OD!SSEY - Part Two

[D!]

LATER

January 24th, 2006
12:56 am
Baccarat Casino

(Lights up. In the middle of an emptied casino-turned-wrestling arena, D! is holding court from in the middle of a fearsome blue cage. The seats are empty as far as the eye can see, but, worn, run-down and bloodied, he clutches the microphone and continues.)

D!: By the time I could do anything, it was already too late. Casino and his cronies had already fled to Las Vegas. Which left me pretty much at his mercy, him in the lap of luxury while I had my crappy Christmas. I would have to wait until the new year, the Second, in order to get my revenge on him, right? Right? What could be simpler?

Injuries. From the cage match, but also from before. Mainly from Plague trying to cave my head in that one time. They still hurt, bad, no matter how hard I was willing to ignore it and work through it. It turns out that Doctors? When they recommend against you leaving the ER? They might know what they're talking about. All this time I've been treated to, "Ravager wrestles with a broken hand!", I was in danger of permanently injuring my back and neck.

(He rolls his neck.)

Light rehab. And some time off. All of which made sure I wouldn't collapse when I could finally get my hands around Casino's throat.

(He stops in the middle of the ring, and then sits down, bow-legged, by his hym bag.)

I should be able to tell you that I was too damned hurt to show up until I did, and I could take you through the searing legal drama of me gettng my rematch signed, but like real life, sometimes solutions aren't just one thing.

Get comfortable.

THEN

December 24th, 2005
10:56 pm
Groat Road

(Riding shotgun in a shiny, blue, well-maintained minivan, D! looks queasy. A little flush, staring intently at the dashboard, and wearing a bright red toque, he has as a driver a reasonable facsimile of D!, wearing glasses, a bandanna, slightly stockier, and with frizzier hair.

It wouldn't take a genius to determine that they're related.

Let's call him B!

B! is keeping his eye on the road with a not-at-all-pleased look on his face, focusing on his driving as well as ignoring his brother's sheepish look. D!, unable to summon up the courage to say anything at this point, reaches over to the van's antiquated radio / tape-player console.)

B!: (Swatting the hand.) No musi--HEY! (BLEEP)!!!

(The minivan swerves desperately to avoid a large, drunk man that's stepped into the lane. B! nearly collides with him, instead running to the other lane just in time.)

B!: BUDDY! WHAT THE (BLEEP)!!!

D!: (Looking back.) I think we almost hit Moose back there!

B!: That wasn't a moose! That was a dude!

D!: Moose Millar! Moose "The Mark" Millar! Mark the Moose--I KNOW HIM!

B!: You want me to go back and hit him?

D!: Yes--NO!!!

B!: Crazy-ass idiot! Why's he stepped out into traffic like that?

D!: He's in trouble! Slow down! We have to go back for him!

B!: (Looking in the rearview.) Dude, relax. Someone's stopping for him.

(Pause.)

B!: So . . . I'm guessing . . . he's a wrestler.

D!: Yeah.

B!: And has he ever held the title?

D!: A title? No.

B!: Only the best of the best do that.

(Pause.)

D!: I that intended to be sarcasm?

B!: Hey, I'm happy for you, and you know I am. But this is not how I intended to spend Christmas Eve.

D!: Yeah, well, this Holiday's not at all how I intended it.

B!: I could be having cocoa with my wife and the family . . . or even the new family. But you get me to do this.

D!: Bro, it's important, or I wouldn't be asking.

B!: Because you're too toasted to drive! Which means that I oughta have enough common sense for the two of us.

D!: Thank you.

B!: And are they even gonna be open on Christmas Eve!?

D!: Of course. Or, I'll . . . just get in somehow.

B!: You'll "just get in" to the NAW offices?

D!: Enn-ay-PEE-dubyou. I can break in places. I've seen someone do it.

(B! rolls his eyes, sighs, and signals, turnng off Groat.)

B!: Well, I hope you now what you're doing.

D!: Yes, I do. Peanut.

(Pause.)

D!: PEA-nut. PEEEEEEENNNNUT!

B!: Stop it. Christmas already sucks because of you.

D!: 'Cause of me?

B!: Your stupid selfishness, and your jealousy--

D!: What about my Christmas? Chris Casino--

B!: Shut UP about Chris Casino! I don't care!

D!: Really? Don't you care? About what he did to me?

B!: I care about how hurt you are, but damn it, Chris Casino is a wrestler, bro! He's supposed to hurt you! He's supposed to bring his partners in and he's supposed to put people through tables and whatever! What did you think was gonna happen to you?

D!: It wasn't right!

B!: Whatever. Wrestling's all fake, anyways.

