Post by defunctlies on May 8, 2008 20:29:07 GMT -6
The scene opens up on Jack Hammond, once again in a car, his actions and eyes focussed on the road ahead. He appears to be wrestling with the wheel, the sound of a roaring engine and squealing tyres filling the inside of the car as he grits his teeth. His voice comes over the cacophony of noise, quite calm and relaxed.
"Last Sunday, I was able to rack up my third win in a row against rookie K.C. Burke. The week before that, I was able to come out on top of a 6-Man Showcase Match, trumping Sexy Jason, Xavier Williams, Sebastian Morris, Craig Mueller and John Anthony. To say I'm feeling like I'm on a bit of a roll wouldn't be incorrect. As a matter of fact, a little earlier this week, I was trying to film for a promo when I actually found myself in a roll of a different kind."
The action onscreen seems to judder and jolt suddenly, Jack wincing and bouncing around in his seat, held down only by the racing harness of his seat. The tyre squeals increase in volume as Jack appears to slam on the brakes, and the background out the window spins by quickly. Without warning, Jack seems to brace himself, and a split-second later, the background spins upwards, the car tipping forwards. A few loud bangs and crunches occur, the camera cutting to static for a couple of seconds on a particularly violent impact, and finally the picture steadies, the angle slightly skew, Jack looking a little dazed, but otherwise okay. He blinks and manages a grin.
"Well that wasn't meant to happen."
He chuckles to himself and starts reaching for the harness, shaking his head clear. His voice come back over the video again.
"Thankfully, I only suffered a few scrapes and an injured pride, as well a writing off the 06' Mustang I'd been driving. Though in my defense I am blaming the car for letting me down. I have always said that the Mustang, while it's gotten a more powerful engine throughout the years as well as a makeover in terms of the exterior and interior, the chassis, suspension and brakes would be better if they weren't so outdated; I've seen steamrollers with better handling than the new Mustang."
The camera cuts to Hammond striding across an open field towards the camera.
"Okay, I'll admit, maybe I shouldn't have been pushing it so hard when I knew that trying to go sideways around a corner in a campervan would have been safer, but I have got my mind on a couple of things. First is what am I going to tell the hire company about what I did to their car, and secondly, what am I going to do about this match on Sunday; a fatal four way against the returning Ricky Johnson, the rookie Justin Marsham, and the veteran Sexy Jason."
Jack is still approaching the camera, gesticulating wildly.
"All three men in their own right are going into this match at Reborn with something to prove. Johnson, to prove he's still got it, Marsham, to get attention, and Jason to simply get that little bit closer to the top. And all three are serious contenders, each coming off recent wins and looking to keep momentum going. And little old me standing in the same ring at the same time."
Jack finally reaches the edge of the field, stopping to stuff his hands into the pockets of his jacket.
"Now for those of you who've seen enough of my little promos, you'll know how this goes; I'll sing each wrestler's praises, show a modicum of self-doubt, then make a comeback worthy of Robert Downey Junior and make snide comments at the same time, both amusing and winning you over. And while this week will be no different from the norm, I've decided to have a second attempt at my original promo. Though the producer has said that I'll have to do it in something slightly slower than that Mustang, just in case I muck it up again and end up in hospital. And so, that's why I'll be..."
The camera zooms out, showing Jack standing next to a child's pedal car that's shaped like Mustang. He pauses and looks at the thing before making a face and shaking his head.
"...walking."
So saying, he walks off camera, muttering.
"I mean, it's a nice day as well. No harm in just taking a stroll is there?"
The camera cuts as Jack walks down the middle of the deserted road, the pedal car shrinking into the distance all the while.
"Now; the match. My first true PPV, and the opening event, and with the talent in the ring it's sure to set the bar pretty high for the rest of the night. First off, there's Justin Marsham. A brash newcomer to nCw, he's already managed to rack up a fair amount of wins to his name, and has also become a little infamous for his promos and distracting his opponents. He calls himself the 'Epitome of Technical Finesse', and has a ream of title wins from FWF that's longer than my weekly shopping list; and I have to feed a family."
He pulls his right hand from his jacket, already holding up an index finger before adding a second finger.
