Post by Andrew Jacobsen on Jun 25, 2011 0:26:21 GMT -6
We open in the Young Guns locker room. The camera pans over to Andrew Jacobsen, looking down at the floor. He sighs, looking up at the Guns trophy case. Replicas of all the titles the Young Guns have won, in nCw and elsewhere, hang in the case. The Tag Team Titles, the X-Division Title, the Honor Title, the World Title worn by Charlie Velez...his gaze drifts over them all before settling on a pair of belts: the National Titles won by Young Guns. Blair and JFK. Velez and Venom. He remembers the moments, hears the calls being made in his head. Andrew sighs, staring at them. He speaks quietly.
“You will be mine...”
A voice comes from behind him, not fazing Andrew in the slightest.
“You better hope so.”
Danielle Chase walks over to him, sitting beside Andrew. She looks over to him, smirking. Andrew glances back, though his expression remains humorless.
“I have to win this. Not just for the Young Guns. For me. I need this vindication. I need to shut up the cavalcade of people who say I don't have the dedication, the drive to succeed. I have to do this...otherwise, what kind of a man am I? I have to do this cleanly. No interference, no low blows, no feet on the ropes, no ref bumps and weapon shots...I'm going to take that belt from Alex, and I'm doing it the right way. Otherwise, nobody will give a DAMN about the win.”
Danielle looks over at him, swinging her legs over so that she's sitting astride the bench, and props her head on a fist.
“Well...why do you care what they think? You know you're good. Shouldn't that be enough?”
He shakes his head.
“No. I won't be satisfied until every one of those sons of bitches, from Alex Jones to Rob Diamond to Adam Knite, acknowledges who I am and what I will be. I'll get the respect I deserve...even if I have to wring it out of them. Danielle...I've got business to attend to. Hold my calls.”
Dani opens her mouth to protest, but Andrew cuts her off by walking away quietly. She watches him go, then sighs, turning back to the trophy case.
“I hope you're right...”
______________________________________
“We lost the war.”
The incredulity in Andrew's voice carries as we fade in on him, sitting in the same locker room, back to the case. He's wearing his ring gear now, a change from the casual clothing he was in earlier.
“We...we lost the war? I'm sorry, maybe that feud with Angel you keep touting killed what few brain cells you have left to rub together, but...we lost the war? Are...are you high? The war wasn't me vs. the Young Guns. Not when it ended. It was the Revolution vs. the Front Office. And we won that. Just look at the results for Battlegrounds. The Revolution...defeated the Front Office. We won. Old Man Fox hasn't been seen since. We won that war. You were there, taking the Tag Team Titles from Doc and Venom. We. Won.”
He emphasizes the words as they come, glaring icily as he speaks.
“So to hear you telling me that I failed in that...sickens me. I threw myself into that fight, body and soul. And here we stand, nine months later, and I've become that which I had tried to destroy. You try to intimidate me by talking about defeating Velez, about defeating Venom...and then you reveal your true colors. You slander your allies, deny their necessity. That's where we differ, Alex. When I was fighting the Guns, I never denied that I would need assistance. The Young Guns are the best of the best. Try as I did, there was no way I was beating them on my own. I needed that help. No man is an island, Alex...a lesson you will painfully learn.”
Andrew rubs his temples with one hand, shaking his head and grimacing.
“If I never saw you again, if I never had to hear your whiny, grating voice trying to tear me down, it would be too soon. But you're taking a slightly different tack this time. You start off as usual, talking yourself up at the expense of anyone and everyone around you. But then...you...you sound like you're trying to be Homeless Harold or, dare I say it, Angel. Trying to make me and the audience think you're some sort of monster who is going to destroy me. Not happening, Alex. From one man who tried to force that card to another, you aren't scary. You're pathetic.”
Andrew shakes his head, smirking to himself at the over-the-top antics of his opponent.
“Alex, I wanted to respect you, like that bright-eyed rookie I was. But you tried to beat it into me. Angel tried to beat it into me, Falcon tried, Bates tried, Gib tried, everyone...they tried to drill it into my head that this business was a cruel one. They tried to tell me I was going to suffer. But I didn't want to hear it. I had dreamed about this for years, and ***damnit if I wasn't going to follow my dream. But then...it happened.”
Jacobsen's voice goes cold at this, losing any and all pretense of playfulness and warmth. When he speaks, it's the voice of a hollow man, someone who knows he's lost part of himself.
“I had to ride in the ambulance as my fifty-two year old father was carted into the emergency room because Steve Awesome took it upon himself to ruin my life. He did it not for revenge, not because he wanted a title shot...but because he thought it was funny. He RENT MY FAMILY APART, for the sake of a cheap laugh. That's when I realized that the man I thought I could be was never going to last. I tried to go through the motions. I backed up Carvetti when he needed the aid. But I realized he wasn't going anywhere at all. So when Venom gave me that offer, told me 'kid, I see greatness, and I want to help you become as great as you can be', I took it. Not a damn one of you so-called veterans ever offered that to me. You never gave me that hand up. All you had for me were harsh words and a slap in the face. So forgive me, Mr. Jones, if I don't respect you.”
Andrew practically spits the last sentence, bile coming with every word now. He slowly speeds up his speech, growing more impassioned with each word.
“Your family got ruined? I don't see you having any problems now. You've got your lovely wife and kid, you're National Champion, your best friend is General Manager...me? I have everyone in the company at my throat, my family wants nothing to do with me, my best friend abandoned me...I have three people I can trust in this company. And you know what? That's what works for me. They trust me, and I trust them. We respect each other. And we all know that we are champions. Nothing you can say or do can take that from us. But what I can do...and WILL do...is take that National Title from you. Four Young Guns have held that belt before me. I promise you, this Sunday I will be number five. Alex...kiss that belt GOODBYE. Oh, and Angel? If you think you can make us crawl back into some hole and bow down just because you're mad, think again. You want this to be a war? We'll make it a war you'll never forget. We are the Young Guns, and nobody, not you, not anyone else, will make us fall silent.”
