Post by Steve Orbit on Mar 20, 2016 12:54:41 GMT -5
Fade in to Steve Orbit's gentlemen's club in Oakland-- Club Violet. It's the morning and Orbit is holding his daily staff meeting. Orbit stands in front of the main stage, wearing a baby blue pinstripe suit and draped in gold. The security team is off to one side, with girls sitting in groups throughout the room.
Steve Orbit: A couple months back I made a bad decision. I trusted somebody else to run this operation, and it ended up putting me in a fucked up situation, worse than I could have even imagined. However-- in the end, as always, I prevailed, and I'm back on top of this mother fucker.
Orbit nods and looks around the room.
Steve Orbit: I'm bringin' this up because I want you to know that I am back in full force. I stepped away, I tried to do this shit half-way, tried to do it part-time. I tried to deny this pimpin' that runs through my veins every second of the day. I won't make that mistake again. In life, sometimes we choose the wrong path, we make the wrong choice-- what's important is that we learn from our poor judgements and we come out on the other side that much more wiser. A man who makes the same mistakes over and over again is like a dog chasin' his mother fuckin' tail. He ain't gonna get nowhere. And what's the most important aspect of life?
The hoes respond in unison.
Girls: Keepin' it moving.
Steve Orbit: Right. We must always move forward. We can never look back. We can't get rich off yesterday's money. We can't get high off yesterday's weed. And so on. We gotta keep this shit movin' and keep makin' this money no matter what happens. If we ain't doin' that-- shit, we might as well be six feet deep in the mother fuckin' ground.
There's a knock at the front door. Orbit nods at one of the security guards, who goes to open the door.
Steve Orbit: I'm proud of every single one of y'all. Y'all are what makes this Club unique and special. The misguided public-- they throw around words like prostitute, whore, hooker, and every other mother fuckin' thing they can thing of to marginalize y'all. When I look around, I don't see a room full of hoes. I see a room full of hustlers, a room full of strong-willed, unbreakable women who have grabbed life by the balls and shaken it down for all it's got. And more importantly, I look at y'all and I see my family. Straight up.
Orbit looks to the other end of the room and sees a familiar face, which causes him to grin.
Steve Orbit: Now if y'all will excuse me, I have a guest to attend to. Actually--
Orbit points to two exceptionally hot looking girls.
Steve Orbit: Trinity, Corina... y'all two stick around for a little bit. Go get changed into your gear, I'ma need you both in a little bit.
The silence of the room breaks as the girls and other employees begin talking amongst each other and slowly filing out. Orbit begins to walk to the other side of the room... where he meets his brother, Jonny Fly. The two men shake hands and lean in for a hug.
Steve Orbit: Sup bro?
Jonny Fly: What's up?
Orbit leads Fly over to the bar. Fly takes a seat on a stool as Orbit goes behind the bar, producing a bottle of Hennessy and two highball glasses. He rounds the bar again and takes a seat two stools apart from Fly. He pours the drinks and slides one down to his brother.
Jonny Fly: Thanks.
Steve Orbit: No doubt.
Both men sip their drinks. Fly chuckles.
Jonny Fly: Quite the speech you were giving there. "Strong-willed, unbreakable women" huh?
Orbit laughs.
Steve Orbit: Come on, man, you know how I get down. I gotta preach to these bitches, keep 'em motivated to get my mother fuckin' money.
Fly nods.
Steve Orbit: How's retirement?
The expression on Fly's face drops. He sneers.
Jonny Fly: Who would have thought that Corey Black of all people would be the one to force me out of WCF.
Steve Orbit: I know. It's fuckin' bizarro world lately. Logan's been a thorn in my nut sack since I returned... LOGAN. It's been two months and I still can't believe I'm having actual competitive contests with this mother fucker-- and he's beating me.
Fly shakes his head. There's a moment of silence.
Jonny Fly: What happened? We were on top of the world a few short years ago. Five star matches left and right. Between the two of us, we dominated the World title scene. I was practically undefeated-- you were the only one who could touch me, outside of a fluke here and there.
