Post by Andrew Jacobsen on Aug 14, 2010 0:29:49 GMT -6
We fade in on Andrew Jacobsen sitting alone in his locker room. No stablemates to congratulate him or offer advice. No women to shower him in adulation. Just him and his thoughts. He looks over to where a framed picture of the Revolution and Zelda Knite sits. He smiles a brief grin at the visual of Zelda pulling a face at Falcon right as the picture was taken, before looking back down and shaking his head. He pulls back one of his hand coverings, ensuring it's on all the way.
“What did I do wrong? Can someone please tell me that? I stood up for what I believed in. I saw what I thought was a couple of goons trying to intimidate a woman who, even if she can take any of them one on one, would probably have been the victim of a four-on-one beatdown, and I spoke up. And somehow I'm the bad guy in all of this. Somehow, Doc's managed to twist things around enough that I'm the villain here, that I was doing nothing but wrong. And then he starts flinging a bunch of generic insults my way.”
Andrew stands up, finding himself eye-to-eye with his replica X-Division Title that the company gave him when he won it the second time. His first is at home, his second he keeps with him on the road. Andrew shakes his head again, seeing himself reflected in the surfaces of the belt.
“Doc, I tried to show you respect. I went in assuming the best. But then you decided to show me that you haven't changed. You're just the same as the rest of your Young Guns buddies. What's that, you say? The Young Guns are the most successful group in pro wrestling history? Well, isn't that quite a claim. I mean, you've got a lot of hefty competition. I'd wager that the Four Horsemen were much, MUCH more successful. I mean, they were just...insanely good. Championship after championship. You're trying to put yourself and the rest of the Guns on a level that almost nobody can. Doc...you're overhyping yourself. And that just means that you've got as big a fall to take as the rest of us.”
He grabs the belt, testing its weight in his hands. Andrew closes his eyes and tries to remember the night he won the title...but all he can think of is people like Rob Diamond and Charlie Velez talking down to him. All he hears is Seth Evans and Alex Jones insulting him. Telling him he's nothing. That he's never going to be anything. His eyes snap open and he exhales, sitting back down.
“I've been told for almost a year now that I'm nothing. I've had everyone tell me that I'm just a pretty boy who doesn't belong in the ring, or that I'm a punk who has no respect, or that I'm bland and uninteresting, so nobody's going to care about me. I've been told to kill myself more times than I care to count. I've been compared to Chris Benoit. I have had a veritable MOUNTAIN of disrespect thrown my way...but then there are the guys that didn't. Men like Adam Knite. Brad Kane. Falcon. Legends. For every one of the locker room telling me that I'm useless and pathetic, there's another telling me that I've got all the potential in the world. When Kelly Knite first called me the future of nCw, it was eye-opening. I realized that I'm going to go places that I never thought I could. I realized that I'm going to be nCw Champion one day, and I promised myself that I'd work even harder than I had before that to make it happen. And I've been keeping that promise, through hell and high water. No matter what anyone else tells me, I am always going to keep fighting.”
He sets down the belt, chuckling to himself. Andrew looks off to the side, resting his hand on his knee.
“Doc, you tried to break me with words. You tried to tell me how I was weak and how I only defended Zelda because I wanted to sleep with her. Wake up, jackass. I did it because I have RESPECT. I did it because I hated seeing your buddy Charlie try to threaten her. I did it because I thought it was right, not because I thought I could get something from it. God, that's just it with you people. You think that everything has to have an ulterior motive. Everyone has to be trying to do something to get something else. I do what I do because I feel like I have to. I don't ask for anything. I never asked for a title shot against Velez. I just wanted the chance to kick his ass for what he said. He beat me, yeah. I won't deny that. But I pushed him further than anyone's taken him here. No matter what he wants to say about beating me down and making me look terrible, I know that we were both at our breaking points. He's had to use the Side Effect ONCE here. Against ME. Nobody else. Now what does that say about me? It says I'm resilient. It says I'm ready to hang with guys like Velez. And Doc...lest you forget, I've already beaten two-thirds of your team.”
