Post by Andrew Jacobsen on Jan 26, 2010 0:10:57 GMT -6
Andrew lays on a couch in his hotel room the day after Trauma, pillows stacked under his head and wadded-up gauze placed over the point where Bates' steel briefcase contacted his skull, ripping away at his flesh. The final moments of the NFC Championship game play out on the TV, and he shuts it off in disgust. Andrew winces, feeling the still raw flesh of the back of his head stretch out. He lets out a hiss of agony as the waves of pain wash over him, throbbing with every heartbeat. He begins speaking, eyes still closed.
“Bates...that really hurt. I've taken some nasty shots in my day, but that one deserves an award. I'm still feeling where that barbed wire pulled chunks out of my body. I still feel the pain I felt when Nelly plastered me with that DDT and pinned me. You got what you wanted, Kristoff. You humiliated me in front of millions of viewers and a captive live audience. Congratulations, big man. You got your wish.”
His eyes open slowly. They are cold and hard.
“But not all of it. You may have humiliated me on national television. You may have wounded my body. But let this Neanderthal tell you something: you haven't broken my will.”
He struggles to a sitting position, wincing all the way.
“I'm ready for you, Bates. I'm ready for anything you can throw at me. You've made yourself an isolated man, cast off all of your previous attachments. You think this makes you strong, Bates. Being alone and free to be “simply Bates”. I'll tell you what it makes you...
It makes you inhuman.
Humanity really is defined by our attachments to others. If you cast off all of those attachments, barring anyone or anything from connecting with you, you lose that essential SPARK which makes you human.”
Andrew smiles, once again wincing.
“I have connections. My friend and now part-time trainer, Tempestad. My vitriolic best friend, Emma. My family, who have supported me in my quest to become a pro wrestler. And the fans. Without them, I wouldn't be half the man I am today. It's these connections that define me, both as a competitor and as a person. We are the sum of our experiences, Bates. You are the sum of repressed anger and psychopathy. I am the sum of the people that surround me. Anger is a negative force, and can only destroy. But the positivity that fuels me can create as well. And that's what I'll do. I'll create.”
He nods to himself, satisfied with the direction the promo's taking.
“I'll create a legacy for myself, starting with this match. Kristoff Bates. Andrew Jacobsen. Two men. One title. One with something to prove, and one who has already lost everything. Bates, I am telling you now, I can and will be able to face you. No matter what it takes, I won't let you take me down. You can hit me while my back is turned, throw a match to make a point...but I WILL come out on top.”
His phone goes off, and Andrew sighs.
“'scuse a minute...”
He picks up.
“Andrew speaking.”
He has to hold the phone away from his ear, as a loud female voice screeches at him almost incoherently.
“Mom, Mom, calm down! Look, I'm okay! That whackjob Bates didn't hurt me too bad!...well, yeah, I'll be on the pay-per-view...yes, I'm defending against Bates still...okay...wait, what?...uh huh...yeah...a party? You've GOT to be kidding me, Mom. Look, it just won't work! What if I lose? What then?...yes, thank you for your confidence, but did you see the NFC Championship game?...yeah, it hurt from here too...Mom, that's my point. Even when you're dead sure you can win, a loss can still come...Mom, I want to win. I just don't know if I will...you're right. I'm Andrew Jacobsen, dammit. I never give up. I never say 'No, I can't.' That's who I am...okay...yeah, tell Dad I said 'hi'...love you too, Mom...'night.”
Andrew hangs up, smiling quietly.
“My mother. Never fails to amaze me how she can pick the right words sometimes. I know you'll give me flak for this, but I love my family. I love them for being there. You alienate, Bates. I accept. Accept this: you won't take my title. I promise both you and everyone who follows nCw, I will come into Metamorphosis X-Division Champion and walk out X-Division Champion. Just come to terms with that now, Bates.”
He looks into the camera.
“Bates. Bring your best. I'll bring mine. And may the best—no. You've shown less respect than even Rob Diamond. You get none from me. I'll see you on Sunday, Bates. Be ready to fight like mad.”
He sighs, laying back again. A knock sounds at his door. Andrew gets up, grumbling, and opens the door. Emma 's standing there with bags in one hand and clean, semi-respectable clothes on. He smiles broadly.
“Emma! Good to see you! What's the occasion?”
Emma nods, hugging him lightly due to a few bags in one hand.
“Hey. Saw Trauma and I figured you could use some company, so here I am. Mind if I come in?”
Andrew steps back from the doorway, gesturing to the inside of his room.
“No, not at all. You know my policy: my hotel room is your hotel room. Except the mini-bar. That's off-limits.”
Emma laughs as the two enter Andrew's hotel room. He closes the door behind them.
“Set the stuff on the table over there. What'd ya get?”
“I got beer, pretzels, chips, deli meats, bread, and cheese.”
