Post by johnnycraven on Feb 12, 2009 23:49:43 GMT -5
Cameras Fade In:
Scene opens up inside of the front lobby area of The Myth in Minneapolis, Minnesota. Lines and lines of people are lined up, eagerly waiting for their one chance to purchase (or scalp) what few XIII tickets are still available. The cameras pan towards the arena employees working behind the ticket windows, allowing the viewers to catch tid bits of conversations amongst the fans.
Obnoxious Ticket Master: Two tickets to XIII? Two hundred dollars please.
Woman: Two hundred dollars...are you serious?
O. Ticket Master: Yes ma'am, that is correct. Tickets are a hundred dollars a piece. Come on, we don't have all day.
The woman, who appears to be in her late sixties, reluctantly hands over a check and in return, receives two golden...ok, maybe not golden, but two tickets to catch the massacre that will be XIII. Just as she begins to leave, she looks back over at the ticket master, secretly gives him the finger, and mumbles to herself as she walks off.
Woman: Two hundred dollars just to see a few guys get their asses kicked...I mean, hell, if it were me, I'd of taken ol' ticket boy out back and kicked him in the nuts for free. It may not make me any richer, but it would sure bring in one hell of an ovation....cheap bastard.
As the woman walks off and out of view, the cameras pan back to the same ticket master, as he continues being a cheap prick. One by one, the fans walk up and give him money in return for tickets. After a few fans do their duty, a small boy, wearing a new WCF t-shirt, steps up to the window and stares ahead at the prices displayed on the board behind the T.M. The boy stares at the prices and then back at the man, as he waits impatiently.
O. Ticket Master: Alright son, you need to hurry it up. This ain't the D.M.V., let's go. A hundred dollars is all it takes.
The boy slowly reaches into his pocket and pulls out a five dollar bill. He looks it over and then back at the man.
O. Ticket Master: Well, I see you have five dollars...would you happen to have ninety-five more?
The boy, still silent, reaches back into his pocket, but pulls out nothing. The sight of this frustrates the ticket master as he speaks.
O. Ticket Master: Look kid, now I understand your ambition to see a wrestling event the caliber of XIII, but if you don't have the money, then you need to get to steppin'. There are more people waiting in line behind you, who want to get into the show just as much as you do, and it's not polite for you to make them wait because you don't have the money. So why don't you go find your mommy, and see if your five bucks will get you into the ice cream store, because you're not getting in here, kid.
He laughs to himself as a single tear begins to roll down the boy's cheek.
O. Ticket Master: Alright, next?
As the next few fans make their way to the window, the cameras pan around to see the boy's face as he turns around to leave. He takes a few steps before coming to a sudden halt. He slowly looks up at a tall shadowy figure, as a smile spreads across his face. The shadowy figure brushes past the kid as the cameras pan back to the view of the ticket master. He is writing something down and hollers "next", when the figure catches his eye. He smirks a little before speaking.
O. Ticket Master: What do you want?
All at once, two huge arms break through the window and grab the guy's shirt and brings him hard to the window. The ticket master is scared shitless as the cameras pan out to see Johnny Craven staring back at him. After a few minutes, Craven begins to speak in a very dark voice.
Johnny Craven: I'm your next customer.
O. Ticket Master: W-w-what do you want?
Johnny Craven: I want your fully undivided attention. Is that too much to ask?
O. Ticket Master: (Shakes head negatively) Hmm--mm. I'm all ears.
Johnny Craven: Lucky for you. Seeing as how you've got all of this energy, we're going to put it to good use. You're job is to do whatever you can to make sure CD hears what I'm about to say.
O. Ticket Master: (Shakes head positively) No problem.
Johnny Craven then looks directly into the cameras before speaking.
Johnny Craven: It's been almost two long years since I've set foot inside of a WCF ring. I've been waiting a long damn time to get back into that ring and whoop someone's ass. And come Friday, yours truly will bring his ass back to WCF to beat the hell out of some no name lame ass son of a bitch named Kevin Hardaway. I don't give a damn who he is or what he's done in the past. The fact is, when we square off this Friday night at XIII, that poor unfortunate bastard is going to find out real quick that the staff screwed him over by making him have to go toe to toe in a bed of nails match with the wrong pissed of son of a bitch!!!
