Post by Cormack MacNeill on Feb 2, 2014 11:39:52 GMT -5
Tuesday, January 28, 2014, 0645 hrs
The scene opens on a now familiar snow covered parking lot. The equally familiar beaten pickup rests in a space in front of the door, now covered by nearly a foot of snow. The same whitewashed concrete building stands alone, still aloof from the neighbouring desolation.
The scene changes to an interior hallway, also now familiar as the well-kept entrance way of Church's compound. The every alluring sight of Miss Isla Stennet-Smith glides into view, her hips moving in a clear violation of all things natural. Dressed in a skin-tight wet suit and carrying a fire hose, she slinks to a doorway, and presses her ear against the portal, smiling as she hears complete silence. One would think this is her favourite part of the job.
With a deft twist of her lovely wrist, she opens the door silently and trains the hose on...an empty bed. This fact is just registering in her pretty red head as footsteps echo behind her. Spinning to face the sound, she is physically picked up and tossed onto the bed, dropping the hose in the process. As she looks up to the doorway, a jet of ice cold water strikes her in the chest, driving her head over heels and off the far side of the bed.
With a shivering sigh, she slowly raised herself to lean on the bed, and as the camera focuses in on her wet hair and glistening wetsuit, a single phrase can be heard as the scene fades out.
'Breakfast in 15 minutes, lassie'
Tuesday, January 28, 2014, 0900 hrs
The scene opens on a large room. Simple concrete walls and floors, brushed clean and scrubbed to a dull shine. Along the left wall stands a series of weight machines, presses and lifts, and such. Along the right there is a heavy bag set up, along with a speed bag, and some mats. Clearly this is the side devoted to footwork, positioning, and striking.
The center of the room is dominated by a wrestling ring, classic white on white. From a unseen room the door opens, and Cormack MacNeill walks into view, followed closely behind by James Church. Both men are dressed in grey sweats and training shoes. Church walks to the center of the mats stretched out along the right wall, and motions for Cormack to follow.
'It's time for a lesson in mat wrestling Mack. You're going to need to know how to handle yourself on the mat, both when you're in control and when you're not.'
Cormack stepped onto the mat, and immediately Church grabbed him in a side headlock and with a twist of the hips took him down. He leaned back, cranking up the pressure on MacNeill's neck.
'Now try to work this into a good position.'
With a grunt, Cormack twisted and turned, trying to use his power to push out of the hold, but to no avail. Church had the move cinched in well, and didn't budge. With a shrug, he released the hold and stood up.
'Now, you do the same to me, and I will show you a few ways to transition out of that.'
Comrakc got to his feet, and grabbed Church in a side headlock, using his strength to pull him over and down in a jarring takedown. Church immediately wrapped an arm around MacNeill's midsection and twisted away from him, forcing Cormack over onto his neck.
'1 ..2..3..that's a pin.'
Cormack released him and rolled to his feet, as did Church.
'Now you try that.'
Church grabbed MacNeill and again twisted him over into a take down, holding a side headlock. Wrapping his arm around Church's waist, he twists him over into a pinning position.
'Great job. You pick up on this pretty quick Mack.'
Cormack releases Church and they both move to their feet.
'Thanks James. This is why I wanted to come and train with you. I've seen the tapes. You were one of the best technical wrestlers to ever step in the ring.'
'Well, I had some great veterans to work with. Men who were willing to take the time to show me the ropes. Willing to get in the ring with me, show me how to not only put on a show, but also how to tell a story. How to move, counter move, counter counter.'
Cormack shook his head.
'Well, there aren't any of those guys left James. In the WCF, the veterans, the guys who could really be showing the new guys how its done, showing them how to make an audience play along...those guys are still hogging the spotlight. Trying to live off past glories.'
Church looked at Cormack sadly, and sighed deeply. He motioned to a stack of mats and took a seat on them himself.
'I was wondering about that. It seems like there is a lot of veteran talent on the roster, but I see so many new wrestlers that don't seem to have a direction, a reason. And don't get me started on the booking of the matches.'
Cormack took a seat beside Church.
'I know, right? Every main event seems to move between five or six veteran guys. It's like the WCF doesn't care about tomorrows talent, they just want today's payday. It pisses me off. And I'm not the only one.'
Church turns at the sound of an opening door. Isla glides into frame, water bottles in hand.
'I thought you gentleman would like some water for your break. Although I see more talking than working over here. James, remember that you have an appointment this afternoon.'
'What would I ever do without you Miss Stennet-Smith?'
'Likely be late for everything James. Play nice boys.'
