Post by Andrew Jacobsen on Feb 6, 2011 0:24:31 GMT -6
We open on Andrew Jacobsen sitting in the bar of the Courtyard Marriott Hotel in Detroit, a half-finished glass of Coca-Cola in front of him. Andrew looks up at the screen, boredly ignoring the Super Bowl chatter and muttering foul words about Aaron Rodgers under his breath. He fishes his phone out of his pocket, noticing an unread text message, and pulls it up, cocking an eyebrow and reading it quietly.
“Be in town for show Sunday...Super Bowl has nothing on this...see you when we get here? Don't tell me the big lug's actually dragging everyone out here...don't tell me HE's actually coming out here...”
A massive hand lands on Andrew's shoulder, causing him to instinctively straighten up. He looks back, relenting when he sees that it's from his father, Jason Jacobsen. Andrew's mother Andrea stands behind Jason, looking far more subdued than she's been in the past. Jason sits beside Andrew, Andrea sitting down on the other side of Jason. The big man grins before catching the attention of the bartender.
“Yeah, I'll take a Summit EPA. Thanks.”
The bartender nods, moving to fill his order. Jason looks over to Andrew, a smirk on his face a mile wide. Andrew cocks an eyebrow at his father's unbridled enthusiasm, shaking his head slowly.
“Okay, big man. Spill it. What's got you wound up like a schoolgirl before prom?”
Jason chuckles, nodding to the bartender as he drops off his beer. He claps Andrew on the back again with one of his hands, looking over at him with a beaming grin that seems to radiate pride. Jason pulls his son a bit closer to him, still smiling like he just won the lottery.
“I'm just happy that you get a chance to beat the ever-loving CRAP out of Steve Awesome. Make him really pay for what he did to our family, you know? Lay into him, make him cry uncle. God, I was excited the entire way out here. I'd imagine your mother can testify to that part. Can't you, honey?”
She grins, nodding to him. Alicia looks down the bar at Andrew, who's got a slightly forced smile on his face. Her smile fades when she sees this, and she props her elbow up on the counter.
“What's wrong, Andrew? You look...depressed. Like something's bothering you. Want to talk about it?”
Andrew sighs, turning to face his parents. They both look at him expectantly as he speaks.
“Mom, Dad...you know I love you. I'm always going to love you. But...I feel like I'm tied too inextricably to you now. I'm defined by the people around me, not who I am. I want to prove to the world that I am who I make myself. So you guys can ascribe any motive you want to this match: revenge for breaking Mom's heart, revenge for breaking Dad's ribs, anything. I'm going into this with one thing and one thing only on my mind: taking out Steve Awesome because he's a total prick. Bastard wants to mess with me, he's going to get his neck snapped. I'm not saying you can't be here. I'm only telling you that this is for me, not anyone else. Just...wanted to get that off my chest.”
The Jacobsens pause, digesting this information. Jason slowly nods, pulling back a bit. The way he looks at his son seems to have changed. When he speaks, his tone isn't that of a father addressing a son, but one of a man addressing an equal.
“Well...I can't tell you who or what to fight for, Andrew. All I can say is this...good luck. We'll all be cheering you on. Me, your mother, Rick, Callie...all of us. We'll be there...so kick that pathetic pretty boy's ass. For you.”
Andrew nods, finishing off his glass. He sets it down, standing up, and offers a handshake, which his father takes.
“Thanks, man. I'll see you two at the event. Hope you settle in well.”
Jason tosses off a brief salute to him. Andrew smirks, returning it and walking off. Andrea turns to face Jason as Andrew walks off, a worried look on her face.
“Ohh, I'm nervous now...he's our son, Jay. How the hell are we going to sit by and watch him get turned into hamburger?”
Jason looks down, taking a swig of his beer. He groans, staring into the bartop.
“It's not easy. But he's a grown man, Andrea. We have to let him choose what's right for him, not what we think is right. He's a wrestler. It's not like he expected an easy job. It isn't, we both know that...and besides, if he thinks this is the best way to handle things, then...I believe him. Now, about the tourist sites. I heard they had this cool old train depot in town...”
We fade out on the Jacobsens discussing their plans for their time in Detroit...
_______________________________
Fade back in just to Andrew with his headphones in, sitting on the couch of his hotel room. He's cycling through the music on his iPod, and he comes to one song in particular, coming to a stop and singing along with it.
“Obie Trice...real name, no gimmicks...two trailer park girls go 'round the outside, 'round the outside, 'round the outside...”
He pauses the music, grinning to himself. Andrew sits up, yawning a bit.
“Real name...no gimmicks. That about sums me up. I'm using the name I was given, I don't need a stupid gimmick, and I'm beloved for it. Honestly, I didn't go in looking to win fan support. I was a jackass, and I just wanted to prove I was the best out there. But then reality set in. I wasn't going to get everything from Day One. I remember calling my brother to vent about how completely boneheaded it was that they left me off the main card for Mind Games. Now, I look back on it and laugh at myself. I was stupid, I didn't know how things work...but this is a different story.”