D!: Now I know you don't believe that. Stop parroting Mom.

(Pause.)

B!: I think you should take their money and move on.

D!: I think I'd rather die young.

(Pause.)

B!: Yeah, well, way to live the dream.

D!: Our dream.

B!: Yeah, well, whatever.

D!: Not whatever. Our dream, yours and mine.

B!: Stop with this again.

D!: You were supposed to go in this with me!

B!: And I didn't. So hold it against me, why not?

D!: We were gonna do this--TOGETHER! As a Tag! Team!

B!: Just . . . shut up.

D!: Dangerous D. and Chico Chee! LOS! HERMANOS!

B! & D!: The TAG team CHAMP-ions of the WOOOORLD!!!

B!: Yeah, well, I changed my mind.

D!: You let me down.

B!: Don't guilt me! I've got a career! I got married this year!

D!: I have a career.

B!: Killing yourself for a bunch of fan-boys is not a career.

D!: I was the NAPW Champion.

B!: And you're not now, and look at you! How is this normal! How is this healthy?

D!: I got screwed, bro!

B!: Look at your damned face! JESUS! Was this at all what you wanted to happen? Is it?

(Pause.)

B!: Y'know what? Screw it. You're not manipulating me into feeling bad for you.

D!: That's not--

B!: You hurt our parents--

D!: Don't even--

B!: You fault me for growing up!

D!: You promised--

B!: And what you did to Maja, you selfish bastard!

(Pause.)

D!: Please. That is not my fault.

B!: No, you just stand under the bridge and say "This is where my friend killed herself!"

D!: Yes. AND?

B!: And what do you think? You invite any sort of classless jerk to just dig her up and make fun of her like she deserves any of this! And lo and behold, that's what happens!

D!: That was Chris Cas--

B!: I don't care! I don't care because the rest of the world thinks Chris Casino's just another circus geek! Maja was, IS, real. Her death was very real to me and the family, "D!". And if Casino didn't step up to call her a "dumb bitch" then someone else would have just because they think it's all part of a game to get at the Champion!

D!: God, I'm sorry . . .

B!: Her brother! Her! Brother! wanted to know what the (BLEEP) was going on! What am I supposed to tell him? That Maja's a wrestling story now?

(Pause.)

B!: And she was my friend. Hell of a lot more than she ever was yours.

(Pause.)

B!: You crying?

(Pause. B! grunts, checks his mirror, and makes a quick turn.)

B!: Screw this. Merry Christmas. I'm taking you back to our parents'.

D!: Please . . . don't . . .

B!: I'm the one behind the wheel and I don't feel like arguing.

(Pause.)

B!: And if you cared about anyone other than yourself, you would quit.

NOW

January 19th, 2006
11:12 am
Downtown

(Jasper Avenue. A cold, windy day, nonetheless sunny. Two men are walking, side-by-side. D! is sipping some steaming hot Tim Horton's coffee, and listening to the exuberant young Khaos, proudly wearing a toque that reads "Happy Octopus" for some reason. Cars are plenty. Pedestrians are few. Khaos has Timbits.)

KHAOS: And, oh! Brock Lesnar! I saw Brock Lesnar!

D!: For real?

KHAOS: For real!

D!: Dude, awesome. What was that like?

KHAOS: He was all, rrrrooooooah!!!

D!: D'you get his autograph?

KHAOS: Dude, I shook his hand!

D!: That. Is awesome.

KHAOS: I know! I freakin' love Japan now! I'm going back.

D!: Why'd you go back so soon?

KHAOS: (Smiles wryly.) I, er . . . ran out of money.

D!: Oh, classic.

KHAOS: I regret nothing.

D!: And did you learn any "mystic arts" while you were there?

KHAOS: Oh, the note . . . (Laughs.) You take things so seriously, dude.

(Having drained the last of the coffee, D! chucks his cup as he passes by a trash. Khaos immediately pulls open the Timbit box and waves it under his face.)

D!: (Popping a chocolate one.) So . . . I'm glad you're okay.

KHAOS: Yeah . . . me, too. You know I wasn't avoiding you, right?

D!: Yeah, I know, but you just up and left the NAPW when I was out, and then I find out you leave the country, and then you're hanging with Crusher . . .

KHAOS: Hey, Crusher's a new friend. We get along. We're into the same stuff.

D!: Would that be . . . CRUSHING?

KHAOS: Be serious. Hell, I thought you were the one that was missing.

D!: Yeah, you're right.

KHAOS: Would it have killed you to let me in on what you were planning?

D!: I'unno. Possibly. I didn't tell anyone what the plan was, dude.

KHAOS: See, you should have told me, and I would have had your back.

