Post by adm on Oct 19, 2011 9:13:57 GMT -6
Sun goes down, sun comes up
Days can drown in a plastic cup
In this town...in this town.
"Eight fifty-one A.M, Wednesday October Nineteenth, Two thousand and Eleven. Good morning, Kyle."
Bates' eyes are the first thing seen, in extreme close-up. The veins and imperfections as well as the newly-gained contacts are visible. You can tell from his eyes and his expression-filled brows that he is not smiling, but scowling.
"It appears, Mr. Braddock, if that is what you'd rather be called than your moniker of Falcon, that you are still one of the top chaps in this place. Two-time World Champion, multiple runs with other titles, including your magnificent victory over Failure Zane and myself in the last time I met with you in any four-sided ring. I'd like to say, belatedly, congratulations on leaving my career with a **** smear of a title run that will probably outshine any of my achievements I make from here on. Good job, old boy."
The camera pulls back and we see Kristoff Liam Bates sitting in a steel chair at a gym. He is pouring sweat from the workout he must have just had. A coy smile crosses his face as he rests his chin on his left fist and assumes a posture almost of one adoring the person on the other side of the glass.
"I must say, however, that I do find it fanciful that we both are stagnant in our current positions. You, idling between opponents while contemplating how much more you have to do. Personally, you need a sex change to do much more in this place, amigo. But then again, you are probably not really looking for much in the way of accolades anymore. I mean, you are Falcon, the Hall of Fame inductee. You have it all, you draw a decent paycheck and don't really have to do much but go out there every week and give your all and you still manage to prove you are the best. Or at least better than ninety-nine percent of the rest of the roster.
Thank you for being in the top one percent, Kyle "Falcon" Braddock. Come down from your ivory tower and get your prize."
Kristoff turns from the camera as he stands up, and leans backward on the chair, stretching. His muscular and chiseled physique along with the slight bit of stubble he is beginning to acquire are making him look a lot different, especially now that he has lost his glasses. His hair is upturned, not quite like the failure of Robert from Twilight, but were he an anemic skinny nerd, he'd probably look a lot like him. And the glittery sweat also gives a nice touch to that effect.
"The funny thing is, I'm not your friend, am I? You're a nerdy man, like myself, though. You appear to be refined, in some ways. A friend of the immortal Spike Kane, dating one of the floozy Women's Division wrestlers, if you can call it that. You are rather bland, and boring, the iron-horse of nCw. But the funny thing about Gehrig is, he's remembered more for his disease than his record of being reliable and hard-working. As similar as we are, our careers are very different. Perhaps if I had been here as long as you, I'd be holding a hundred wins myself, but then again, so should Steve Awesome."
At the mention of the World Champion, Bates flicks his hair and turns, posing for the camera almost like his opponent from last week, Jason Evans, might. A coy smirk crosses his face before he returns to the sour look of distaste he usually wears.
"No, I'm not flirting with Steve Bates, that would be Incest, I think. I'm not really sure how he relates to me, but perhaps I need to get his attention. You see, he's going to face Xander at Road to the Gold next week, I'm almost sure of it. And Xander, like usual, will choke. So who will he face next? You? Ha, that's hilarious. I think you've had enough time as champion, Kyle. Tied for longest reign, third longest time total holding the championship, a man who has held it during some period during the last three years. I guess you really do deserve that Hall of Fame spot, don't you, Kyle? Do you hate it that I call you by your real name? I mean, I find it more personal than just spouting "Falcon" every five seconds to get your attention, makes me think I'm calling a bird or something."
He claps at his own joke and chuckles. His grip on the steel chair he was sitting on tightens and his body becomes tense as his eyes fire up.
"But that's just a title, just like everything else, Kyle. I want the MAN, not the myth. I want the REALITY and not the fantasy. Can you give that to me, give me your all? Or have you become another one of the legends around here that rests on your laurels. Lying and cheating and scheming your way to the title like Steve Awesome, or beating around the addiction train and going to jail for offenses like Spike Kane, or returning after long absences to lose and fall off the map like Dave Holland or just plain Returning after retiring like Lance Ryan. I mean, the whole gang of you seem to be PAST legends. Meaning past your prime. You'll probably rip me to shreds even saying that, but in reality, Kyle, what do you have left in this place but the wins every week. I mean, you take a loss here, and there, but on average, you win a lot. You're up to a hundred and something, and I'm sure without any real goals of championships you've got to be asking yourself how much is enough? How long before you hang up the boots? That, or how long before you flip Leo the finger and find another place to dominate, as if there is anywhere else that is remotely close to nCw in the quality of competition. So what is left, Kyle "Falcon" Braddock, but the fall from the sky, to the murky waters below?"
