Post by Andrew Jacobsen on Feb 9, 2010 23:45:33 GMT -6
“Are you okay?”
A stupid question. Of course she's not okay.
“No. I lost AGAIN. I feel like an idiot.”
Have to reassure her, even if it's false reassurance. I can't have her collapsing now.
“Emma, you're just in a slump. You can get out of this. I know you better than to think otherwise.”
Clunky, but effective. She seems like she bought it.
"...thanks...buy me a drink later?"
I smile hollowly, with no emotion behind it. My emotions were taken from me at Metamorphosis. All that's left is pain.
"Of course. Pull yourself together, Em. Pull yourself together and get back to work. You've got to make sure you're in top form when your match comes around next week."
Hours later, my promise unfulfilled. I sit in the chair, looking to the camera, my good friend. It sees me not, shrouded as I am in the shadows.
"Angel...you're right. I lack something I need. I have no killer instinct...I needed to put Rob Diamond out of the business. I needed to KILL Rob Diamond."
The darkness swells in my heart. I look to my hands, the same hands that have decimated so many men. Bates, Rob, Jason. Former champions all. Arguably, any of these men could have ended me. I could have—should have—ended them. They deserved to be crippled. These hands...they must be coated in the lifeblood of my opponents. They are clean when they should not be.
"I need to be brutal. I need to become a killer in order to be successful. My humor...it's just a mask for all of this angst and rage that burns inside me. This is not about having fun, this is not something you are supposed to enjoy. What we do is serious, and I haven't been serious enough. I treat this business like one big joke, and it is anything but. I need to become something more than myself to win. I need to become..."
A stupid question. Of course she's not okay.
“No. I lost AGAIN. I feel like an idiot.”
Have to reassure her, even if it's false reassurance. I can't have her collapsing now.
“Emma, you're just in a slump. You can get out of this. I know you better than to think otherwise.”
Clunky, but effective. She seems like she bought it.
"...thanks...buy me a drink later?"
I smile hollowly, with no emotion behind it. My emotions were taken from me at Metamorphosis. All that's left is pain.
"Of course. Pull yourself together, Em. Pull yourself together and get back to work. You've got to make sure you're in top form when your match comes around next week."
Hours later, my promise unfulfilled. I sit in the chair, looking to the camera, my good friend. It sees me not, shrouded as I am in the shadows.
"Angel...you're right. I lack something I need. I have no killer instinct...I needed to put Rob Diamond out of the business. I needed to KILL Rob Diamond."
The darkness swells in my heart. I look to my hands, the same hands that have decimated so many men. Bates, Rob, Jason. Former champions all. Arguably, any of these men could have ended me. I could have—should have—ended them. They deserved to be crippled. These hands...they must be coated in the lifeblood of my opponents. They are clean when they should not be.
"I need to be brutal. I need to become a killer in order to be successful. My humor...it's just a mask for all of this angst and rage that burns inside me. This is not about having fun, this is not something you are supposed to enjoy. What we do is serious, and I haven't been serious enough. I treat this business like one big joke, and it is anything but. I need to become something more than myself to win. I need to become..."
The light clicks on to reveal Andrew sitting in a chair, wearing an Andrew Jacobsen T-shirt and jeans. He cracks his usual wry grin.
“What, am I supposed to be you? Is that what you want, 'Savior'? You want me to become what you are: brooding and mournful? To hell with that. Not everyone can be you, Angel. I'm not dark. My attitude is exactly who I am, and all I need to be. I don't need your opinion on how I'm taking this business as a joke. You know what?”
Andrew flips the camera off.
“To hell with you! You may be the World Champion, but I hear the same crap time after time. 'Oh, you're not serious enough, you're not devoted enough, you need to be more vicious.' Screw that. I'm the North Star, baby! I do what I do, and I'm the best at what I do. Don't try to tell me otherwise, because you'll wind up on the wrong end of my foot if you do.”
He leans forward.
“You were wrong on another count: despite my appearance, despite all of the flippant cracks, I take EVERY match seriously. I train just as hard against Mr. Happy as I do against Rob Diamond, or Bates...or you. I treat every match like it's for that belt you now wear around your waist. Don't question my dedication. That's going to get you locked tight into a submission hold real quick. And I won't let up. Not until I hear the ref tell me to break or I hear the sound of your hand slapping the mat. Angel, you're making a mistake if you think I'm taking this match as anything but the biggest match I've ever been in. A win over you would not only mean a very impressive notch on my belt, it also would mean I'd be bumped up on the list of people who might get a World Title shot after Gib does. Whether Gib or you holds the belt after Crossroads, I'm ready to take on either one.”
