Post by Nate Nytro on May 28, 2006 12:38:07 GMT -5
(The camera begins running outside of a Pennsylvania airport. Nate Nytro bursts through the doors, walking towards the parking lot. Richard stumbles behind, trying to hold a conversation on his cellular phone while bumping into pedestrians and knocking over luggage, all the while struggling to keep his own footing steady. The cameraman stays with Rich, occasionally looking to see where Nate is.)
Richard Cunnings: (into his cell phone) Yes (hits shin on a luggage rack) OW!…yes, sir…yes I know, Nate’s been a very (trips over his own feet) damn it…a very, busy man…no, I know he didn’t make public appearances…yes…I encouraged him to, but…well sir, if he can win matches, I don’t see why he should be contracted to running his mouth; I mean…How many people even watch WCF TV before show night?…Sorry, sir…no no, I’ll tell him, but I can only do so…hello?
(The signal has presumably died. Richard ends the call, only to receive another. Nate is still pressing forth in silent determination, with Rich doing his best to keep up.)
Richard Cunnings: (into his cell phone) Hello?…Torture, yes, yes, hi…what?…(sheepishly) no, absolutely not, I had every intention of calling you, it’s just been…Hell on FUCKING Earth with Nytro…well hey, something we can agree on…look, he’s gonna be there, and he’s gonna do wonderfully…just do your part, he’ll do his, and I promise you Tag Team Gold.
(Richard hangs up the phone and tucks it away into his right pocket. He then paces himself to catch up with Nate; still emotionless and still pressing onward, having no trouble navigating the busy parking lot. Rich, unfortunately, can not say the same, stumbling over every obstacle in his way, until finally he reaches Nate’s side. He’s running short of breath, and removes his business coat to ventilate his body.)
Richard Cunnings: Jesus Christ, Nate, could you try to be a little less hasty? I’m all the way back there, doing YOUR work - mind you, conjuring up excuses for your behavior, and you leave me behind to try and survive this onslaught of IGNORANT PISSANTS!
(Richard shouts at the crowd now behind him. Nate Nytro, still looking forward, engages Rich in conversation.)
Nate Nytro: I think my pay is handsome enough for you to deal with these inconveniences.
Richard Cunnings: And that it is, but Nate…I just got off the phone with Seth, and –
(Nate cuts Richard off.)
Nate Nytro: And he said I lack the charisma for his ‘wrestling opera’.
Richard Cunnings: I suppose that’s one, faintly bloated take on it…he basically said he’s terribly displeased with your lack of professionalism, and little or no showmanship. You give him nothing to work with.
Nate Nytro: It’s a wrestling organization, not a reality show. I come, I wrestle, I win, and I leave. What goes on in between shows is really of no consequence. I like my privacy. It’s a wonder this camera wielding douche bag found us.
(Slander directed at the camera crew taping the interaction, Nate puts his hand over one of the lenses. Rich pulls Nate’s hand off.)
Richard Cunnings: Will you stop that? (to camera man) Sorry, sir.
Nate Nytro: (to cameraman) You’re Hank Brown’s lackey, aren’t you? It’s always Hank looking to make a buck off me. Maybe it’s best you minded your own business.
Richard Cunnings: Maybe it’s best we are finally on tape. Nate, how do you expect to build a fan base, or a career, on your isolation? Seth isn’t gonna book some silent, stiff, monotone guy in the main event at One…or any Slam for that matter.
Nate Nytro: It’s a wrestling show. We entertain the crowd by wrestling…yes, you can imagine my shock, too. And I was so hoping to dance with monkeys wearing glitter.
Richard Cunnings: Nate, even in the ring, you only do what’s expected of you. Nothing showy, nothing flashy; just straight forward grappling or power, incapacitating your foe and making the pin.
Nate Nytro: If it puts wins in my record, why should it be unacceptable?
Richard Cunnings: Nate, you were signed because you were known to be one of the best, most mesmerizing extreme wrestlers of this day and age. So far, you haven’t shown even a hint of risk in your attack plan, and people notice. Fans are leaving, you’ve lost the respect of your peers, opponents laugh at you…hell, the guy you’re working with tonight doesn’t seem too thrilled. Above all that, Seth Lerch – your boss, your employer – is displeased, and he holds your contract, buddy. It would do you good to give him his money’s worth.
Nate Nytro: If he wants a great wrestling show, I’ll give him that. If he wants memorable matches…I’ll give him that, too. But I’m not starring in his little Behind-The-Scene’s documentaries in the days leading up to my next endeavor. I’m paid to wrestle.
Richard Cunnings: You’re paid to entertain.
Nate Nytro: I hate the WWE.
Richard Cunnings: God damn it, you need to give the crowd a reason to tune in. Give your looks some pizzazz, your wrestling some danger, your personality some…personality…I mean, that’d be nice.
(Nate Nytro just keeps walking. Richard heaves a sigh.)
