Post by Deleted on Feb 9, 2014 1:04:05 GMT -5
Early morning mist hangs over the long, winding driveway that leads to Waylon Cash's future home. The stars in the sky slowly disappear, as the black turns to purple, announcing the arrival of the coming sun. On the side of the road sits a family of deer, that run off into the field, as the slapping of Waylon Cash's tennis shoes on asphalt begins to echo down the way. The shirtless wrestler comes into view as he jogs around the bend, sweat pouring down his skin. His breathing is labored, but he keeps his pace, pushing through the pain. He reaches his front lawn, and feels as if he might collapse, but his legs manage to keep him upright. He gasps in lungful of sweet delicious air, as he lets the cool morning breeze lick his skin. The wrestler has a seat on the concrete foundation, just as the elevator begins to rise. Scott and Roxxanne Savage step out, both looking incredibly tired. Waylon looks back at them, and chuckles.
Waylon:Well hell if you two don't look like death warmed over. What are you doin' up this early?
Scott gives him a look that doesn't seem at all pleased.
Scott:Please tell me you didn't forget... we have an autograph signing today. I have been telling you about it all week.
Waylon:Aw shit. That's today? Alright, gimme a few, I'll go get changed.
Scott:That isn't much help, is it? We're going to be late as it is. I swear, if you took one second ot pay attention to the world around, I think it might actually kill you.
Waylon gives him a glare of indignation, before stepping closer.
Waylon:Look, Scott... I ain't your little dancin' puppet. You know how much I hate doin' this shit. Ain't no reason to act like mister big shot asshole around me.
Scott gets closer as well. Now the two men are almost chest to chest.
Scott:I might be a little less of an asshole, if you could be counted on for half a second. It's like you couldn't care less about doing your job.
Waylon:My job ain't to follow you around like a god damn show pony, kissin' hands and shakin' babies! My job is to win.
Scott:You've had trouble even doing that lately.
A silence falls between them. Waylon breaks it by spitting on the ground next to him, and looking back up at Scott.
Waylon:Say it again.
Scott:I think you heard me just fine the first time. I am done playing games with you. It's time you stopped acting like a child, and realized you have to play the game. You think it's some big secret why it took you this long to get another shot at the title?! Sarah Twilight, Steve Orbit, Jonny Fly. They play the game. They do the interviews, they do the autograph signings, they get the press. No press, no publicity, no title shot. It really is that simple, you god damn hayseed. I really don't understand why you need it spelled out for you every time, like you're some sort of infant!
Waylon:You know what, fuck you. I been your cash cow for the last year, and all I ever get is this shit. Why don't you go do the damn signin' yourself? Oh wait, no one fuckin' wants your autograph. All you are is a salesman, and I'm the product. Without me, you got nothin' to sell, so I'd start thinkin' a little harder about what you're gonna say to me before you say it.
The two men attempt to stare each other down for a moment, before Roxxanne breaks her silence, and shoves herself into the minimal space between the two men.
Roxxy:Alright, you're both big strong men. Can we knock this off now please? Frankly, I don't give a shit whether or not we go the the signing. It's an eight o'clock signing at a book store. I really doubt we'll be disappointing many people. What we don't need is the tension. Scott, Waylon's right. The signing isn't important. The match is. If skipping this event is going to make Sunday night easier, then so be it.
Scott rolls his eyes, and sticks a finger in Waylon's face.
Scott:Fine, but you better stop with this primadonna, megastar bullshit. There are a million guys out there who would be happy to fill you place on my roster. I already have Isaiah signed, and he's a lot younger than either of us. When he's ready, I'll be more than set for talent. I love you brother, but I don't need you.
Waylon:Stick that finger in my face again, I'll bite it the fuck off.
Roxxy:Alright, enough! Scott, why don't you run over to Trent's and see if he's up. We need to find a venue for his show. I'm gonne stay here and have a talk with Waylon.
Scott looks like he might argue, but turns on his heel, and walks toward his vehicle. The silence remains in the air until Scott starts the engine of the SUV, and flies off down the long driveway. At this point, Roxxanne turns to Waylon and slaps him in the arm.
Roxxy:The hell is wrong with you?!
Waylon:OW! Waddaya mean?!He's the one bein' an asshole!
Roxxy:All he is trying to do is help you make money, so you can retire from this fucking disgusting sport. Waylon... I'm tired of it all. I want you out. I want you to retire, and I want it to happens soon. This is an awful business, full of terrible people, and I'm tired of worrying about you every time you fly off to a new city. I want to be done with it. Done with WCF, done with the Sarah Twilight's and Logan's of the world. I want to live... with you... in peace. Like we deserve. Like YOU deserve. And it's going to take forever if you shun every single chance to make any sort of money!
