbourhood, and you drive a mango PT Cruiser! Did you really think I needed Scotland Yard to find you?
(Pause.)
DON: (Off-camera.) Hey, ah, should I call the police?
D! and RAVAGER: NO!
(We hear a door click shut. D! steps back from Ravager again, who wastes no time distancing himself from the dumpster.)
RAVAGER: Listen. I may not have earned your precious trust, but you're going to have to give it anyways.
D!: Is that a fact?
RAVAGER: Plague's a desperate man right now, and he'll do anything to weaken you before Black Thursday. And if we didn't have this Handicap Match, he might decide to do something else. Like it or not, I've bought you some time.
D!: I don't need your help.
RAVAGER: (Sighs.) We need each other, D! You have a chance to put Plague on the shelf for good. How far are you willing to go to do that?
D!: Would I side with the lesser evil, in other words.
RAVAGER: Those are your words.
(Pause.)
D!: A Handicap Match.
RAVAGER: It's old news to me. While you've had the luxury of facing one opponent at a time, well . . .
I believe you know the term "Provincial Title Fever"? In any event, the only Handicap will be if we refuse to work together.
Sun Tzu teaches us that an entire war may be won before the first sword is even drawn. I have a wealth of information on Lobo and Static. You know The Plague better than anybody in NAPW . . .
D!: . . . so we educate each other.
RAVAGER: In a manner of speaking. (Turns in the direction of Whyte.) We need to walk in your neighbourhood, D!
D!: Oh? And why's that?
RAVAGER: I've always had the urge to do your "Friday Night Whyte."
D!: Oh, Hell no!
RAVAGER: (Walking away.) Everything's already been set into motion, D! If you have any intention of succeeding on Monday Night Fight, you'd best follow me.
(D! is frozen on the spot, thinking. In the end, he takes his frustrations out on his last recycling bag, punting it off-camera. He runs off in Ravager's direction as the lights come down.)
----------
With permission from Ravager.
Ravager writes Part Two!