Post by Andrew Jacobsen on Feb 23, 2010 23:16:15 GMT -6
Andrew staggers out of the ring after his match with Gib, passing Angel in the aisle. He walks straight backstage, no attention being paid to what the World Champion has to say to the newly-defeated Millennium Icon. He walks for the locker room, dizzy. Everything echoes in his ears, but the first coherent words he hears are:
“Are you okay? Andrew, are you okay?! TALK TO ME!”
He shakes himself out of his reverie to see Emma Danielson holding his shoulders, a concerned expression all over her face. He nods wearily, and Emma pulls him to her, hugging him tightly.
“Thank God. I wouldn't want you screwed up badly before your title defense...man, it's good to know you didn't get permanently hurt. C'mon, let's get you some food and some rest. I'll drive.”
Andrew groans as she says this. Emma releases the hug, looking at him carefully.
“Did I squeeze an injury or something? What's wrong, Andrew?”
He looks to her, grinning through the pain.
“Nothing...I just hate your driving.”
Emma goes to smack him, but reconsiders, and just ruffles his hair. The two smile as they walk away. Fade to black.
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Andrew walks into view of the camera wearing his windbreaker-shirt-and-jeans combo, holding his temple. He's clearly still feeling the effects of the hardest right hand in professional wrestling as he sits down for his segment, X-Division Title as shiny as ever over his shoulder. He chuckles to himself as he sits down.
“Ahh...nothing like getting the lights knocked out of you by Gib to help you focus. So, as you now know, Paul, I won my match against the Millennium Icon. I hate to brag, but I did what you couldn't. Does that intimidate you coming into our match at Crossroads? It might, but that's just how it goes, I guess. Paul, I know we've had a bit of an issue in the past, that being me tweaking your wrist when I threw you out of the Riot and putting you on the shelf for a few weeks. That's history. Here we are NOW with your first title shot in nCw, against a man who's arguably one of the fastest-rising stars this company has ever seen. Paul, you're good. More than just that, you're damn good. You've got the skill to be a real star, no pun intended. But I've gone over your matches since your debut here. You beat Blackheart. Big deal, I've beaten him twice. You got pinned by Sexy Jason. I made him tap. You beat Bates and pinned Cobain. I pinned Bates at Metamorphosis. You beat Atreyu, which is something I can't say I've done, so big props there. Of course, you beat Mr. Red for the #1 contender's position. Not to neglect Hammond or Freakke, but I beat Freakke and I took Hammond out of the Riot Preview. And then came our six-man and the fatal four-way, and we both know how that went. Overall, not bad. But here's the trick: your wins don't mean nearly as much as they do on paper, because you've never wrestled someone like me.”
Andrew sits forward, clearing his throat as he continues.
“I don't even just mean you've never really wrestled me specifically. I mean you've never gone up against someone with a suplex-and-submission style like mine. I've got the knowledge and moveset to leave you writhing in pain within five minutes. Paul, question: how long have you been doing this? How much experience as a wrestler do you have? Is it enough to beat me? I've beaten some of the veterans of this company. Who've you beaten that's worthwhile? Blackheart, who's gone after being a big, angry loser for so long? Chris Cobain, the world's biggest loudmouth? Mr. Red, a man who talks a big game but wrestles like a greenhorn? The only man I can look at that you've beaten and say 'that's a hell of an achievement' is Atreyu. Me? I've beaten Gib, making me one of only a few men who can say that at all. I beat Rob Diamond and ended the longest singles title reign in nCw history. I beat Kristoff Bates, one of those men who beat Gib and a thoroughly deranged indvidual. I took Angel to the limit and almost took him down for the three. You? You've got no achievements that threaten me.”
He balls his fist, grinning even as he shakes his head.
“I really don't want to be hostile, I don't want to make this a back-and-forth angry war of words. But some things are expected from us. One of them is this trash-talking repartee. I was never great at it, but I've been trying to improve all my life. Don't let Shane force that respect out of you, Paul. If you're an asshole all the way, it won't get you anywhere. Paul, I want to go at it with you one-on-one. I want to know if you think you've got the skill, the HEART to be the X-Division champion.”
Andrew stares icily into the camera.