"Then we've got Ricky Johnson, 'Rock Star'. He's come back after a bit of a hiatus, and looks to be doing some serious damage, even if his head's not in the right place. He managed to pick up an impressive win over Marsham and Reckoning last Sunday, and was certainly not someone I'd want to turn my back on for even a second."
He sighs and holds up a third finger.
"And finally, Sexy Jason. Seems that this will be the third time I'll have gone up against him, and another time when it's not us one-on-one. Needless to say, he's someone I'm looking forward to locking horns with once more, and another reason to be worried going into this match."
Jack pauses in his step, shaking his head and shoving his hand back into his jacket.
"With a lineup like that, I'd rather put odds on Sean Bean making it through a movie without dying than me winning."
A few clips suddenly appear of Sean Bean in Goldeneye, Lord of the Rings and Equilibrium, each time getting snuffed out. The camera cuts back to Jack making a pained expression.
"Yeah."
Jack starts walking again, looking a little dejected.
"So, by now, you'd expect me to strike up the emotastic MCR and don the comfy black stuff...but I did promise I'd cut down on that, so instead, here's a typical rebuttal."
He cracks a grin and shifts direction slightly to the side, the camera panning with him to reveal a classic 1960's Shelby Mustang, Bay Blue with twin white stripes running from nose to tail.
"And here's a much better car as well."
Positively beaming, Jack clambers into the driver's seat, starts up the V8 and burns away from the camera, the shot switching to the dash-mounted angle as the British highflyer laughs out loud.
"Now you see, I won't get into trouble with the director if I break this one, as this Mustang?"
He looks at the camera.
"It's mine."
He grins ferally as he stomps on the accelerator, the V8 roar only increasing in volume at pitch. Eventually, he slows down, his big grin still plastered on his face.
"You see, this car still has a pretty rubbish setup compared to the new version I managed to crash, but it has a less powerful engine. That means you can have so much more fun with this one. I'd like to think that's the way I approach all of my matches. I may not have all of the power of the bigger guys, and I may not be as refined either, but I am still a bit of a handful and I can show off when the mood takes me. So whilst I'll spout off a bunch of doom-and-gloom and say that I've got a better chance of bedding Keira Knightley than I have at beating a few other men in a fight, I can still have a tonne of fun."
He relaxes visibly, leaning back in the bucket seat and letting the revs drop to allow him to speak a little easier.
"Justin Marsham. He's been making waves in the nCw since he joined, and has a habit of managing to rile up his opponents, getting the better of them by using his head. He also seems to take a lot of amusement at poking fun at people; his promo earlier today, for example. Now whilst I did have a bloody good laugh watching it, I feel I have to point out a couple of things that I do take offense at."
He sighs and frowns at the camera.
"First off, the 'Jack Hammond' you had? Way too tall, mate. How'd you expect me to take that seriously if where my head's usually at, he was wearing a belt? And as for the car references, I'm not sure that most of what was said even made sense. And if you feel like dressing up like someone who's ready to slit their wrists at the slightest provocation...say the opening bars of a certain song that I'm sure you may be familiar with by now..."
The infamous 'How Could This Happen To Me?' strikes up, Jack suddenly changed into his 'emo' persona, shifting back to normal within a heartbeat, cocking an eyebrow at the camera.
"...that schtick's already taken matey boy, go find your own."
He coughs.
"And that whole 'Black Jesus' promo? Well, as much as I'd like to mention words like 'egomaniacal', 'deranged' and 'so going to get a few complaints from mothers', I think I'm going to stay well away from that. Sometimes, insults are not needed when the person's already done that to himself in the first place.
Hammond shrugs.
"Nevertheless, I won't be more concerned about what names you called me in a promo. I'll be more concerned over facing someone who's worn so much gold so many times over to give Mr. T a run for his money. I look forward to it."
He grins before shifting up a gear, letting the revs settle again before talking.
