Post by Caleb Lockwood on Nov 10, 2012 3:40:02 GMT -6
Open on Caleb laying on the couch, watching television. Tiffany is in the kitchen, rummaging through the Conway family’s fridge. She calls out into the living room at Lockwood.
”Hey, you want something to drink?”
Caleb calls back, wincing as he shifts his position slightly.
”Sure, grab me a can of Coke.”
Tiffany comes out of the kitchen, two cans of Coca-Cola in her hands. She tosses one to Caleb, who reflexively catches it with his left arm. He winces, almost dropping the can as he clutches his bicep with his right arm. Pain shoots up it, still sore from his match with Nighthawk the previous week. Tiffany notices this, getting very visibly concerned. Caleb bites his lower lip, holding back a few obscenities, and she scoots closer tentatively.
”H-hey, Caleb, do you want me to get you an ice pack or something? It looks like your arm’s really in bad shape…”
Caleb shakes his head, gritting his teeth as he forces himself to a sitting position. He places the can on a coaster, standing and walking towards the kitchen. Lockwood calls back over his shoulder.
”Nah, Tiffany. I got this. Wouldn’t want ya to have to work super-hard for someone like me. Just find something you want to watch on TV, I think I’m gonna go lay down.”
Tiffany blinks, shaking her head. She stands up, walking into the kitchen, where Caleb’s filling a Ziploc bag with ice cubes. Tiffany sets about getting some paper towels to wrap the ice pack, which Caleb takes offhand note of. He blinks, clearly surprised by these actions. Tiffany looks at him, shrugging with a small smile.
”You do so much around here for Kat and Jake, I figured it was about time someone did something for you. Stick around. I’ll even let you pick what we watch. Just, like…not some brain-dead Schwarzenegger movie or something like that. I think my brain would try to jump out of my head if you picked that kind of thing.”
Caleb chuckles, taking the paper towels and wrapping them around the plastic bag of ice. He holds it to his left bicep with his right hand, walking back out to the living room. He lays back in such a way that his arm and body are trapping the bag against the couch, grabbing his can of Coke and cracking it open.
”Alrighty then…hey, Starz is having a Bond marathon. That’d be…nah, I got pretty Bonded out with Mr. Conway ramping up to Skyfall. Let’s try something else…oh, hey, The Princess Bride is on next! I love that movie!”
Tiffany looks at him in utter confusion, reading over the program description before blinking and looking at Caleb again, apparently trying to reconcile the title with what she knows of the unintentionally enigmatic man from Oakland. He looks back at her, confused as well.
”Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you’ve never seen The Princess Bride. Inigo Montoya? Fezzik? Da Dwead Piwate Woberts?”
When these fail to provoke even so much as a glimmer of recognition from Ms. Jones, Caleb grins that mischievous grin that we’ve seen from him so many times. He sips his Coke, nodding for her to select the program. She does so reluctantly, watching him with interest. Caleb gushes excitedly to her.
”Trust me. This movie? Totally freakin’ worth it. All kinds of incredible. I’d argue it’s one of the best movies ever made. But I’ll let it speak for itself. God knows it can…sit back and enjoy the show, Tiffany.”
Caleb leans back again, sipping his Coke. Tiffany looks over at him, smiling softly at this moment they’re getting together but also somewhat dismayed that he doesn’t seem to recognize what she’s trying to do for him. Nevertheless, she opens her own soda, sipping it as she sits back and the film begins to play.
”A book?”
”That's right. When I was your age, television was called books. And this is a special book. It was the book my father used to read to me when I was sick, and I used to read it to your father…and today, I'm gonna read it to you.”
”Does it got any sports in it?”
”Are you kidding? Fencing, fighting, torture, revenge, giants, monsters, chases, escapes, True Love, miracles....”
”Doesn’t sound too bad. I’ll try and stay awake…”[/i]
The pair get a bit more comfortable, watching the story begin to unfold. Both of them furtively glance at the other when they think they’re not looking. However, at one second they look at each other, eyes locking. A long heartbeat passes before they both look back at the TV, muttering excuses to themselves and each other as we fade to black.
”I’m trying to figure out who you’re talking to sometimes, Hawk. I mean, everyone knew you would outgrapple me. You said it, I confirmed it, Mr. Conway confirmed it, hell, I’m pretty sure Stevie Wonder saw that one coming. And yet here you are, talking about how everyone was shocked that you outwrestled me. How…how was ANY of that a shock?”