“If you don't have the HEART to be the champion, if you don't have the passion to be the X-Division Champion, then I will show you no mercy. It's not enough to just have the match. You've got to WANT it. Tell me that, Paul. How badly do you WANT it? You had better put yourself one-hundred percent into not only this championship match, but if you beat me, you put every ounce of yourself into proving that you're WORTHY of holding that title.”
He holds up the X-Division Title for the camera to focus on.
“This belt's pedigree demands that you take it seriously. No matter how many people try to devalue it with words—Gib, Bates, Rob Diamond—it doesn't matter. You prove them wrong with actions. After all, actions speak louder than words do. Paul, let's you and me speak loud in the ring. You're a great athlete, so I expect a great match. I know I'm definitely not a veteran—hell, I entered this company only a month and a half before you did—but I've got a lot more in-ring experience and I've got a responsibility to defend my title. You're hungry, Paul. I can hear it in your voice and see it in your eyes. But I won't let you take my belt from me. I'm not letting go. Not until I shatter Rob Diamond's longevity record and become the longest- reigning champion not only in X-Division history, but in nCw history. I question your heart only because I want you to respond and show me that you've got it. Do you live for the money? Or do you live for the moment? The rush, the thrill of competition? Do you live for the business? Or do you live for business?”
Andrew fastens his belt around his waist, looking back up.
“This belt's right around my waist at this moment, and after Sunday, it'll still be around my waist. At least, that's what I'm claiming right now. I challenge you, Paul. Step up. Prove. Me. Wrong. Show me that you've got what it takes to put me down and become the next X-Division Champion. I have this belt for a reason, and I'm not going to give it up without the fight of your life. Be warned, Paul. Once we step between those ropes, there's no turning back. I'll use every tool in my arsenal to keep you down. You've got plenty too, don't get me wrong. Like your new-ish finisher...”
Andrew sighs, shaking his head and resting a hand on his hip.
“You say you've injected some attitude, Paul. It extends your finisher name, the Attitude Injection. I don't need an attitude injection. I've got enough of an attitude already. It might not be as up front and in-your-face, but that's because I don't need to be that way. Look at you, Paul. You're putting on an act. I can tell you're the same guy I've seen since his debut under the fur and the machismo. Paul, get your head out of your fur-coated ass and look at yourself. Please. Just bring your best. I'll bring mine. And may the best man win.”
He walks off. End scene.
“Are you okay? Andrew, are you okay?! TALK TO ME!”
He shakes himself out of his reverie to see Emma Danielson holding his shoulders, a concerned expression all over her face. He nods wearily, and Emma pulls him to her, hugging him tightly.
“Thank God. I wouldn't want you screwed up badly before your title defense...man, it's good to know you didn't get permanently hurt. C'mon, let's get you some food and some rest. I'll drive.”
Andrew groans as she says this. Emma releases the hug, looking at him carefully.
“Did I squeeze an injury or something? What's wrong, Andrew?”
He looks to her, grinning through the pain.
“Nothing...I just hate your driving.”
Emma goes to smack him, but reconsiders, and just ruffles his hair. The two smile as they walk away. Fade to black.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Andrew walks into view of the camera wearing his windbreaker-shirt-and-jeans combo, holding his temple. He's clearly still feeling the effects of the hardest right hand in professional wrestling as he sits down for his segment, X-Division Title as shiny as ever over his shoulder. He chuckles to himself as he sits down.
“Ahh...nothing like getting the lights knocked out of you by Gib to help you focus. So, as you now know, Paul, I won my match against the Millennium Icon. I hate to brag, but I did what you couldn't. Does that intimidate you coming into our match at Crossroads? It might, but that's just how it goes, I guess. Paul, I know we've had a bit of an issue in the past, that being me tweaking your wrist when I threw you out of the Riot and putting you on the shelf for a few weeks. That's history. Here we are NOW with your first title shot in nCw, against a man who's arguably one of the fastest-rising stars this company has ever seen. Paul, you're good. More than just that, you're damn good. You've got the skill to be a real star, no pun intended. But I've gone over your matches since your debut here. You beat Blackheart. Big deal, I've beaten him twice. You got pinned by Sexy Jason. I made him tap. You beat Bates and pinned Cobain. I pinned Bates at Metamorphosis. You beat Atreyu, which is something I can't say I've done, so big props there. Of course, you beat Mr. Red for the #1 contender's position. Not to neglect Hammond or Freakke, but I beat Freakke and I took Hammond out of the Riot Preview. And then came our six-man and the fatal four-way, and we both know how that went. Overall, not bad. But here's the trick: your wins don't mean nearly as much as they do on paper, because you've never wrestled someone like me.”