He grins, leaning his head to one side to stretch a muscle in his neck. Andrew winces as it briefly hurts, then becomes relaxed. He sighs as it releases, relief flooding his body.
“That's why it's so funny to hear you talking about amnesia. Yeah, I know you eliminated me. But hearing you talk about how pathetic I supposedly am just makes me laugh. I beat you already, like I said. I beat Venom already. And Ron's not exactly the most solid of singles competitors. I remember perfectly. I remember that Leonard came out and said “The last two entrants are coming out at the same time. Why? Because I'm the boss, that's why.” And then you two came out and, well...yeah. So that's why I said it was Leonard's fault. But you know what? You're right, Doc. It's your ***damn fault for heaving me over the top.”
Andrew grins, standing again and setting aside the title belt. He walks to his locker, spinning the dials and opening it up. He reaches in, past the picture of himself and Emma from the night he won the X-Division belt, and grabs his jacket, shrugging it on. He smirks to himself as he pockets the picture and closes the locker. Andrew walks towards the door.
“So bring it on. Bring the infamous Boyhood Dream power. Kick my teeth in, knock me down, and show me why I should shut up and pay deference. Or prove Dave and Milo right. Show that you sacrificed what made the Young Guns so feared, so respected, just for the chance to get a bit further on the quick path. All I know about you is that I've got a fire in my belly and it won't be quenched until I've driven my point home and made sure that I get the respect that's coming my way. Because I'm done playing nice with people like you. I'm done being the good-natured dork that you people shove around. I'm going to remind people why I'm such a force to be reckoned with. Karras? That was just a taste of what happens when you really make me angry. See you boys on Sunday. And get ready for the storm.”
He walks out, shutting off the lights as he exits. This effectively cuts us to black once he closes the door.
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We fade back in on Emma Danielson, Andrew and Andrew's brother Rick at a bar. Andrew's got five or six empty beers in front of him, Rick has one empty and a half-full by him, and Emma just has a glass of Coke. She watches the two Jacobsen brothers talk to each other animatedly, grinning and sitting back. Andrew's behavior is a lot more exuberant than usual, probably because of the amount of alcohol coursing through his system. Rick...well, that's just how he is. Andrew shakes his head, laughing at a particularly nasty and hilarious joke Rick just told.
“Ahahah! Jesus, that's funny...yo, Rick. I gotta get your advice on this. What d'you think of my chances this time 'round? I mean, I'm up against the Tag Team Champions and...well, Gibson. Personally, I'm feeling pretty f***ing good. I've got the company's most LEGENDARY tag team on my side. I've already got the win over two of them. I beat the hell out of Karras even when they jumped me! I'm invincible! I'm...oh, right. You were gonna talk.”
Emma walks around to face both of them, drink in hand. Rick takes a sip of his beer, stroking his beard thoughtfully. Andrew leans forward in anticipation. After he contemplates what he's going to say for about twenty seconds, he speaks.
“I'm not sure, man. Doc and Venom are both really good wrestlers. Both of them are super-decorated champions. And Gibson? Dirty Deal's good too. Still, the Hollands already beat Gibson's dumb ass at the three-year show. They've got him covered easy. Besides, Ron's not exactly what most people would call stable...or competent...or clean...or...you get what I'm after, right? The man's not all there in the head. Venom, though...you gotta watch out for Venom. He's got the toolset to make your job a whole lot harder than it needs to be. You can take him, though. Just gotta try and take out the legs. No legs, no flippy-dippy stuff. Sweep the leg, Daniel-san!”
Andrew laughs, shaking his head. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, a mischevious twinkle in his eyes. Rick and Emma groan simultaneously, recognizing the look as the sign of “nothing good this way comes.” He looks between the two of them, trying to put on an innocent face (which neither of his buddies are buying for a heartbeat.)
“Hey...you wanna call some people? Y'know, leave stupid messages on their machines, same stuff if they pick up? Come on, it's gonna be fun. I promise. Look, next round's on me if you ain't satisfied...speaking of which...hey, bartender! 'nother Summit over here!”