As she turns to leave, all eyes are glued to her undulating posterior, clad again in tight black cloth, the seams clearly in distress. She moves to the door, and glides out again as smoothly as she glided in.
'That Isla, she's quite the lady.'
'Yes Mack she is. And she does like to crack the whip, keep us all in line.'
'Where did you find her?'
Church let out a low chuckle.
'You wouldn't believe me if I told you. Now, what were you saying?'
Cormack stood and walked to the heavy bag.
'I was saying that there are bunch of guys pissed off at the way the vets are hogging the spotlight. It's like they can't think past their enormous ego's. They don't care about the future of the company, just how many belts they can pass amongst themselves.'
Church stood as well and moved to hold the bag for Cormack.
'I can see why. And the end of the day, it's the best of the best that rise to the top. But there's a lot more to this business than just wrestling. The most important lesson I learned from the old boys in my day was how to build up a match. How to get the crowd to want to see me win, or to see me lose. It didn't matter. The caring made them feel, made them invest in the match, invest in the company. And that's where success is.'
Cormack began to strike the bag, left-right-left-right. Church held in loosely, like he was used to the position.
'Now they've decided to band together in a group that also should have gone gracefully into the sunset. Pantheon had its moments of glory. I know, I was a fan. But now, they are just using it as an excuse to keep a white knuckled grip on the main event scene. A liver-spotted handle on fading glory.'
As scene fades, we can hear Cormack striking combinations over and over again on the heavy bag.
Thursday, January 30, 2014 1350 hrs
As the scene opens we see the lovely and talented Isla Stennet-Smith seated at the head of a conference table. She is clothed in a stunning blue dress, complete with a pair of thin black framed glasses. The kind that make you wish your library books were overdue...very very overdue...wait, where was I. Right. Seated at a conference table. James Church and Cormack MacNeill are seated respectively to her left and right. Church is dressed in a black silk suit, complete with pocket linen, and Cormack is dressed in a blue suit jacket, with a black shirt underneath it. While his legs cannot be seen, one booted foot can be seen resting on a chair. Judging by the copious amounts of leg hair, we can deduce that he's wearing a kilt. We hope.
There is a conference phone in the middle of the desk, and Church speaks towards it.
'Gentleman, do we have an agreement? Do we have a consensus. Are we ready for Slam on Sunday?'
A pair of familiar voices blurts out of the speaker.
'I don't know what the fuck you meant by that, but we're down..'
'...like a rodeo clown.'
'Fantastic gentleman. Mack, do you have anything to add?'
'Just that I'll see you boys on Sunday. Can't wait...'
Isla flipped a switch and the speaker went silent.
'Anything else James?'
'Yes, find out how our broken-limbed friend is coming along. Offer him our rehab facilities if he so chooses.'
As we fade out, you can hear Isla speak into her cell phone.
'Yes, is Mr. Diaz available. Tell him it's Cormack calling.'
Saturday, February 1, 2014 1730 hrs
The screen fills with static, white noise, snow it's been called.
As the image clears, we can see Cormack fiddling around with a panel in front of him.
'There, I think I got it.'
He looks up at the camera, and smiles.
'Jayson Price. Jay, Jayson, the other Price...yes I've done my homework on you. That's something I didn't do last time. I didn't realize that most of your victories over the years have been cheap wins. Shortcuts.'
Cormack settles onto a stool. He reaches out of frame and comes back with a cup of coffee. He takes a long sip, savouring the taste for a moment before turning back to the camera.
'I didn't realize that you were such a bad ass. Such an edgy competitor. Always looking to take it to the limit. Of course in the blood and gore, you can easily hide your flaws, the shortcomings in your game. But I've stood in the ring with you, I've seen your matches, and I've taken your measure. As James keeps telling me, Knowledge is Power. And I finally see his point. I can also see his point on playing fair.'
Cormack takes another sip of his coffee.
'Where's the victory in playing fair, fighting clean, being a good sportsman, when your opponent are just going to cheat their way to victory after victory. Win after win tainted with shame. Helping you to keep a tenuous hold on the upper reaches of the card.'
He finishes the coffee in one long swallow.
'Be warned Price. I've seen the error of my ways, and this time we'll fight on even ground. Chairs, tables, announcers, a midget stripper....whatever I need to do to deflate that monstrous ego of yours, I'll do. Go ahead, use the ropes for leverage. I've spent the last week doing push ups with three people on my back. Your time in the spotlight is over Jayson. Your 15 minutes of fame is fading fast. There's a new bad ass in town. And he's man enough to wear a skirt.'
As the camera starts to fade out, we can hear one last word from Cormack.
