Post by Andrew Jacobsen on Nov 29, 2012 14:54:25 GMT -6
Collision
Raleigh, North Carolina
November 25, 2012
Andrew walks through the backstage area, pulling his gloves off and looking around for his six-man tag team partner. He's clearly pissed, moving quickly and purposefully.
”Where the hell is he...”
Andrew looks up, and he sees Caleb Lockwood leaning against a wall, watching the show progress on a monitor. Andrew walks up to him, speaking tersely.
”Caleb. Where's Ace?”
”I don't know, last I saw him he was in heading to his locker-room, still trying to talk to Kathy about Mercedes. She seemed rather disinterested.”
Andrew nods to Caleb, looking down the hall and cracking his neck.
”Thanks, man...you might want to clear out for a little bit, I've got a few words for him...”
Caleb winces, knowing exactly what mood his employer’s in.
”Do you really think now is the time?”
Andrew nods, voice cool as ice.
”Oh, now's the ***damn time.”
Caleb pauses, then shrugs, shaking his head.
”Well, it was nice knowing you...”
Caleb wanders off, rather hurried in his pace. Andrew shakes his head at Caleb's reaction, making his way towards Ace's locker room. Andrew approaches the door and notes that rather than a traditional name plate, it just has a plaque with the Spade symbol on the door. He rolls his eyes, thumping on the door twice. There was no answer at first. Andrew knocks again, not in the mood to be kept waiting.
”ACE! OPEN THE DAMN DOOR!”
Suddenly the door swings wildly open, The Ace standing in the doorway. Andrew notes the blood stained rake in The Ace's hands. He could only assume it was still fresh with Curtis Kanyon's blood. The Ace stares at Jacobsen without saying anything, almost begging him for an excuse. Andrew stares levelly back at him, trying to wrestle his temper back into check as he speaks.
”You know, I thought we got off on a good foot. I thought our conversation about our match was very productive, and I figured that'd translate into how things boiled down in the ring. So, survey time: what was that?”
The Englishman just shrugs, rake dangling from one hand as his natural arrogance takes over.
”The match was over as far as I was concerned. THAT was business.”
Andrew crosses his arms, adopting a faux-placating tone of voice.
”Oh, I'm not talking about you snapping and beating fifty shades of red out of Curtis, I'm talking about you deciding about two-thirds through to walk out on the damn match.”
The Ace shrugs again, setting Andrew’s eyebrow twitching, and almost casually dismisses him, inspecting the rake for scratches or dents as he speaks.
”What can I say? Some things are more important than carrying two piddly asses on my back. It isn't any wonder you and Xavier get pissed on by everybody around here in spite of all your accomplishments. You both smile and take it right up the ass because you're hellbent on being the good guys, tell me Andy, what's the point of being the good guy for all the sheep if you can't handle yourself against a walking delusion and two offensive stereotypes?”
Jacobsen blinks, clearly taken aback by Ace’s comments. He shakes his head, putting his hand up as if to push back the overwhelming idiocy of the statements.
”Can't handle myself? In case you hadn't noticed, you megalomaniacal ass, while you were busy cradling your bruised ego on the outside I was leaving a bootprint on Curtis's jaw and making El Estereotipo Caminando tap out. I'm not taking anything from anyone, least of all from you.”
Ace shrugs casually again, smirking up at Andrew as he speaks with a hint of malice in his voice.
”Well I guess you can afford to get all giddy over making nobodies tap out because ultimately that's all you have left in your life. Matches are your only concern, all you care about is putting on a damn good show for the people because you don't have a REAL love to lose. I do. I can take the hate of thousands as long as I have the love of one.”
Andrew suddenly grabs Ace by the shoulders, shoving him into the door roughly.
”Listen to me, you son of a bitch. You can insult me all you want but the moment you start talking about her is the moment I wipe the floor with your balding, over-the-hill ass. Now unless you want Kathy to be a WIDOW, I advise shutting your ***damn mouth and not saying another syllable about that particular situation. Do we have an UNDERSTANDING?”
