Post by Andrew Jacobsen on Oct 23, 2010 17:05:29 GMT -6
Open on Andrew Jacobsen on the balcony of his hotel room. The wind whips his hair a bit, a natural byproduct of his location fifteen floors up. He leans on the railing, his black collared shirt freshly ironed. Andrew looks like a man with nowhere to go, but who'll look good when he gets there.
"Kyle, the last thing you want to do to me is tell me that I need to pay my dues. If I've fallen into the stereotype of the cocky rookie who's trying to move up too fast, you're a classic example of the veteran who's resentful of a rookie's success in a short period of time. I have nothing but respect for you. I'm not the other AJ. It's that respect for you that fuels me, because I know that you can be deadly when provoked. I'm walking a damn tightrope now, and one slip means I'm dead."
As he finishes that sentence, he looks down. Andrew shudders at the thought of a fall from this height, a small part of him casually noting that it would keep someone down for a ten count. He pushes those thoughts deep into the back of his mind, shaking his head.
"I know you have that little alarm going off in the back of your head saying "I told you so." Tell it it's wrong. I didn't do anything with Zelda except prove that Mikko Koivu's a beast on NHL 2K11. She's my friend, nothing more. If you want to invent all sorts of scenarios in your head, I can't stop you. I can just tell you you're wrong. You really are, Kyle. I don't know how I can convince you. All I can do is try to beat it out of you. That's going to be a hell of a task for sure."
Andrew shakes his head, resolute grimace not leaving his face. He looks over to another balcony, where a woman that looks for all the world like Scarlett Johansson is sipping a drink. His eyes meet hers, and he feels a momentary longing, but dismisses it as some sort of primal instinct. AJ looks away, back out at the city.
"I won't back down, though. I won't stop jut because you accuse me of thinking with the wrong head. You haven't lost anyone's respect. The only man who thinks you're less of a wrestler than you were is you. I know that the man who called himself World Champion this time last year is still in there. Come on out, Bird-boy. Come out here and make men fear your very name again. Remind us why you were so terrifying to begin with. Open up on me and let me take the pain. Do whatever you want to get this demon out of your head, just...get it out."
His eyes narrow now, and he begins drumming on the faux-marble rail in an irregular pattern of double beats. It's quickly recognizable as a reasonable approximation of a heartbeat. Andrew keeps staring and tapping, shutting out the rest of the world.
"You want your thank you? Fine. Thank you. Now pick yourself up off the floor and keep on going. Stop wallowing in your own pity and...and...friggin' nut up! Don't make all this praise worthless! If you give me so much as one IOTA less than one hundred and ten percent, I'm going to dissect you like a frog and toss you aside. You want me to make you stand aside? I want you to put the fear of God in me. You think you're crazy? Pal, I've done crazy. I'm better than crazy. It'll take some patented Falcon X-Division insanity to make me even consider not getting back up and carrying on."
He chuckles to himself, looking back down again as his thoughts swim. Andrew hears echoed insults from his past, trying to shut them out. Some of them fade away, but others grow ever louder, one of the voices being the characteristic sneer of Rob Diamond.
"I've been running on determination and raw athleticism so long...see, if all I was was raw heart, I would never have gotten where I am now. Like it or not, I've matured for the better. This has been the longest year of my life. I've been through a lot. But it definitely isn't like the last time we fought. I was close to beating you then. After another match, getting to know your weaknesses and your tells? I've got you now. I hope I do. The alternative is not a pretty one at all."
More words float through his head. The fingerbeat switches from a heart to a completely arrhythmic, staccato beat. He grips the rail tightly with his other hands, and Andrew scans the skyline for some sign of comfort, something to remind him of home. He finds nothing.
"I'm tired of people deriding me for my inexperience. I've shown that I'm as good as I say. What more does it take to make you see what I mean? I'll literally do anything to make that impression...Falcon, you know better than anyone what it feels like to be forgotten. I'm trying to make sure that doesn't happen. I didn't want it this way, though. I didn't want to lose a man I considered a mentor and a friend. I didn't want another friend to become caught in the crossfire. No more. It ends Sunday. If I have to put you in the room next to Rob, so be it. So freaking help me, you are going down and you are STAYING there."