Bates makes a motion like a bird having a heart-attack mid-air with his hand, falling down to the chair, before flipping his hand, closing the chair and picking it up in his hands.
"People underestimate me on occasion. They think I'm not that dangerous anymore. They believe I'm just some ho-hum never-was in this place. But you look at my recent wins and you might want to question that. Hall of Famer Dave Holland in his mask, future Hall of Fame Trent Helms, and now I face you and if I win, it's another name to the list. And boy, Falcon, is that list ever growing. I mean, it isn't growing FAST, but what list does? You took years to achieve the hundredth win. And who did you beat anyway, wasn't it Joe Everyman again? I mean, everyone beats him, but he's just another name. You've beat me before too, I know you have. I know you could again, I'm not denying it. But wouldn't it be nice if I could, well..."
Bates lifts the chair and swings it down so it makes a ringing thud on the floor. A twisted smirk begins to creep across his face like the rising waters of a flood.
"End your career. I know, I know, it's impossible. You've been beaten badly before and come back. But what if I do bloody you up, smash your head in with weapons after the match, just to show people that I am not just some "has-been" around here. I know, it's just a threat to you. But the funny thing is, just by brushing me off like that,
Is another underestimation of Kristoff Liam Bates.
I'd be careful who you underestimate and what you say, Kyle. I'm watching you and your little dog too. And yes, I do mean that damsel who has a name sounding like a retarded prehistoric cave bimbo from that game I played during High School. So go on, rip me a new one with your words, I expect it, no...I WANT it. Because after all, you are Falcon. You are the underestimated one around here, who always comes up and wins despite whatever odds against the biggest, baddest foes. And you always put them in their place, giving them some lesson in the process. So go on, teach me a lesson, Kyle. I'm WAITING! HAHAHAH!"
Bates looks down at his watch and laughs as he makes a motion with his foot like he's waiting.
"Nine twenty-five and thirty-one...thirty-two...thirty-three..."
Bates keeps ticking off the time he's waiting as the camera fades to black.
Every time I say what I wanna be
Someone says that's not how it's gonna be
Come on baby, quit your dreaming
Grab your things the train is leaving.
Days can drown in a plastic cup
In this town...in this town.
"Eight fifty-one A.M, Wednesday October Nineteenth, Two thousand and Eleven. Good morning, Kyle."
Bates' eyes are the first thing seen, in extreme close-up. The veins and imperfections as well as the newly-gained contacts are visible. You can tell from his eyes and his expression-filled brows that he is not smiling, but scowling.
"It appears, Mr. Braddock, if that is what you'd rather be called than your moniker of Falcon, that you are still one of the top chaps in this place. Two-time World Champion, multiple runs with other titles, including your magnificent victory over Failure Zane and myself in the last time I met with you in any four-sided ring. I'd like to say, belatedly, congratulations on leaving my career with a **** smear of a title run that will probably outshine any of my achievements I make from here on. Good job, old boy."
The camera pulls back and we see Kristoff Liam Bates sitting in a steel chair at a gym. He is pouring sweat from the workout he must have just had. A coy smile crosses his face as he rests his chin on his left fist and assumes a posture almost of one adoring the person on the other side of the glass.
"I must say, however, that I do find it fanciful that we both are stagnant in our current positions. You, idling between opponents while contemplating how much more you have to do. Personally, you need a sex change to do much more in this place, amigo. But then again, you are probably not really looking for much in the way of accolades anymore. I mean, you are Falcon, the Hall of Fame inductee. You have it all, you draw a decent paycheck and don't really have to do much but go out there every week and give your all and you still manage to prove you are the best. Or at least better than ninety-nine percent of the rest of the roster.
Thank you for being in the top one percent, Kyle "Falcon" Braddock. Come down from your ivory tower and get your prize."
Kristoff turns from the camera as he stands up, and leans backward on the chair, stretching. His muscular and chiseled physique along with the slight bit of stubble he is beginning to acquire are making him look a lot different, especially now that he has lost his glasses. His hair is upturned, not quite like the failure of Robert from Twilight, but were he an anemic skinny nerd, he'd probably look a lot like him. And the glittery sweat also gives a nice touch to that effect.
