Post by Andrew Jacobsen on Feb 5, 2011 0:19:59 GMT -6
We open on Andrew Jacobsen sitting in his hotel room, with a yellow legal pad in front of him. He’s rubbing the bridge of his nose with one hand, punching a number into his phone with the other. Andrew puts the phone to his ear, listening to it ring. He taps his foot impatiently as he gets nothing but dead air. The person on the other end picks up after a few rings, and he’s clearly relieved that they did so.
“Hello? Yeah, I’d like to place an order for delivery…yeah, one Philly Cheesesteak sandwich, one large deep dish with pepperoni, green olives and mushrooms, one medium with sausage and black olives, and three orders of breadsticks…yeah, my name’s Andrew Jacobsen…I’ll be paying cash…uhh, do you guys deliver to hotels? You do? Good…okay, it’s 333 East Jefferson Avenue…room number’s 721…okay. See you then, and thanks.”
He hangs up, sighing. Andrew waits a few seconds, drumming on the tabletop idly. He remembers what he was going to do, and grabs his phone again, picking a number out of his contact list. He refrains from dialing for a second, looking out towards the windows.
“Dammit...I need to unwind before a match like this. I've killed myself training for matches before...that never helps...yeah, this is a good idea. Besides, you don't get enough opportunities to be around your friends as-is...now make the damn call and stop talking to yourself.”
He hits the name, dialing. The person on the other end picks up almost immediately. Andrew begins speaking with a professional demeanor.
“Hello? Hey, it’s Andrew…how’re you doing?...Good to hear. Hey, I’ve got a couple movies queued up on demand and some pizza on the way. Would you want to hang out? I’m making the phone rounds, trying to get ahold of everyone…yes, including them…okay, you’re right. If I cockblock Rob one more time, he just might snap. But really, is it my fault I call just when he was about to get lucky?...Heh, yeah…I’ve got everything handled. Besides, that sounds explosive, and not in the good way…alright, the food should be here in about 20-30 minutes. I’m in Room 721. See you then.”
Andrew hangs up, crossing a name off the list. He dials again, waiting. This time, it goes to voicemail, and Andrew waits for the (surprisingly brief) spiel to end before speaking.
“Hey Ander, it’s AJ. I was wondering if you and Roxxxie were doing anything tonight. Rented a few movies on demand, ordered some pizza…if you guys want to head over, I’m in Room 721. Talk to you later. Bye.”
Andrew sighs, hanging up again. He dials another number, listening to it ring, and this time we get to hear the other end of the conversation.
“Y'ello?”
Andrew breaks into a huge grin upon hearing her voice.
“Emma? Hey, it's Andrew. You busy tonight?”
“No...what's up?”
He leans back in his chair, grinning to himself.
“Well, I ordered up some food, and I've got some movies lined up. Thought we could kill some time. Hell, I already got Temp lined up, and you know how he is when it comes to the whole “interacting with people” thing. Whaddya say? Want to kill some time?”
Emma chuckles, nodding. She juggles the phone a bit, trying to keep control of it, but responds anyway.
“Hell yeah. Sounds like a good time for everyone involved. What room are you in?”
“721.”
“What a coincidence...”
A knock comes at AJ's door, startling him. He walks over, opening the door to reveal a grinning Emma Danielson, cellphone in hand.
“I was just walking by there.”
Andrew has no response but to grin at her. Emma grins back, walking in and hugging AJ briefly before heading to the couch and sitting down.
“So what sort of movies do we have?”
Andrew sits down, talking with Emma as we fade to black.
__________________________________________________
We fade back in on Andrew outside the Michigan Central Depot. He's got his jacket pulled tighter around himself, but he wears a smile on his face a mile wide. Andrew looks behind himself at the towering structure, taking a moment to let the grandeur and sheer scale of the building really settle on him. He speaks as he looks up, seemingly not focused on the camera.
“The Michigan Central Depot...that thing is massive. It's got to be one of the biggest buildings of its kind in the nation, if not the world...and it stands here, completely silent. The trains haven't gone through here since I was two. It just stands as a monument to an era gone by...which is kind of a fitting description for you, Steve. A reminder of a forgotten time. Honestly, if it was all like you, I'd rather it stay forgotten.”