D!: All the way from Japan?

KHAOS: Oh, uh . . . no.

D!: Goofball.

KHAOS: Peanut.

D!: Don't you start ripping me off.

KHAOS: When's Joker's Wild?

D!: Monday. You should get re-instated!

KHAOS: Isn't the card full?

D!: Yeah--NO! You could be the sixth man in the Gauntlet match!

KHAOS: Meh.

D!: It's for a title shot!

KHAOS: I'm enjoying my time off, D! I'm thinking maybe I could just watch.

D!: Well, suit yourself.

KHAOS: Besides, I wanna be front row when you beat Chris Casino to get the title back!

(D! slows his pace down.)

D!: If.

KHAOS: (Turns, walking backwards.) When!

D!: Dude, you don't know what it's like. A match as hardcore as a Cage . . .

KHAOS: Hardcore? I'm the King of Hardcore! I flew off the cage, fifteen feet through a table! Remember?

D!: Scared the Hell out of me when I saw the tape.

KHAOS: Come on, I'm not a kid anymore!

D!: You're right. I'm too used to you being one.

KHAOS: So instead of--

(Khaos backs into a bus sign. D! smirks, grabs his shoulder, and turns him around to face forwards.)

KHAOS: Thank you. So instead of biting your fingernails about you, me, and everyone, why not just kick some ass?

D!: Your theory intrigues me.

KHAOS: Look . . . Chris Casino's a loser. He's everything you say he is. A joke. A spoiled rich kid.

D!: Look, there's a real difference between what gets said in promos and reality . . .

KHAOS: [glow=blue,2,300]I will take reality and stuff it in my Crippler Headlock[/glow]
D!: God, I miss that spooky voice.

KHAOS: [glow=blue,2,300]Brock Lesnar I respect you but now you will face Doomsday.[/glow]
D!: Annnnnd . . . SCENE!

(Pause.)

KHAOS: You're totally going to punk him out.

D!: Khaos--

KHAOS: HEY!

(Khaos grabs D! by the shoulders and stops him.)

KHAOS: You don't get it, do you? You're not just a wrestler. You're the wrestler. You're the best fighter in NAPW.

D!: I . . .

KHAOS: Whether or not I ever come back, I would never be here without you, do you know that?

D!: Geez . . .

KHAOS: I know you're gonna win. You're my favourite wrestler.

(Pause.)

(D! looks up at the street signs.)

D!: This is my stop.

KHAOS: Where're you going?

D!: Can't tell you that.

KHAOS: Come on!

D!: No, you can't come with, and that's final. Look we'll talk, okay?

KHAOS: Okay.

D!: Here. (Digs into his messenger bag, and pulls out a gift-wrapped CD.) Happy belated Christmas.

KHAOS: No kidding! (Takes the gift.) Can I open it?

D!: Go nuts.

KHAOS: Lessee . . . Elvis Costello? The hell? Isn't he a lounge singer?

D!: Ha ha. Trust me, he's worth it. You're an adult now, you'll ease into it.

KHAOS: I guess . . .

D!: Hey. (Sticks his hand out.)

KHAOS: (Looks at the hand.) Brothers don't shake . . . brothers hug!

(He rushes D! and slaps the dreaded Hug Lock on him. Much back-patting ensues.)

D!: (Freeing himself.) I'll see you, goof.

KHAOS: Hey, if I come back? We're gonna tag team!

D!: I . . . really don't want to do the tag thing. You know that.

KHAOS: Oh, you'll change your mind. Peace.

(He flashes the victory sign, turns the corner, and is gone.)

(Cut. D! is now in front of a downtown set of lofts. He walks up to the intercom panel, scans for a number, then dials up. A couple of rings, then . . .)

VOICE: Yeah?

D!: I need to talk to you. It's D!

VOICE: . . . who?

D!: It's D!, One Letter, Said Real Loud. Now are you gonna quiz me or do I get buzzed up?

VOICE: . . . third floor. Number Seventeen.

(The door buzzes. D! steps in, and takes the stairs.)

D!: (Singing.) And I'm up while the dawn is breaking, even though my heart is aching . . .

(He gets to the third floor, and passes through the fire door.)

D!: (Singing.) I should be drinking a toast to absent friends--

(He finds the door marked #17, and stops.)

D!: (Singing.) --instead of these comedians.

(He goes to knock on the door, but it swings open before he can try. He is greeted by a man wearing an ornate luchador mask, bedsheets, and nothing else.)

STATIC: So . . . you wish to learn Kung Fu, do you?

D!: (Muttering.) God help me.

(Lights down.)

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Permission granted from Khaos and Static.