Andrew stands up, reaching over and clicking on his X-Division belt. He looks down to it, smirking.
“This belt...you've held it three times. You're arguably not only one of the greatest X-Division Champions ever, but one of the greatest wrestlers this company has ever known. It's an honor to go up against you, and an honor to hear that you think I could be the future of this company. I'm not going to back down, though. You can tell me you'll kill me, that I'll have to kill you. I just came off of beating Bates, Angel. I've heard all of this talk of near-murderous asskicking a million times before, and nobody has ever followed through. Talk is cheap. Act.”
Andrew rotates his shoulder, working out a sore muscle.
“So anyway...Angel. I'm looking forward to Sunday. I hope you are too, because the last thing I would want is an unmotivated oppponent. I've got something to say to you, Angel. It might enrage you, but I say it for everyone. Can't be anyone but me, man...so bring your best. I'll bring mine. And may the best man win.”
Andrew waves, grinning as the scene fades out...
...
Only to fade back in on Andrew knocking on Emma's door again.
“Yo, Emma? You here?”
A pause, then a depressed reply from Emma.
“Yeah...”
She sniffles.
“Come in...”
Andrew walks in, seeing her laying on her side and staring at a blank TV screen. He walks over and sits down next to her, poking Emma's side.
“Get up, Em. We've got work to do.”
She shakes her head, sighing.
“I'm pathetic...”
Andrew shakes his head, looking over to her.
“You're not pathetic, Emma. Zelda's the Women's Champion. She's the best in the company—“
“I SHOULD BE BETTER!”
The bellow of rage startles Andrew, who jumps a bit. Emma pushes herself to a sitting position, tears flowing.
“I should have beat that little bitch! I'm better than she is! I'm bigger, I'm badder, I'm better! So WHY CAN'T I WIN?!”
Andrew puts his arm around her. Emma seems to either not care or not notice.
“Em, the wrestlers here are some of the best in the world. Zelda was trained by Adam Knite, for crissakes. You have nothing to be ashamed of. You pushed her to her limit, and almost got the win. Em, that was the best match I saw the entire night, hands down. You should be proud of your performance, not mortified by it.”
Emma shakes her head.
“I lose every time I enter the ring...why should I keep going? I obviously suck...”
Andrew whaps her on the back of the head. Emma's head snaps around, her eyes full of fire. Andrew smirks.
“That's the Emma I know. The Emma I know wouldn't be sitting here, whining about how she sucks. The Emma I know would be in the gym, training twice as hard for the next match. She doesn't care about little assholes like Zelda Knite. So what if she's snotty and disrespectful? You don't have to listen to her. You're better than that. She insults your intelligence? I've seen you run intellectual rings around some of the smartest people I know...when you're sober. You've got more coordination than she gives you credit for. I've seen the videos. I know what you were like in MWF. Maybe...maybe you need to bring back the Suicide Blonde. Maybe you need to make it your goal to show that barely post-adolescent princess what you can actually do. Emma, you're much more than some clumsy oaf who people enjoy calling a transvestite or a lesbian...I'm sorry, I'll stop. The point is, you kick ASS. Now will you get up off the couch, suck it up, and let me buy you that damn drink?”
Emma looks over.
“Andrew, I think my drinking is why I lose. It screws up my coordination. I wasn't this clumsy when I was sober. I didn't drink when I was wrestling as the Suicide Blonde. That's why I could do all those moves. I need to put the bottle down...”
Andrew shakes his head, taking her hand.
“You're not Fergus Callaghan. I know you can kick ass even if you drink. Just try not to drink before you wrestle, okay? I hear Turner hates cleaning up puke...on second thought, drink a lot. Make that big man's life miserable.”
She finally smiles a bit.
“Aye aye, captain.”
Andrew grins wider, squeezing her hand.
“That's the spirit. Now, two things. First, we're going to the gym. And second, we're going to get that drink. Pack your workout clothes, we're going into intensive training. I want you to be able to do a shooting star press again by Crossroads”
Emma rolls her eyes, standing up.
“Fiiine. I'll get my stuff. Meet you in the lobby in five?”
Andrew nods, turning to walk out the door. Emma taps him on the shoulder.
“Uhh, Andrew?”
He turns around, nodding.
“Yeah?”
Emma hugs him tightly to her. Andrew grins, hugging back. Emma speaks into his ear, smiling.
“Thank you. I needed someone to talk to...or get whacked by.”
Andrew grins wider, patting her back.
“No prob. Be in the lobby in five. First round's on me.”
“Deal.”
Fin