"Sexy Jason. Well, what hasn't already been said about this guy? You hear many titles being thrown at this man's feet; athletic, confident, powerful, oiled, egotistical, hard-headed...If he could just keep his head in the game and eyes on the prize rather than on some skirt's arse, perhaps 'focused' could be added. Maybe. Not exactly intimidating if you're threatening to beat someone when you're visibly drooling. Then he goes and says the Sexy Jason I'll be facing at Reborn won't be the same Sexy Jason I've faced before."
Jack blinks cocks an eyebrow.
"So, should I expect a stand-in or something? A stunt double perhaps? Needless to say, The Jack Hammond whom he faced two weeks ago and the Jack Hammond who beat him will still be the same one. I know what you're capable of, and I hope you remember what I can do too. Just try to wear a little less oil this time. It's not sexy, it's creepy, mate."
The British highflyer rolls his head, popping a couple of bones as he plays with the throttle for a while. He appears a little more serious.
"And finally, Ricky Johnson. This man has been through a lot, and far be it from me to make a judgement call on whether or not he is in the correct frame of mind to be competing. Going with a loved one in hospital...I couldn't even dream of doing something like that. And perhaps it would be offensive for me to suggest that you need to back down and make sure your personal life is in order before stepping back in the ring, and I'm sorry if that isn't what you have in mind, but if I were faced with something like that..."
He looks pained.
"Sorry...just thinking about something like that makes me uncomfortable at best. Perhaps you just have something to prove by doing this, perhaps it's your own way of staying distracted, I don't know. I will, however, respect your decision to be in this match, and I will be pulling no punches. I've seen what you're capable of and I will not stoop so low as to trying to get you to fight with your heart rather than your head by doing some namecalling; I want you to bring your best to that ring."
Jack looks at the camera.
"That goes for all of you. I've noticed how the people I face now treat me with some respect; they know that I'm not just some short guy who can be shoved around."
He sighs and cracks a grin.
"So as you can see, at the very least, I'm going to try to have some fun coming into this fatal-four-way, this Sunday in Chicago."
Jack's grin is suddenly wiped from his face as the car judders and a loud 'bang' can be heard. He groans. The camera cuts to outside, focussing on one of the rear tyres, which appears to have blown out and is now completely flat.
"...that is, if I can get to Chicago by Sunday..."
Jack leans out of the window, calling out to the camera crew.
"Oi! Got a spare?"
The scene fades out to muffled laughter.
"Last Sunday, I was able to rack up my third win in a row against rookie K.C. Burke. The week before that, I was able to come out on top of a 6-Man Showcase Match, trumping Sexy Jason, Xavier Williams, Sebastian Morris, Craig Mueller and John Anthony. To say I'm feeling like I'm on a bit of a roll wouldn't be incorrect. As a matter of fact, a little earlier this week, I was trying to film for a promo when I actually found myself in a roll of a different kind."
The action onscreen seems to judder and jolt suddenly, Jack wincing and bouncing around in his seat, held down only by the racing harness of his seat. The tyre squeals increase in volume as Jack appears to slam on the brakes, and the background out the window spins by quickly. Without warning, Jack seems to brace himself, and a split-second later, the background spins upwards, the car tipping forwards. A few loud bangs and crunches occur, the camera cutting to static for a couple of seconds on a particularly violent impact, and finally the picture steadies, the angle slightly skew, Jack looking a little dazed, but otherwise okay. He blinks and manages a grin.
"Well that wasn't meant to happen."
He chuckles to himself and starts reaching for the harness, shaking his head clear. His voice come back over the video again.
"Thankfully, I only suffered a few scrapes and an injured pride, as well a writing off the 06' Mustang I'd been driving. Though in my defense I am blaming the car for letting me down. I have always said that the Mustang, while it's gotten a more powerful engine throughout the years as well as a makeover in terms of the exterior and interior, the chassis, suspension and brakes would be better if they weren't so outdated; I've seen steamrollers with better handling than the new Mustang."
The camera cuts to Hammond striding across an open field towards the camera.
"Okay, I'll admit, maybe I shouldn't have been pushing it so hard when I knew that trying to go sideways around a corner in a campervan would have been safer, but I have got my mind on a couple of things. First is what am I going to tell the hire company about what I did to their car, and secondly, what am I going to do about this match on Sunday; a fatal four way against the returning Ricky Johnson, the rookie Justin Marsham, and the veteran Sexy Jason."