Steve Orbit: I'm sayin'... I always thought it would be the young boys who took us out the game. That's the natural order of the business, ain't it? The new generation comes up, clashes with the established mother fuckers... and eventually, we retire, and they take over. But this... this shit is just backwards!
Orbit and Fly both throw back their drinks, looking uncomfortable as hell. Fly's eyes are darting from side to side. Orbit is tapping his foot on the stool. He pours another round.
Jonny Fly: Alright, enough. Enough of that. You and I both know that this won't last. I'll find a way... some way, some how, I'll be back. You've got another shot at Logan and there will be no briefcases to grab this time around. All of this nonsense will be rectified.
Orbit sits, silent, staring at the ground.
Jonny Fly: Right?!
Steve Orbit: What? Yeah... yeah, my nigga. For sure. We got this, fuck 'em all. For real for real.
Orbit lights a Black & Mild.
Jonny Fly: Who you got this week?
Steve Orbit: Uh... Raymond Hatchet? Some fuckin' nobody. That's how far down the totem pole I done slid at this point. I'm on the first half of the card, doin' bouts with people I never heard of.
Fly sips his drink and shrugs.
Jonny Fly: New guy?
Steve Orbit: Not really. Maybe like a year in the company. I think he's been in and out. You know how these young mother fuckers do it these days, nobody puts in a respectable run. Everybody's in for a month, out for two. Don't nobody know how to build some fuckin' momentum no more. No fuckin' work ethic.
Orbit takes a pull off the cigar and sips his drink.
Steve Orbit: The only thing I really know about him is that he has a drinking problem-- don't we all, but we don't make a fuckin' gimmick out of it. That was Jay Price's thing and... honestly, it never really worked for him neither. With his mid-cardin' ass.
Jonny Fly: True.
Steve Orbit: AND... the mother fucker was in a tag team. With ADAM YOUNG.
Fly busts out laughing, almost falling off the stool.
Jonny Fly: WHO TAGS WITH ADAM YOUNG?!
Fly bangs his fist on the bar, unable to contain himself. Orbit is amused.
Steve Orbit: I dunno. I mean... is it like those bitches who hang out with an ugly chick to make themself look better? Or is his self-esteem and sense of worth SO low that he sees himself as Adam Young's equal? That's fuckin' pathetic either way.
Jonny Fly: Adam Young... HAHAHAHAH.
Fly begins laughing again.
Steve Orbit: I know.
Orbit pulls out his phone.
Steve Orbit: But besides those couple things, I know next to nothin' about this mother fucker. Raymond Hatchet. Sounds like some kinda serial killer... come on, we already seen that fifty times. We already got Oblivion.
Orbit pulls up Google on his Note 5. He types in 'Raymond Hatchet WCF' and begins scrolling.
Steve Orbit: Oh HATCHER. Raymond Hatcher. Hmm...
Orbit keeps scrolling.
Steve Orbit: "The Real Deal". That's fuckin' original. A drunk serial killer who calls himself "The Real Deal". It's like 'create your own wrestler' and you pick two cliches and a generic nickname. I'm startin' to see the whole picture now.
Orbit scoffs.
Jonny Fly: Who said he was a serial killer?
Steve Orbit: I did. Because his last name is Hatchet.
Jonny Fly: But you just said it was Hatcher.
Steve Orbit: So, nigga? Hatchet, Hatcher-- whatchu sayin', he hatchin' eggs? He a fuckin' chicken now? He fuckin'... puttin' 'em in his asshole and, uh, incubatin' them mother fuckers now?
Fly shakes his head, dropping the subject. Orbit continues to read the phone.
Steve Orbit: I guess he been in the business for a while, just made his way to WCF last year.
Jonny Fly: I still never heard of him.
Steve Orbit: Yeah, you know how these mother fuckers always were a successful World Champion in ten indy feds before coming to WCF and gettin' they shit pushed in. You know how it goes. Anyway... damn, this nigga's from LA? Check this out.
Orbit passes Fly the phone.
Jonny Fly: Eh, you know how things work out here in Cali. Los Angeles and Oakland are practically different states. Besides, he didn't grow up here. It says here he was adopted... by a wealthy family, and moved to Naples.
Orbit shakes his head.