Andrew stops himself, sighing and turning away. He leans his back on the rail now, eyes closed. He takes in the sounds of the city: slots, music, magic acts, milling crowds, Criss Angel being an idiot. He shakes his head, feeling relieved now.
"I know what you're thinking. I understand how you feel. I swear I'm not lying to you one ounce. I respect you too much to lie like that. This match is going to settle the score. Third of three. The blowoff. The grand finale. If nothing else, Kyle...you are the toughest bastard I've ever worked with. You're right up there with Gib. All I can really say to you now is...well...bring your best, man. I promise to bring mine. And may the best man...absolutely the best man...win."
Andrew sighs, looking down. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, dialing a number. The phone rings as he looks around anxiously. It goes to voicemail, and we hear a familiarly terse voice over the speaker.
"You've reached Emma Danielson's phone. I didn't pick up, so if you really think it's worth bothering me, leave your name and number at the beep, okay? Bye."
It beeps, and Andrew takes a deep breath, a thousand thoughts racing through his head at once. He speaks nervously, like a guilty child apologizing to his parents.
"Hey, Emma. It's me. I just wanted to apologize for what I said earlier...it was late, I was frustrated...look, before the show, do you want to go get dinner or something? I'll buy. Just...give me a call. Please."
He hangs up, but he barely has his phone back in his pocket before the familiar opening of "This Calling" roars from it. He grins as he answers, barely able to contain himself.
"Hello?"
Emma speaks back, somewhat shyly, which is completely out of character for her. Andrew actually looks at his phone to make sure it's her on the other end.
"Hey, Andrew...what's up?"
He fumbles with his words, pacing nervously back and forth.
"I, uh, was wondering if you'd maybe want to get dinner or something tonight. Y'know, before our big matches and stuff. Catch up, hang out...for old time's sake? O-of course, if you don't want to—"
He's cut off by the sound of Emma laughing. He remains silent for a few seconds, and eventually her laughter dies down into a sigh.
"You're a dork, Jacobsen. Meet you in the lobby in ten."
She hangs up, and a second passes before it clicks in Andrew's mind that she said yes. He whoops in joy, running back into his hotel room as we fade to black on him hastily getting ready.
"Kyle, the last thing you want to do to me is tell me that I need to pay my dues. If I've fallen into the stereotype of the cocky rookie who's trying to move up too fast, you're a classic example of the veteran who's resentful of a rookie's success in a short period of time. I have nothing but respect for you. I'm not the other AJ. It's that respect for you that fuels me, because I know that you can be deadly when provoked. I'm walking a damn tightrope now, and one slip means I'm dead."
As he finishes that sentence, he looks down. Andrew shudders at the thought of a fall from this height, a small part of him casually noting that it would keep someone down for a ten count. He pushes those thoughts deep into the back of his mind, shaking his head.
"I know you have that little alarm going off in the back of your head saying "I told you so." Tell it it's wrong. I didn't do anything with Zelda except prove that Mikko Koivu's a beast on NHL 2K11. She's my friend, nothing more. If you want to invent all sorts of scenarios in your head, I can't stop you. I can just tell you you're wrong. You really are, Kyle. I don't know how I can convince you. All I can do is try to beat it out of you. That's going to be a hell of a task for sure."
Andrew shakes his head, resolute grimace not leaving his face. He looks over to another balcony, where a woman that looks for all the world like Scarlett Johansson is sipping a drink. His eyes meet hers, and he feels a momentary longing, but dismisses it as some sort of primal instinct. AJ looks away, back out at the city.
"I won't back down, though. I won't stop jut because you accuse me of thinking with the wrong head. You haven't lost anyone's respect. The only man who thinks you're less of a wrestler than you were is you. I know that the man who called himself World Champion this time last year is still in there. Come on out, Bird-boy. Come out here and make men fear your very name again. Remind us why you were so terrifying to begin with. Open up on me and let me take the pain. Do whatever you want to get this demon out of your head, just...get it out."
