Post by Deleted on Sept 26, 2013 23:12:16 GMT -5
The echo of Waylon's feet slapping against the mat bounces off the walls of the private training space; as he sprints back and forth between the ropes. He keeps going, bouncing back and forth at a rapid pace. A weighted vest bounces on his chest, adding an extra seventy pounds to the man's body. Sweat runs down Cash's face in rivers. His body begs him to stop. Pain shoots through his body, radiating from his lungs. He gasps for air, but keeps pushing himself. Scott Savage watches from the outside, whistle dangling from his mouth. He keeps time with the black stopwatch in his hand. His eyes follow the wrestler speeding back and forth over the canvas. After a while, he blows the whistle. The piercing screech causes Waylon to drop to his knees, and wrench the lead vest over his head. He gasps violently for air, as Scott looks on in approval.
Scott:Well done Tex. You've improved greatly.
Waylon can't answer. He is too busy trying not to pass out. He tries to get off his hands and knees, but quickly falls back to the mat.
Scott:It's alright. Just relax. You've done a good job.
The sound of Roxxanne's voice from the back of the room causes Scott to jump.
Roxxy:What the hell do you think you're doing?
Scott puts his calm face back on, before turning around to answer his sister.
Scott:Training... I know this is news to you, but your fiance is a professional wrestler. He needs to train daily to stay-
Roxxy:You know what I mean! You're gonna kill him!
Scott:You couldn't possibly BE more dramatic at the moment. Waylon is in better shape than he was when we met him. He is a virtual lock for winning War, and it's because of my training program, so you may want to give me the benefit of the doubt here.
Roxxy:It's too much Sco-
Waylon:I'm fine!
Waylon slowly drops to an upright, but seated position. His breathing has steadied somewhat, but sweat still drips down his body.
Waylon:I'm fine Roxxy... this is what I do for a livin'.
Roxxy:And what kinda living are you gonna be making when your heart gives out on you?
Waylon:I'm gonna be fine.
Roxxy:I just think-
Waylon:Look! If I win War, I get my World title back. Not only that, if I win this thing, I prove to everyone, without a doubt, that I'm the best wrestler in the world. I'm gonna be up against the entire active roster! If I wanna win, I gotta train harder than anyone else. I gotta push my shit right to the limit, and if I don't, there's gonna be someone out there who did, and that's when my ass gets eliminated. I can't risk it.
Roxxanne wears a look of frustration, love, and concern as only a woman can. She stares at her fiance, carefully contemplating her next words.
Roxxy:You do what you feel you gotta do baby.
She then slowly approaches her brother, and gives him an icy stare he's only received three other times in his life. It goes a long way to melting the constitution of the beast of a man.
Roxxy:If you're gonna do this to him, you're gonna foot the bill for an EMT to be on hand during all training sessions. You got me?
A smile can be many things. In Scott's case, he uses one as a shield. It is a cool smile, one that acquiesces without submitting.
Scott:Of course, my dear sister.
She eyes him skeptically, before turning back to Waylon.
Roxxanne:Don't forget, you got that audition this afternoon. I'm gonna go get your suit ready.
Waylon replies, still seated in the center of the ring.
Waylon:I ain't wearin' no suit.
Roxxy:Yes you are.
She answers, and then shuts the door behind her. Waylon lets out a chuckle, before rolling to the side of the ring and sitting with his legs dangling over the apron. He rests his had against the second rope while addressing his manager.
Waylon:I love her... but she's killin' me.
Scott:You don't have to tell me. I credit my sister for the fact that I was never stupid enough to get married.
Waylon:She took my shit. She's barely givin' me enough to keep the shakes away. I ain't sure I can handle it.
Scott:Go buy more.
Waylon:I can't. She's watchin' close now.
Scott reaches into the breast pocket of his jacket, and removes a small bag of white powder.
Scott:I have a little left over from a party the other night. You need to make this last though. It is only to keep yourself from shaking, understood?