Steve Orbit: Ain't that about a bitch. I'm out here fightin' to survive, you're out in NY runnin' the streets, and this mother fucker hits the orphan lottery and gets adopted by the fuckin' Brady Bunch. Fuckin' white priveledge.
Fly's first instinct is to be offended. He then remembers he is one quarter black, and he grew up on the streets as well. He puts his glass up.
Jonny Fly: I'll drink to that.
The two men clink glasses, and finish the contents. Orbit fills the glasses once again. Fly continues to read Hatcher's Googled information.
Jonny Fly: Says here he's a businessman. He's had some success with online marketing, he's into international thread distribution--
Steve Orbit: Threads? What this goofy mother fucker know about threads. Gimme that.
Orbit snatches the phone from Fly.
Steve Orbit: God damn... I probably been supportin' this mother fucker for years. You know me, I get all my shit custom, I don't buy nothin' off the rack.
Orbit and Fly pound fists.
Steve Orbit: You know what I'm sayin'? God damn. I'ma have to check with my materials lady. I'ma make sure my materials lady ain't buyin' no threads from this mother fucker. Come to think of it, I doubt my materials source would be buyin' any of Hatcher's wack ass threads no how. What the fuck he know about threads?
Orbit scrolls down on the phone.
Steve Orbit: Whoa... wait a minute.
He shows a picture to Fly.
Steve Orbit: I... damn. That's a fly mother fuckin' jacket, I can't lie. Game recognize game, I took an oath to NEVER hate on another man, and that is a fly mother fuckin' jacket.
Jonny Fly: He looks like a British royal guard or some shit.
Steve Orbit: Man, you just don't understand the finer points of fashion. With your one color suits. You got a hundred suits-- fifty black, fifty white. No style havin' mother fucker, you need to borrow some of my shit and turn it the fuck up.
Fly laughs.
Jonny Fly: I'm not black enough to pull it off.
Steve Orbit: Good point, you right. Back to Hatcher. I forgot to tell you somethin'.
Jonny Fly: What?
Steve Orbit: Seth is reffing the match.
Fly shoots up from the stool.
Jonny Fly: WHAT.
Steve Orbit: Yeah, man. He won't stop fuckin' with me since I came back. I dunno what I ever did to him except made him some mother fuckin' money.
Jonny Fly: Well... you know, he and I have a sort of... checkered past.
Steve Orbit: So? What's that got to do with me?
Jonny Fly: Nothing... except we're brothers, and Seth is probably subconsciously fucking with you to get back at me. I mean, maybe he is. Probably not.
Both men sip their drinks.
Steve Orbit: I don't even give a fuck. From what I hear, Raymond Hatcher ain't Seth's biggest fan neither. Matter of fact-- Hatcher if you listenin', I'ma make you a deal. I'm comin' to whoop that ass, but if you wanna take like... maybe three, four minutes during the match and just put the boots to Seth, me and you both, I'm aight with that. Let's bang him up and just toss him out the ring. Double DQ, whatever, you know he's bound to screw one of us over anyway, if not both of us. Let's fuckin' blast him before he can execute his plan. Let's take him out the equation and then just finish the match like men, on some G shit. Deal?
Orbit raises his glass to the camera, before turning his attention back to Fly.
Jonny Fly: He'll never go for that. A victory over Steve Orbit is too critical. He won't care if he beats you with Seth's help, when has that ever mattered? Look at Logan, he's still bragging about Final Destination and we all saw how that went down.
Steve Orbit: True. I'm just sayin', I might go to Pimp Slap Raymond and then stumble, and maybe miscalculate and hit Seth. I'm just sayin' it could happen.
Jonny Fly: Yeah? And then what?
Steve Orbit: Seth cries? We laugh?
Jonny Fly: Yeah, but after that. Seth makes your life even more miserable and moves the fuckin' goal posts even futher away.
Steve Orbit: So what are you saying, I should just take his shit? Not gonna happen, Fly. YOU never took his shit and it worked out beautifully for you.
Fly shrugs.
Jonny Fly: It was a different era. I had the entire wrestling world behind me.
Steve Orbit: ... Yeah, I guess you right.
Jonny Fly: Fuck Seth. You'll be able to outsmart him, he's not that bright. Just worry about your opponent. You don't need another loss.