Rick casts a querying glance over at Emma, who just shrugs and nods to the big man. Rick grins back at her, taking the phone from Andrew, who can do nothing but feebly protest. He pulls up his contact list, dialing up the Front Office hotline and handing the phone back to AJ. AJ sticks the phone up to his ear, listening to it ring. He gets the answering machine, rolling his eyes as the recording plays back, and immediately launches in when he is prompted to do so.
“Hey! Front Office! Andrew Jacobsen here. You know, the guy who's gonna kick your ASS at Ascension! I know you're feelin' under a lot of pressure here, having to step into the ring with the Master of Disaster, the Excellence of Execution, the Total Package, the Midwest Mauler himself, and one of the most legendary tag teams ever to walk the planet. But hey, no biggie. You can always come to the ring and throw in the towel. No shame in avoiding a pay-per-view-sized asswhooping. 'course, you'd just be proving me right when I say you're all spineless jellyfish whose sole reason for being in the company at all is having your heads so far up Leonard's ass you're seeing the inside of his large intestine, but eh. Small price to pay to keep your health. Anyway, where was I...oh yeah. You're all idiots, I rule, the Hollands rule, and the Revolution WILL be televised! SUCK IT, BITCHES!”
He hangs up, grinning ear to ear. Emma just blinks at him before laughing, putting an arm around Andrew. She grins at him, patting his back. Andrew looks to her with a befuddled expression on his face. Emma takes a sip of her Coke, sighing.
“Good stuff...look, Andy, as long as you're making calls...I think there's someone we both know you need to call. Someone important. Go ahead. Just get it out and over with. It'll be better for you, her, and all of us. Call her.”
Andrew nods somewhat soberly, dialing up another number. He gets the voicemail on this one too, but when it beeps for a message, Andrew speaks much more calmly and somewhat collected. He stumbles over his words a bit, nerves and alcohol combining to throw him off.
“H-hey, Zelda...it's Andrew...l-look, I know people have been saying a lot about me and you and Kyle and calling me jealous, but the truth is...the truth is...”
He sighs, shaking his head and bringing the phone back to his face.
“I am. I really am...but I'm happy too. Kyle's the luckiest man on the planet, because he's got you. Me? I'm just a dork from Minneapolis with no personality...still, I just wanted to be able to tell you...I sound like an idiot, don't I? Here I am, drunk-dialing the girl I have a crush on, and narrating everything to her answering machine. God, I'm pathetic. Look, Zelda...the point is...uhh...you're pretty and I hope you and Kyle have a great relationship? I don't even know why I called...good luck with Tara...bye.”
He hangs up, banging his head on the bar. Emma looks at him in surprise, Andrew burying his face in his forearms. He speaks into the counter, muffled but still intelligible.
“What's the point? I'm never going to get her...I never get it right. I'm always second-best, the also-ran, the guy on the sidelines when everything good happens. I feel so useless! I'm even taking a backseat to practically everyone else in the match this time around! What the hell went wrong? Can you tell me that, Em? Where did I go wrong?”
Emma rolls her eyes, pulling his head up and forcing him to look her in the eyes. Emma speaks to him, still holding him by the hair so he doesn't just thud back down on the bar.
“Listen to me, you. Nothing has gone wrong. You're improving. You're learning what you should and shouldn't do in the ring. You're just fine. You get the chance to work with the Hollands! Imagine how much you could get out of this. Andrew, your career's going nowhere but up. In ten years, you're going to be on Falcon's level or even better. Let her go, Andy. She can be your friend. She doesn't have to be your girlfriend. Now come on, I'm driving you back to the hotel.”
She nods to Rick, who moves to the other side of Andrew. They both loop one of AJ's arms around their shoulders and begin to walk off, Emma slapping down some payment on the bar. Andrew looks to the two of them, smiling at them with a slightly off-kilter expression.
