Post by Dr. Remus Micayle on Jun 7, 2014 22:38:41 GMT -5
The following video clip was uploaded on WCF.com following the conclusion of the 06/04/14 edition of WCF Wednesday Night.
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The camera opens in the communal locker room shared by several WCF wrestlers. A few lower-card wrestlers are seen milling in the background, including the likes of 50 Pence, Yeezus Orlando Lamar Oliver, and Elvira de Rossi. Surprisingly, WCF Tag Team Champion Doctor Remus Micayle is also in the building, despite not appearing at all throughout the show. The cocky Scientist is dressed smartly in a Ralph Lauren polo teeshirt and designer jeans, with his treasured championship slung over his right shoulder. He is seated on a lounge sofa, crossing his legs causally as he types an email on his iPhone. Suddenly, a shadow looms over him, covering his entire field of sight.
: I've got a bone to pick with you, Remus.
Annoyed, Micayle looks up, only to be confronted with the scowling figure of one Frank Patrick Venable. His face darkening, Micayle immediately stands up.
Doctor Remus Micayle: What on Darwin's name are you doing right here, mudlark. The great Scientist is busy minding his own prodigious business, and you and your horrid taste in music and sartorial dress sense dare intrude on my alone time? And it's Doctor Remus to the likes of you, Patrick.
Not amused, FPV pokes a finger into Micayle's chest.
FPV: Look here punk. I'll keep this short and simple. I'm not too happy how you tried to bully my boy Peter Quinn last week. I get that you think you are better than him, but get this straight. You are pretty much the last person in this federation who should be giving pep talks and demeaning people. You may be Tag Team Champion right now, but to be perfectly honest, you are far from the wrestling genius you claim to be. Stay out of other people's lives, and both you and I will have no trouble with each other around here. You hear?
Micayle takes a step forward, snarling, brushing away FPV's finger.
Micayle: Your boy just tried to deal with elements beyond his control last week, Patrick. Fact of the matter is that if it weren't for my superhuman willpower and sense of control, I would have snapped his pretty Stephen King-worshipping neck in half there and then. You are in no position to tell a man of greatness like me what to do, and you know it! Science has spoken - only the strong can dictate the rules in this world - and this federation is no exception! He's weak, and so are you for associating with the likes of him! Leave intelligent and illustrious beings like myself to do what we want, and perhaps you'll escape unscathed.
The entire locker room has gone silent throughout this exchange, with every eye on both FPV and Micayle. The Scientist smiles - a nauseating gesture - before pointing one of his own fingers at FPV's chest.
Micayle: Look at yourself right now Patrick. You're a shadow of your former self, once a Grand Slam Champion now relegated to playing babysitter with a socially inept, profoundly untalented, wannabe Dan Brown. Get this straight. If you even so much as dare try to intimidate me... I'll deal with you the same way as I should have to sweet little Peter last week! A Formula to your obtuse head!
He lowers his finger as the two men trade glares. Satisfied, Micayle clasps a hand on FPV's unflinching shoulder.
Micayle: Now, if you'll excuse me, I got better things to do then talk to a boneheaded Daft Punk fan. Begone, Patrick, and leave me to my work.
FPV's eyes narrow at that provocative statement as he turns away and walks out of frame.
...
But NO! All of a sudden, a lightning-fast leg strikes out, catching Micayle in the chest! The force behind the kick sends the Scientist sprawling on to the ground, dropping his championship title onto the ground as he clutches his chest in pain. Gasping in shock, Micayle raises his head as FPV walks right back into frame. Expressionless, FPV bends down and grabs the WCF Tag Team Championship from the ground, before looking at it.
FPV: Or maybe... just maybe... I've been on a sabbatical, biding my time to return successfully to the WCF at the expense of a cocky and ugly fraud. And maybe... just maybe... the reason I'm honing aforementioned 'wannabe Dan Brown' is because I wish to recapture that one piece of gold that kickstarted my rise to prominence here in the WCF. One piece of gold that someone... unworthy seems to be carrying at his current point in time.
He looks back at Micayle, who is staring daggers right back at him.
FPV: You say I lost my edge. Well, I say that I'm simply saving the best part of me for later. That kick to your chest was for last week. For Peter. The next one won't be that gentle. In fact, I dare say it'll go BOOM!
He drops the championship belt in front of the still-recovering Micayle.
FPV: Headshot.
A loud cough breaks the silence of the locker room, and the camera pans to the door. Standing tersely is none other than Micayle's tag team partner, Nathan von Liebert. FPV stiffens at the sight of the hated man.
FPV: Well... it seems that your little watchdog has arrived. I'm going to leave right now. If not, I'm afraid Seth will have to wonder why two of the wrestlers on his payroll are mysteriously found dead in the locker room. I haven't paid certain... bills back, you see? An eye for an eye is what I believe in.
He glances back at Micayle, before flashing a cheeky smile.
FPV: I'll see the both of you boudles around.
FPV walks out of the locker room, but not before trading a murderous look with Nathan von Liebert. With that said and done, the other half of the WCF Tag Team Champions quickly strides into the room, just as Micayle finally makes it to his feet.
Nathan von Liebert: Got whooped?
Micayle: Hardly. That little thickbrain caught me off-guard. He'll pay for that. They always do.
NvL harruphs, satisfied that all is right, before turning away and walking off. But before he does, The Scientist calls him back.
Micayle: You know what? I'm repulsed by how little this entire company seems to think of their champions. Men who are their superior. Worthier. More intelligent. More talented. People like The Shadow Demons, FPV, Peter Quinn, and Caliban have taken the mickey out of us for far too long. No longer. Our statement needs to be made.
