Post by Deleted on May 19, 2009 19:35:04 GMT -5
Fade in to a door ajar. The cameraman pushes it open, revealing Mikami's head over the back of a couch. Almost every centimetre of the coffee table in front of him is covered in papers, placed there in no obvious order, some sideways, some upside-down. This room is evidently part of a flat, much more spacious than his usual hotel rooms. It is also unusual that it is daytime, light coming in through window blinds, but ceiling lights are also on.
Come in.
The cameraman steps inside the room and closes the door behind him. Mikami stands up and walks over to another table, grabbing a chair from it and placing it right in front of the camera. He sits in front, and now the one and only Mikami-esque quality to this situation is the suit he is wearing.
As you can see, I have decided on a more permanent living arrangement. My biggest nemesis at this point is Seth Lerch, and he certainly would not bother me outside of the WCF, even if he found out where I am living now. As for the rest of the scum of the earth, they do not seem to know or care that I exist. Everyone still refuses to take me seriously. Even...
He stops and shakes his head.
I am sorry. I have not been in a very good mood. I thought maybe some changes would help make me feel better. After all, variety is the spice of life.
He claps his hands twice. The lights dim and music starts playing from somewhere. Cool jazz, or smooth jazz, or whatever you want to call slow music with a walking bass line that sounds like it came from mid-20th century America. Mikami crosses his legs.
I have been booked in another tag team match with Mister Ryan Daniels. I feel more sorry for him than I do for me. The way he keeps getting put in these things, it seems like the federation is trying to get him to prove he deserves that title shot. I am sure that he feels that he does not have to prove anything to anybody. But Mr. Daniels, you have not exactly passed the test with flying colors. You tried to take all the glory in our last match together, and you got caught. Like I told you before, pride cometh before a fall.
He pauses and looks around.
I think this is the part in the song where I am supposed to light a cigarette, and then take it out between my index and middle fingers. But I am not some beatnik pretending to know some hidden truth of the universe. My knowledge is learnt, through teaching and experience, not intuited through feelings. But if it is rhymes and riddles you want, then I know the difference between a champion and a challenger: a champion has already conquered his calibre. So, by that definition of challenger, you do have to prove yourself, Mr. Daniels. Sorry.
He raises his forearm and shakes his hand, mimicking shaking ash off the end of a cigarette.
Now, this is where I discuss my opponents for this week. Dake Ken, former WCF big-shot. Tank Reaper, unlikely provider of pornography and Shakespeare quotes. I could tell you that I know all of your weaknesses, and that you have no shot of winning, but if I had not make it perfectly clear by now, I do not really give a shit. Either you are going to be intimidated by me or not, and if you are, it will have more to do with what I have done in this federation so far than any clever wordplay I could produce. Maybe it will get in your head, and maybe not. Be distracted, do not be distracted. Show up, do not show up. I do not care. The outcome of this match rests on Mr. Ryan Daniels. Either he will hamstring me again, or he will have learned to stay out my way.
He puts out his invisible cigarette in an invisible ashtray, while his invisible cat rides by on an invisible miniature bicycle.
No, I only care about two things right now, and that does not even include my future defence of the United States Title. I care about figuring out what exactly it is that I am supposed to be doing here. And I care about Seth Lerch. Utterly humiliating Seth Lerch, for the way he has treated me. I am no longer content to reveal his secret on free television. No, now it must be at Aftermath. On a bigger stage. A showcase for the WCF. That is when the world will find out. And I can promise you, there will be no problems this time. No sudden microphone difficulties. No one will stop me from delivering the truth. Not even...
He winces.
I am sorry, I cannot tolerate this music any longer.
He claps twice. The music dies, but the lights stay out. He stands up and goes over to the windows.
It is just...not me.
He closes the blinds, condemning the room to darkness.
Come in.
The cameraman steps inside the room and closes the door behind him. Mikami stands up and walks over to another table, grabbing a chair from it and placing it right in front of the camera. He sits in front, and now the one and only Mikami-esque quality to this situation is the suit he is wearing.
As you can see, I have decided on a more permanent living arrangement. My biggest nemesis at this point is Seth Lerch, and he certainly would not bother me outside of the WCF, even if he found out where I am living now. As for the rest of the scum of the earth, they do not seem to know or care that I exist. Everyone still refuses to take me seriously. Even...
He stops and shakes his head.
I am sorry. I have not been in a very good mood. I thought maybe some changes would help make me feel better. After all, variety is the spice of life.
He claps his hands twice. The lights dim and music starts playing from somewhere. Cool jazz, or smooth jazz, or whatever you want to call slow music with a walking bass line that sounds like it came from mid-20th century America. Mikami crosses his legs.
I have been booked in another tag team match with Mister Ryan Daniels. I feel more sorry for him than I do for me. The way he keeps getting put in these things, it seems like the federation is trying to get him to prove he deserves that title shot. I am sure that he feels that he does not have to prove anything to anybody. But Mr. Daniels, you have not exactly passed the test with flying colors. You tried to take all the glory in our last match together, and you got caught. Like I told you before, pride cometh before a fall.
He pauses and looks around.
I think this is the part in the song where I am supposed to light a cigarette, and then take it out between my index and middle fingers. But I am not some beatnik pretending to know some hidden truth of the universe. My knowledge is learnt, through teaching and experience, not intuited through feelings. But if it is rhymes and riddles you want, then I know the difference between a champion and a challenger: a champion has already conquered his calibre. So, by that definition of challenger, you do have to prove yourself, Mr. Daniels. Sorry.
He raises his forearm and shakes his hand, mimicking shaking ash off the end of a cigarette.
Now, this is where I discuss my opponents for this week. Dake Ken, former WCF big-shot. Tank Reaper, unlikely provider of pornography and Shakespeare quotes. I could tell you that I know all of your weaknesses, and that you have no shot of winning, but if I had not make it perfectly clear by now, I do not really give a shit. Either you are going to be intimidated by me or not, and if you are, it will have more to do with what I have done in this federation so far than any clever wordplay I could produce. Maybe it will get in your head, and maybe not. Be distracted, do not be distracted. Show up, do not show up. I do not care. The outcome of this match rests on Mr. Ryan Daniels. Either he will hamstring me again, or he will have learned to stay out my way.
He puts out his invisible cigarette in an invisible ashtray, while his invisible cat rides by on an invisible miniature bicycle.
No, I only care about two things right now, and that does not even include my future defence of the United States Title. I care about figuring out what exactly it is that I am supposed to be doing here. And I care about Seth Lerch. Utterly humiliating Seth Lerch, for the way he has treated me. I am no longer content to reveal his secret on free television. No, now it must be at Aftermath. On a bigger stage. A showcase for the WCF. That is when the world will find out. And I can promise you, there will be no problems this time. No sudden microphone difficulties. No one will stop me from delivering the truth. Not even...
He winces.
I am sorry, I cannot tolerate this music any longer.
He claps twice. The music dies, but the lights stay out. He stands up and goes over to the windows.
It is just...not me.
He closes the blinds, condemning the room to darkness.