Steve Orbit: Thanks.
Jonny Fly: You know it's true. You're moving into dangerous territory. You made a comeback, with all the expectations, the pomp and circumstance... and Logan's had his foot on your neck the entire time. He's fucking your shit up right now, Steve. People are talking.
Orbit scoffs.
Steve Orbit: Man, people always talkin'. Who gives a--
Jonny Fly: But what they're saying is correct. You're reaching a point where if you don't start SMASHING it every single week, you're going to keep losing ground, keep losing stature within the company and in the eyes of the fans. Look at how revered you were when you left after One 2014. That's who you're being compared to. Because fuck everybody else-- new and old. The person you are going against, every single week, is yourself.
Steve Orbit: Yeah... somebody else told me that same shit not too long ago.
Jonny Fly: So just fuckin' do it. Don't look at it as... 'oh, it's just Raymond Hatcher, he's nobody, fuck him'. Look at it like this-- you are STEVE ORBIT. One of the best to ever do it. This is another chance to show everybody, including Seth, that you are still that fuckin' guy. Let's be honest-- would Seth have fucked with you like this in 2014? When you were World Champion for half the year and nobody could fuckin' touch you?
Steve Orbit: FUCK no.
Jonny Fly: Go out there and make a statement this week. Even with Seth on your back, you can beat a mother fucker like Raymond Hatcher without breaking a sweat. It's time to assert your fuckin' dominance again, Steve. Forget about Logan. You'll deal with him at Explosion. This is bigger than Logan, this is your fuckin' CAREER we are talking about. You CAN NOT lose at Slam. It's do or die right now, brother.
Moment of silence. Orbit considers those words.
Steve Orbit: Do or die.
Suddenly, the lights dim. Some soft, old school R&B shit hits the Club speaker system at low volume. Two of the Club dancers-- Trinity and Corina, walk out from the back room. They step on the stage and begin dancing with each other.
Fly looks at Orbit. Orbit looks at Fly.
Steve Orbit: Aight, enough of the pep talk.
Jonny Fly: Yup.
Steve Orbit: Word up.
Orbit and Fly clink their glasses together once again and finish the drinks. They get off the stool and head over to the stage where the girls are dancing, and we fade out.
Steve Orbit: A couple months back I made a bad decision. I trusted somebody else to run this operation, and it ended up putting me in a fucked up situation, worse than I could have even imagined. However-- in the end, as always, I prevailed, and I'm back on top of this mother fucker.
Orbit nods and looks around the room.
Steve Orbit: I'm bringin' this up because I want you to know that I am back in full force. I stepped away, I tried to do this shit half-way, tried to do it part-time. I tried to deny this pimpin' that runs through my veins every second of the day. I won't make that mistake again. In life, sometimes we choose the wrong path, we make the wrong choice-- what's important is that we learn from our poor judgements and we come out on the other side that much more wiser. A man who makes the same mistakes over and over again is like a dog chasin' his mother fuckin' tail. He ain't gonna get nowhere. And what's the most important aspect of life?
The hoes respond in unison.
Girls: Keepin' it moving.
Steve Orbit: Right. We must always move forward. We can never look back. We can't get rich off yesterday's money. We can't get high off yesterday's weed. And so on. We gotta keep this shit movin' and keep makin' this money no matter what happens. If we ain't doin' that-- shit, we might as well be six feet deep in the mother fuckin' ground.
There's a knock at the front door. Orbit nods at one of the security guards, who goes to open the door.
Steve Orbit: I'm proud of every single one of y'all. Y'all are what makes this Club unique and special. The misguided public-- they throw around words like prostitute, whore, hooker, and every other mother fuckin' thing they can thing of to marginalize y'all. When I look around, I don't see a room full of hoes. I see a room full of hustlers, a room full of strong-willed, unbreakable women who have grabbed life by the balls and shaken it down for all it's got. And more importantly, I look at y'all and I see my family. Straight up.
Orbit looks to the other end of the room and sees a familiar face, which causes him to grin.
Steve Orbit: Now if y'all will excuse me, I have a guest to attend to. Actually--
Orbit points to two exceptionally hot looking girls.