He releases Ace, glaring daggers at him as he takes a step back. The Ace suddenly smirks and starts laughing, confusing Andrew. Andrew shakes his head, trying to make sense of that.
”And what's so funny?”
”You almost had me there Andy, I almost saw the spark of fire behind the boy scout. I almost saw the REAL Andrew Jacobsen, and now I've seen behind the curtain, I'm curious at just how much it would take to make you snap and show these people who you REALLY are...”
Andrew shakes his head, shooting a cool glare at The Ace as he recovers mentally.
”What you see is who I really am. I don't need to turn the switch on and off.”
Ace smirks at Andrew, shaking his head again.
”Really? Well I guess it’s up to me to call your bluff. Stay alert boy scout, the cards are just being dealt for our game...”
Andrew replies, completely deadpan and confident.
”No need to bluff if you know you have the winning hand. I'll leave you to your Kat-herding...”
”You do that.”
Andrew turns away and starts to walk away, but something The Ace says stops him in his tracks.
”By the way Andy, how's your baby sister?”
The Ace laughs slamming the door as Andrew stands there. Andrew stares a hole in the door for several seconds before turning and walking away with murderous intent in his eyes.
””So I suppose I could charitably describe my mood this week as less than stellar. After all, I had to bail my erstwhile tag team partner’s ass out of the fire because he got pissed and decided to take a powder. That part in and of itself wasn’t a problem. I got to pick up the win for the team, with a healthy assist from Xavier Williams. No, my problem is two-pronged: first, when I asked what in the hell was going through Ace’s mind, he decided that he needed to insult me. Next time I might just throw your ass to the wolves, pal. And second…I got knocked off the main pay-per-view.”
“That’s right, I’m wrestling online. I get knocked back to the webshow for such scintillating technical matchups as Crystal Williams vs. Kelly Fox and the blood feud everyone wants to see boil over that is Davey Ortega vs. Spike Kane. I went from the main event to main-eventing Wired. My friend, my BEST friend, got cut from the show entirely. And I can lay the blame for that particular series of events right at the feet of one man: Will Washington.”
“Bill, word of advice: this isn’t some drive-through wrestling promotion where you can show up for one match after months, after stepping out on us during a PAY-PER-VIEW, and expect to be able to call the shots again. Then again, long-term dedication’s never been your strong suit. You took money out of my pocket, you took money out of her pocket, and you denied both of us a better opportunity. Word of advice: if you’re upset with having to work your way back up the food chain, then you’re in the wrong damn business. Take it from me, pal: nothing in this line of work comes for free.”
“But enough about Will. He’s not my opponent, he’s not anyone’s opponent this week. No, I’ve got to deal with the 457th coming of Markus E. Reeves. Really, man? You’re…you’re gonna do this? The big, mindless goon act? Seriously, the most notable thing you’ve done since coming back is beat the hell out of a girl that weighs a third of what you do sopping wet. Something to be proud of there for sure, big man. Oh, but let’s not forget you losing to Generic Sneering Narcissist #35, or as he’s known to most, Josh Stevens. It’s sad how the mighty have fallen.”
“Markus, you had one stretch where you could indisputably say you shined, and I’m freely going to admit that it was against me. You and Matt Jackson beat me and Rob for the Tag Team Championship. You pinned me in the center of that ring. But it’s been a year. Things change. You’re not dealing with the guy that was struggling under the thumb of men like Rob Diamond and Steve Awesome anymore. You’re up against a World Champion-caliber athlete. You’re across the ring from a man who will stop at nothing until he can call himself champion once more. And all the looming intimidation tactics in the world won’t change the fact that I can and will outwrestle you, tie you into an oversized knot, and make you tap the hell out.”
“Is this personal? Is this match between us more than just a space-filler?
...you’re ***damn right it is. This is me reminding those in charge that I’m not the kind of man you can consign to the webshow. This is me taking out all the frustrations, all the disappointments I’ve suffered in the last month on your unfortunate carcass. And this is me doing to you what someone should have done before you got your hands on Sydney. I know exactly what she’s done, but she paid for her sins a long time ago. Her blood is on your hands…and by the end of this night, your blood might be on mine. Say your prayers, you dumb bastard.”[/i]
Raleigh, North Carolina
November 25, 2012
Andrew walks through the backstage area, pulling his gloves off and looking around for his six-man tag team partner. He's clearly pissed, moving quickly and purposefully.