“Please, enlighten me, because I’m grasping for straws here. Nighthawk, you’re better than patting yourself on the back like that. God knows my arm’s a testament to that. You don’t need to hype yourself up all of the time. People get the message. YOU ARE A GOOD WRESTLER.”
“Being good in the ring, however, doesn’t make your constant droning on about how awesome you are and how you showed everyone and they saw any. Less. BORING. God, if I ever have sleeping problems I’ll just listen to you rambling on for five minutes and I’ll be out like a light. I respect your wrestling ability. There. I said it. Now will you please stop acting like this is some great underdog story where you’re winning over the hearts of the crowd against all odds through your prodigious skill?”
“Fact of the matter is, the only guy I could outwrestle on the roster is Bad Luck Chuck, and he’s developing arthritis. I am a TERRIBLE technical wrestler. But I’m learning. And I’m learning from more than just the Ace. You’re quite the instructive example. You’re like…that one really huge dick in kung-fu movies who always talks about how infinitely superior his martial arts are compared to the hero’s. Hey, there’s another difference between us…”
“I’m not trying to be the hero.”
“Because this isn’t a fight of heroes and villains. This is two men trying to soothe their bruised egos by beating the crap out of each other. Yours got hurt because people didn’t bow down and worship you as some technical wunderkind the moment you waltzed into NCW, and mine got bruised because I didn’t take kindly to you belittling the accomplishments and ability of a man who’s shown me more kindness in one year than many people have in my entire life. I almost don’t care if he’s really training me at this point. He took me into his house, he gave me a place to live, he did more for me than you can ever know. But this isn’t about him anymore. Oh no.”
“This is about me and you.”
“This is about the fact that I can’t stand what you’re doing. I’ m sick of this ‘I’m so great, but I’m sorry for what I’m going to do’ crap. I’m not sorry! Not at all! Because I have to prove to myself that I can do better. I know I can. That’s not the question here…the question is what you’ll do. Because you can yammer on about technical wrestling and respect and tying me in knots all you want, but there is one thing you will never be…”
“And that, simply, is the Master of Gravity. So don’t blink. You just might miss something.”[/i]
”Hey, you want something to drink?”
Caleb calls back, wincing as he shifts his position slightly.
”Sure, grab me a can of Coke.”
Tiffany comes out of the kitchen, two cans of Coca-Cola in her hands. She tosses one to Caleb, who reflexively catches it with his left arm. He winces, almost dropping the can as he clutches his bicep with his right arm. Pain shoots up it, still sore from his match with Nighthawk the previous week. Tiffany notices this, getting very visibly concerned. Caleb bites his lower lip, holding back a few obscenities, and she scoots closer tentatively.
”H-hey, Caleb, do you want me to get you an ice pack or something? It looks like your arm’s really in bad shape…”
Caleb shakes his head, gritting his teeth as he forces himself to a sitting position. He places the can on a coaster, standing and walking towards the kitchen. Lockwood calls back over his shoulder.
”Nah, Tiffany. I got this. Wouldn’t want ya to have to work super-hard for someone like me. Just find something you want to watch on TV, I think I’m gonna go lay down.”
Tiffany blinks, shaking her head. She stands up, walking into the kitchen, where Caleb’s filling a Ziploc bag with ice cubes. Tiffany sets about getting some paper towels to wrap the ice pack, which Caleb takes offhand note of. He blinks, clearly surprised by these actions. Tiffany looks at him, shrugging with a small smile.
”You do so much around here for Kat and Jake, I figured it was about time someone did something for you. Stick around. I’ll even let you pick what we watch. Just, like…not some brain-dead Schwarzenegger movie or something like that. I think my brain would try to jump out of my head if you picked that kind of thing.”
Caleb chuckles, taking the paper towels and wrapping them around the plastic bag of ice. He holds it to his left bicep with his right hand, walking back out to the living room. He lays back in such a way that his arm and body are trapping the bag against the couch, grabbing his can of Coke and cracking it open.
”Alrighty then…hey, Starz is having a Bond marathon. That’d be…nah, I got pretty Bonded out with Mr. Conway ramping up to Skyfall. Let’s try something else…oh, hey, The Princess Bride is on next! I love that movie!”