Steve Orbit: Trinity, Corina... y'all two stick around for a little bit. Go get changed into your gear, I'ma need you both in a little bit.
The silence of the room breaks as the girls and other employees begin talking amongst each other and slowly filing out. Orbit begins to walk to the other side of the room... where he meets his brother, Jonny Fly. The two men shake hands and lean in for a hug.
Steve Orbit: Sup bro?
Jonny Fly: What's up?
Orbit leads Fly over to the bar. Fly takes a seat on a stool as Orbit goes behind the bar, producing a bottle of Hennessy and two highball glasses. He rounds the bar again and takes a seat two stools apart from Fly. He pours the drinks and slides one down to his brother.
Jonny Fly: Thanks.
Steve Orbit: No doubt.
Both men sip their drinks. Fly chuckles.
Jonny Fly: Quite the speech you were giving there. "Strong-willed, unbreakable women" huh?
Orbit laughs.
Steve Orbit: Come on, man, you know how I get down. I gotta preach to these bitches, keep 'em motivated to get my mother fuckin' money.
Fly nods.
Steve Orbit: How's retirement?
The expression on Fly's face drops. He sneers.
Jonny Fly: Who would have thought that Corey Black of all people would be the one to force me out of WCF.
Steve Orbit: I know. It's fuckin' bizarro world lately. Logan's been a thorn in my nut sack since I returned... LOGAN. It's been two months and I still can't believe I'm having actual competitive contests with this mother fucker-- and he's beating me.
Fly shakes his head. There's a moment of silence.
Jonny Fly: What happened? We were on top of the world a few short years ago. Five star matches left and right. Between the two of us, we dominated the World title scene. I was practically undefeated-- you were the only one who could touch me, outside of a fluke here and there.
Steve Orbit: I'm sayin'... I always thought it would be the young boys who took us out the game. That's the natural order of the business, ain't it? The new generation comes up, clashes with the established mother fuckers... and eventually, we retire, and they take over. But this... this shit is just backwards!
Orbit and Fly both throw back their drinks, looking uncomfortable as hell. Fly's eyes are darting from side to side. Orbit is tapping his foot on the stool. He pours another round.
Jonny Fly: Alright, enough. Enough of that. You and I both know that this won't last. I'll find a way... some way, some how, I'll be back. You've got another shot at Logan and there will be no briefcases to grab this time around. All of this nonsense will be rectified.
Orbit sits, silent, staring at the ground.
Jonny Fly: Right?!
Steve Orbit: What? Yeah... yeah, my nigga. For sure. We got this, fuck 'em all. For real for real.
Orbit lights a Black & Mild.
Jonny Fly: Who you got this week?
Steve Orbit: Uh... Raymond Hatchet? Some fuckin' nobody. That's how far down the totem pole I done slid at this point. I'm on the first half of the card, doin' bouts with people I never heard of.
Fly sips his drink and shrugs.
Jonny Fly: New guy?
Steve Orbit: Not really. Maybe like a year in the company. I think he's been in and out. You know how these young mother fuckers do it these days, nobody puts in a respectable run. Everybody's in for a month, out for two. Don't nobody know how to build some fuckin' momentum no more. No fuckin' work ethic.
Orbit takes a pull off the cigar and sips his drink.
Steve Orbit: The only thing I really know about him is that he has a drinking problem-- don't we all, but we don't make a fuckin' gimmick out of it. That was Jay Price's thing and... honestly, it never really worked for him neither. With his mid-cardin' ass.
Jonny Fly: True.
Steve Orbit: AND... the mother fucker was in a tag team. With ADAM YOUNG.
Fly busts out laughing, almost falling off the stool.
Jonny Fly: WHO TAGS WITH ADAM YOUNG?!
Fly bangs his fist on the bar, unable to contain himself. Orbit is amused.
Steve Orbit: I dunno. I mean... is it like those bitches who hang out with an ugly chick to make themself look better? Or is his self-esteem and sense of worth SO low that he sees himself as Adam Young's equal? That's fuckin' pathetic either way.
Jonny Fly: Adam Young... HAHAHAHAH.
Fly begins laughing again.