Andrew sits forward, clearing his throat as he continues.
“I don't even just mean you've never really wrestled me specifically. I mean you've never gone up against someone with a suplex-and-submission style like mine. I've got the knowledge and moveset to leave you writhing in pain within five minutes. Paul, question: how long have you been doing this? How much experience as a wrestler do you have? Is it enough to beat me? I've beaten some of the veterans of this company. Who've you beaten that's worthwhile? Blackheart, who's gone after being a big, angry loser for so long? Chris Cobain, the world's biggest loudmouth? Mr. Red, a man who talks a big game but wrestles like a greenhorn? The only man I can look at that you've beaten and say 'that's a hell of an achievement' is Atreyu. Me? I've beaten Gib, making me one of only a few men who can say that at all. I beat Rob Diamond and ended the longest singles title reign in nCw history. I beat Kristoff Bates, one of those men who beat Gib and a thoroughly deranged indvidual. I took Angel to the limit and almost took him down for the three. You? You've got no achievements that threaten me.”
He balls his fist, grinning even as he shakes his head.
“I really don't want to be hostile, I don't want to make this a back-and-forth angry war of words. But some things are expected from us. One of them is this trash-talking repartee. I was never great at it, but I've been trying to improve all my life. Don't let Shane force that respect out of you, Paul. If you're an asshole all the way, it won't get you anywhere. Paul, I want to go at it with you one-on-one. I want to know if you think you've got the skill, the HEART to be the X-Division champion.”
Andrew stares icily into the camera.
“If you don't have the HEART to be the champion, if you don't have the passion to be the X-Division Champion, then I will show you no mercy. It's not enough to just have the match. You've got to WANT it. Tell me that, Paul. How badly do you WANT it? You had better put yourself one-hundred percent into not only this championship match, but if you beat me, you put every ounce of yourself into proving that you're WORTHY of holding that title.”
He holds up the X-Division Title for the camera to focus on.
“This belt's pedigree demands that you take it seriously. No matter how many people try to devalue it with words—Gib, Bates, Rob Diamond—it doesn't matter. You prove them wrong with actions. After all, actions speak louder than words do. Paul, let's you and me speak loud in the ring. You're a great athlete, so I expect a great match. I know I'm definitely not a veteran—hell, I entered this company only a month and a half before you did—but I've got a lot more in-ring experience and I've got a responsibility to defend my title. You're hungry, Paul. I can hear it in your voice and see it in your eyes. But I won't let you take my belt from me. I'm not letting go. Not until I shatter Rob Diamond's longevity record and become the longest- reigning champion not only in X-Division history, but in nCw history. I question your heart only because I want you to respond and show me that you've got it. Do you live for the money? Or do you live for the moment? The rush, the thrill of competition? Do you live for the business? Or do you live for business?”
Andrew fastens his belt around his waist, looking back up.
“This belt's right around my waist at this moment, and after Sunday, it'll still be around my waist. At least, that's what I'm claiming right now. I challenge you, Paul. Step up. Prove. Me. Wrong. Show me that you've got what it takes to put me down and become the next X-Division Champion. I have this belt for a reason, and I'm not going to give it up without the fight of your life. Be warned, Paul. Once we step between those ropes, there's no turning back. I'll use every tool in my arsenal to keep you down. You've got plenty too, don't get me wrong. Like your new-ish finisher...”
Andrew sighs, shaking his head and resting a hand on his hip.
“You say you've injected some attitude, Paul. It extends your finisher name, the Attitude Injection. I don't need an attitude injection. I've got enough of an attitude already. It might not be as up front and in-your-face, but that's because I don't need to be that way. Look at you, Paul. You're putting on an act. I can tell you're the same guy I've seen since his debut under the fur and the machismo. Paul, get your head out of your fur-coated ass and look at yourself. Please. Just bring your best. I'll bring mine. And may the best man win.”
He walks off. End scene.