Waylon stares at the bag. A hungry glare settles on his face, as he nods furiously. Scott hands him the bag; and Cash quickly stuffs it in his pocket.
Scott:Now, go get ready for your audition. I think getting this role might be good for you. Get your head away from the ring for a little while.
_____ __ _ _ ___ _ _ ___
Waylon shifts in his seat, adjusting the ill fitting suit. He loosens his tie slightly, as he stares across the small waiting room. Three goldfish swim around in their small tank, oblivious to the world around them. The wrestler fights off a slight twinge of envy. On an adjacent wall sit two other people, meticulously looking over their sections of the script. One, a barrel chested older man in a golf shirt, and the other a petite young blonde who looks like she might be one more rejection away from accepting a casting couch session. A door on the other side of the room bursts open, and a stern looking woman enters the waiting room. Her eyes are glued to the clipboard in her hands.
Casting Agent:Waylon Cash...
Waylon stands up and attempts a smile, but it is weak. He follows the woman into the undecorated room, and stands in front of a table, with three judgmental faces sitting behind it. The agent that brought him in is the only one that speaks.
Agent:This is number 514, Waylon Cash, auditioning for the role of Robert Montgomery. And... go.
Waylon stares down at the packet of papers in his hand. He doesn't need to. He knows every line they want him to read. He clenches the manuscript in his hand, before looking up and delivering his lines with the worst fake southern drawl he can muster.
Waylon:Sarge! They found the body righcha here! They done stumbled o'er it when they was runnin'! Lookin' like we got a mess'o'trouble brewin' I reckon.
The head casting agent lifts her hand to stop him.
Agent:I'm sorry... could you maybe try it a little toned down?
Waylon:Oh sure, sure.
Waylon takes another moment to silently prepare, before returning with an almost monotone drawl.
Waylon:The coroner says that the cause of death was likely blunt force trauma combined with-
Agent:I'm gonna stop you right there. Do you understand the character?
Waylon lets out a short chuckle, before dropping his script to the ground.
Waylon:Yeah, trust me, I get the character. I just don't get what I'm doin' here. I mean... is it really this bad? Am I really thinkin' about bein' one of those douchebag ex-pro wrestlers who survives on being bouncer number one in a movie every three years?
Agent:The character's name is Officer number three-
Waylon:Who gives a shit? Look, I appreciate the time, but I ain't the guy you're lookin' for. Good luck.
Agent:That's it!
Waylon:Huh? That's what?
Agent: That's exactly the kind of gritty southern friend realism we've been looking for. You got the job.
Waylon stares in disbelief.
Waylon:Look, I ain't sure I can make it any clearer. You can take the role, and stick it up your ass. Then you can pull it out, and stick it up that guys ass.
Waylon gestures to the casting agent next to her, as he paces back and forth across the room. His bloodshot eyes stay locked on the three people behind the table.
Waylon:Let me tell you somethin'. In the last year and a half I've been mocked endlessly. I have been slammed on concrete, stabbed in the back, attacked from behind more times than I can count, and my fiance's been kidnapped. I got fifty-six stitches put in my body in the last six months! Here's my point: after all that, I'd still rather be a wrestler than one of you phony assholes. At least when I step between the ropes, I ain't lyin' to anyone. I ain't playin' games, or talkin' outta both side of my mouth. When I'm in the ring it's honest, and real. That's somethin' you mother fuckers ain't ever gonna understand.
The female turns to the other agents with a wide smile on her face.
Agent:Isn't he just perfect! We may have struck gold here. You just might be the new Burt Reynolds.
Waylon:Don't you hear good?! I said... Did you say Burt Reynolds? NO! It doesn't matter!