Steve Orbit: I know.
Orbit pulls out his phone.
Steve Orbit: But besides those couple things, I know next to nothin' about this mother fucker. Raymond Hatchet. Sounds like some kinda serial killer... come on, we already seen that fifty times. We already got Oblivion.
Orbit pulls up Google on his Note 5. He types in 'Raymond Hatchet WCF' and begins scrolling.
Steve Orbit: Oh HATCHER. Raymond Hatcher. Hmm...
Orbit keeps scrolling.
Steve Orbit: "The Real Deal". That's fuckin' original. A drunk serial killer who calls himself "The Real Deal". It's like 'create your own wrestler' and you pick two cliches and a generic nickname. I'm startin' to see the whole picture now.
Orbit scoffs.
Jonny Fly: Who said he was a serial killer?
Steve Orbit: I did. Because his last name is Hatchet.
Jonny Fly: But you just said it was Hatcher.
Steve Orbit: So, nigga? Hatchet, Hatcher-- whatchu sayin', he hatchin' eggs? He a fuckin' chicken now? He fuckin'... puttin' 'em in his asshole and, uh, incubatin' them mother fuckers now?
Fly shakes his head, dropping the subject. Orbit continues to read the phone.
Steve Orbit: I guess he been in the business for a while, just made his way to WCF last year.
Jonny Fly: I still never heard of him.
Steve Orbit: Yeah, you know how these mother fuckers always were a successful World Champion in ten indy feds before coming to WCF and gettin' they shit pushed in. You know how it goes. Anyway... damn, this nigga's from LA? Check this out.
Orbit passes Fly the phone.
Jonny Fly: Eh, you know how things work out here in Cali. Los Angeles and Oakland are practically different states. Besides, he didn't grow up here. It says here he was adopted... by a wealthy family, and moved to Naples.
Orbit shakes his head.
Steve Orbit: Ain't that about a bitch. I'm out here fightin' to survive, you're out in NY runnin' the streets, and this mother fucker hits the orphan lottery and gets adopted by the fuckin' Brady Bunch. Fuckin' white priveledge.
Fly's first instinct is to be offended. He then remembers he is one quarter black, and he grew up on the streets as well. He puts his glass up.
Jonny Fly: I'll drink to that.
The two men clink glasses, and finish the contents. Orbit fills the glasses once again. Fly continues to read Hatcher's Googled information.
Jonny Fly: Says here he's a businessman. He's had some success with online marketing, he's into international thread distribution--
Steve Orbit: Threads? What this goofy mother fucker know about threads. Gimme that.
Orbit snatches the phone from Fly.
Steve Orbit: God damn... I probably been supportin' this mother fucker for years. You know me, I get all my shit custom, I don't buy nothin' off the rack.
Orbit and Fly pound fists.
Steve Orbit: You know what I'm sayin'? God damn. I'ma have to check with my materials lady. I'ma make sure my materials lady ain't buyin' no threads from this mother fucker. Come to think of it, I doubt my materials source would be buyin' any of Hatcher's wack ass threads no how. What the fuck he know about threads?
Orbit scrolls down on the phone.
Steve Orbit: Whoa... wait a minute.
He shows a picture to Fly.
Steve Orbit: I... damn. That's a fly mother fuckin' jacket, I can't lie. Game recognize game, I took an oath to NEVER hate on another man, and that is a fly mother fuckin' jacket.
Jonny Fly: He looks like a British royal guard or some shit.
Steve Orbit: Man, you just don't understand the finer points of fashion. With your one color suits. You got a hundred suits-- fifty black, fifty white. No style havin' mother fucker, you need to borrow some of my shit and turn it the fuck up.
Fly laughs.
Jonny Fly: I'm not black enough to pull it off.
Steve Orbit: Good point, you right. Back to Hatcher. I forgot to tell you somethin'.
Jonny Fly: What?
Steve Orbit: Seth is reffing the match.
Fly shoots up from the stool.
Jonny Fly: WHAT.
Steve Orbit: Yeah, man. He won't stop fuckin' with me since I came back. I dunno what I ever did to him except made him some mother fuckin' money.
Jonny Fly: Well... you know, he and I have a sort of... checkered past.