Jack is still approaching the camera, gesticulating wildly.
"All three men in their own right are going into this match at Reborn with something to prove. Johnson, to prove he's still got it, Marsham, to get attention, and Jason to simply get that little bit closer to the top. And all three are serious contenders, each coming off recent wins and looking to keep momentum going. And little old me standing in the same ring at the same time."
Jack finally reaches the edge of the field, stopping to stuff his hands into the pockets of his jacket.
"Now for those of you who've seen enough of my little promos, you'll know how this goes; I'll sing each wrestler's praises, show a modicum of self-doubt, then make a comeback worthy of Robert Downey Junior and make snide comments at the same time, both amusing and winning you over. And while this week will be no different from the norm, I've decided to have a second attempt at my original promo. Though the producer has said that I'll have to do it in something slightly slower than that Mustang, just in case I muck it up again and end up in hospital. And so, that's why I'll be..."
The camera zooms out, showing Jack standing next to a child's pedal car that's shaped like Mustang. He pauses and looks at the thing before making a face and shaking his head.
"...walking."
So saying, he walks off camera, muttering.
"I mean, it's a nice day as well. No harm in just taking a stroll is there?"
The camera cuts as Jack walks down the middle of the deserted road, the pedal car shrinking into the distance all the while.
"Now; the match. My first true PPV, and the opening event, and with the talent in the ring it's sure to set the bar pretty high for the rest of the night. First off, there's Justin Marsham. A brash newcomer to nCw, he's already managed to rack up a fair amount of wins to his name, and has also become a little infamous for his promos and distracting his opponents. He calls himself the 'Epitome of Technical Finesse', and has a ream of title wins from FWF that's longer than my weekly shopping list; and I have to feed a family."
He pulls his right hand from his jacket, already holding up an index finger before adding a second finger.
"Then we've got Ricky Johnson, 'Rock Star'. He's come back after a bit of a hiatus, and looks to be doing some serious damage, even if his head's not in the right place. He managed to pick up an impressive win over Marsham and Reckoning last Sunday, and was certainly not someone I'd want to turn my back on for even a second."
He sighs and holds up a third finger.
"And finally, Sexy Jason. Seems that this will be the third time I'll have gone up against him, and another time when it's not us one-on-one. Needless to say, he's someone I'm looking forward to locking horns with once more, and another reason to be worried going into this match."
Jack pauses in his step, shaking his head and shoving his hand back into his jacket.
"With a lineup like that, I'd rather put odds on Sean Bean making it through a movie without dying than me winning."
A few clips suddenly appear of Sean Bean in Goldeneye, Lord of the Rings and Equilibrium, each time getting snuffed out. The camera cuts back to Jack making a pained expression.
"Yeah."
Jack starts walking again, looking a little dejected.
"So, by now, you'd expect me to strike up the emotastic MCR and don the comfy black stuff...but I did promise I'd cut down on that, so instead, here's a typical rebuttal."
He cracks a grin and shifts direction slightly to the side, the camera panning with him to reveal a classic 1960's Shelby Mustang, Bay Blue with twin white stripes running from nose to tail.
"And here's a much better car as well."
Positively beaming, Jack clambers into the driver's seat, starts up the V8 and burns away from the camera, the shot switching to the dash-mounted angle as the British highflyer laughs out loud.
"Now you see, I won't get into trouble with the director if I break this one, as this Mustang?"
He looks at the camera.
"It's mine."
He grins ferally as he stomps on the accelerator, the V8 roar only increasing in volume at pitch. Eventually, he slows down, his big grin still plastered on his face.
"You see, this car still has a pretty rubbish setup compared to the new version I managed to crash, but it has a less powerful engine. That means you can have so much more fun with this one. I'd like to think that's the way I approach all of my matches. I may not have all of the power of the bigger guys, and I may not be as refined either, but I am still a bit of a handful and I can show off when the mood takes me. So whilst I'll spout off a bunch of doom-and-gloom and say that I've got a better chance of bedding Keira Knightley than I have at beating a few other men in a fight, I can still have a tonne of fun."