The wrestler lets out a frustrated grunt, and stomps out of the room. He can hear the casting agents chattering behind him; as he walks out of the building, and into the parking lot. An unseasonably cool breeze hits the back of Waylon's neck. Cash lets out a smile. He slips into the driver's side of his long, purple Lincoln, and begins to creep down the road. He goes on auto pilot, allowing his mind to rifle through the worst moments of the last week in rapid succession. Waylon tries lighting a cigarette, but finds it does nothing to calm his nerves. A violent tremor goes through his hand. He lets out an angry growl, before finding a secluded spot to pull over on the country road. He checks the road in either direct, before removing the small baggie Scott gave him. He uses the car key to scoop a small amount of the powder up, and inhales it through his right nostril. Immediately he breathes a sigh of relief. The withdrawal symptoms abate almost instantly, allowing him to stuff the cocaine back in his pocket and continue his drive. As he moves down the driveway, he sees Roxxanne sitting in the hammock, waiting eagerly for his arrival. When he finally pulls to a stop, she runs across the lawn with a smile on her face.
Roxxy:So... how did it go?
Waylon steps out of the car, and begins walking toward the concrete slab that covers his home.
Waylon:I'm not gonna be an actor.
Roxxy:Don't say that. One rejection doesn't mean you're not good. It just means you weren't exactly what they were looking for.
Waylon:I don't think it's gonna work out.
Roxxy:Oh, drop the doom and gloom act. It's your first-
Waylon:I tanked the audition.
It's a good ten seconds of silence before Roxxanne speaks.
Roxxy:I'm sorry?
Waylon:It ain't me. I ain't no actor. I'm a wrestler. I know it means I won't be able to retire as soon, but dammit... I can't be somethin' I'm not.
The couple each take a seat on the cement, as Waylon pulls off his beige jacket and loosens his tie.
Waylon:I can't pretend to be someone else, not even if I'm bein' paid. It don't feel right to me. I'm just gonna have to make money bein' Waylon Cash. Besides... I got a big ass clusterfuck of a match to win. Not to mention a world title. I can't let some movie get in the way of that. I don't care how beautiful this face is on camera.
This draws a chuckle from Roxxanne, who leans against Waylon. He wraps his arm around her shoulders. They stare off at the horizon, as the sun slowly lowers beneath the trees. Pastels of pink and orange dance across the Georgia sky; as a few stars peak through the looming darkness above.
Roxxy:You know... Scott's gonna kill you if you don't put out a promo video for War.
Waylon:I swear to god, if you two were as worried about my win/loss record as you are about my Twitter hits and Youtube followers, I'd be world champ already.
Roxxy:If you have to be a wrestler, can you at least be one that promotes himself? You can fight all you want, but remember that you're the one who said you wanted to make as much money as you could with this run.
Waylon rolls his eyes, and gives in.
Waylon:Fine. Go get your camera.
____ _____ ______ _______
Waylon Cash sits in the crook of a large tree branch. His legs dangle off the side, as the setting sun casts a strange shadow across his face. He grins, and leans backwards on the branch.
Waylon:What the hell do I even say at this point? It's War. I'm up against over 30 other people, includin' my own team mates. If I want the WCF title, I gotta beat the ENTIRE WCF. Johnny Fly, Sarah Twilight, NvL, I gotta outlast every one of them. I gotta beat Bobby Cairo, Eric Price, and of course, the powerhouse that is Lilith. It's damn near impossible, but at the end of the day someone's gotta be left standin'. Someone's gotta make it through all that, and become world champion. I hate to break the news to everyone, but that mother fucker at the top of the mountain... is gonna be good ol' Waylon Cash.
Waylon takes a cigarette from behind his ear, and lights it, blowing smoke rings into the air. He cracks his neck, before turning his attention back to the camera.
Waylon:I ain't gonna waste your time runnin' down every wrestler in the company. Shit, most of them do a good enough job of that for themselves. I'm gonna focus on a few that are really important to me. Why don't we start off with Sarah Twilight? Listen, I don't care how much Scott kisses your ass. I don't care if you run this company, shit, I don't care if you're the god damn president. You're still the same two-faced, heartless, self promotin' bitch I knew in Genesis. I never liked you, and as far as I'm concerned, beatin' your ass is gonna be a privilege. I'm gonna love every second of it. You can do whatever you want to me next week at Slam, but I'm gonna take my shots at War... and I'm gonna make them count.