He is rendered speechless. Her hand reaches up and rests gingerly on his unshaven cheek. In her eyes is a mixture of love and sorrow, that goes a long way toward melting Waylon's anger.
Roxxy:I know it sounds selfish, but I want you around for a long time. I want to grow old with you, and every day you have to stay with WCF is another chance for that dream to die. I can't let that happen. I need you to think about that. I gotta go help Scott find a location for the show. You stay here and get some rest. Try to clear your head.
She stands on her toes to deliver a kiss to his cheek, before stepping gracefully across the lawn, and climbing into her van. She slowly drives off, leaving Waylon to watch, his mouth hanging open. Once she is out of sight, he drops to his knees. Tears begin to well up in his eyes, as shouts from the voices of his past shoot through his mind.
...You're a disappointment...all your fault...coulda been somebody...useless hayseed...want you to retire...[/color]
He squeezes his eyes shut, and grabs the side of his head, yelling at only himself.
Waylon:It's too much! It's too much pressure! I can't fuckin' do it!
He jumps to his feet, and stomps across the lawn, climbing into his purple Lincoln. He brings the engine roaring to life with a flick of his wrist, and peels out down the road. He speeds through the Georgia pines, as the rising sun begins to cast more light on the country side. Slowly, the car makes its way into the city. The evergreen trees turning to crumbling brick buildings. It isn't long before he pulls to a stop in front of a dilapidated old two story house. Without another second's thought, he jumps out of his car and speed walks up the steps, slamming his fist on the door. After a minute it open, to reveal Jeremy Risner standing on the other side. He looks surprised to see a shirtless, angry wrestler, but cracks a smile none-the-less.
Jeremy:Waylon... it's good to have you back.
__ _ _ _ ___ _ ______
The screen flickers on, and the image we see is one of Waylon Cash. His eyes are bloodshot, and a smear of crimson sits just beneath his nose. His pupils shoot back and forth, scarcely noticing the camera. He wipes the blood away from his nostrils the best he can before speaking.
Waylon:Jayson Price and Biohazard... they can't be serious. I'm Waylon Cash...I'm Waylon Cash... I'M WAYLON FUCKIN' CASH! I deserve better than this god dammit! I'm a former world champ, and what do I get? A mid card match with a drunk and a dude that spits fire or some shit. I don't need this. I'm a god! I AM WCF!
His eyes twitches, as he pulls a cigarette from behind his ear. He slips it between his lips, but immediately pulls it back out again, holding it in his shaking hand. He stares at it, before putting it back in his mouth, and removing it once more.
Waylon:You know, I've put up with a lot of shit in this company. I fought transvestites, pimps and kidnappers. I've watched management sit back and refuse to do a single damn thing about all the bullshit that goes on around here, and I'm sick of it. Jayson, Biohazard, you two are two of the biggest jokes in this company. I ain't even thinkin' about Jonny Fly anymore. All I want on this planet is to end your miserable careers. I can't wait to get to Slam this week, and grind both your faces into the mat. It's gonna be somethin' beautiful to see. I'll tell you what.
He puts the cigarette in his mouth again, and suddenly stops moving. He simply stares off into the darkness, as if rebooting. After a few moments he speaks again, the unlit cigarette bobbing up and down with the motion of his lips.
Waylon:I don't give a damn what happens. I don't care if I gotta keep goin' after the bells rings. I don't care if I gotta throw security guards offa me. I'm gonna spill your blood. I'm comin' in like an animal... it's over... there ain't no more human Waylon Cash to be found now. I'm pure animal, and I'm fixin' to rip you both limb from limb. It ain't all about the fact that you're a couple of zits on the ass of this company. I'm gonna destroy you to show manegement in this place that putting S-PAC up against a couple of journeyman douchebags is a big fuckin' mistake... a mistake we make you pay for.
Waylon lights the cigarette now, and inhales deeply. He lets the smoke sit in his lungs, as he closes his eyes, savoring the calming effect of the nicotine. When his eyes open back up, they are no less hateful.
Waylon:Maybe he knew... maybe Seth wants you gone... maybe he's usin' S-PAC to dispose of the dead weight...
He stares off again, ignoring the burning cigarette in his hand.
Waylon:...I'm...ok with that...
He shakes his head back and forth, as if trying to fend off an inner fog.
Waylon:Look, I don't know what management's thinkin', but I do know that our match can only have one outcome. S_PAC, the greatest team WCF has ever seen walks out the winners... Jayson Price and Biohazard are gonna be lucky if they even walk out.