'No more nicey nicey'
Fade to black
The scene opens on a now familiar snow covered parking lot. The equally familiar beaten pickup rests in a space in front of the door, now covered by nearly a foot of snow. The same whitewashed concrete building stands alone, still aloof from the neighbouring desolation.
The scene changes to an interior hallway, also now familiar as the well-kept entrance way of Church's compound. The every alluring sight of Miss Isla Stennet-Smith glides into view, her hips moving in a clear violation of all things natural. Dressed in a skin-tight wet suit and carrying a fire hose, she slinks to a doorway, and presses her ear against the portal, smiling as she hears complete silence. One would think this is her favourite part of the job.
With a deft twist of her lovely wrist, she opens the door silently and trains the hose on...an empty bed. This fact is just registering in her pretty red head as footsteps echo behind her. Spinning to face the sound, she is physically picked up and tossed onto the bed, dropping the hose in the process. As she looks up to the doorway, a jet of ice cold water strikes her in the chest, driving her head over heels and off the far side of the bed.
With a shivering sigh, she slowly raised herself to lean on the bed, and as the camera focuses in on her wet hair and glistening wetsuit, a single phrase can be heard as the scene fades out.
'Breakfast in 15 minutes, lassie'
Tuesday, January 28, 2014, 0900 hrs
The scene opens on a large room. Simple concrete walls and floors, brushed clean and scrubbed to a dull shine. Along the left wall stands a series of weight machines, presses and lifts, and such. Along the right there is a heavy bag set up, along with a speed bag, and some mats. Clearly this is the side devoted to footwork, positioning, and striking.
The center of the room is dominated by a wrestling ring, classic white on white. From a unseen room the door opens, and Cormack MacNeill walks into view, followed closely behind by James Church. Both men are dressed in grey sweats and training shoes. Church walks to the center of the mats stretched out along the right wall, and motions for Cormack to follow.
'It's time for a lesson in mat wrestling Mack. You're going to need to know how to handle yourself on the mat, both when you're in control and when you're not.'
Cormack stepped onto the mat, and immediately Church grabbed him in a side headlock and with a twist of the hips took him down. He leaned back, cranking up the pressure on MacNeill's neck.
'Now try to work this into a good position.'
With a grunt, Cormack twisted and turned, trying to use his power to push out of the hold, but to no avail. Church had the move cinched in well, and didn't budge. With a shrug, he released the hold and stood up.
'Now, you do the same to me, and I will show you a few ways to transition out of that.'
Comrakc got to his feet, and grabbed Church in a side headlock, using his strength to pull him over and down in a jarring takedown. Church immediately wrapped an arm around MacNeill's midsection and twisted away from him, forcing Cormack over onto his neck.
'1 ..2..3..that's a pin.'
Cormack released him and rolled to his feet, as did Church.
'Now you try that.'
Church grabbed MacNeill and again twisted him over into a take down, holding a side headlock. Wrapping his arm around Church's waist, he twists him over into a pinning position.
'Great job. You pick up on this pretty quick Mack.'
Cormack releases Church and they both move to their feet.
'Thanks James. This is why I wanted to come and train with you. I've seen the tapes. You were one of the best technical wrestlers to ever step in the ring.'
'Well, I had some great veterans to work with. Men who were willing to take the time to show me the ropes. Willing to get in the ring with me, show me how to not only put on a show, but also how to tell a story. How to move, counter move, counter counter.'
Cormack shook his head.
'Well, there aren't any of those guys left James. In the WCF, the veterans, the guys who could really be showing the new guys how its done, showing them how to make an audience play along...those guys are still hogging the spotlight. Trying to live off past glories.'
Church looked at Cormack sadly, and sighed deeply. He motioned to a stack of mats and took a seat on them himself.
'I was wondering about that. It seems like there is a lot of veteran talent on the roster, but I see so many new wrestlers that don't seem to have a direction, a reason. And don't get me started on the booking of the matches.'
Cormack took a seat beside Church.
'I know, right? Every main event seems to move between five or six veteran guys. It's like the WCF doesn't care about tomorrows talent, they just want today's payday. It pisses me off. And I'm not the only one.'
Church turns at the sound of an opening door. Isla glides into frame, water bottles in hand.
'I thought you gentleman would like some water for your break. Although I see more talking than working over here. James, remember that you have an appointment this afternoon.'
'What would I ever do without you Miss Stennet-Smith?'
'Likely be late for everything James. Play nice boys.'
As she turns to leave, all eyes are glued to her undulating posterior, clad again in tight black cloth, the seams clearly in distress. She moves to the door, and glides out again as smoothly as she glided in.