Andrew pulls out the headphones, setting them aside. He looks to the camera for a second, clearly unamused with something, then looks back at the wall, addressing it sternly.
“Steve, you wanted me to stop touring Detroit? Well, all done. I'm back in my hotel room, tranny-free as it always has been, and I'm ready to rock. By the way, I'm amazed that you confused Emma for a transvestite. Seriously, I can understand Zelda doing it. She's not used to these sort of things. But you've been on the receiving end of more than one Bangkok Surprise, haven't you? I would have thought you could pick out the real women from the fakers, but oh well. I guess you'll go on with your strange fantasy world where Emma's a man and lusting over Taylor Lautner doesn't make you gay.”
He sits up, propping his feet up on another chair he pulled over to act as a footrest. Andrew seems to be content with himself, not seeming very concerned with the match.
“So, Steve...pissed off Trent Helms, pissed off me...when are you going to learn to keep your mouth shut and just wrestle? Oh, right...that would avert the whole point of you being Steve Awesome. See, Steve, that's what you are: a gimmick. You're a catchphrase, a smooth nickname, a stage name, and a carefully crafted persona. I'm just...Andrew. And is that boring compared to someone like you? Maybe. But I'm not worried about being some larger-than-life persona like you on the promo side of things. I'm concerned with being the best in the ring. You say that you're the same, but...can you really be?”
He tilts his head quizzically, looking at the particular patch of wall with intrigue. He drums his fingers on his thigh, yawning a bit as he speaks.
“Wow, even talking about you gets old fast...Steve, we've already been over this. One man says he's going to dominate the other, the second man fires back insults, the first man responds in kind, yadda yadda yadda. The fact of the matter is, I've done more in my first year and a half than you could have ever thought of when you started out. I've won titles, headlined pay-per-views, stolen shows, and kicked metric tons of ass. I said that I'd love to beat every World Champion we've ever had. I have one under my belt. This Sunday, I get to add another when we go toe to toe.”
Andrew stands up, stretching a bit. He turns to face the camera,
“Blood will be spilt. Fists will fly. Tears will be shed. Steve, you aren't going to get me to give up. Not while I draw breath, not while my heart beats. You're going to have to kill me to get me to do anything close to surrender. I'm willing to do anything to eradicate you. Are you going to be able to say the same? Please say yes, Steve. Because those fans expect a war. Giving them anything less would be ripping them off, and you could never screw the fans, could you? Thought not. See you at the arena. Good luck, Steve. You're going to need it against the best there is, the best there was, and the best there ever will be.”
Deuces.
“Be in town for show Sunday...Super Bowl has nothing on this...see you when we get here? Don't tell me the big lug's actually dragging everyone out here...don't tell me HE's actually coming out here...”
A massive hand lands on Andrew's shoulder, causing him to instinctively straighten up. He looks back, relenting when he sees that it's from his father, Jason Jacobsen. Andrew's mother Andrea stands behind Jason, looking far more subdued than she's been in the past. Jason sits beside Andrew, Andrea sitting down on the other side of Jason. The big man grins before catching the attention of the bartender.
“Yeah, I'll take a Summit EPA. Thanks.”
The bartender nods, moving to fill his order. Jason looks over to Andrew, a smirk on his face a mile wide. Andrew cocks an eyebrow at his father's unbridled enthusiasm, shaking his head slowly.
“Okay, big man. Spill it. What's got you wound up like a schoolgirl before prom?”
Jason chuckles, nodding to the bartender as he drops off his beer. He claps Andrew on the back again with one of his hands, looking over at him with a beaming grin that seems to radiate pride. Jason pulls his son a bit closer to him, still smiling like he just won the lottery.
“I'm just happy that you get a chance to beat the ever-loving CRAP out of Steve Awesome. Make him really pay for what he did to our family, you know? Lay into him, make him cry uncle. God, I was excited the entire way out here. I'd imagine your mother can testify to that part. Can't you, honey?”
She grins, nodding to him. Alicia looks down the bar at Andrew, who's got a slightly forced smile on his face. Her smile fades when she sees this, and she props her elbow up on the counter.
“What's wrong, Andrew? You look...depressed. Like something's bothering you. Want to talk about it?”
Andrew sighs, turning to face his parents. They both look at him expectantly as he speaks.
“Mom, Dad...you know I love you. I'm always going to love you. But...I feel like I'm tied too inextricably to you now. I'm defined by the people around me, not who I am. I want to prove to the world that I am who I make myself. So you guys can ascribe any motive you want to this match: revenge for breaking Mom's heart, revenge for breaking Dad's ribs, anything. I'm going into this with one thing and one thing only on my mind: taking out Steve Awesome because he's a total prick. Bastard wants to mess with me, he's going to get his neck snapped. I'm not saying you can't be here. I'm only telling you that this is for me, not anyone else. Just...wanted to get that off my chest.”