Andrew grins, sitting back on the couch.
“Alright! Thanks for coming over. I really appreciate it.”
Emma walks over and sits next to him, putting an arm around him.
“That sick freak Bates took a nasty shot at you. It's the least I can do as your friend and coworker to show some sympathy. The food's just a bonus...I'll cut to the chase. You've got a big match on Sunday. Probably the biggest one you've had in your career. As your manager, I don't want you risking your physical well-being unnecessarily before then. That means plenty of rest and low-impact exercise. I'll talk to Wesker and see if he can prescribe you anything for the pain or to aid healing. If I catch you out practicing with steel chairs, I'll torment you from here to the end of existence. Got it?”
Andrew nods again, chuckling at his friend's persistence.
“Thank you. It means a lot to me that you care this much. You and Tempestad are my two real friends here, it seems. Oh, sure, I get name-checked a lot, and a lot of people want to face me, but in the end my worth is measured by one thing...”
He looks over to the title belt, resting on the counter.
“Or lack thereof. Everyone seems to think that this belt just doesn't deserve respect. It's patently ridiculous. If you look at the title's history, some of the biggest names in nCw have held this belt. Xavier Williams. Jack Hammond. Brad Kane. Trent Helms. Angel. Jimmy Zane. And, yes, Rob Diamond. All of these men are certifiably tough contenders. Three of them have been World Champion, and a fourth may be after Sunday. The X-Division Title can make future World Champions, no doubt.”
He looks to Emma.
“The X-Division motto is 'No Limits'. Sometimes...sometimes I feel I don't live up to that. Sometimes, I just feel like I'm too boring. Me, with my constant submission holds grounding the action. I'm no Brad Kane or Angel. I'm not even a Nelly Angel or a Jimmy Zane. How do I represent the X-Division?”
Emma sighs, patting his shoulder carefully.
“Andrew. You're a perfect example of 'No Limits'. You push yourself past most men's breaking points. Every week, you stretch the previously assumed limits of what could be done in the ring. You have no limits because you put yourself fully into every match. You're PERFECT for the X-Division. Just because you can't do a 720 shooting star corkscrew split-legged moonsault or something doesn't mean you're not right for the X-Division. Like that belt says, 'No Limits'. If you limit the idea of the X-Division to high-flying alone, it means you're betraying what the belt stands for.”
She smiles, hopeful. Andrew nods, digesting this particular piece of information.
“Thank you, Emma. I never looked at it like that...so, wanna order a movie and laugh our asses off?”
Emma grins wickedly, picking a beer up for each of them and handing one to him.
“You bet I do.”
Andrew grabs the remote and puts his arm around her shoulder, smiling as the scene fades to black.
“Bates...that really hurt. I've taken some nasty shots in my day, but that one deserves an award. I'm still feeling where that barbed wire pulled chunks out of my body. I still feel the pain I felt when Nelly plastered me with that DDT and pinned me. You got what you wanted, Kristoff. You humiliated me in front of millions of viewers and a captive live audience. Congratulations, big man. You got your wish.”
His eyes open slowly. They are cold and hard.
“But not all of it. You may have humiliated me on national television. You may have wounded my body. But let this Neanderthal tell you something: you haven't broken my will.”
He struggles to a sitting position, wincing all the way.
“I'm ready for you, Bates. I'm ready for anything you can throw at me. You've made yourself an isolated man, cast off all of your previous attachments. You think this makes you strong, Bates. Being alone and free to be “simply Bates”. I'll tell you what it makes you...
It makes you inhuman.
Humanity really is defined by our attachments to others. If you cast off all of those attachments, barring anyone or anything from connecting with you, you lose that essential SPARK which makes you human.”
Andrew smiles, once again wincing.
“I have connections. My friend and now part-time trainer, Tempestad. My vitriolic best friend, Emma. My family, who have supported me in my quest to become a pro wrestler. And the fans. Without them, I wouldn't be half the man I am today. It's these connections that define me, both as a competitor and as a person. We are the sum of our experiences, Bates. You are the sum of repressed anger and psychopathy. I am the sum of the people that surround me. Anger is a negative force, and can only destroy. But the positivity that fuels me can create as well. And that's what I'll do. I'll create.”
He nods to himself, satisfied with the direction the promo's taking.
“I'll create a legacy for myself, starting with this match. Kristoff Bates. Andrew Jacobsen. Two men. One title. One with something to prove, and one who has already lost everything. Bates, I am telling you now, I can and will be able to face you. No matter what it takes, I won't let you take me down. You can hit me while my back is turned, throw a match to make a point...but I WILL come out on top.”
His phone goes off, and Andrew sighs.
“'scuse a minute...”
He picks up.
“Andrew speaking.”
He has to hold the phone away from his ear, as a loud female voice screeches at him almost incoherently.