'That Isla, she's quite the lady.'
'Yes Mack she is. And she does like to crack the whip, keep us all in line.'
'Where did you find her?'
Church let out a low chuckle.
'You wouldn't believe me if I told you. Now, what were you saying?'
Cormack stood and walked to the heavy bag.
'I was saying that there are bunch of guys pissed off at the way the vets are hogging the spotlight. It's like they can't think past their enormous ego's. They don't care about the future of the company, just how many belts they can pass amongst themselves.'
Church stood as well and moved to hold the bag for Cormack.
'I can see why. And the end of the day, it's the best of the best that rise to the top. But there's a lot more to this business than just wrestling. The most important lesson I learned from the old boys in my day was how to build up a match. How to get the crowd to want to see me win, or to see me lose. It didn't matter. The caring made them feel, made them invest in the match, invest in the company. And that's where success is.'
Cormack began to strike the bag, left-right-left-right. Church held in loosely, like he was used to the position.
'Now they've decided to band together in a group that also should have gone gracefully into the sunset. Pantheon had its moments of glory. I know, I was a fan. But now, they are just using it as an excuse to keep a white knuckled grip on the main event scene. A liver-spotted handle on fading glory.'
As scene fades, we can hear Cormack striking combinations over and over again on the heavy bag.
Thursday, January 30, 2014 1350 hrs
As the scene opens we see the lovely and talented Isla Stennet-Smith seated at the head of a conference table. She is clothed in a stunning blue dress, complete with a pair of thin black framed glasses. The kind that make you wish your library books were overdue...very very overdue...wait, where was I. Right. Seated at a conference table. James Church and Cormack MacNeill are seated respectively to her left and right. Church is dressed in a black silk suit, complete with pocket linen, and Cormack is dressed in a blue suit jacket, with a black shirt underneath it. While his legs cannot be seen, one booted foot can be seen resting on a chair. Judging by the copious amounts of leg hair, we can deduce that he's wearing a kilt. We hope.
There is a conference phone in the middle of the desk, and Church speaks towards it.
'Gentleman, do we have an agreement? Do we have a consensus. Are we ready for Slam on Sunday?'
A pair of familiar voices blurts out of the speaker.
'I don't know what the fuck you meant by that, but we're down..'
'...like a rodeo clown.'
'Fantastic gentleman. Mack, do you have anything to add?'
'Just that I'll see you boys on Sunday. Can't wait...'
Isla flipped a switch and the speaker went silent.
'Anything else James?'
'Yes, find out how our broken-limbed friend is coming along. Offer him our rehab facilities if he so chooses.'
As we fade out, you can hear Isla speak into her cell phone.
'Yes, is Mr. Diaz available. Tell him it's Cormack calling.'
Saturday, February 1, 2014 1730 hrs
The screen fills with static, white noise, snow it's been called.
As the image clears, we can see Cormack fiddling around with a panel in front of him.
'There, I think I got it.'
He looks up at the camera, and smiles.
'Jayson Price. Jay, Jayson, the other Price...yes I've done my homework on you. That's something I didn't do last time. I didn't realize that most of your victories over the years have been cheap wins. Shortcuts.'
Cormack settles onto a stool. He reaches out of frame and comes back with a cup of coffee. He takes a long sip, savouring the taste for a moment before turning back to the camera.
'I didn't realize that you were such a bad ass. Such an edgy competitor. Always looking to take it to the limit. Of course in the blood and gore, you can easily hide your flaws, the shortcomings in your game. But I've stood in the ring with you, I've seen your matches, and I've taken your measure. As James keeps telling me, Knowledge is Power. And I finally see his point. I can also see his point on playing fair.'
Cormack takes another sip of his coffee.
'Where's the victory in playing fair, fighting clean, being a good sportsman, when your opponent are just going to cheat their way to victory after victory. Win after win tainted with shame. Helping you to keep a tenuous hold on the upper reaches of the card.'
He finishes the coffee in one long swallow.
'Be warned Price. I've seen the error of my ways, and this time we'll fight on even ground. Chairs, tables, announcers, a midget stripper....whatever I need to do to deflate that monstrous ego of yours, I'll do. Go ahead, use the ropes for leverage. I've spent the last week doing push ups with three people on my back. Your time in the spotlight is over Jayson. Your 15 minutes of fame is fading fast. There's a new bad ass in town. And he's man enough to wear a skirt.'
As the camera starts to fade out, we can hear one last word from Cormack.
'No more nicey nicey'
Fade to black