Waylon stares up at the sky, where more and more stars have begun to leave their mark. He smiles at the vast chasm of space, letting it envelope him for a moment. He keeps his gaze upward while speaking.
Waylon:When you got somethin' like thirty plus wrestlers ready to rip you apart, it seems infinite. Like it's a task that'll never end... that you can't possibly complete. It seems like you'll either die, or continue on fightin' forever. But one by one, the other guys fall. They get eliminated, and you get closer to the end. You get weaker, you lose sweat and blood. The finish line gets closer and closer. The only question I have to answer on Sunday is whether or not I got what it takes to push through to the end. I gotta dig deep and find out if I got the strength to get through every other wrestler, and take the belt that should be mine in the first place. I can't say for sure if I got it... but I got a pretty good feelin'.
He rests his feet on a nearby branch, as he takes a few slow drags from his cigarette.
Waylon: Eric Price... this is gonna be a good one. For months you sat there in your suit, keepin' yourself away from S-PAC. You stayed at a safe distance, toyin' with the entire fed, makin' life hell on us. You pompous, right wing piece of shit. I know I ain't the only one gunnin' for your ass either. You pissed off a lot of people, and now you're in a match with all of them. Yo're getting' tossed into a den of the lions you been beatin' and starvin' since day one. If you think that's gonna end well, you're more delusional than the idiots you vote for. You're gonna get ripped limb from limb whether I'm there or not. I just hope our paths cross long enough for me to get a chunk.
The wrestler chuckles to himself. The sky has now gone completely dark. Out in the country, away from the light pollution, the tars hang like a brilliant tapestry, dancing nimbly across the blackness. Waylon smiles widely, his eyes still pointing upwards.
Waylon:Bobby Cairo. You... you I wanna eliminate personally. I want highlights of me takin' your ass out to play for years. I wanna be known as the guy who took Bobby Cairo out of the biggest match of his career, and denied him a title win. It ain't nothin' personal Bobby, but you're a legend. If I can take you out, it'll show people exactly what I been sayin'. Waylon Cash is the real deal. I beat rookies, I beat legends, I beat mother fuckers in their prime! I'll stomp out anyone and everyone that's in my way, and I'm gonna prove it by lettin' the whole world watch me destroy you. Once again... nothin' personal.
Waylon gives the camera a grin, as he takes a drag of his cigarette.
Waylon:It's been a long time since I seen a challenge like this. I love it. It gets my blood pumpin'. It's scary, don't get me wrong, but part of me can't wait to be in that ring. There's somethin' beautiful that kicks in inside of me when I got my back against the wall, and it looks like there ain't no way out. That's when I'm at my best. That's when the blood really starts to fly. My senses amplify, my body goes into overdrive and I just... rip...things...apart.
Waylon's smile is a satisfied one, as he tosses the burned out cigarette across his yard. He gingerly lowers himself from the tree, and moves across the grass.
Waylon:I suppose I should say a few words about Atreyu and Gable. These boys are two amazin' wrestlers. I couldn't have gotten any luckier as far as tag partners go. It's been the easiest time of my life teamin' with them. I ain't never seen two guys more obviously meant to be champions. I see world titles in both of their futures... but not this week. Not at War. War is mine. I don't give a damn how good they are, I'm Waylon fuckin' Cash. I don;t care who I gotta beat, friend of enemy, I'll take 'em all! Benji, Gable, you're my boys, but look out behind you. I'm out for blood.
Cash takes a seat on the concrete foundation. Now his eyes are fully locked on the camera. Bad intentions dwell not that far beneath his retinas. His left eye twitches slightly just as he starts speaking again.