Steve Orbit: So? What's that got to do with me?
Jonny Fly: Nothing... except we're brothers, and Seth is probably subconsciously fucking with you to get back at me. I mean, maybe he is. Probably not.
Both men sip their drinks.
Steve Orbit: I don't even give a fuck. From what I hear, Raymond Hatcher ain't Seth's biggest fan neither. Matter of fact-- Hatcher if you listenin', I'ma make you a deal. I'm comin' to whoop that ass, but if you wanna take like... maybe three, four minutes during the match and just put the boots to Seth, me and you both, I'm aight with that. Let's bang him up and just toss him out the ring. Double DQ, whatever, you know he's bound to screw one of us over anyway, if not both of us. Let's fuckin' blast him before he can execute his plan. Let's take him out the equation and then just finish the match like men, on some G shit. Deal?
Orbit raises his glass to the camera, before turning his attention back to Fly.
Jonny Fly: He'll never go for that. A victory over Steve Orbit is too critical. He won't care if he beats you with Seth's help, when has that ever mattered? Look at Logan, he's still bragging about Final Destination and we all saw how that went down.
Steve Orbit: True. I'm just sayin', I might go to Pimp Slap Raymond and then stumble, and maybe miscalculate and hit Seth. I'm just sayin' it could happen.
Jonny Fly: Yeah? And then what?
Steve Orbit: Seth cries? We laugh?
Jonny Fly: Yeah, but after that. Seth makes your life even more miserable and moves the fuckin' goal posts even futher away.
Steve Orbit: So what are you saying, I should just take his shit? Not gonna happen, Fly. YOU never took his shit and it worked out beautifully for you.
Fly shrugs.
Jonny Fly: It was a different era. I had the entire wrestling world behind me.
Steve Orbit: ... Yeah, I guess you right.
Jonny Fly: Fuck Seth. You'll be able to outsmart him, he's not that bright. Just worry about your opponent. You don't need another loss.
Steve Orbit: Thanks.
Jonny Fly: You know it's true. You're moving into dangerous territory. You made a comeback, with all the expectations, the pomp and circumstance... and Logan's had his foot on your neck the entire time. He's fucking your shit up right now, Steve. People are talking.
Orbit scoffs.
Steve Orbit: Man, people always talkin'. Who gives a--
Jonny Fly: But what they're saying is correct. You're reaching a point where if you don't start SMASHING it every single week, you're going to keep losing ground, keep losing stature within the company and in the eyes of the fans. Look at how revered you were when you left after One 2014. That's who you're being compared to. Because fuck everybody else-- new and old. The person you are going against, every single week, is yourself.
Steve Orbit: Yeah... somebody else told me that same shit not too long ago.
Jonny Fly: So just fuckin' do it. Don't look at it as... 'oh, it's just Raymond Hatcher, he's nobody, fuck him'. Look at it like this-- you are STEVE ORBIT. One of the best to ever do it. This is another chance to show everybody, including Seth, that you are still that fuckin' guy. Let's be honest-- would Seth have fucked with you like this in 2014? When you were World Champion for half the year and nobody could fuckin' touch you?
Steve Orbit: FUCK no.
Jonny Fly: Go out there and make a statement this week. Even with Seth on your back, you can beat a mother fucker like Raymond Hatcher without breaking a sweat. It's time to assert your fuckin' dominance again, Steve. Forget about Logan. You'll deal with him at Explosion. This is bigger than Logan, this is your fuckin' CAREER we are talking about. You CAN NOT lose at Slam. It's do or die right now, brother.
Moment of silence. Orbit considers those words.
Steve Orbit: Do or die.
Suddenly, the lights dim. Some soft, old school R&B shit hits the Club speaker system at low volume. Two of the Club dancers-- Trinity and Corina, walk out from the back room. They step on the stage and begin dancing with each other.
Fly looks at Orbit. Orbit looks at Fly.
Steve Orbit: Aight, enough of the pep talk.
Jonny Fly: Yup.
Steve Orbit: Word up.
Orbit and Fly clink their glasses together once again and finish the drinks. They get off the stool and head over to the stage where the girls are dancing, and we fade out.