Andrew throws up four fingers, staring intently into the camera as it fades to black.
“You will be mine...”
A voice comes from behind him, not fazing Andrew in the slightest.
“You better hope so.”
Danielle Chase walks over to him, sitting beside Andrew. She looks over to him, smirking. Andrew glances back, though his expression remains humorless.
“I have to win this. Not just for the Young Guns. For me. I need this vindication. I need to shut up the cavalcade of people who say I don't have the dedication, the drive to succeed. I have to do this...otherwise, what kind of a man am I? I have to do this cleanly. No interference, no low blows, no feet on the ropes, no ref bumps and weapon shots...I'm going to take that belt from Alex, and I'm doing it the right way. Otherwise, nobody will give a DAMN about the win.”
Danielle looks over at him, swinging her legs over so that she's sitting astride the bench, and props her head on a fist.
“Well...why do you care what they think? You know you're good. Shouldn't that be enough?”
He shakes his head.
“No. I won't be satisfied until every one of those sons of bitches, from Alex Jones to Rob Diamond to Adam Knite, acknowledges who I am and what I will be. I'll get the respect I deserve...even if I have to wring it out of them. Danielle...I've got business to attend to. Hold my calls.”
Dani opens her mouth to protest, but Andrew cuts her off by walking away quietly. She watches him go, then sighs, turning back to the trophy case.
“I hope you're right...”
______________________________________
“We lost the war.”
The incredulity in Andrew's voice carries as we fade in on him, sitting in the same locker room, back to the case. He's wearing his ring gear now, a change from the casual clothing he was in earlier.
“We...we lost the war? I'm sorry, maybe that feud with Angel you keep touting killed what few brain cells you have left to rub together, but...we lost the war? Are...are you high? The war wasn't me vs. the Young Guns. Not when it ended. It was the Revolution vs. the Front Office. And we won that. Just look at the results for Battlegrounds. The Revolution...defeated the Front Office. We won. Old Man Fox hasn't been seen since. We won that war. You were there, taking the Tag Team Titles from Doc and Venom. We. Won.”
He emphasizes the words as they come, glaring icily as he speaks.
“So to hear you telling me that I failed in that...sickens me. I threw myself into that fight, body and soul. And here we stand, nine months later, and I've become that which I had tried to destroy. You try to intimidate me by talking about defeating Velez, about defeating Venom...and then you reveal your true colors. You slander your allies, deny their necessity. That's where we differ, Alex. When I was fighting the Guns, I never denied that I would need assistance. The Young Guns are the best of the best. Try as I did, there was no way I was beating them on my own. I needed that help. No man is an island, Alex...a lesson you will painfully learn.”
Andrew rubs his temples with one hand, shaking his head and grimacing.
“If I never saw you again, if I never had to hear your whiny, grating voice trying to tear me down, it would be too soon. But you're taking a slightly different tack this time. You start off as usual, talking yourself up at the expense of anyone and everyone around you. But then...you...you sound like you're trying to be Homeless Harold or, dare I say it, Angel. Trying to make me and the audience think you're some sort of monster who is going to destroy me. Not happening, Alex. From one man who tried to force that card to another, you aren't scary. You're pathetic.”
Andrew shakes his head, smirking to himself at the over-the-top antics of his opponent.
“Alex, I wanted to respect you, like that bright-eyed rookie I was. But you tried to beat it into me. Angel tried to beat it into me, Falcon tried, Bates tried, Gib tried, everyone...they tried to drill it into my head that this business was a cruel one. They tried to tell me I was going to suffer. But I didn't want to hear it. I had dreamed about this for years, and ***damnit if I wasn't going to follow my dream. But then...it happened.”
Jacobsen's voice goes cold at this, losing any and all pretense of playfulness and warmth. When he speaks, it's the voice of a hollow man, someone who knows he's lost part of himself.
“I had to ride in the ambulance as my fifty-two year old father was carted into the emergency room because Steve Awesome took it upon himself to ruin my life. He did it not for revenge, not because he wanted a title shot...but because he thought it was funny. He RENT MY FAMILY APART, for the sake of a cheap laugh. That's when I realized that the man I thought I could be was never going to last. I tried to go through the motions. I backed up Carvetti when he needed the aid. But I realized he wasn't going anywhere at all. So when Venom gave me that offer, told me 'kid, I see greatness, and I want to help you become as great as you can be', I took it. Not a damn one of you so-called veterans ever offered that to me. You never gave me that hand up. All you had for me were harsh words and a slap in the face. So forgive me, Mr. Jones, if I don't respect you.”
Andrew practically spits the last sentence, bile coming with every word now. He slowly speeds up his speech, growing more impassioned with each word.
“Your family got ruined? I don't see you having any problems now. You've got your lovely wife and kid, you're National Champion, your best friend is General Manager...me? I have everyone in the company at my throat, my family wants nothing to do with me, my best friend abandoned me...I have three people I can trust in this company. And you know what? That's what works for me. They trust me, and I trust them. We respect each other. And we all know that we are champions. Nothing you can say or do can take that from us. But what I can do...and WILL do...is take that National Title from you. Four Young Guns have held that belt before me. I promise you, this Sunday I will be number five. Alex...kiss that belt GOODBYE. Oh, and Angel? If you think you can make us crawl back into some hole and bow down just because you're mad, think again. You want this to be a war? We'll make it a war you'll never forget. We are the Young Guns, and nobody, not you, not anyone else, will make us fall silent.”
Andrew throws up four fingers, staring intently into the camera as it fades to black.