Post by Cormack MacNeill on Jan 31, 2016 11:17:39 GMT -5
Scene opens on a busy street. Vehicles of all types fly by in a blur of motion and a cloud of exhaust smoky white in the chill air. The reason for being here becomes clear as a large black truck careens into view. Swerving to the left and right to avoid slow moving vehicles, the truck speeds down the street as if the driver is trying to put distance between himself and someone else. The camera follows the truck as it speed down the road, following each passing action and deft overtaking motion.
At length, the truck's brake lights flash and it swerves onto the curb in front of a non-descript hotel, driving over the sidewalk and into the parking lot. The truck comes to a abrupt stop in front of the main door, and a lithe, languidly sensual creature slides from the passenger side door. She looks up into the cab of the large pickup and says something that the approaching camera picks up.
And what pray tell are you going to do now Mack?
I was thinking of going for a long drive in the country.
Well, you'd better hurry up and go. Hear that?
The sound of police sirens can be heard increasing in tempo as they draw nearer. As the figure of feline grace moves toward the entrance, a pair of figures rush out with far less style. More of an amble really. As they draw nearer, the figures are revealed to be WCF's own Hank Brown and a cameraman, but not the legendary ones names Stu or Bob. Just a guy with a camera on his shoulder who almost quit when he heard that he was paired with Hank Brown this morning. Nothing with that guy ever ends well. The pair reach the truck and shout though the still open door.
Mr. MacNeill! I thought we had an interview today!
Damn, I guess you're right Hank. And call me Mack. You know what they say. Time flies when your...
The sirens are much closer now, nearly deafening in their intensity. Strobed colours are reflecting off nearby buildings. The figure inside motions through the open door.
You want that interview Hank? Getcher ass in here!
Hank Brown, never one to shy away from danger, immediately jumped up into the cab of the pickup, with the cameraman jumping into one of the rear doors and settling in.
(At this point, footage is inserted from the cameraman inside the vehicle.)
Hank's head appears on the right, and a truck door can be heard slamming. The bald, bearded head on the left is instantly recognizable as Cormack MacNeill, and his broad grin says it all as he drops the truck into gear and floors it, sending hank and the cameraman both back against their seats.
Hold on lads! This is gonna be a bumpy ride.
The truck peels out of the parking lot, jumping the curb again and spearing into the flow of traffic with a chorus of horns brake lights all around. The strobes of red, white, and blue are now filling the cab as Cormack floors it, weaving skillfully through traffic and gaining ground on the strobes behind. The cameraman spins in his seat and films out the back window, revealing a half dozen City of Philadelphia police cruisers trailing the truck and trying their best not to cause an accident as they follow the truck.
Mack, what the hell have you gotten us into? What did you do?
Cormack laughs in response to the question and swerves hard to the right, hard enough to fling Hank around in his seat.
I'm sure they'll call it destruction of property, vandalism, or something like that. Back home, we call it a difference of opinion. I might have...trashed a bar in South Philly this morning.
Trashed a bar? In Philadelphia? Not very appropriate, is it?
Of course not. But when half the bar decides they need to teach you a lesson, things can get out of hand. Out of doors. Out of windows. You get the picture. They call it a bar brawl. I like to think of it as a Celtic debate.
But why so many police cars for a bar brawl Mack? Seems a bit excessive, doesn't it?
Did I mention that the owner of said bar is a retired policeman?
Hank looks toward the camera, which has turned back to face forward.
Really? That wasn't a really good choice, was it?
Cormack laughed long and loud from the drivers seat and slapped his hand on the steering wheel for effect.
I didn't have much of a choice Hank. Let that be a lesson to your viewers out there. If a man is tough enough to walk in South Philadelphia in a kilt, leave him be. If he deserves to wear that kilt, pride alone will dictate a response. It's a Celtic thing.
Speaking of Celtic, how do you feel about your match this Sunday at Fifteen? The biggest PPV in WCF history! And your in a five man...brawl for better lack of a term...for the International Title. A title that Seth Lerch resurrected for this very PPV.
I couldn't think of a better match for me to show what I'm made of Hank. A fight between power, size and speed. And one I can win.
What about Nagaski? It's the first time since your return that you've been in the ring with someone who is a physical equal. Some would say a larger, more mysterious man.
Nagaski? Yeah, he's a big lad. A fierce competitor. A sumo from a long tradition of warriors. I don't think that anyone should take him too lightly. His weight doesn't concern me. I've lifted bigger. What matters is the size of his heart. The fight he brings. I hope he brings everything he has. I know I will.
I received word moments before I left this morning that he has issued a challenge to you. The first man knocked off his feet buys a nights worth of drinks. Do you have a response Mack?
Hell yes! Whether I win or lose that bet, there's still a night of drinking ahead. Just not in Philadelphia, if you know what I mean.
What about the reigning champion, Kira Sakazaki? No one has seen or heard from him in over a year?