“You guys are awesome...I gotta get some sleep...big day Sunday...ass kicking and...and...ooh, pretty lights...please take me home, Jeeves, I don't want to be around these plebians anymore...why does it smell like fish...”
Fade to black on an exasperated Emma and a grinning Rick walking AJ out of the bar.
“What did I do wrong? Can someone please tell me that? I stood up for what I believed in. I saw what I thought was a couple of goons trying to intimidate a woman who, even if she can take any of them one on one, would probably have been the victim of a four-on-one beatdown, and I spoke up. And somehow I'm the bad guy in all of this. Somehow, Doc's managed to twist things around enough that I'm the villain here, that I was doing nothing but wrong. And then he starts flinging a bunch of generic insults my way.”
Andrew stands up, finding himself eye-to-eye with his replica X-Division Title that the company gave him when he won it the second time. His first is at home, his second he keeps with him on the road. Andrew shakes his head again, seeing himself reflected in the surfaces of the belt.
“Doc, I tried to show you respect. I went in assuming the best. But then you decided to show me that you haven't changed. You're just the same as the rest of your Young Guns buddies. What's that, you say? The Young Guns are the most successful group in pro wrestling history? Well, isn't that quite a claim. I mean, you've got a lot of hefty competition. I'd wager that the Four Horsemen were much, MUCH more successful. I mean, they were just...insanely good. Championship after championship. You're trying to put yourself and the rest of the Guns on a level that almost nobody can. Doc...you're overhyping yourself. And that just means that you've got as big a fall to take as the rest of us.”
He grabs the belt, testing its weight in his hands. Andrew closes his eyes and tries to remember the night he won the title...but all he can think of is people like Rob Diamond and Charlie Velez talking down to him. All he hears is Seth Evans and Alex Jones insulting him. Telling him he's nothing. That he's never going to be anything. His eyes snap open and he exhales, sitting back down.
“I've been told for almost a year now that I'm nothing. I've had everyone tell me that I'm just a pretty boy who doesn't belong in the ring, or that I'm a punk who has no respect, or that I'm bland and uninteresting, so nobody's going to care about me. I've been told to kill myself more times than I care to count. I've been compared to Chris Benoit. I have had a veritable MOUNTAIN of disrespect thrown my way...but then there are the guys that didn't. Men like Adam Knite. Brad Kane. Falcon. Legends. For every one of the locker room telling me that I'm useless and pathetic, there's another telling me that I've got all the potential in the world. When Kelly Knite first called me the future of nCw, it was eye-opening. I realized that I'm going to go places that I never thought I could. I realized that I'm going to be nCw Champion one day, and I promised myself that I'd work even harder than I had before that to make it happen. And I've been keeping that promise, through hell and high water. No matter what anyone else tells me, I am always going to keep fighting.”
He sets down the belt, chuckling to himself. Andrew looks off to the side, resting his hand on his knee.
“Doc, you tried to break me with words. You tried to tell me how I was weak and how I only defended Zelda because I wanted to sleep with her. Wake up, jackass. I did it because I have RESPECT. I did it because I hated seeing your buddy Charlie try to threaten her. I did it because I thought it was right, not because I thought I could get something from it. God, that's just it with you people. You think that everything has to have an ulterior motive. Everyone has to be trying to do something to get something else. I do what I do because I feel like I have to. I don't ask for anything. I never asked for a title shot against Velez. I just wanted the chance to kick his ass for what he said. He beat me, yeah. I won't deny that. But I pushed him further than anyone's taken him here. No matter what he wants to say about beating me down and making me look terrible, I know that we were both at our breaking points. He's had to use the Side Effect ONCE here. Against ME. Nobody else. Now what does that say about me? It says I'm resilient. It says I'm ready to hang with guys like Velez. And Doc...lest you forget, I've already beaten two-thirds of your team.”
He grins, leaning his head to one side to stretch a muscle in his neck. Andrew winces as it briefly hurts, then becomes relaxed. He sighs as it releases, relief flooding his body.