Craven looks back at the ticket master and glares.
Johnny Craven: Pay attention, because this is where it gets interesting. The last time I was here, I was hardcore champion. Then, I squared off against CD and Danny Vice in a triple threat hardcore ladder match at Explosion. And when it was all said and done, I lost my title. I was one of the most dominating hardcore champions in WCF history...I single handedly tore through both Vice and CD in my very first title match. Before I could get my rematch, the company crashed, leaving me, much like a lot of other superstars, with unfinished business with CD. So to CD or Corey Black or whatever he is going by these days, I want you to know one thing. You know as well as I do that things between you and Craven are unsettled. I know there are a lot of people who want to rip out your throat just as much as I do, and that creates quite the predicament. You see, on one hand, I could do like most everyone else and get in line, waiting for my turn to knock you the fuck out. But on the other hand, I could find other ways of grabbing your attention, giving you ample reasons as to why I am the bigger draw. Until then, don't walk where it's not safe.
Craven then looks back at the ticket master.
Johnny Craven: You get all that?
The ticket master nods in quick agreement.
Johnny Craven: Oh yeah, about the kid. That one right over there (He turns and points to the kid from earlier who is standing off to the side, watching. As the guy looks at the kid, Johnny Craven drags him out through the shattered ticket booth window.) What seems to be the problem?
O. Ticket Master: Well, he didn't have enough money, so I told him to go get his parents and that I would save him a ticket.
Johnny Craven: Well, I do have one other message you can give to Kevin Hardaway as well as to the other pieces of crap that entered themselves into the deathmatch...(Craven then grabs the guy by his shirt)..and you can also consider this the kid's payment....
Craven then picks the ticket guy up and slams him through the glass windows of the remaining ticket booths. Craven then looks at the kid and walks away out of view. Scene fades out.
Cameras Fade Out.
Scene opens up inside of the front lobby area of The Myth in Minneapolis, Minnesota. Lines and lines of people are lined up, eagerly waiting for their one chance to purchase (or scalp) what few XIII tickets are still available. The cameras pan towards the arena employees working behind the ticket windows, allowing the viewers to catch tid bits of conversations amongst the fans.
Obnoxious Ticket Master: Two tickets to XIII? Two hundred dollars please.
Woman: Two hundred dollars...are you serious?
O. Ticket Master: Yes ma'am, that is correct. Tickets are a hundred dollars a piece. Come on, we don't have all day.
The woman, who appears to be in her late sixties, reluctantly hands over a check and in return, receives two golden...ok, maybe not golden, but two tickets to catch the massacre that will be XIII. Just as she begins to leave, she looks back over at the ticket master, secretly gives him the finger, and mumbles to herself as she walks off.
Woman: Two hundred dollars just to see a few guys get their asses kicked...I mean, hell, if it were me, I'd of taken ol' ticket boy out back and kicked him in the nuts for free. It may not make me any richer, but it would sure bring in one hell of an ovation....cheap bastard.
As the woman walks off and out of view, the cameras pan back to the same ticket master, as he continues being a cheap prick. One by one, the fans walk up and give him money in return for tickets. After a few fans do their duty, a small boy, wearing a new WCF t-shirt, steps up to the window and stares ahead at the prices displayed on the board behind the T.M. The boy stares at the prices and then back at the man, as he waits impatiently.
O. Ticket Master: Alright son, you need to hurry it up. This ain't the D.M.V., let's go. A hundred dollars is all it takes.
The boy slowly reaches into his pocket and pulls out a five dollar bill. He looks it over and then back at the man.
O. Ticket Master: Well, I see you have five dollars...would you happen to have ninety-five more?
The boy, still silent, reaches back into his pocket, but pulls out nothing. The sight of this frustrates the ticket master as he speaks.