”Where the hell is he...”
Andrew looks up, and he sees Caleb Lockwood leaning against a wall, watching the show progress on a monitor. Andrew walks up to him, speaking tersely.
”Caleb. Where's Ace?”
”I don't know, last I saw him he was in heading to his locker-room, still trying to talk to Kathy about Mercedes. She seemed rather disinterested.”
Andrew nods to Caleb, looking down the hall and cracking his neck.
”Thanks, man...you might want to clear out for a little bit, I've got a few words for him...”
Caleb winces, knowing exactly what mood his employer’s in.
”Do you really think now is the time?”
Andrew nods, voice cool as ice.
”Oh, now's the ***damn time.”
Caleb pauses, then shrugs, shaking his head.
”Well, it was nice knowing you...”
Caleb wanders off, rather hurried in his pace. Andrew shakes his head at Caleb's reaction, making his way towards Ace's locker room. Andrew approaches the door and notes that rather than a traditional name plate, it just has a plaque with the Spade symbol on the door. He rolls his eyes, thumping on the door twice. There was no answer at first. Andrew knocks again, not in the mood to be kept waiting.
”ACE! OPEN THE DAMN DOOR!”
Suddenly the door swings wildly open, The Ace standing in the doorway. Andrew notes the blood stained rake in The Ace's hands. He could only assume it was still fresh with Curtis Kanyon's blood. The Ace stares at Jacobsen without saying anything, almost begging him for an excuse. Andrew stares levelly back at him, trying to wrestle his temper back into check as he speaks.
”You know, I thought we got off on a good foot. I thought our conversation about our match was very productive, and I figured that'd translate into how things boiled down in the ring. So, survey time: what was that?”
The Englishman just shrugs, rake dangling from one hand as his natural arrogance takes over.
”The match was over as far as I was concerned. THAT was business.”
Andrew crosses his arms, adopting a faux-placating tone of voice.
”Oh, I'm not talking about you snapping and beating fifty shades of red out of Curtis, I'm talking about you deciding about two-thirds through to walk out on the damn match.”
The Ace shrugs again, setting Andrew’s eyebrow twitching, and almost casually dismisses him, inspecting the rake for scratches or dents as he speaks.
”What can I say? Some things are more important than carrying two piddly asses on my back. It isn't any wonder you and Xavier get pissed on by everybody around here in spite of all your accomplishments. You both smile and take it right up the ass because you're hellbent on being the good guys, tell me Andy, what's the point of being the good guy for all the sheep if you can't handle yourself against a walking delusion and two offensive stereotypes?”
Jacobsen blinks, clearly taken aback by Ace’s comments. He shakes his head, putting his hand up as if to push back the overwhelming idiocy of the statements.
”Can't handle myself? In case you hadn't noticed, you megalomaniacal ass, while you were busy cradling your bruised ego on the outside I was leaving a bootprint on Curtis's jaw and making El Estereotipo Caminando tap out. I'm not taking anything from anyone, least of all from you.”
Ace shrugs casually again, smirking up at Andrew as he speaks with a hint of malice in his voice.
”Well I guess you can afford to get all giddy over making nobodies tap out because ultimately that's all you have left in your life. Matches are your only concern, all you care about is putting on a damn good show for the people because you don't have a REAL love to lose. I do. I can take the hate of thousands as long as I have the love of one.”
Andrew suddenly grabs Ace by the shoulders, shoving him into the door roughly.
”Listen to me, you son of a bitch. You can insult me all you want but the moment you start talking about her is the moment I wipe the floor with your balding, over-the-hill ass. Now unless you want Kathy to be a WIDOW, I advise shutting your ***damn mouth and not saying another syllable about that particular situation. Do we have an UNDERSTANDING?”
He releases Ace, glaring daggers at him as he takes a step back. The Ace suddenly smirks and starts laughing, confusing Andrew. Andrew shakes his head, trying to make sense of that.