“That's why it's so funny to hear you talking about amnesia. Yeah, I know you eliminated me. But hearing you talk about how pathetic I supposedly am just makes me laugh. I beat you already, like I said. I beat Venom already. And Ron's not exactly the most solid of singles competitors. I remember perfectly. I remember that Leonard came out and said “The last two entrants are coming out at the same time. Why? Because I'm the boss, that's why.” And then you two came out and, well...yeah. So that's why I said it was Leonard's fault. But you know what? You're right, Doc. It's your ***damn fault for heaving me over the top.”
Andrew grins, standing again and setting aside the title belt. He walks to his locker, spinning the dials and opening it up. He reaches in, past the picture of himself and Emma from the night he won the X-Division belt, and grabs his jacket, shrugging it on. He smirks to himself as he pockets the picture and closes the locker. Andrew walks towards the door.
“So bring it on. Bring the infamous Boyhood Dream power. Kick my teeth in, knock me down, and show me why I should shut up and pay deference. Or prove Dave and Milo right. Show that you sacrificed what made the Young Guns so feared, so respected, just for the chance to get a bit further on the quick path. All I know about you is that I've got a fire in my belly and it won't be quenched until I've driven my point home and made sure that I get the respect that's coming my way. Because I'm done playing nice with people like you. I'm done being the good-natured dork that you people shove around. I'm going to remind people why I'm such a force to be reckoned with. Karras? That was just a taste of what happens when you really make me angry. See you boys on Sunday. And get ready for the storm.”
He walks out, shutting off the lights as he exits. This effectively cuts us to black once he closes the door.
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We fade back in on Emma Danielson, Andrew and Andrew's brother Rick at a bar. Andrew's got five or six empty beers in front of him, Rick has one empty and a half-full by him, and Emma just has a glass of Coke. She watches the two Jacobsen brothers talk to each other animatedly, grinning and sitting back. Andrew's behavior is a lot more exuberant than usual, probably because of the amount of alcohol coursing through his system. Rick...well, that's just how he is. Andrew shakes his head, laughing at a particularly nasty and hilarious joke Rick just told.
“Ahahah! Jesus, that's funny...yo, Rick. I gotta get your advice on this. What d'you think of my chances this time 'round? I mean, I'm up against the Tag Team Champions and...well, Gibson. Personally, I'm feeling pretty f***ing good. I've got the company's most LEGENDARY tag team on my side. I've already got the win over two of them. I beat the hell out of Karras even when they jumped me! I'm invincible! I'm...oh, right. You were gonna talk.”
Emma walks around to face both of them, drink in hand. Rick takes a sip of his beer, stroking his beard thoughtfully. Andrew leans forward in anticipation. After he contemplates what he's going to say for about twenty seconds, he speaks.
“I'm not sure, man. Doc and Venom are both really good wrestlers. Both of them are super-decorated champions. And Gibson? Dirty Deal's good too. Still, the Hollands already beat Gibson's dumb ass at the three-year show. They've got him covered easy. Besides, Ron's not exactly what most people would call stable...or competent...or clean...or...you get what I'm after, right? The man's not all there in the head. Venom, though...you gotta watch out for Venom. He's got the toolset to make your job a whole lot harder than it needs to be. You can take him, though. Just gotta try and take out the legs. No legs, no flippy-dippy stuff. Sweep the leg, Daniel-san!”
Andrew laughs, shaking his head. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, a mischevious twinkle in his eyes. Rick and Emma groan simultaneously, recognizing the look as the sign of “nothing good this way comes.” He looks between the two of them, trying to put on an innocent face (which neither of his buddies are buying for a heartbeat.)
“Hey...you wanna call some people? Y'know, leave stupid messages on their machines, same stuff if they pick up? Come on, it's gonna be fun. I promise. Look, next round's on me if you ain't satisfied...speaking of which...hey, bartender! 'nother Summit over here!”