The Jacobsens pause, digesting this information. Jason slowly nods, pulling back a bit. The way he looks at his son seems to have changed. When he speaks, his tone isn't that of a father addressing a son, but one of a man addressing an equal.
“Well...I can't tell you who or what to fight for, Andrew. All I can say is this...good luck. We'll all be cheering you on. Me, your mother, Rick, Callie...all of us. We'll be there...so kick that pathetic pretty boy's ass. For you.”
Andrew nods, finishing off his glass. He sets it down, standing up, and offers a handshake, which his father takes.
“Thanks, man. I'll see you two at the event. Hope you settle in well.”
Jason tosses off a brief salute to him. Andrew smirks, returning it and walking off. Andrea turns to face Jason as Andrew walks off, a worried look on her face.
“Ohh, I'm nervous now...he's our son, Jay. How the hell are we going to sit by and watch him get turned into hamburger?”
Jason looks down, taking a swig of his beer. He groans, staring into the bartop.
“It's not easy. But he's a grown man, Andrea. We have to let him choose what's right for him, not what we think is right. He's a wrestler. It's not like he expected an easy job. It isn't, we both know that...and besides, if he thinks this is the best way to handle things, then...I believe him. Now, about the tourist sites. I heard they had this cool old train depot in town...”
We fade out on the Jacobsens discussing their plans for their time in Detroit...
_______________________________
Fade back in just to Andrew with his headphones in, sitting on the couch of his hotel room. He's cycling through the music on his iPod, and he comes to one song in particular, coming to a stop and singing along with it.
“Obie Trice...real name, no gimmicks...two trailer park girls go 'round the outside, 'round the outside, 'round the outside...”
He pauses the music, grinning to himself. Andrew sits up, yawning a bit.
“Real name...no gimmicks. That about sums me up. I'm using the name I was given, I don't need a stupid gimmick, and I'm beloved for it. Honestly, I didn't go in looking to win fan support. I was a jackass, and I just wanted to prove I was the best out there. But then reality set in. I wasn't going to get everything from Day One. I remember calling my brother to vent about how completely boneheaded it was that they left me off the main card for Mind Games. Now, I look back on it and laugh at myself. I was stupid, I didn't know how things work...but this is a different story.”
Andrew pulls out the headphones, setting them aside. He looks to the camera for a second, clearly unamused with something, then looks back at the wall, addressing it sternly.
“Steve, you wanted me to stop touring Detroit? Well, all done. I'm back in my hotel room, tranny-free as it always has been, and I'm ready to rock. By the way, I'm amazed that you confused Emma for a transvestite. Seriously, I can understand Zelda doing it. She's not used to these sort of things. But you've been on the receiving end of more than one Bangkok Surprise, haven't you? I would have thought you could pick out the real women from the fakers, but oh well. I guess you'll go on with your strange fantasy world where Emma's a man and lusting over Taylor Lautner doesn't make you gay.”
He sits up, propping his feet up on another chair he pulled over to act as a footrest. Andrew seems to be content with himself, not seeming very concerned with the match.
“So, Steve...pissed off Trent Helms, pissed off me...when are you going to learn to keep your mouth shut and just wrestle? Oh, right...that would avert the whole point of you being Steve Awesome. See, Steve, that's what you are: a gimmick. You're a catchphrase, a smooth nickname, a stage name, and a carefully crafted persona. I'm just...Andrew. And is that boring compared to someone like you? Maybe. But I'm not worried about being some larger-than-life persona like you on the promo side of things. I'm concerned with being the best in the ring. You say that you're the same, but...can you really be?”
He tilts his head quizzically, looking at the particular patch of wall with intrigue. He drums his fingers on his thigh, yawning a bit as he speaks.
“Wow, even talking about you gets old fast...Steve, we've already been over this. One man says he's going to dominate the other, the second man fires back insults, the first man responds in kind, yadda yadda yadda. The fact of the matter is, I've done more in my first year and a half than you could have ever thought of when you started out. I've won titles, headlined pay-per-views, stolen shows, and kicked metric tons of ass. I said that I'd love to beat every World Champion we've ever had. I have one under my belt. This Sunday, I get to add another when we go toe to toe.”
Andrew stands up, stretching a bit. He turns to face the camera,
“Blood will be spilt. Fists will fly. Tears will be shed. Steve, you aren't going to get me to give up. Not while I draw breath, not while my heart beats. You're going to have to kill me to get me to do anything close to surrender. I'm willing to do anything to eradicate you. Are you going to be able to say the same? Please say yes, Steve. Because those fans expect a war. Giving them anything less would be ripping them off, and you could never screw the fans, could you? Thought not. See you at the arena. Good luck, Steve. You're going to need it against the best there is, the best there was, and the best there ever will be.”
Deuces.