Post by "Perfection" Evan Cartwright on Jan 14, 2006 18:29:47 GMT -5
-=The enticing seductress that is gambling. The toss of the dice, the luck of the draw, and the turn of the wheel—all done in hopes of beating the odds, but yet everyone knows that the house always wins. The hope of being the one token winner drives every single addict and player on the floor. The Baccarat Casino in Edmonton may be a smaller outfit than one in Vegas or Reno, but it too does its part in crushing dreams and bank accounts while creating the illusion of hope and luck. Evan finds himself parked at a Pai Gow table on the edge of the table games area, where he enjoys his drink and the action at his table. While Evan didn’t have a gambling problem, the affinity for gambling was in his blood. Like his father and forefathers before him, Evan Cartwright was a man drawn by the allure of chance.=-
Dealer: Queens over Aces.
[An audible groan emits from the crowd of gamblers as the dealer turns over their losing hands. Evan is last to be flipped and gives a smile as the dealer reveals a straight on the bottom five and a pair of Kings on top. The dealer pays off and Evan gives a half smile before knocking back his glass of scotch. It is then that NAPW reporter Josh Reynolds finds his quarry and takes the empty seat next to Evan.]
Josh: Evan Cartwright, a moment of your time, please?
Evan: Of course, Sir Reynolds.
Josh: JC Cook has just cut a scathing promo regarding you and your tag team partner at MNF, The Minstrel. In addition, Minstrel has also cut a promo with gratuitous use of balloons and…
Evan: I’m well aware of what has been transpiring, Josh.
Josh: Your thoughts?
Evan: Firstly, it is an honor to team with a quality player and champion in The Minstrel. This man is quite the enigmatic character indeed, with a talent for something I admire very much in a tag partner or combatant. The Minstrel is one of the few men in the business dedicated to the art of ring psychology and maintaining an air of mystery regarding his personal business. Few realize these days the importance of such things.
Josh: Why is a bizarre gimmick like his so effective, in your opinion?
Evan (swirling his drink in hand): Don’t you see, Josh? Every fool and pretender out there is the exact same clone with a different pair of tights and sneer. They posture like game cocks and claim to be “bada**es.” They all want to be the bald guy with a goatee and simple black trunks, boots, and elbow pads. They all want to be beer-swilling rednecks that people dually fear and love. They all want to be invincible and all-encompassing a$$kickers who can never be beaten. Then begin the political games. But alas, such is the fate of this business as of late.
The Minstrel is a glimmer of hope in this abyss of pretenders and clowns. He dons the mocking visage of a comedic joker to show them the mirror of themselves when they face him, but they never notice. Maybe the smarter ones can catch on, but mental midgets like JC Cook cannot even fathom something like an analogy. Minstrel is drama and comedy personified, and frankly, I would much rather have him on my side than across the ring from me.
Josh: Can you truly trust his business manager, Marcus Trapier?
Evan: I have yet to meet the man, but Chris has vouched for him, and I will have faith in my good friend’s judgment. He seems to be a man of clout and character, and I have no problems with that.
Dealer: Pai Gow.
[The diminished crowd of players gives a rousing hoot as the dealer has finally busted and is paying everyone off. Evan’s stack of chips grows to mammoth proportions as he selects three of his hundred-dollar chips and tosses them to the dealer. The dealer smiles broadly and calls for his replacement to hurry over.]
Josh: I know you’re a busy man, Evan, but before we go, any last words for Maniac and JC Cook?
Evan: Maniac and who?
Josh: JC Cook.
Evan: He’s an employee of the company?
Josh: Uh, yeah. You mentioned him earlier, remember?
Evan: I know, you idiot, I was being sarcastic. You know what; a maggot like JC Cook is not even worth wasting my breath on. I saw his degenerate promo and I grew physically ill at the bile that spews from his mouth. I have one thing to say to Cook: you do not know me, so do not presume you have it all figured out. I will let Minstrel shove a balloon down your putrid gullet and then kick you in the face on my way out of the ring. If you’re lucky, I’ll stop to clean Maniac’s blood from my boot onto your hair. JC Cook is a nothing and he deserves as little time from me as humanly possible. Damn dirty ape.
As far as Maniac goes, I know for a fact that he is the only threat on Monday night. As much as I dislike the man, I have to admit that he is somewhat formidable when engaged in combat. But again I say, do not think that you have it all figured out, Maniac. You and I have a meeting at Jokers Wild in this very casino, and I intend to make sure you walk into that match with a limp and some tape around your ribs. You are my first and biggest test here in NAPW, and I will not fail in my attempt to humiliate you and your eleven years of experience first at MNF, and then again at Jokers Wild. My victory will be a feat of clay, while your decline will be a mudslide into the depths of obscurity… where you belong.
Josh: Will your stable mates be lending you any assistance?
Evan: Last week I didn’t need anyone’s help dealing with Maniac after the match. Sure, a group of security and road agents ended up breaking things apart, but that didn’t stop me from bloodying his lip and realigning his jaw with my right cross. Look at these scars that he gave me… nine stitches. I will wear them as a badge of honor and a reminder.
[Evan gathers his chips and leaves the table as the changing of the dealer goes on. Evan walks up to every single patron and dumps a handful of his chips into their cups or laps. Josh is flabbergasted.]
Josh: What are you doing?
Evan: Robbing the rich and giving to the poor saps. It’s all winnings anyway, so this one’s on the casino.