All I know about him is that he picked the wrong time to come back. There's too much talent in this match for him to handle, especially after such a long time out of the ring. I think he's going to be a non-factor. Much more challenging wrestlers in this match than him.
Lee Roberts? Mr. Average?
I've mentioned before Hank that I admire the guy. What he's doing. Why he's doing it. In fact, in any other match I might be cheering for him. He's got potential, he just needs to tie it together. I predict he'll have many, many nights where he's anything but average. But Sunday night....it won't be his night. At Fifteen, he'll just be another victim of circumstance.
And finally, a familiar name. Punkin Caliban.
Don't call him Caliban. Punkin is dangerous. Unpredictable. Skilled. But J.P. Caliban he's not. He's just another extreme athlete. What you do in the ring doesn't matter nearly as much as why you're doing it.
Me? I'm doing it to prove to myself I can. Doing it to show the world what's in my heart. In my soul. I d it to honour those who've fought in a thousand wars in a thousand lands wearing a kilt. Caliban got that. he had his own reasons, his own ancestors to make proud. His own proving to do.
But Punkin, he's got no good reason to be in there. He's just out to make life miserable for others. He's not got anything deep down in his soul. Anything he pulls from there. Any resolve, any toughness, any resilience. That's not Punkin. That's proof that Caliban is still in there. That my old friend still exists inside that shell.
Punkin, I hope you hear this. You're dangerous, you're crazy, you're unpredictable. But at the end of the day, you've got no soul. No spirit. Nothing to keep you going. On Sunday night, I'm going to take you apart. Not for me. Not for WCF. For Jordan.
And Jordan, I know you're still in there. This is something that's beyond Punkin's understanding. But you'll get it
Tá a fhios agam go bhfuil tú i ann dheartháir . Feicfidh mé a fháil ar bhealach a thabhairt duit ar ais .
Believe it. Anything else Hank?
No I think that wraps it up. hey, can you swing by the Arena? I have to find Jayson Price.
MacNeill turns and fixes him with a stare, slowly shaking his head.
You're a sucker for punishment, aren't you Hank. Ok. Let's go over there.
(At this point the cameraman shuts off his camera to preserve tape. Damn cutbacks)
Scene changes to the exterior of the Wells Fargo Center. The traffic is sparse out here, and the parking lot is nearly empty on such an afternoon. Sirens can be heard in the distance, and the camera pans towards the noise, picking up a speeding black truck almost immediately as it cuts through the light traffic. With a wild right turn, the truck jumps the curb and rolls into the empty parking lot. It discharges two figures from the passenger side, who immediately scramble for safety inside the arena.
The truck peels out of the parking lot and speeds off into the evening gloom, followed by those same strobe lights.
At length, the truck's brake lights flash and it swerves onto the curb in front of a non-descript hotel, driving over the sidewalk and into the parking lot. The truck comes to a abrupt stop in front of the main door, and a lithe, languidly sensual creature slides from the passenger side door. She looks up into the cab of the large pickup and says something that the approaching camera picks up.
And what pray tell are you going to do now Mack?
I was thinking of going for a long drive in the country.
Well, you'd better hurry up and go. Hear that?
The sound of police sirens can be heard increasing in tempo as they draw nearer. As the figure of feline grace moves toward the entrance, a pair of figures rush out with far less style. More of an amble really. As they draw nearer, the figures are revealed to be WCF's own Hank Brown and a cameraman, but not the legendary ones names Stu or Bob. Just a guy with a camera on his shoulder who almost quit when he heard that he was paired with Hank Brown this morning. Nothing with that guy ever ends well. The pair reach the truck and shout though the still open door.
Mr. MacNeill! I thought we had an interview today!
Damn, I guess you're right Hank. And call me Mack. You know what they say. Time flies when your...
The sirens are much closer now, nearly deafening in their intensity. Strobed colours are reflecting off nearby buildings. The figure inside motions through the open door.
You want that interview Hank? Getcher ass in here!
Hank Brown, never one to shy away from danger, immediately jumped up into the cab of the pickup, with the cameraman jumping into one of the rear doors and settling in.
(At this point, footage is inserted from the cameraman inside the vehicle.)
Hank's head appears on the right, and a truck door can be heard slamming. The bald, bearded head on the left is instantly recognizable as Cormack MacNeill, and his broad grin says it all as he drops the truck into gear and floors it, sending hank and the cameraman both back against their seats.
Hold on lads! This is gonna be a bumpy ride.
The truck peels out of the parking lot, jumping the curb again and spearing into the flow of traffic with a chorus of horns brake lights all around. The strobes of red, white, and blue are now filling the cab as Cormack floors it, weaving skillfully through traffic and gaining ground on the strobes behind. The cameraman spins in his seat and films out the back window, revealing a half dozen City of Philadelphia police cruisers trailing the truck and trying their best not to cause an accident as they follow the truck.
Mack, what the hell have you gotten us into? What did you do?