Waylon:It ain't that difficult to figure out. The second Waylon Cash hits that ring, the game is over. Everything everyone's been doin' 'til that point to stay in the match, is all for nothin'. I'm a tornado carryin' a mushroom cloud, and if you see my face on Sunday... it's already too late. I'm gonna tear through everyone in that match, and at the end I'll be standin' tall on a pile of bodies. In my hand is gonna be the WCF world title... MY title. As always... you don't gotta believe me. You just gotta watch.
Scott:Well done Tex. You've improved greatly.
Waylon can't answer. He is too busy trying not to pass out. He tries to get off his hands and knees, but quickly falls back to the mat.
Scott:It's alright. Just relax. You've done a good job.
The sound of Roxxanne's voice from the back of the room causes Scott to jump.
Roxxy:What the hell do you think you're doing?
Scott puts his calm face back on, before turning around to answer his sister.
Scott:Training... I know this is news to you, but your fiance is a professional wrestler. He needs to train daily to stay-
Roxxy:You know what I mean! You're gonna kill him!
Scott:You couldn't possibly BE more dramatic at the moment. Waylon is in better shape than he was when we met him. He is a virtual lock for winning War, and it's because of my training program, so you may want to give me the benefit of the doubt here.
Roxxy:It's too much Sco-
Waylon:I'm fine!
Waylon slowly drops to an upright, but seated position. His breathing has steadied somewhat, but sweat still drips down his body.
Waylon:I'm fine Roxxy... this is what I do for a livin'.
Roxxy:And what kinda living are you gonna be making when your heart gives out on you?
Waylon:I'm gonna be fine.
Roxxy:I just think-
Waylon:Look! If I win War, I get my World title back. Not only that, if I win this thing, I prove to everyone, without a doubt, that I'm the best wrestler in the world. I'm gonna be up against the entire active roster! If I wanna win, I gotta train harder than anyone else. I gotta push my shit right to the limit, and if I don't, there's gonna be someone out there who did, and that's when my ass gets eliminated. I can't risk it.
Roxxanne wears a look of frustration, love, and concern as only a woman can. She stares at her fiance, carefully contemplating her next words.
Roxxy:You do what you feel you gotta do baby.
She then slowly approaches her brother, and gives him an icy stare he's only received three other times in his life. It goes a long way to melting the constitution of the beast of a man.
Roxxy:If you're gonna do this to him, you're gonna foot the bill for an EMT to be on hand during all training sessions. You got me?
A smile can be many things. In Scott's case, he uses one as a shield. It is a cool smile, one that acquiesces without submitting.
Scott:Of course, my dear sister.
She eyes him skeptically, before turning back to Waylon.
Roxxanne:Don't forget, you got that audition this afternoon. I'm gonna go get your suit ready.
Waylon replies, still seated in the center of the ring.
Waylon:I ain't wearin' no suit.
Roxxy:Yes you are.
She answers, and then shuts the door behind her. Waylon lets out a chuckle, before rolling to the side of the ring and sitting with his legs dangling over the apron. He rests his had against the second rope while addressing his manager.
Waylon:I love her... but she's killin' me.
Scott:You don't have to tell me. I credit my sister for the fact that I was never stupid enough to get married.
Waylon:She took my shit. She's barely givin' me enough to keep the shakes away. I ain't sure I can handle it.
Scott:Go buy more.
Waylon:I can't. She's watchin' close now.
Scott reaches into the breast pocket of his jacket, and removes a small bag of white powder.
Scott:I have a little left over from a party the other night. You need to make this last though. It is only to keep yourself from shaking, understood?
Waylon stares at the bag. A hungry glare settles on his face, as he nods furiously. Scott hands him the bag; and Cash quickly stuffs it in his pocket.
Scott:Now, go get ready for your audition. I think getting this role might be good for you. Get your head away from the ring for a little while.