"The funny thing is, I'm not your friend, am I? You're a nerdy man, like myself, though. You appear to be refined, in some ways. A friend of the immortal Spike Kane, dating one of the floozy Women's Division wrestlers, if you can call it that. You are rather bland, and boring, the iron-horse of nCw. But the funny thing about Gehrig is, he's remembered more for his disease than his record of being reliable and hard-working. As similar as we are, our careers are very different. Perhaps if I had been here as long as you, I'd be holding a hundred wins myself, but then again, so should Steve Awesome."
At the mention of the World Champion, Bates flicks his hair and turns, posing for the camera almost like his opponent from last week, Jason Evans, might. A coy smirk crosses his face before he returns to the sour look of distaste he usually wears.
"No, I'm not flirting with Steve Bates, that would be Incest, I think. I'm not really sure how he relates to me, but perhaps I need to get his attention. You see, he's going to face Xander at Road to the Gold next week, I'm almost sure of it. And Xander, like usual, will choke. So who will he face next? You? Ha, that's hilarious. I think you've had enough time as champion, Kyle. Tied for longest reign, third longest time total holding the championship, a man who has held it during some period during the last three years. I guess you really do deserve that Hall of Fame spot, don't you, Kyle? Do you hate it that I call you by your real name? I mean, I find it more personal than just spouting "Falcon" every five seconds to get your attention, makes me think I'm calling a bird or something."
He claps at his own joke and chuckles. His grip on the steel chair he was sitting on tightens and his body becomes tense as his eyes fire up.
"But that's just a title, just like everything else, Kyle. I want the MAN, not the myth. I want the REALITY and not the fantasy. Can you give that to me, give me your all? Or have you become another one of the legends around here that rests on your laurels. Lying and cheating and scheming your way to the title like Steve Awesome, or beating around the addiction train and going to jail for offenses like Spike Kane, or returning after long absences to lose and fall off the map like Dave Holland or just plain Returning after retiring like Lance Ryan. I mean, the whole gang of you seem to be PAST legends. Meaning past your prime. You'll probably rip me to shreds even saying that, but in reality, Kyle, what do you have left in this place but the wins every week. I mean, you take a loss here, and there, but on average, you win a lot. You're up to a hundred and something, and I'm sure without any real goals of championships you've got to be asking yourself how much is enough? How long before you hang up the boots? That, or how long before you flip Leo the finger and find another place to dominate, as if there is anywhere else that is remotely close to nCw in the quality of competition. So what is left, Kyle "Falcon" Braddock, but the fall from the sky, to the murky waters below?"
Bates makes a motion like a bird having a heart-attack mid-air with his hand, falling down to the chair, before flipping his hand, closing the chair and picking it up in his hands.
"People underestimate me on occasion. They think I'm not that dangerous anymore. They believe I'm just some ho-hum never-was in this place. But you look at my recent wins and you might want to question that. Hall of Famer Dave Holland in his mask, future Hall of Fame Trent Helms, and now I face you and if I win, it's another name to the list. And boy, Falcon, is that list ever growing. I mean, it isn't growing FAST, but what list does? You took years to achieve the hundredth win. And who did you beat anyway, wasn't it Joe Everyman again? I mean, everyone beats him, but he's just another name. You've beat me before too, I know you have. I know you could again, I'm not denying it. But wouldn't it be nice if I could, well..."
Bates lifts the chair and swings it down so it makes a ringing thud on the floor. A twisted smirk begins to creep across his face like the rising waters of a flood.
"End your career. I know, I know, it's impossible. You've been beaten badly before and come back. But what if I do bloody you up, smash your head in with weapons after the match, just to show people that I am not just some "has-been" around here. I know, it's just a threat to you. But the funny thing is, just by brushing me off like that,
Is another underestimation of Kristoff Liam Bates.
I'd be careful who you underestimate and what you say, Kyle. I'm watching you and your little dog too. And yes, I do mean that damsel who has a name sounding like a retarded prehistoric cave bimbo from that game I played during High School. So go on, rip me a new one with your words, I expect it, no...I WANT it. Because after all, you are Falcon. You are the underestimated one around here, who always comes up and wins despite whatever odds against the biggest, baddest foes. And you always put them in their place, giving them some lesson in the process. So go on, teach me a lesson, Kyle. I'm WAITING! HAHAHAH!"
Bates looks down at his watch and laughs as he makes a motion with his foot like he's waiting.
"Nine twenty-five and thirty-one...thirty-two...thirty-three..."
Bates keeps ticking off the time he's waiting as the camera fades to black.
Every time I say what I wanna be
Someone says that's not how it's gonna be
Come on baby, quit your dreaming
Grab your things the train is leaving.