Josh: Hey, uh, I got a cup here too.
[Evan looks at Josh’s empty cup and smiles.]
Evan: Yeah, you sure do.
[Evan gives Josh nothing and ends up dropping his last few chips onto the tray of a passing cocktail waitress. Evan walks away with a laugh as Josh groans at his luck. Fade to a commercial for Brion’s House of Kielbasa and Polish Sausage.]
Dealer: Queens over Aces.
[An audible groan emits from the crowd of gamblers as the dealer turns over their losing hands. Evan is last to be flipped and gives a smile as the dealer reveals a straight on the bottom five and a pair of Kings on top. The dealer pays off and Evan gives a half smile before knocking back his glass of scotch. It is then that NAPW reporter Josh Reynolds finds his quarry and takes the empty seat next to Evan.]
Josh: Evan Cartwright, a moment of your time, please?
Evan: Of course, Sir Reynolds.
Josh: JC Cook has just cut a scathing promo regarding you and your tag team partner at MNF, The Minstrel. In addition, Minstrel has also cut a promo with gratuitous use of balloons and…
Evan: I’m well aware of what has been transpiring, Josh.
Josh: Your thoughts?
Evan: Firstly, it is an honor to team with a quality player and champion in The Minstrel. This man is quite the enigmatic character indeed, with a talent for something I admire very much in a tag partner or combatant. The Minstrel is one of the few men in the business dedicated to the art of ring psychology and maintaining an air of mystery regarding his personal business. Few realize these days the importance of such things.
Josh: Why is a bizarre gimmick like his so effective, in your opinion?
Evan (swirling his drink in hand): Don’t you see, Josh? Every fool and pretender out there is the exact same clone with a different pair of tights and sneer. They posture like game cocks and claim to be “bada**es.” They all want to be the bald guy with a goatee and simple black trunks, boots, and elbow pads. They all want to be beer-swilling rednecks that people dually fear and love. They all want to be invincible and all-encompassing a$$kickers who can never be beaten. Then begin the political games. But alas, such is the fate of this business as of late.
The Minstrel is a glimmer of hope in this abyss of pretenders and clowns. He dons the mocking visage of a comedic joker to show them the mirror of themselves when they face him, but they never notice. Maybe the smarter ones can catch on, but mental midgets like JC Cook cannot even fathom something like an analogy. Minstrel is drama and comedy personified, and frankly, I would much rather have him on my side than across the ring from me.
Josh: Can you truly trust his business manager, Marcus Trapier?
Evan: I have yet to meet the man, but Chris has vouched for him, and I will have faith in my good friend’s judgment. He seems to be a man of clout and character, and I have no problems with that.
Dealer: Pai Gow.
[The diminished crowd of players gives a rousing hoot as the dealer has finally busted and is paying everyone off. Evan’s stack of chips grows to mammoth proportions as he selects three of his hundred-dollar chips and tosses them to the dealer. The dealer smiles broadly and calls for his replacement to hurry over.]
Josh: I know you’re a busy man, Evan, but before we go, any last words for Maniac and JC Cook?
Evan: Maniac and who?
Josh: JC Cook.
Evan: He’s an employee of the company?
Josh: Uh, yeah. You mentioned him earlier, remember?
Evan: I know, you idiot, I was being sarcastic. You know what; a maggot like JC Cook is not even worth wasting my breath on. I saw his degenerate promo and I grew physically ill at the bile that spews from his mouth. I have one thing to say to Cook: you do not know me, so do not presume you have it all figured out. I will let Minstrel shove a balloon down your putrid gullet and then kick you in the face on my way out of the ring. If you’re lucky, I’ll stop to clean Maniac’s blood from my boot onto your hair. JC Cook is a nothing and he deserves as little time from me as humanly possible. Damn dirty ape.
As far as Maniac goes, I know for a fact that he is the only threat on Monday night. As much as I dislike the man, I have to admit that he is somewhat formidable when engaged in combat. But again I say, do not think that you have it all figured out, Maniac. You and I have a meeting at Jokers Wild in this very casino, and I intend to make sure you walk into that match with a limp and some tape around your ribs. You are my first and biggest test here in NAPW, and I will not fail in my attempt to humiliate you and your eleven years of experience first at MNF, and then again at Jokers Wild. My victory will be a feat of clay, while your decline will be a mudslide into the depths of obscurity… where you belong.
Josh: Will your stable mates be lending you any assistance?
Evan: Last week I didn’t need anyone’s help dealing with Maniac after the match. Sure, a group of security and road agents ended up breaking things apart, but that didn’t stop me from bloodying his lip and realigning his jaw with my right cross. Look at these scars that he gave me… nine stitches. I will wear them as a badge of honor and a reminder.
[Evan gathers his chips and leaves the table as the changing of the dealer goes on. Evan walks up to every single patron and dumps a handful of his chips into their cups or laps. Josh is flabbergasted.]
Josh: What are you doing?
Evan: Robbing the rich and giving to the poor saps. It’s all winnings anyway, so this one’s on the casino.
Josh: Hey, uh, I got a cup here too.
[Evan looks at Josh’s empty cup and smiles.]
Evan: Yeah, you sure do.
[Evan gives Josh nothing and ends up dropping his last few chips onto the tray of a passing cocktail waitress. Evan walks away with a laugh as Josh groans at his luck. Fade to a commercial for Brion’s House of Kielbasa and Polish Sausage.]