Intrigued, NvL pauses in his steps, turning back to The Scientist. The camera closes and goes to a commercial for the upcoming XIII mega-event in Thailand as Team Science stares ominously at one another.
---
The camera opens in the communal locker room shared by several WCF wrestlers. A few lower-card wrestlers are seen milling in the background, including the likes of 50 Pence, Yeezus Orlando Lamar Oliver, and Elvira de Rossi. Surprisingly, WCF Tag Team Champion Doctor Remus Micayle is also in the building, despite not appearing at all throughout the show. The cocky Scientist is dressed smartly in a Ralph Lauren polo teeshirt and designer jeans, with his treasured championship slung over his right shoulder. He is seated on a lounge sofa, crossing his legs causally as he types an email on his iPhone. Suddenly, a shadow looms over him, covering his entire field of sight.
: I've got a bone to pick with you, Remus.Annoyed, Micayle looks up, only to be confronted with the scowling figure of one Frank Patrick Venable. His face darkening, Micayle immediately stands up.
Doctor Remus Micayle: What on Darwin's name are you doing right here, mudlark. The great Scientist is busy minding his own prodigious business, and you and your horrid taste in music and sartorial dress sense dare intrude on my alone time? And it's Doctor Remus to the likes of you, Patrick.
Not amused, FPV pokes a finger into Micayle's chest.
FPV: Look here punk. I'll keep this short and simple. I'm not too happy how you tried to bully my boy Peter Quinn last week. I get that you think you are better than him, but get this straight. You are pretty much the last person in this federation who should be giving pep talks and demeaning people. You may be Tag Team Champion right now, but to be perfectly honest, you are far from the wrestling genius you claim to be. Stay out of other people's lives, and both you and I will have no trouble with each other around here. You hear?
Micayle takes a step forward, snarling, brushing away FPV's finger.
Micayle: Your boy just tried to deal with elements beyond his control last week, Patrick. Fact of the matter is that if it weren't for my superhuman willpower and sense of control, I would have snapped his pretty Stephen King-worshipping neck in half there and then. You are in no position to tell a man of greatness like me what to do, and you know it! Science has spoken - only the strong can dictate the rules in this world - and this federation is no exception! He's weak, and so are you for associating with the likes of him! Leave intelligent and illustrious beings like myself to do what we want, and perhaps you'll escape unscathed.
The entire locker room has gone silent throughout this exchange, with every eye on both FPV and Micayle. The Scientist smiles - a nauseating gesture - before pointing one of his own fingers at FPV's chest.
Micayle: Look at yourself right now Patrick. You're a shadow of your former self, once a Grand Slam Champion now relegated to playing babysitter with a socially inept, profoundly untalented, wannabe Dan Brown. Get this straight. If you even so much as dare try to intimidate me... I'll deal with you the same way as I should have to sweet little Peter last week! A Formula to your obtuse head!
He lowers his finger as the two men trade glares. Satisfied, Micayle clasps a hand on FPV's unflinching shoulder.
Micayle: Now, if you'll excuse me, I got better things to do then talk to a boneheaded Daft Punk fan. Begone, Patrick, and leave me to my work.
FPV's eyes narrow at that provocative statement as he turns away and walks out of frame.
...
But NO! All of a sudden, a lightning-fast leg strikes out, catching Micayle in the chest! The force behind the kick sends the Scientist sprawling on to the ground, dropping his championship title onto the ground as he clutches his chest in pain. Gasping in shock, Micayle raises his head as FPV walks right back into frame. Expressionless, FPV bends down and grabs the WCF Tag Team Championship from the ground, before looking at it.
FPV: Or maybe... just maybe... I've been on a sabbatical, biding my time to return successfully to the WCF at the expense of a cocky and ugly fraud. And maybe... just maybe... the reason I'm honing aforementioned 'wannabe Dan Brown' is because I wish to recapture that one piece of gold that kickstarted my rise to prominence here in the WCF. One piece of gold that someone... unworthy seems to be carrying at his current point in time.
He looks back at Micayle, who is staring daggers right back at him.
FPV: You say I lost my edge. Well, I say that I'm simply saving the best part of me for later. That kick to your chest was for last week. For Peter. The next one won't be that gentle. In fact, I dare say it'll go BOOM!
He drops the championship belt in front of the still-recovering Micayle.
FPV: Headshot.
A loud cough breaks the silence of the locker room, and the camera pans to the door. Standing tersely is none other than Micayle's tag team partner, Nathan von Liebert. FPV stiffens at the sight of the hated man.
FPV: Well... it seems that your little watchdog has arrived. I'm going to leave right now. If not, I'm afraid Seth will have to wonder why two of the wrestlers on his payroll are mysteriously found dead in the locker room. I haven't paid certain... bills back, you see? An eye for an eye is what I believe in.
He glances back at Micayle, before flashing a cheeky smile.
FPV: I'll see the both of you boudles around.
FPV walks out of the locker room, but not before trading a murderous look with Nathan von Liebert. With that said and done, the other half of the WCF Tag Team Champions quickly strides into the room, just as Micayle finally makes it to his feet.
Nathan von Liebert: Got whooped?
Micayle: Hardly. That little thickbrain caught me off-guard. He'll pay for that. They always do.
NvL harruphs, satisfied that all is right, before turning away and walking off. But before he does, The Scientist calls him back.
Micayle: You know what? I'm repulsed by how little this entire company seems to think of their champions. Men who are their superior. Worthier. More intelligent. More talented. People like The Shadow Demons, FPV, Peter Quinn, and Caliban have taken the mickey out of us for far too long. No longer. Our statement needs to be made.
Intrigued, NvL pauses in his steps, turning back to The Scientist. The camera closes and goes to a commercial for the upcoming XIII mega-event in Thailand as Team Science stares ominously at one another.