He takes another drag, and just sits there. His eyes flicker back and forth, lading on nothing in particular. After a few minute, he takes another hit, and shakes his head.
Waylon:Fuck it. I ain't doin' this stupid shit no more.
He puts his hand forward and shoves the camera over. It tumbles to the ground, leaving us in darkness. The only sound left is that of Waylon Cash's boots carrying him out the door.
Waylon:Well hell if you two don't look like death warmed over. What are you doin' up this early?
Scott gives him a look that doesn't seem at all pleased.
Scott:Please tell me you didn't forget... we have an autograph signing today. I have been telling you about it all week.
Waylon:Aw shit. That's today? Alright, gimme a few, I'll go get changed.
Scott:That isn't much help, is it? We're going to be late as it is. I swear, if you took one second ot pay attention to the world around, I think it might actually kill you.
Waylon gives him a glare of indignation, before stepping closer.
Waylon:Look, Scott... I ain't your little dancin' puppet. You know how much I hate doin' this shit. Ain't no reason to act like mister big shot asshole around me.
Scott gets closer as well. Now the two men are almost chest to chest.
Scott:I might be a little less of an asshole, if you could be counted on for half a second. It's like you couldn't care less about doing your job.
Waylon:My job ain't to follow you around like a god damn show pony, kissin' hands and shakin' babies! My job is to win.
Scott:You've had trouble even doing that lately.
A silence falls between them. Waylon breaks it by spitting on the ground next to him, and looking back up at Scott.
Waylon:Say it again.
Scott:I think you heard me just fine the first time. I am done playing games with you. It's time you stopped acting like a child, and realized you have to play the game. You think it's some big secret why it took you this long to get another shot at the title?! Sarah Twilight, Steve Orbit, Jonny Fly. They play the game. They do the interviews, they do the autograph signings, they get the press. No press, no publicity, no title shot. It really is that simple, you god damn hayseed. I really don't understand why you need it spelled out for you every time, like you're some sort of infant!
Waylon:You know what, fuck you. I been your cash cow for the last year, and all I ever get is this shit. Why don't you go do the damn signin' yourself? Oh wait, no one fuckin' wants your autograph. All you are is a salesman, and I'm the product. Without me, you got nothin' to sell, so I'd start thinkin' a little harder about what you're gonna say to me before you say it.
The two men attempt to stare each other down for a moment, before Roxxanne breaks her silence, and shoves herself into the minimal space between the two men.
Roxxy:Alright, you're both big strong men. Can we knock this off now please? Frankly, I don't give a shit whether or not we go the the signing. It's an eight o'clock signing at a book store. I really doubt we'll be disappointing many people. What we don't need is the tension. Scott, Waylon's right. The signing isn't important. The match is. If skipping this event is going to make Sunday night easier, then so be it.
Scott rolls his eyes, and sticks a finger in Waylon's face.
Scott:Fine, but you better stop with this primadonna, megastar bullshit. There are a million guys out there who would be happy to fill you place on my roster. I already have Isaiah signed, and he's a lot younger than either of us. When he's ready, I'll be more than set for talent. I love you brother, but I don't need you.
Waylon:Stick that finger in my face again, I'll bite it the fuck off.
Roxxy:Alright, enough! Scott, why don't you run over to Trent's and see if he's up. We need to find a venue for his show. I'm gonne stay here and have a talk with Waylon.
Scott looks like he might argue, but turns on his heel, and walks toward his vehicle. The silence remains in the air until Scott starts the engine of the SUV, and flies off down the long driveway. At this point, Roxxanne turns to Waylon and slaps him in the arm.
Roxxy:The hell is wrong with you?!
Waylon:OW! Waddaya mean?!He's the one bein' an asshole!
Roxxy:All he is trying to do is help you make money, so you can retire from this fucking disgusting sport. Waylon... I'm tired of it all. I want you out. I want you to retire, and I want it to happens soon. This is an awful business, full of terrible people, and I'm tired of worrying about you every time you fly off to a new city. I want to be done with it. Done with WCF, done with the Sarah Twilight's and Logan's of the world. I want to live... with you... in peace. Like we deserve. Like YOU deserve. And it's going to take forever if you shun every single chance to make any sort of money!
He is rendered speechless. Her hand reaches up and rests gingerly on his unshaven cheek. In her eyes is a mixture of love and sorrow, that goes a long way toward melting Waylon's anger.