His eyes narrow now, and he begins drumming on the faux-marble rail in an irregular pattern of double beats. It's quickly recognizable as a reasonable approximation of a heartbeat. Andrew keeps staring and tapping, shutting out the rest of the world.
"You want your thank you? Fine. Thank you. Now pick yourself up off the floor and keep on going. Stop wallowing in your own pity and...and...friggin' nut up! Don't make all this praise worthless! If you give me so much as one IOTA less than one hundred and ten percent, I'm going to dissect you like a frog and toss you aside. You want me to make you stand aside? I want you to put the fear of God in me. You think you're crazy? Pal, I've done crazy. I'm better than crazy. It'll take some patented Falcon X-Division insanity to make me even consider not getting back up and carrying on."
He chuckles to himself, looking back down again as his thoughts swim. Andrew hears echoed insults from his past, trying to shut them out. Some of them fade away, but others grow ever louder, one of the voices being the characteristic sneer of Rob Diamond.
"I've been running on determination and raw athleticism so long...see, if all I was was raw heart, I would never have gotten where I am now. Like it or not, I've matured for the better. This has been the longest year of my life. I've been through a lot. But it definitely isn't like the last time we fought. I was close to beating you then. After another match, getting to know your weaknesses and your tells? I've got you now. I hope I do. The alternative is not a pretty one at all."
More words float through his head. The fingerbeat switches from a heart to a completely arrhythmic, staccato beat. He grips the rail tightly with his other hands, and Andrew scans the skyline for some sign of comfort, something to remind him of home. He finds nothing.
"I'm tired of people deriding me for my inexperience. I've shown that I'm as good as I say. What more does it take to make you see what I mean? I'll literally do anything to make that impression...Falcon, you know better than anyone what it feels like to be forgotten. I'm trying to make sure that doesn't happen. I didn't want it this way, though. I didn't want to lose a man I considered a mentor and a friend. I didn't want another friend to become caught in the crossfire. No more. It ends Sunday. If I have to put you in the room next to Rob, so be it. So freaking help me, you are going down and you are STAYING there."
Andrew stops himself, sighing and turning away. He leans his back on the rail now, eyes closed. He takes in the sounds of the city: slots, music, magic acts, milling crowds, Criss Angel being an idiot. He shakes his head, feeling relieved now.
"I know what you're thinking. I understand how you feel. I swear I'm not lying to you one ounce. I respect you too much to lie like that. This match is going to settle the score. Third of three. The blowoff. The grand finale. If nothing else, Kyle...you are the toughest bastard I've ever worked with. You're right up there with Gib. All I can really say to you now is...well...bring your best, man. I promise to bring mine. And may the best man...absolutely the best man...win."
Andrew sighs, looking down. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, dialing a number. The phone rings as he looks around anxiously. It goes to voicemail, and we hear a familiarly terse voice over the speaker.
"You've reached Emma Danielson's phone. I didn't pick up, so if you really think it's worth bothering me, leave your name and number at the beep, okay? Bye."
It beeps, and Andrew takes a deep breath, a thousand thoughts racing through his head at once. He speaks nervously, like a guilty child apologizing to his parents.
"Hey, Emma. It's me. I just wanted to apologize for what I said earlier...it was late, I was frustrated...look, before the show, do you want to go get dinner or something? I'll buy. Just...give me a call. Please."
He hangs up, but he barely has his phone back in his pocket before the familiar opening of "This Calling" roars from it. He grins as he answers, barely able to contain himself.
"Hello?"
Emma speaks back, somewhat shyly, which is completely out of character for her. Andrew actually looks at his phone to make sure it's her on the other end.
"Hey, Andrew...what's up?"
He fumbles with his words, pacing nervously back and forth.
"I, uh, was wondering if you'd maybe want to get dinner or something tonight. Y'know, before our big matches and stuff. Catch up, hang out...for old time's sake? O-of course, if you don't want to—"
He's cut off by the sound of Emma laughing. He remains silent for a few seconds, and eventually her laughter dies down into a sigh.
"You're a dork, Jacobsen. Meet you in the lobby in ten."
She hangs up, and a second passes before it clicks in Andrew's mind that she said yes. He whoops in joy, running back into his hotel room as we fade to black on him hastily getting ready.