Rick casts a querying glance over at Emma, who just shrugs and nods to the big man. Rick grins back at her, taking the phone from Andrew, who can do nothing but feebly protest. He pulls up his contact list, dialing up the Front Office hotline and handing the phone back to AJ. AJ sticks the phone up to his ear, listening to it ring. He gets the answering machine, rolling his eyes as the recording plays back, and immediately launches in when he is prompted to do so.
“Hey! Front Office! Andrew Jacobsen here. You know, the guy who's gonna kick your ASS at Ascension! I know you're feelin' under a lot of pressure here, having to step into the ring with the Master of Disaster, the Excellence of Execution, the Total Package, the Midwest Mauler himself, and one of the most legendary tag teams ever to walk the planet. But hey, no biggie. You can always come to the ring and throw in the towel. No shame in avoiding a pay-per-view-sized asswhooping. 'course, you'd just be proving me right when I say you're all spineless jellyfish whose sole reason for being in the company at all is having your heads so far up Leonard's ass you're seeing the inside of his large intestine, but eh. Small price to pay to keep your health. Anyway, where was I...oh yeah. You're all idiots, I rule, the Hollands rule, and the Revolution WILL be televised! SUCK IT, BITCHES!”
He hangs up, grinning ear to ear. Emma just blinks at him before laughing, putting an arm around Andrew. She grins at him, patting his back. Andrew looks to her with a befuddled expression on his face. Emma takes a sip of her Coke, sighing.
“Good stuff...look, Andy, as long as you're making calls...I think there's someone we both know you need to call. Someone important. Go ahead. Just get it out and over with. It'll be better for you, her, and all of us. Call her.”
Andrew nods somewhat soberly, dialing up another number. He gets the voicemail on this one too, but when it beeps for a message, Andrew speaks much more calmly and somewhat collected. He stumbles over his words a bit, nerves and alcohol combining to throw him off.
“H-hey, Zelda...it's Andrew...l-look, I know people have been saying a lot about me and you and Kyle and calling me jealous, but the truth is...the truth is...”
He sighs, shaking his head and bringing the phone back to his face.
“I am. I really am...but I'm happy too. Kyle's the luckiest man on the planet, because he's got you. Me? I'm just a dork from Minneapolis with no personality...still, I just wanted to be able to tell you...I sound like an idiot, don't I? Here I am, drunk-dialing the girl I have a crush on, and narrating everything to her answering machine. God, I'm pathetic. Look, Zelda...the point is...uhh...you're pretty and I hope you and Kyle have a great relationship? I don't even know why I called...good luck with Tara...bye.”
He hangs up, banging his head on the bar. Emma looks at him in surprise, Andrew burying his face in his forearms. He speaks into the counter, muffled but still intelligible.
“What's the point? I'm never going to get her...I never get it right. I'm always second-best, the also-ran, the guy on the sidelines when everything good happens. I feel so useless! I'm even taking a backseat to practically everyone else in the match this time around! What the hell went wrong? Can you tell me that, Em? Where did I go wrong?”
Emma rolls her eyes, pulling his head up and forcing him to look her in the eyes. Emma speaks to him, still holding him by the hair so he doesn't just thud back down on the bar.
“Listen to me, you. Nothing has gone wrong. You're improving. You're learning what you should and shouldn't do in the ring. You're just fine. You get the chance to work with the Hollands! Imagine how much you could get out of this. Andrew, your career's going nowhere but up. In ten years, you're going to be on Falcon's level or even better. Let her go, Andy. She can be your friend. She doesn't have to be your girlfriend. Now come on, I'm driving you back to the hotel.”
She nods to Rick, who moves to the other side of Andrew. They both loop one of AJ's arms around their shoulders and begin to walk off, Emma slapping down some payment on the bar. Andrew looks to the two of them, smiling at them with a slightly off-kilter expression.
“You guys are awesome...I gotta get some sleep...big day Sunday...ass kicking and...and...ooh, pretty lights...please take me home, Jeeves, I don't want to be around these plebians anymore...why does it smell like fish...”
Fade to black on an exasperated Emma and a grinning Rick walking AJ out of the bar.