He looks back down, shaking his head in disapppointment. Andrew walks along a bit more, a smile on his face as he does so. The cameraman follows him, and Andrew sighs to himself, adjusting his gloves as he crunches through the snow.
“I know you're going to protest that you were competing for the World Title just last summer. But honestly, Steve...the only way you stayed relevant was by attaching your bloated carcass to MY rising star. You saw that the fans loved me, and realized you could get a few more minutes of fame by screwing my mom. Congratulations, you're officially the five hundredth guy to go where every man has gone before. Want a cookie? Or, more accurately, some antibiotics?”
Andrew grins, looking up at the camera and mouthing “Sorry, Mom.” He chuckles to himself, stopping and finding a bench to sit down on. Andrew folds his hands on his lap, looking up at the camera again with a smirk that almost evokes the image of the Awesome One himself.
“I'll get to my mom another time. Steve, you wrecked my partners by association. More than that...my friends have had their careers radically altered because of you. Will Washington became a hollow shell of himself, and we haven't seen him in months. Brad Kane? BK went from hard-fighting warrior to apathetic bastard in a record landspeed...but that's par for the course for him, so that doesn't count. And Adam...we all know what you put Adam through. No need to repeat that. There is a happy ending. First, you brag about going undefeated until Sovereign, and promptly lose your first real match in that “streak” to my old friend Tempestad. Second, you agree to a match where I get to do anything I can to you to make you say those three words...and third, I dismantle you like you were an old wreck at the scrapheap before making you scream them to the entirety of the nCw audience. Sounds like a pretty storybook ending to me. How about you?”
Andrew grins to himself again, shifting a bit because of the cold. He looks around, his nose beginning to turn pink from the exposure, and rubs that briefly to get some warmth and blood flow back into it.
“Look, Steve. We all know that I'm going to kick your ass from pillar to post, the real question is just HOW I'm going to do it. Well, Steve-o, I've been talking with a few old friends, and I've gotta tell you, some of the things they suggested are just brutal...although where I'm going to get an electric carving knife and a welding torch in the Joe Louis Arena is beyond me. I digress. You claimed that you were a cancer, eating away at me? This Sunday, I excise you. I rip you from my body and from my life, throw you aside, and let you fester in your own hate. I have partners. I have friends. You have nothing. See you Sunday, bitch.”
Andrew stands up, walking off. Fade to black.
“Hello? Yeah, I’d like to place an order for delivery…yeah, one Philly Cheesesteak sandwich, one large deep dish with pepperoni, green olives and mushrooms, one medium with sausage and black olives, and three orders of breadsticks…yeah, my name’s Andrew Jacobsen…I’ll be paying cash…uhh, do you guys deliver to hotels? You do? Good…okay, it’s 333 East Jefferson Avenue…room number’s 721…okay. See you then, and thanks.”
He hangs up, sighing. Andrew waits a few seconds, drumming on the tabletop idly. He remembers what he was going to do, and grabs his phone again, picking a number out of his contact list. He refrains from dialing for a second, looking out towards the windows.
“Dammit...I need to unwind before a match like this. I've killed myself training for matches before...that never helps...yeah, this is a good idea. Besides, you don't get enough opportunities to be around your friends as-is...now make the damn call and stop talking to yourself.”
He hits the name, dialing. The person on the other end picks up almost immediately. Andrew begins speaking with a professional demeanor.
“Hello? Hey, it’s Andrew…how’re you doing?...Good to hear. Hey, I’ve got a couple movies queued up on demand and some pizza on the way. Would you want to hang out? I’m making the phone rounds, trying to get ahold of everyone…yes, including them…okay, you’re right. If I cockblock Rob one more time, he just might snap. But really, is it my fault I call just when he was about to get lucky?...Heh, yeah…I’ve got everything handled. Besides, that sounds explosive, and not in the good way…alright, the food should be here in about 20-30 minutes. I’m in Room 721. See you then.”
Andrew hangs up, crossing a name off the list. He dials again, waiting. This time, it goes to voicemail, and Andrew waits for the (surprisingly brief) spiel to end before speaking.
“Hey Ander, it’s AJ. I was wondering if you and Roxxxie were doing anything tonight. Rented a few movies on demand, ordered some pizza…if you guys want to head over, I’m in Room 721. Talk to you later. Bye.”