Roxxy:I know it sounds selfish, but I want you around for a long time. I want to grow old with you, and every day you have to stay with WCF is another chance for that dream to die. I can't let that happen. I need you to think about that. I gotta go help Scott find a location for the show. You stay here and get some rest. Try to clear your head.
She stands on her toes to deliver a kiss to his cheek, before stepping gracefully across the lawn, and climbing into her van. She slowly drives off, leaving Waylon to watch, his mouth hanging open. Once she is out of sight, he drops to his knees. Tears begin to well up in his eyes, as shouts from the voices of his past shoot through his mind.
...You're a disappointment...all your fault...coulda been somebody...useless hayseed...want you to retire...[/color]
He squeezes his eyes shut, and grabs the side of his head, yelling at only himself.
Waylon:It's too much! It's too much pressure! I can't fuckin' do it!
He jumps to his feet, and stomps across the lawn, climbing into his purple Lincoln. He brings the engine roaring to life with a flick of his wrist, and peels out down the road. He speeds through the Georgia pines, as the rising sun begins to cast more light on the country side. Slowly, the car makes its way into the city. The evergreen trees turning to crumbling brick buildings. It isn't long before he pulls to a stop in front of a dilapidated old two story house. Without another second's thought, he jumps out of his car and speed walks up the steps, slamming his fist on the door. After a minute it open, to reveal Jeremy Risner standing on the other side. He looks surprised to see a shirtless, angry wrestler, but cracks a smile none-the-less.
Jeremy:Waylon... it's good to have you back.
__ _ _ _ ___ _ ______
The screen flickers on, and the image we see is one of Waylon Cash. His eyes are bloodshot, and a smear of crimson sits just beneath his nose. His pupils shoot back and forth, scarcely noticing the camera. He wipes the blood away from his nostrils the best he can before speaking.
Waylon:Jayson Price and Biohazard... they can't be serious. I'm Waylon Cash...I'm Waylon Cash... I'M WAYLON FUCKIN' CASH! I deserve better than this god dammit! I'm a former world champ, and what do I get? A mid card match with a drunk and a dude that spits fire or some shit. I don't need this. I'm a god! I AM WCF!
His eyes twitches, as he pulls a cigarette from behind his ear. He slips it between his lips, but immediately pulls it back out again, holding it in his shaking hand. He stares at it, before putting it back in his mouth, and removing it once more.
Waylon:You know, I've put up with a lot of shit in this company. I fought transvestites, pimps and kidnappers. I've watched management sit back and refuse to do a single damn thing about all the bullshit that goes on around here, and I'm sick of it. Jayson, Biohazard, you two are two of the biggest jokes in this company. I ain't even thinkin' about Jonny Fly anymore. All I want on this planet is to end your miserable careers. I can't wait to get to Slam this week, and grind both your faces into the mat. It's gonna be somethin' beautiful to see. I'll tell you what.
He puts the cigarette in his mouth again, and suddenly stops moving. He simply stares off into the darkness, as if rebooting. After a few moments he speaks again, the unlit cigarette bobbing up and down with the motion of his lips.
Waylon:I don't give a damn what happens. I don't care if I gotta keep goin' after the bells rings. I don't care if I gotta throw security guards offa me. I'm gonna spill your blood. I'm comin' in like an animal... it's over... there ain't no more human Waylon Cash to be found now. I'm pure animal, and I'm fixin' to rip you both limb from limb. It ain't all about the fact that you're a couple of zits on the ass of this company. I'm gonna destroy you to show manegement in this place that putting S-PAC up against a couple of journeyman douchebags is a big fuckin' mistake... a mistake we make you pay for.
Waylon lights the cigarette now, and inhales deeply. He lets the smoke sit in his lungs, as he closes his eyes, savoring the calming effect of the nicotine. When his eyes open back up, they are no less hateful.
Waylon:Maybe he knew... maybe Seth wants you gone... maybe he's usin' S-PAC to dispose of the dead weight...
He stares off again, ignoring the burning cigarette in his hand.
Waylon:...I'm...ok with that...
He shakes his head back and forth, as if trying to fend off an inner fog.
Waylon:Look, I don't know what management's thinkin', but I do know that our match can only have one outcome. S_PAC, the greatest team WCF has ever seen walks out the winners... Jayson Price and Biohazard are gonna be lucky if they even walk out.
He takes another drag, and just sits there. His eyes flicker back and forth, lading on nothing in particular. After a few minute, he takes another hit, and shakes his head.
Waylon:Fuck it. I ain't doin' this stupid shit no more.
He puts his hand forward and shoves the camera over. It tumbles to the ground, leaving us in darkness. The only sound left is that of Waylon Cash's boots carrying him out the door.