_____ __ _ _ ___ _ _ ___
Waylon shifts in his seat, adjusting the ill fitting suit. He loosens his tie slightly, as he stares across the small waiting room. Three goldfish swim around in their small tank, oblivious to the world around them. The wrestler fights off a slight twinge of envy. On an adjacent wall sit two other people, meticulously looking over their sections of the script. One, a barrel chested older man in a golf shirt, and the other a petite young blonde who looks like she might be one more rejection away from accepting a casting couch session. A door on the other side of the room bursts open, and a stern looking woman enters the waiting room. Her eyes are glued to the clipboard in her hands.
Casting Agent:Waylon Cash...
Waylon stands up and attempts a smile, but it is weak. He follows the woman into the undecorated room, and stands in front of a table, with three judgmental faces sitting behind it. The agent that brought him in is the only one that speaks.
Agent:This is number 514, Waylon Cash, auditioning for the role of Robert Montgomery. And... go.
Waylon stares down at the packet of papers in his hand. He doesn't need to. He knows every line they want him to read. He clenches the manuscript in his hand, before looking up and delivering his lines with the worst fake southern drawl he can muster.
Waylon:Sarge! They found the body righcha here! They done stumbled o'er it when they was runnin'! Lookin' like we got a mess'o'trouble brewin' I reckon.
The head casting agent lifts her hand to stop him.
Agent:I'm sorry... could you maybe try it a little toned down?
Waylon:Oh sure, sure.
Waylon takes another moment to silently prepare, before returning with an almost monotone drawl.
Waylon:The coroner says that the cause of death was likely blunt force trauma combined with-
Agent:I'm gonna stop you right there. Do you understand the character?
Waylon lets out a short chuckle, before dropping his script to the ground.
Waylon:Yeah, trust me, I get the character. I just don't get what I'm doin' here. I mean... is it really this bad? Am I really thinkin' about bein' one of those douchebag ex-pro wrestlers who survives on being bouncer number one in a movie every three years?
Agent:The character's name is Officer number three-
Waylon:Who gives a shit? Look, I appreciate the time, but I ain't the guy you're lookin' for. Good luck.
Agent:That's it!
Waylon:Huh? That's what?
Agent: That's exactly the kind of gritty southern friend realism we've been looking for. You got the job.
Waylon stares in disbelief.
Waylon:Look, I ain't sure I can make it any clearer. You can take the role, and stick it up your ass. Then you can pull it out, and stick it up that guys ass.
Waylon gestures to the casting agent next to her, as he paces back and forth across the room. His bloodshot eyes stay locked on the three people behind the table.
Waylon:Let me tell you somethin'. In the last year and a half I've been mocked endlessly. I have been slammed on concrete, stabbed in the back, attacked from behind more times than I can count, and my fiance's been kidnapped. I got fifty-six stitches put in my body in the last six months! Here's my point: after all that, I'd still rather be a wrestler than one of you phony assholes. At least when I step between the ropes, I ain't lyin' to anyone. I ain't playin' games, or talkin' outta both side of my mouth. When I'm in the ring it's honest, and real. That's somethin' you mother fuckers ain't ever gonna understand.
The female turns to the other agents with a wide smile on her face.
Agent:Isn't he just perfect! We may have struck gold here. You just might be the new Burt Reynolds.
Waylon:Don't you hear good?! I said... Did you say Burt Reynolds? NO! It doesn't matter!
The wrestler lets out a frustrated grunt, and stomps out of the room. He can hear the casting agents chattering behind him; as he walks out of the building, and into the parking lot. An unseasonably cool breeze hits the back of Waylon's neck. Cash lets out a smile. He slips into the driver's side of his long, purple Lincoln, and begins to creep down the road. He goes on auto pilot, allowing his mind to rifle through the worst moments of the last week in rapid succession. Waylon tries lighting a cigarette, but finds it does nothing to calm his nerves. A violent tremor goes through his hand. He lets out an angry growl, before finding a secluded spot to pull over on the country road. He checks the road in either direct, before removing the small baggie Scott gave him. He uses the car key to scoop a small amount of the powder up, and inhales it through his right nostril. Immediately he breathes a sigh of relief. The withdrawal symptoms abate almost instantly, allowing him to stuff the cocaine back in his pocket and continue his drive. As he moves down the driveway, he sees Roxxanne sitting in the hammock, waiting eagerly for his arrival. When he finally pulls to a stop, she runs across the lawn with a smile on her face.