“Mom, Mom, calm down! Look, I'm okay! That whackjob Bates didn't hurt me too bad!...well, yeah, I'll be on the pay-per-view...yes, I'm defending against Bates still...okay...wait, what?...uh huh...yeah...a party? You've GOT to be kidding me, Mom. Look, it just won't work! What if I lose? What then?...yes, thank you for your confidence, but did you see the NFC Championship game?...yeah, it hurt from here too...Mom, that's my point. Even when you're dead sure you can win, a loss can still come...Mom, I want to win. I just don't know if I will...you're right. I'm Andrew Jacobsen, dammit. I never give up. I never say 'No, I can't.' That's who I am...okay...yeah, tell Dad I said 'hi'...love you too, Mom...'night.”
Andrew hangs up, smiling quietly.
“My mother. Never fails to amaze me how she can pick the right words sometimes. I know you'll give me flak for this, but I love my family. I love them for being there. You alienate, Bates. I accept. Accept this: you won't take my title. I promise both you and everyone who follows nCw, I will come into Metamorphosis X-Division Champion and walk out X-Division Champion. Just come to terms with that now, Bates.”
He looks into the camera.
“Bates. Bring your best. I'll bring mine. And may the best—no. You've shown less respect than even Rob Diamond. You get none from me. I'll see you on Sunday, Bates. Be ready to fight like mad.”
He sighs, laying back again. A knock sounds at his door. Andrew gets up, grumbling, and opens the door. Emma 's standing there with bags in one hand and clean, semi-respectable clothes on. He smiles broadly.
“Emma! Good to see you! What's the occasion?”
Emma nods, hugging him lightly due to a few bags in one hand.
“Hey. Saw Trauma and I figured you could use some company, so here I am. Mind if I come in?”
Andrew steps back from the doorway, gesturing to the inside of his room.
“No, not at all. You know my policy: my hotel room is your hotel room. Except the mini-bar. That's off-limits.”
Emma laughs as the two enter Andrew's hotel room. He closes the door behind them.
“Set the stuff on the table over there. What'd ya get?”
“I got beer, pretzels, chips, deli meats, bread, and cheese.”
Andrew grins, sitting back on the couch.
“Alright! Thanks for coming over. I really appreciate it.”
Emma walks over and sits next to him, putting an arm around him.
“That sick freak Bates took a nasty shot at you. It's the least I can do as your friend and coworker to show some sympathy. The food's just a bonus...I'll cut to the chase. You've got a big match on Sunday. Probably the biggest one you've had in your career. As your manager, I don't want you risking your physical well-being unnecessarily before then. That means plenty of rest and low-impact exercise. I'll talk to Wesker and see if he can prescribe you anything for the pain or to aid healing. If I catch you out practicing with steel chairs, I'll torment you from here to the end of existence. Got it?”
Andrew nods again, chuckling at his friend's persistence.
“Thank you. It means a lot to me that you care this much. You and Tempestad are my two real friends here, it seems. Oh, sure, I get name-checked a lot, and a lot of people want to face me, but in the end my worth is measured by one thing...”
He looks over to the title belt, resting on the counter.
“Or lack thereof. Everyone seems to think that this belt just doesn't deserve respect. It's patently ridiculous. If you look at the title's history, some of the biggest names in nCw have held this belt. Xavier Williams. Jack Hammond. Brad Kane. Trent Helms. Angel. Jimmy Zane. And, yes, Rob Diamond. All of these men are certifiably tough contenders. Three of them have been World Champion, and a fourth may be after Sunday. The X-Division Title can make future World Champions, no doubt.”
He looks to Emma.
“The X-Division motto is 'No Limits'. Sometimes...sometimes I feel I don't live up to that. Sometimes, I just feel like I'm too boring. Me, with my constant submission holds grounding the action. I'm no Brad Kane or Angel. I'm not even a Nelly Angel or a Jimmy Zane. How do I represent the X-Division?”
Emma sighs, patting his shoulder carefully.
“Andrew. You're a perfect example of 'No Limits'. You push yourself past most men's breaking points. Every week, you stretch the previously assumed limits of what could be done in the ring. You have no limits because you put yourself fully into every match. You're PERFECT for the X-Division. Just because you can't do a 720 shooting star corkscrew split-legged moonsault or something doesn't mean you're not right for the X-Division. Like that belt says, 'No Limits'. If you limit the idea of the X-Division to high-flying alone, it means you're betraying what the belt stands for.”
She smiles, hopeful. Andrew nods, digesting this particular piece of information.
“Thank you, Emma. I never looked at it like that...so, wanna order a movie and laugh our asses off?”
Emma grins wickedly, picking a beer up for each of them and handing one to him.
“You bet I do.”
Andrew grabs the remote and puts his arm around her shoulder, smiling as the scene fades to black.