Tiffany looks at him in utter confusion, reading over the program description before blinking and looking at Caleb again, apparently trying to reconcile the title with what she knows of the unintentionally enigmatic man from Oakland. He looks back at her, confused as well.
”Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you’ve never seen The Princess Bride. Inigo Montoya? Fezzik? Da Dwead Piwate Woberts?”
When these fail to provoke even so much as a glimmer of recognition from Ms. Jones, Caleb grins that mischievous grin that we’ve seen from him so many times. He sips his Coke, nodding for her to select the program. She does so reluctantly, watching him with interest. Caleb gushes excitedly to her.
”Trust me. This movie? Totally freakin’ worth it. All kinds of incredible. I’d argue it’s one of the best movies ever made. But I’ll let it speak for itself. God knows it can…sit back and enjoy the show, Tiffany.”
Caleb leans back again, sipping his Coke. Tiffany looks over at him, smiling softly at this moment they’re getting together but also somewhat dismayed that he doesn’t seem to recognize what she’s trying to do for him. Nevertheless, she opens her own soda, sipping it as she sits back and the film begins to play.
”A book?”
”That's right. When I was your age, television was called books. And this is a special book. It was the book my father used to read to me when I was sick, and I used to read it to your father…and today, I'm gonna read it to you.”
”Does it got any sports in it?”
”Are you kidding? Fencing, fighting, torture, revenge, giants, monsters, chases, escapes, True Love, miracles....”
”Doesn’t sound too bad. I’ll try and stay awake…”[/i]
The pair get a bit more comfortable, watching the story begin to unfold. Both of them furtively glance at the other when they think they’re not looking. However, at one second they look at each other, eyes locking. A long heartbeat passes before they both look back at the TV, muttering excuses to themselves and each other as we fade to black.
”I’m trying to figure out who you’re talking to sometimes, Hawk. I mean, everyone knew you would outgrapple me. You said it, I confirmed it, Mr. Conway confirmed it, hell, I’m pretty sure Stevie Wonder saw that one coming. And yet here you are, talking about how everyone was shocked that you outwrestled me. How…how was ANY of that a shock?”
“Please, enlighten me, because I’m grasping for straws here. Nighthawk, you’re better than patting yourself on the back like that. God knows my arm’s a testament to that. You don’t need to hype yourself up all of the time. People get the message. YOU ARE A GOOD WRESTLER.”
“Being good in the ring, however, doesn’t make your constant droning on about how awesome you are and how you showed everyone and they saw any. Less. BORING. God, if I ever have sleeping problems I’ll just listen to you rambling on for five minutes and I’ll be out like a light. I respect your wrestling ability. There. I said it. Now will you please stop acting like this is some great underdog story where you’re winning over the hearts of the crowd against all odds through your prodigious skill?”
“Fact of the matter is, the only guy I could outwrestle on the roster is Bad Luck Chuck, and he’s developing arthritis. I am a TERRIBLE technical wrestler. But I’m learning. And I’m learning from more than just the Ace. You’re quite the instructive example. You’re like…that one really huge dick in kung-fu movies who always talks about how infinitely superior his martial arts are compared to the hero’s. Hey, there’s another difference between us…”
“I’m not trying to be the hero.”
“Because this isn’t a fight of heroes and villains. This is two men trying to soothe their bruised egos by beating the crap out of each other. Yours got hurt because people didn’t bow down and worship you as some technical wunderkind the moment you waltzed into NCW, and mine got bruised because I didn’t take kindly to you belittling the accomplishments and ability of a man who’s shown me more kindness in one year than many people have in my entire life. I almost don’t care if he’s really training me at this point. He took me into his house, he gave me a place to live, he did more for me than you can ever know. But this isn’t about him anymore. Oh no.”
“This is about me and you.”
“This is about the fact that I can’t stand what you’re doing. I’ m sick of this ‘I’m so great, but I’m sorry for what I’m going to do’ crap. I’m not sorry! Not at all! Because I have to prove to myself that I can do better. I know I can. That’s not the question here…the question is what you’ll do. Because you can yammer on about technical wrestling and respect and tying me in knots all you want, but there is one thing you will never be…”
“And that, simply, is the Master of Gravity. So don’t blink. You just might miss something.”[/i]