Roxxy:So... how did it go?
Waylon steps out of the car, and begins walking toward the concrete slab that covers his home.
Waylon:I'm not gonna be an actor.
Roxxy:Don't say that. One rejection doesn't mean you're not good. It just means you weren't exactly what they were looking for.
Waylon:I don't think it's gonna work out.
Roxxy:Oh, drop the doom and gloom act. It's your first-
Waylon:I tanked the audition.
It's a good ten seconds of silence before Roxxanne speaks.
Roxxy:I'm sorry?
Waylon:It ain't me. I ain't no actor. I'm a wrestler. I know it means I won't be able to retire as soon, but dammit... I can't be somethin' I'm not.
The couple each take a seat on the cement, as Waylon pulls off his beige jacket and loosens his tie.
Waylon:I can't pretend to be someone else, not even if I'm bein' paid. It don't feel right to me. I'm just gonna have to make money bein' Waylon Cash. Besides... I got a big ass clusterfuck of a match to win. Not to mention a world title. I can't let some movie get in the way of that. I don't care how beautiful this face is on camera.
This draws a chuckle from Roxxanne, who leans against Waylon. He wraps his arm around her shoulders. They stare off at the horizon, as the sun slowly lowers beneath the trees. Pastels of pink and orange dance across the Georgia sky; as a few stars peak through the looming darkness above.
Roxxy:You know... Scott's gonna kill you if you don't put out a promo video for War.
Waylon:I swear to god, if you two were as worried about my win/loss record as you are about my Twitter hits and Youtube followers, I'd be world champ already.
Roxxy:If you have to be a wrestler, can you at least be one that promotes himself? You can fight all you want, but remember that you're the one who said you wanted to make as much money as you could with this run.
Waylon rolls his eyes, and gives in.
Waylon:Fine. Go get your camera.
____ _____ ______ _______
Waylon Cash sits in the crook of a large tree branch. His legs dangle off the side, as the setting sun casts a strange shadow across his face. He grins, and leans backwards on the branch.
Waylon:What the hell do I even say at this point? It's War. I'm up against over 30 other people, includin' my own team mates. If I want the WCF title, I gotta beat the ENTIRE WCF. Johnny Fly, Sarah Twilight, NvL, I gotta outlast every one of them. I gotta beat Bobby Cairo, Eric Price, and of course, the powerhouse that is Lilith. It's damn near impossible, but at the end of the day someone's gotta be left standin'. Someone's gotta make it through all that, and become world champion. I hate to break the news to everyone, but that mother fucker at the top of the mountain... is gonna be good ol' Waylon Cash.
Waylon takes a cigarette from behind his ear, and lights it, blowing smoke rings into the air. He cracks his neck, before turning his attention back to the camera.
Waylon:I ain't gonna waste your time runnin' down every wrestler in the company. Shit, most of them do a good enough job of that for themselves. I'm gonna focus on a few that are really important to me. Why don't we start off with Sarah Twilight? Listen, I don't care how much Scott kisses your ass. I don't care if you run this company, shit, I don't care if you're the god damn president. You're still the same two-faced, heartless, self promotin' bitch I knew in Genesis. I never liked you, and as far as I'm concerned, beatin' your ass is gonna be a privilege. I'm gonna love every second of it. You can do whatever you want to me next week at Slam, but I'm gonna take my shots at War... and I'm gonna make them count.
Waylon stares up at the sky, where more and more stars have begun to leave their mark. He smiles at the vast chasm of space, letting it envelope him for a moment. He keeps his gaze upward while speaking.