”And what's so funny?”
”You almost had me there Andy, I almost saw the spark of fire behind the boy scout. I almost saw the REAL Andrew Jacobsen, and now I've seen behind the curtain, I'm curious at just how much it would take to make you snap and show these people who you REALLY are...”
Andrew shakes his head, shooting a cool glare at The Ace as he recovers mentally.
”What you see is who I really am. I don't need to turn the switch on and off.”
Ace smirks at Andrew, shaking his head again.
”Really? Well I guess it’s up to me to call your bluff. Stay alert boy scout, the cards are just being dealt for our game...”
Andrew replies, completely deadpan and confident.
”No need to bluff if you know you have the winning hand. I'll leave you to your Kat-herding...”
”You do that.”
Andrew turns away and starts to walk away, but something The Ace says stops him in his tracks.
”By the way Andy, how's your baby sister?”
The Ace laughs slamming the door as Andrew stands there. Andrew stares a hole in the door for several seconds before turning and walking away with murderous intent in his eyes.
””So I suppose I could charitably describe my mood this week as less than stellar. After all, I had to bail my erstwhile tag team partner’s ass out of the fire because he got pissed and decided to take a powder. That part in and of itself wasn’t a problem. I got to pick up the win for the team, with a healthy assist from Xavier Williams. No, my problem is two-pronged: first, when I asked what in the hell was going through Ace’s mind, he decided that he needed to insult me. Next time I might just throw your ass to the wolves, pal. And second…I got knocked off the main pay-per-view.”
“That’s right, I’m wrestling online. I get knocked back to the webshow for such scintillating technical matchups as Crystal Williams vs. Kelly Fox and the blood feud everyone wants to see boil over that is Davey Ortega vs. Spike Kane. I went from the main event to main-eventing Wired. My friend, my BEST friend, got cut from the show entirely. And I can lay the blame for that particular series of events right at the feet of one man: Will Washington.”
“Bill, word of advice: this isn’t some drive-through wrestling promotion where you can show up for one match after months, after stepping out on us during a PAY-PER-VIEW, and expect to be able to call the shots again. Then again, long-term dedication’s never been your strong suit. You took money out of my pocket, you took money out of her pocket, and you denied both of us a better opportunity. Word of advice: if you’re upset with having to work your way back up the food chain, then you’re in the wrong damn business. Take it from me, pal: nothing in this line of work comes for free.”
“But enough about Will. He’s not my opponent, he’s not anyone’s opponent this week. No, I’ve got to deal with the 457th coming of Markus E. Reeves. Really, man? You’re…you’re gonna do this? The big, mindless goon act? Seriously, the most notable thing you’ve done since coming back is beat the hell out of a girl that weighs a third of what you do sopping wet. Something to be proud of there for sure, big man. Oh, but let’s not forget you losing to Generic Sneering Narcissist #35, or as he’s known to most, Josh Stevens. It’s sad how the mighty have fallen.”
“Markus, you had one stretch where you could indisputably say you shined, and I’m freely going to admit that it was against me. You and Matt Jackson beat me and Rob for the Tag Team Championship. You pinned me in the center of that ring. But it’s been a year. Things change. You’re not dealing with the guy that was struggling under the thumb of men like Rob Diamond and Steve Awesome anymore. You’re up against a World Champion-caliber athlete. You’re across the ring from a man who will stop at nothing until he can call himself champion once more. And all the looming intimidation tactics in the world won’t change the fact that I can and will outwrestle you, tie you into an oversized knot, and make you tap the hell out.”
“Is this personal? Is this match between us more than just a space-filler?
...you’re ***damn right it is. This is me reminding those in charge that I’m not the kind of man you can consign to the webshow. This is me taking out all the frustrations, all the disappointments I’ve suffered in the last month on your unfortunate carcass. And this is me doing to you what someone should have done before you got your hands on Sydney. I know exactly what she’s done, but she paid for her sins a long time ago. Her blood is on your hands…and by the end of this night, your blood might be on mine. Say your prayers, you dumb bastard.”[/i]