Andrew sighs, hanging up again. He dials another number, listening to it ring, and this time we get to hear the other end of the conversation.
“Y'ello?”
Andrew breaks into a huge grin upon hearing her voice.
“Emma? Hey, it's Andrew. You busy tonight?”
“No...what's up?”
He leans back in his chair, grinning to himself.
“Well, I ordered up some food, and I've got some movies lined up. Thought we could kill some time. Hell, I already got Temp lined up, and you know how he is when it comes to the whole “interacting with people” thing. Whaddya say? Want to kill some time?”
Emma chuckles, nodding. She juggles the phone a bit, trying to keep control of it, but responds anyway.
“Hell yeah. Sounds like a good time for everyone involved. What room are you in?”
“721.”
“What a coincidence...”
A knock comes at AJ's door, startling him. He walks over, opening the door to reveal a grinning Emma Danielson, cellphone in hand.
“I was just walking by there.”
Andrew has no response but to grin at her. Emma grins back, walking in and hugging AJ briefly before heading to the couch and sitting down.
“So what sort of movies do we have?”
Andrew sits down, talking with Emma as we fade to black.
__________________________________________________
We fade back in on Andrew outside the Michigan Central Depot. He's got his jacket pulled tighter around himself, but he wears a smile on his face a mile wide. Andrew looks behind himself at the towering structure, taking a moment to let the grandeur and sheer scale of the building really settle on him. He speaks as he looks up, seemingly not focused on the camera.
“The Michigan Central Depot...that thing is massive. It's got to be one of the biggest buildings of its kind in the nation, if not the world...and it stands here, completely silent. The trains haven't gone through here since I was two. It just stands as a monument to an era gone by...which is kind of a fitting description for you, Steve. A reminder of a forgotten time. Honestly, if it was all like you, I'd rather it stay forgotten.”
He looks back down, shaking his head in disapppointment. Andrew walks along a bit more, a smile on his face as he does so. The cameraman follows him, and Andrew sighs to himself, adjusting his gloves as he crunches through the snow.
“I know you're going to protest that you were competing for the World Title just last summer. But honestly, Steve...the only way you stayed relevant was by attaching your bloated carcass to MY rising star. You saw that the fans loved me, and realized you could get a few more minutes of fame by screwing my mom. Congratulations, you're officially the five hundredth guy to go where every man has gone before. Want a cookie? Or, more accurately, some antibiotics?”
Andrew grins, looking up at the camera and mouthing “Sorry, Mom.” He chuckles to himself, stopping and finding a bench to sit down on. Andrew folds his hands on his lap, looking up at the camera again with a smirk that almost evokes the image of the Awesome One himself.
“I'll get to my mom another time. Steve, you wrecked my partners by association. More than that...my friends have had their careers radically altered because of you. Will Washington became a hollow shell of himself, and we haven't seen him in months. Brad Kane? BK went from hard-fighting warrior to apathetic bastard in a record landspeed...but that's par for the course for him, so that doesn't count. And Adam...we all know what you put Adam through. No need to repeat that. There is a happy ending. First, you brag about going undefeated until Sovereign, and promptly lose your first real match in that “streak” to my old friend Tempestad. Second, you agree to a match where I get to do anything I can to you to make you say those three words...and third, I dismantle you like you were an old wreck at the scrapheap before making you scream them to the entirety of the nCw audience. Sounds like a pretty storybook ending to me. How about you?”
Andrew grins to himself again, shifting a bit because of the cold. He looks around, his nose beginning to turn pink from the exposure, and rubs that briefly to get some warmth and blood flow back into it.
“Look, Steve. We all know that I'm going to kick your ass from pillar to post, the real question is just HOW I'm going to do it. Well, Steve-o, I've been talking with a few old friends, and I've gotta tell you, some of the things they suggested are just brutal...although where I'm going to get an electric carving knife and a welding torch in the Joe Louis Arena is beyond me. I digress. You claimed that you were a cancer, eating away at me? This Sunday, I excise you. I rip you from my body and from my life, throw you aside, and let you fester in your own hate. I have partners. I have friends. You have nothing. See you Sunday, bitch.”
Andrew stands up, walking off. Fade to black.