Waylon:When you got somethin' like thirty plus wrestlers ready to rip you apart, it seems infinite. Like it's a task that'll never end... that you can't possibly complete. It seems like you'll either die, or continue on fightin' forever. But one by one, the other guys fall. They get eliminated, and you get closer to the end. You get weaker, you lose sweat and blood. The finish line gets closer and closer. The only question I have to answer on Sunday is whether or not I got what it takes to push through to the end. I gotta dig deep and find out if I got the strength to get through every other wrestler, and take the belt that should be mine in the first place. I can't say for sure if I got it... but I got a pretty good feelin'.
He rests his feet on a nearby branch, as he takes a few slow drags from his cigarette.
Waylon: Eric Price... this is gonna be a good one. For months you sat there in your suit, keepin' yourself away from S-PAC. You stayed at a safe distance, toyin' with the entire fed, makin' life hell on us. You pompous, right wing piece of shit. I know I ain't the only one gunnin' for your ass either. You pissed off a lot of people, and now you're in a match with all of them. Yo're getting' tossed into a den of the lions you been beatin' and starvin' since day one. If you think that's gonna end well, you're more delusional than the idiots you vote for. You're gonna get ripped limb from limb whether I'm there or not. I just hope our paths cross long enough for me to get a chunk.
The wrestler chuckles to himself. The sky has now gone completely dark. Out in the country, away from the light pollution, the tars hang like a brilliant tapestry, dancing nimbly across the blackness. Waylon smiles widely, his eyes still pointing upwards.
Waylon:Bobby Cairo. You... you I wanna eliminate personally. I want highlights of me takin' your ass out to play for years. I wanna be known as the guy who took Bobby Cairo out of the biggest match of his career, and denied him a title win. It ain't nothin' personal Bobby, but you're a legend. If I can take you out, it'll show people exactly what I been sayin'. Waylon Cash is the real deal. I beat rookies, I beat legends, I beat mother fuckers in their prime! I'll stomp out anyone and everyone that's in my way, and I'm gonna prove it by lettin' the whole world watch me destroy you. Once again... nothin' personal.
Waylon gives the camera a grin, as he takes a drag of his cigarette.
Waylon:It's been a long time since I seen a challenge like this. I love it. It gets my blood pumpin'. It's scary, don't get me wrong, but part of me can't wait to be in that ring. There's somethin' beautiful that kicks in inside of me when I got my back against the wall, and it looks like there ain't no way out. That's when I'm at my best. That's when the blood really starts to fly. My senses amplify, my body goes into overdrive and I just... rip...things...apart.
Waylon's smile is a satisfied one, as he tosses the burned out cigarette across his yard. He gingerly lowers himself from the tree, and moves across the grass.
Waylon:I suppose I should say a few words about Atreyu and Gable. These boys are two amazin' wrestlers. I couldn't have gotten any luckier as far as tag partners go. It's been the easiest time of my life teamin' with them. I ain't never seen two guys more obviously meant to be champions. I see world titles in both of their futures... but not this week. Not at War. War is mine. I don't give a damn how good they are, I'm Waylon fuckin' Cash. I don;t care who I gotta beat, friend of enemy, I'll take 'em all! Benji, Gable, you're my boys, but look out behind you. I'm out for blood.
Cash takes a seat on the concrete foundation. Now his eyes are fully locked on the camera. Bad intentions dwell not that far beneath his retinas. His left eye twitches slightly just as he starts speaking again.
Waylon:It ain't that difficult to figure out. The second Waylon Cash hits that ring, the game is over. Everything everyone's been doin' 'til that point to stay in the match, is all for nothin'. I'm a tornado carryin' a mushroom cloud, and if you see my face on Sunday... it's already too late. I'm gonna tear through everyone in that match, and at the end I'll be standin' tall on a pile of bodies. In my hand is gonna be the WCF world title... MY title. As always... you don't gotta believe me. You just gotta watch.