Cormack laughs in response to the question and swerves hard to the right, hard enough to fling Hank around in his seat.
I'm sure they'll call it destruction of property, vandalism, or something like that. Back home, we call it a difference of opinion. I might have...trashed a bar in South Philly this morning.
Trashed a bar? In Philadelphia? Not very appropriate, is it?
Of course not. But when half the bar decides they need to teach you a lesson, things can get out of hand. Out of doors. Out of windows. You get the picture. They call it a bar brawl. I like to think of it as a Celtic debate.
But why so many police cars for a bar brawl Mack? Seems a bit excessive, doesn't it?
Did I mention that the owner of said bar is a retired policeman?
Hank looks toward the camera, which has turned back to face forward.
Really? That wasn't a really good choice, was it?
Cormack laughed long and loud from the drivers seat and slapped his hand on the steering wheel for effect.
I didn't have much of a choice Hank. Let that be a lesson to your viewers out there. If a man is tough enough to walk in South Philadelphia in a kilt, leave him be. If he deserves to wear that kilt, pride alone will dictate a response. It's a Celtic thing.
Speaking of Celtic, how do you feel about your match this Sunday at Fifteen? The biggest PPV in WCF history! And your in a five man...brawl for better lack of a term...for the International Title. A title that Seth Lerch resurrected for this very PPV.
I couldn't think of a better match for me to show what I'm made of Hank. A fight between power, size and speed. And one I can win.
What about Nagaski? It's the first time since your return that you've been in the ring with someone who is a physical equal. Some would say a larger, more mysterious man.
Nagaski? Yeah, he's a big lad. A fierce competitor. A sumo from a long tradition of warriors. I don't think that anyone should take him too lightly. His weight doesn't concern me. I've lifted bigger. What matters is the size of his heart. The fight he brings. I hope he brings everything he has. I know I will.
I received word moments before I left this morning that he has issued a challenge to you. The first man knocked off his feet buys a nights worth of drinks. Do you have a response Mack?
Hell yes! Whether I win or lose that bet, there's still a night of drinking ahead. Just not in Philadelphia, if you know what I mean.
What about the reigning champion, Kira Sakazaki? No one has seen or heard from him in over a year?
All I know about him is that he picked the wrong time to come back. There's too much talent in this match for him to handle, especially after such a long time out of the ring. I think he's going to be a non-factor. Much more challenging wrestlers in this match than him.
Lee Roberts? Mr. Average?
I've mentioned before Hank that I admire the guy. What he's doing. Why he's doing it. In fact, in any other match I might be cheering for him. He's got potential, he just needs to tie it together. I predict he'll have many, many nights where he's anything but average. But Sunday night....it won't be his night. At Fifteen, he'll just be another victim of circumstance.
And finally, a familiar name. Punkin Caliban.
Don't call him Caliban. Punkin is dangerous. Unpredictable. Skilled. But J.P. Caliban he's not. He's just another extreme athlete. What you do in the ring doesn't matter nearly as much as why you're doing it.
Me? I'm doing it to prove to myself I can. Doing it to show the world what's in my heart. In my soul. I d it to honour those who've fought in a thousand wars in a thousand lands wearing a kilt. Caliban got that. he had his own reasons, his own ancestors to make proud. His own proving to do.
But Punkin, he's got no good reason to be in there. He's just out to make life miserable for others. He's not got anything deep down in his soul. Anything he pulls from there. Any resolve, any toughness, any resilience. That's not Punkin. That's proof that Caliban is still in there. That my old friend still exists inside that shell.
Punkin, I hope you hear this. You're dangerous, you're crazy, you're unpredictable. But at the end of the day, you've got no soul. No spirit. Nothing to keep you going. On Sunday night, I'm going to take you apart. Not for me. Not for WCF. For Jordan.
And Jordan, I know you're still in there. This is something that's beyond Punkin's understanding. But you'll get it
Tá a fhios agam go bhfuil tú i ann dheartháir . Feicfidh mé a fháil ar bhealach a thabhairt duit ar ais .
Believe it. Anything else Hank?
No I think that wraps it up. hey, can you swing by the Arena? I have to find Jayson Price.
MacNeill turns and fixes him with a stare, slowly shaking his head.
You're a sucker for punishment, aren't you Hank. Ok. Let's go over there.
(At this point the cameraman shuts off his camera to preserve tape. Damn cutbacks)
Scene changes to the exterior of the Wells Fargo Center. The traffic is sparse out here, and the parking lot is nearly empty on such an afternoon. Sirens can be heard in the distance, and the camera pans towards the noise, picking up a speeding black truck almost immediately as it cuts through the light traffic. With a wild right turn, the truck jumps the curb and rolls into the empty parking lot. It discharges two figures from the passenger side, who immediately scramble for safety inside the arena.
The truck peels out of the parking lot and speeds off into the evening gloom, followed by those same strobe lights.