O. Ticket Master: Look kid, now I understand your ambition to see a wrestling event the caliber of XIII, but if you don't have the money, then you need to get to steppin'. There are more people waiting in line behind you, who want to get into the show just as much as you do, and it's not polite for you to make them wait because you don't have the money. So why don't you go find your mommy, and see if your five bucks will get you into the ice cream store, because you're not getting in here, kid.
He laughs to himself as a single tear begins to roll down the boy's cheek.
O. Ticket Master: Alright, next?
As the next few fans make their way to the window, the cameras pan around to see the boy's face as he turns around to leave. He takes a few steps before coming to a sudden halt. He slowly looks up at a tall shadowy figure, as a smile spreads across his face. The shadowy figure brushes past the kid as the cameras pan back to the view of the ticket master. He is writing something down and hollers "next", when the figure catches his eye. He smirks a little before speaking.
O. Ticket Master: What do you want?
All at once, two huge arms break through the window and grab the guy's shirt and brings him hard to the window. The ticket master is scared shitless as the cameras pan out to see Johnny Craven staring back at him. After a few minutes, Craven begins to speak in a very dark voice.
Johnny Craven: I'm your next customer.
O. Ticket Master: W-w-what do you want?
Johnny Craven: I want your fully undivided attention. Is that too much to ask?
O. Ticket Master: (Shakes head negatively) Hmm--mm. I'm all ears.
Johnny Craven: Lucky for you. Seeing as how you've got all of this energy, we're going to put it to good use. You're job is to do whatever you can to make sure CD hears what I'm about to say.
O. Ticket Master: (Shakes head positively) No problem.
Johnny Craven then looks directly into the cameras before speaking.
Johnny Craven: It's been almost two long years since I've set foot inside of a WCF ring. I've been waiting a long damn time to get back into that ring and whoop someone's ass. And come Friday, yours truly will bring his ass back to WCF to beat the hell out of some no name lame ass son of a bitch named Kevin Hardaway. I don't give a damn who he is or what he's done in the past. The fact is, when we square off this Friday night at XIII, that poor unfortunate bastard is going to find out real quick that the staff screwed him over by making him have to go toe to toe in a bed of nails match with the wrong pissed of son of a bitch!!!
Craven looks back at the ticket master and glares.
Johnny Craven: Pay attention, because this is where it gets interesting. The last time I was here, I was hardcore champion. Then, I squared off against CD and Danny Vice in a triple threat hardcore ladder match at Explosion. And when it was all said and done, I lost my title. I was one of the most dominating hardcore champions in WCF history...I single handedly tore through both Vice and CD in my very first title match. Before I could get my rematch, the company crashed, leaving me, much like a lot of other superstars, with unfinished business with CD. So to CD or Corey Black or whatever he is going by these days, I want you to know one thing. You know as well as I do that things between you and Craven are unsettled. I know there are a lot of people who want to rip out your throat just as much as I do, and that creates quite the predicament. You see, on one hand, I could do like most everyone else and get in line, waiting for my turn to knock you the fuck out. But on the other hand, I could find other ways of grabbing your attention, giving you ample reasons as to why I am the bigger draw. Until then, don't walk where it's not safe.
Craven then looks back at the ticket master.
Johnny Craven: You get all that?
The ticket master nods in quick agreement.
Johnny Craven: Oh yeah, about the kid. That one right over there (He turns and points to the kid from earlier who is standing off to the side, watching. As the guy looks at the kid, Johnny Craven drags him out through the shattered ticket booth window.) What seems to be the problem?
O. Ticket Master: Well, he didn't have enough money, so I told him to go get his parents and that I would save him a ticket.
Johnny Craven: Well, I do have one other message you can give to Kevin Hardaway as well as to the other pieces of crap that entered themselves into the deathmatch...(Craven then grabs the guy by his shirt)..and you can also consider this the kid's payment....
Craven then picks the ticket guy up and slams him through the glass windows of the remaining ticket booths. Craven then looks at the kid and walks away out of view. Scene fades out.
Cameras Fade Out.