Richard Cunnings: Why do I even bother? Alright, come on, this way, we’re pressed for time.
(Nate follows Rich towards the limousine waiting to take them to the arena. The camera dims to nothing.)
Richard Cunnings: (into his cell phone) Yes (hits shin on a luggage rack) OW!…yes, sir…yes I know, Nate’s been a very (trips over his own feet) damn it…a very, busy man…no, I know he didn’t make public appearances…yes…I encouraged him to, but…well sir, if he can win matches, I don’t see why he should be contracted to running his mouth; I mean…How many people even watch WCF TV before show night?…Sorry, sir…no no, I’ll tell him, but I can only do so…hello?
(The signal has presumably died. Richard ends the call, only to receive another. Nate is still pressing forth in silent determination, with Rich doing his best to keep up.)
Richard Cunnings: (into his cell phone) Hello?…Torture, yes, yes, hi…what?…(sheepishly) no, absolutely not, I had every intention of calling you, it’s just been…Hell on FUCKING Earth with Nytro…well hey, something we can agree on…look, he’s gonna be there, and he’s gonna do wonderfully…just do your part, he’ll do his, and I promise you Tag Team Gold.
(Richard hangs up the phone and tucks it away into his right pocket. He then paces himself to catch up with Nate; still emotionless and still pressing onward, having no trouble navigating the busy parking lot. Rich, unfortunately, can not say the same, stumbling over every obstacle in his way, until finally he reaches Nate’s side. He’s running short of breath, and removes his business coat to ventilate his body.)
Richard Cunnings: Jesus Christ, Nate, could you try to be a little less hasty? I’m all the way back there, doing YOUR work - mind you, conjuring up excuses for your behavior, and you leave me behind to try and survive this onslaught of IGNORANT PISSANTS!
(Richard shouts at the crowd now behind him. Nate Nytro, still looking forward, engages Rich in conversation.)
Nate Nytro: I think my pay is handsome enough for you to deal with these inconveniences.
Richard Cunnings: And that it is, but Nate…I just got off the phone with Seth, and –
(Nate cuts Richard off.)
Nate Nytro: And he said I lack the charisma for his ‘wrestling opera’.
Richard Cunnings: I suppose that’s one, faintly bloated take on it…he basically said he’s terribly displeased with your lack of professionalism, and little or no showmanship. You give him nothing to work with.
Nate Nytro: It’s a wrestling organization, not a reality show. I come, I wrestle, I win, and I leave. What goes on in between shows is really of no consequence. I like my privacy. It’s a wonder this camera wielding douche bag found us.
(Slander directed at the camera crew taping the interaction, Nate puts his hand over one of the lenses. Rich pulls Nate’s hand off.)
Richard Cunnings: Will you stop that? (to camera man) Sorry, sir.
Nate Nytro: (to cameraman) You’re Hank Brown’s lackey, aren’t you? It’s always Hank looking to make a buck off me. Maybe it’s best you minded your own business.
Richard Cunnings: Maybe it’s best we are finally on tape. Nate, how do you expect to build a fan base, or a career, on your isolation? Seth isn’t gonna book some silent, stiff, monotone guy in the main event at One…or any Slam for that matter.
Nate Nytro: It’s a wrestling show. We entertain the crowd by wrestling…yes, you can imagine my shock, too. And I was so hoping to dance with monkeys wearing glitter.
Richard Cunnings: Nate, even in the ring, you only do what’s expected of you. Nothing showy, nothing flashy; just straight forward grappling or power, incapacitating your foe and making the pin.
Nate Nytro: If it puts wins in my record, why should it be unacceptable?
Richard Cunnings: Nate, you were signed because you were known to be one of the best, most mesmerizing extreme wrestlers of this day and age. So far, you haven’t shown even a hint of risk in your attack plan, and people notice. Fans are leaving, you’ve lost the respect of your peers, opponents laugh at you…hell, the guy you’re working with tonight doesn’t seem too thrilled. Above all that, Seth Lerch – your boss, your employer – is displeased, and he holds your contract, buddy. It would do you good to give him his money’s worth.
Nate Nytro: If he wants a great wrestling show, I’ll give him that. If he wants memorable matches…I’ll give him that, too. But I’m not starring in his little Behind-The-Scene’s documentaries in the days leading up to my next endeavor. I’m paid to wrestle.
Richard Cunnings: You’re paid to entertain.
Nate Nytro: I hate the WWE.
Richard Cunnings: God damn it, you need to give the crowd a reason to tune in. Give your looks some pizzazz, your wrestling some danger, your personality some…personality…I mean, that’d be nice.
(Nate Nytro just keeps walking. Richard heaves a sigh.)
Richard Cunnings: Why do I even bother? Alright, come on, this way, we’re pressed for time.
(Nate follows Rich towards the limousine waiting to take them to the arena. The camera dims to nothing.)
