Post by Static on Nov 29, 2005 17:03:19 GMT -5
(The interview's done. NAPW Provincial Champion STATIC is walking down the stairs, out of his apartment and to the local gym, two blocks away. He's humming and talking absentmindedly to himself, title belt in tow, mask on face. "What? The Mayor. Wh-what? The Mayor. Gonna meet the Mayor, gonna talk to the Mayor. If the Mayor's late, and he makes he wait, he won't be able to raise that tax rate, cos he'll be--"
Static stops short. He's walked a block and still has a block to go, but can see "the Mayor" Bill Fleming, and a small crowd of onlookers. They're staring at Static's car, which is surrounded by broken glass and a red spray can. Static rushes out the door, the Mayor stopping him as soon as he walks out.)
THE MAYOR: Static, your Beemer! Look at this! Absolutely sickenining! I got here two minutes ago, and this is what greets--
(Static pushes the Mayor aside to meticiulously tudy his wrecked '95 Pontiac Sunfire.)
STATIC: Tires slashes. Windows broken. Saliva... everywhere. "Suck my Olympic voodoo." Sigh. Clearly the work of the dumbest man in the history of the universe and our good friend, Lobo. (turns to the crowd) All of you, scat! There's nothing to see here!
(While most heed Static's cry, some are more hesitant. This leads to an infuriated NAPW Provincial Champion grabbing one of the defiers by the belt and collar and launching him into the already-totaled vehicle's bumper. Rather out-of-character, yes, but we've really never seen the champ this angry. The rest soon scatter in panic, leaving the youngster in agony.)
STATIC: My Beemer may be destroyed, but my belief in karma remains strong, the Mayor. I'm going to the proper authorities. If I have it my way, Lobo's not making it to Black Thursday without a set of handcuffs on. You hold down the fort in my absence, the Mayor.
(Static briskly walks away, presumably to the nearest police station. The Mayor, who was visibly hurt by the interruption and visibly shocked by the assault on the kid, unlocks the trunk. With all of his 145 lbs. behind him, the Mayor starts picking him up and putting him in the trunk. He manages a half-hearted wink to the camera.)
THE MAYOR: Can't have the police seeing this kid here, can we? Heh heh... (The Mayor shuts the trunk and looks into the camera. He's quivering, his voice is shaky.) Lobo... remember the name, Lobo. Well, it won't be forgotten now. You... you realize, of course... you're the bastard child of this fued between Ravager and Static, right? You like bringing up statistics, how's this: one loss against Ravager. Two against Static. Somehow... somehow you're qualified to be in that very ring with them on Thursday? Lobo, you go and you hire this guy... with your millions and millions of bucks, this "Cowboy" Steve Brook... and he's supposed to teach you match psychology, mindgames, temperament? He's supposed to teach you, in a week, what those two have been perfecting for years?...
Money might not run off on you, like Static just did, but it sure can't buy you a championship, either. And this stunt right here?... the work of a very foolish man, I'd say. The work of a guy who thinks he's got it all down and wants to make a splash with his "newfound skills." Lobo, you just made one of the biggest mistakes of your sad existance. If I were you, I think I'd take some of those millions and get yourself a bodyguard... you'll need one. Remember the name? I think that I will... and so will Static.
STATIC: Awfully big words from a guy who's never won a match either.
(As the Mayor turns around, fade to black.)
Static stops short. He's walked a block and still has a block to go, but can see "the Mayor" Bill Fleming, and a small crowd of onlookers. They're staring at Static's car, which is surrounded by broken glass and a red spray can. Static rushes out the door, the Mayor stopping him as soon as he walks out.)
THE MAYOR: Static, your Beemer! Look at this! Absolutely sickenining! I got here two minutes ago, and this is what greets--
(Static pushes the Mayor aside to meticiulously tudy his wrecked '95 Pontiac Sunfire.)
STATIC: Tires slashes. Windows broken. Saliva... everywhere. "Suck my Olympic voodoo." Sigh. Clearly the work of the dumbest man in the history of the universe and our good friend, Lobo. (turns to the crowd) All of you, scat! There's nothing to see here!
(While most heed Static's cry, some are more hesitant. This leads to an infuriated NAPW Provincial Champion grabbing one of the defiers by the belt and collar and launching him into the already-totaled vehicle's bumper. Rather out-of-character, yes, but we've really never seen the champ this angry. The rest soon scatter in panic, leaving the youngster in agony.)
STATIC: My Beemer may be destroyed, but my belief in karma remains strong, the Mayor. I'm going to the proper authorities. If I have it my way, Lobo's not making it to Black Thursday without a set of handcuffs on. You hold down the fort in my absence, the Mayor.
(Static briskly walks away, presumably to the nearest police station. The Mayor, who was visibly hurt by the interruption and visibly shocked by the assault on the kid, unlocks the trunk. With all of his 145 lbs. behind him, the Mayor starts picking him up and putting him in the trunk. He manages a half-hearted wink to the camera.)
THE MAYOR: Can't have the police seeing this kid here, can we? Heh heh... (The Mayor shuts the trunk and looks into the camera. He's quivering, his voice is shaky.) Lobo... remember the name, Lobo. Well, it won't be forgotten now. You... you realize, of course... you're the bastard child of this fued between Ravager and Static, right? You like bringing up statistics, how's this: one loss against Ravager. Two against Static. Somehow... somehow you're qualified to be in that very ring with them on Thursday? Lobo, you go and you hire this guy... with your millions and millions of bucks, this "Cowboy" Steve Brook... and he's supposed to teach you match psychology, mindgames, temperament? He's supposed to teach you, in a week, what those two have been perfecting for years?...
Money might not run off on you, like Static just did, but it sure can't buy you a championship, either. And this stunt right here?... the work of a very foolish man, I'd say. The work of a guy who thinks he's got it all down and wants to make a splash with his "newfound skills." Lobo, you just made one of the biggest mistakes of your sad existance. If I were you, I think I'd take some of those millions and get yourself a bodyguard... you'll need one. Remember the name? I think that I will... and so will Static.
STATIC: Awfully big words from a guy who's never won a match either.
(As the Mayor turns around, fade to black.)