He relaxes visibly, leaning back in the bucket seat and letting the revs drop to allow him to speak a little easier.
"Justin Marsham. He's been making waves in the nCw since he joined, and has a habit of managing to rile up his opponents, getting the better of them by using his head. He also seems to take a lot of amusement at poking fun at people; his promo earlier today, for example. Now whilst I did have a bloody good laugh watching it, I feel I have to point out a couple of things that I do take offense at."
He sighs and frowns at the camera.
"First off, the 'Jack Hammond' you had? Way too tall, mate. How'd you expect me to take that seriously if where my head's usually at, he was wearing a belt? And as for the car references, I'm not sure that most of what was said even made sense. And if you feel like dressing up like someone who's ready to slit their wrists at the slightest provocation...say the opening bars of a certain song that I'm sure you may be familiar with by now..."
The infamous 'How Could This Happen To Me?' strikes up, Jack suddenly changed into his 'emo' persona, shifting back to normal within a heartbeat, cocking an eyebrow at the camera.
"...that schtick's already taken matey boy, go find your own."
He coughs.
"And that whole 'Black Jesus' promo? Well, as much as I'd like to mention words like 'egomaniacal', 'deranged' and 'so going to get a few complaints from mothers', I think I'm going to stay well away from that. Sometimes, insults are not needed when the person's already done that to himself in the first place.
Hammond shrugs.
"Nevertheless, I won't be more concerned about what names you called me in a promo. I'll be more concerned over facing someone who's worn so much gold so many times over to give Mr. T a run for his money. I look forward to it."
He grins before shifting up a gear, letting the revs settle again before talking.
"Sexy Jason. Well, what hasn't already been said about this guy? You hear many titles being thrown at this man's feet; athletic, confident, powerful, oiled, egotistical, hard-headed...If he could just keep his head in the game and eyes on the prize rather than on some skirt's arse, perhaps 'focused' could be added. Maybe. Not exactly intimidating if you're threatening to beat someone when you're visibly drooling. Then he goes and says the Sexy Jason I'll be facing at Reborn won't be the same Sexy Jason I've faced before."
Jack blinks cocks an eyebrow.
"So, should I expect a stand-in or something? A stunt double perhaps? Needless to say, The Jack Hammond whom he faced two weeks ago and the Jack Hammond who beat him will still be the same one. I know what you're capable of, and I hope you remember what I can do too. Just try to wear a little less oil this time. It's not sexy, it's creepy, mate."
The British highflyer rolls his head, popping a couple of bones as he plays with the throttle for a while. He appears a little more serious.
"And finally, Ricky Johnson. This man has been through a lot, and far be it from me to make a judgement call on whether or not he is in the correct frame of mind to be competing. Going with a loved one in hospital...I couldn't even dream of doing something like that. And perhaps it would be offensive for me to suggest that you need to back down and make sure your personal life is in order before stepping back in the ring, and I'm sorry if that isn't what you have in mind, but if I were faced with something like that..."
He looks pained.
"Sorry...just thinking about something like that makes me uncomfortable at best. Perhaps you just have something to prove by doing this, perhaps it's your own way of staying distracted, I don't know. I will, however, respect your decision to be in this match, and I will be pulling no punches. I've seen what you're capable of and I will not stoop so low as to trying to get you to fight with your heart rather than your head by doing some namecalling; I want you to bring your best to that ring."
Jack looks at the camera.
"That goes for all of you. I've noticed how the people I face now treat me with some respect; they know that I'm not just some short guy who can be shoved around."
He sighs and cracks a grin.
"So as you can see, at the very least, I'm going to try to have some fun coming into this fatal-four-way, this Sunday in Chicago."
Jack's grin is suddenly wiped from his face as the car judders and a loud 'bang' can be heard. He groans. The camera cuts to outside, focussing on one of the rear tyres, which appears to have blown out and is now completely flat.
"...that is, if I can get to Chicago by Sunday..."
Jack leans out of the window, calling out to the camera crew.
"Oi! Got a spare?"
The scene fades out to muffled laughter.