Post by Speede on Jul 17, 2011 2:51:27 GMT -5
A mid-summer afternoon in Central Virginia, for some it’s hot, for some it’s perfect, and for some, it’s just plain miserable. Roy is one who loves the sun’s warmth. Not only does he, but so does his Akita, Rebel, who is reveling in the chance to run and play in the park with his best friend, the one who fed him and took care of him, the man known as Roy Speede. Now while some would refer to Roy as Rebel’s “owner”, Roy was different. Roy and Rebel were equals in his eyes; Roy was just the one who had thumbs, walked on two legs, and had human vocal cords in the friendship. Aside from his family, and aside from Aubrey Summers, Rebel is the most important thing in Roy’s life.
Visible across the back of one of the park’s benches underneath a shady tree was a blue tee shirt, nobody wearing it, just laying there. As the camera pans up, the shot of Roy and Rebel running through the grass lightens the shot as the sun peaks through between the branches and catches the camera. Roy is shirtless, and has on some beige cargo shorts, worn low, showing plaid boxers, and has on black Vans skateboarding shoes; it is unknown whether he has any socks on underneath the shoes or not, but if he does, they aren’t visible above the top of the shoes. The white fur on Rebel’s paws is starting to appear slightly green from the brushing up against the grass, but otherwise he looks as healthy as ever. Roy has a tennis ball in his hand, and as he runs across the grass, he throws it. Rebel dashes after it at full speed, catching it on a bounce in his jaws, before turning back toward Roy. As Rebel approaches, Roy slows down his stride a bit, and bends over slightly, extending his hand, palm up; Rebel drops the ball into Roy’s hand, and he throws it again. This time, as Roy gets the ball back, he starts running his full speed toward the camera, Rebel running alongside him, quite a bit faster than his human friend. The two cross over the walkway, and Roy starts to slow down as the two near the bench, which is oddly enough facing away from the walkway. Roy leaps in mid –stride, and over the back of the bench he goes, landing on his rear on the bench. Rebel runs around to one side of the bench, and stops in front of Roy, looking up at him with a questioning look about him.
Roy Speede: “It’s okay, boy. It’s just the camera. Have a seat, friend.”
The camera turns and walks over toward the empty spot on the bench, in the process revealing the scenery being faced by the bench. The view shows a pond reaching out several hundred feet across, and several hundred feet wide, with a man-made fountain in the middle made of more than likely of cement and shaped like an angel, in a design much like you’d expect to see atop a Christmas tree when a star wasn’t the topper, water flowing from the halo and fluttering down through the, landing in a circle around the statue in the center of the poind. Beyond the pond are some trees; they aren’t too thick, but are thicker than just scattered, almost like a loosely-knit forest, but one could see through the trees to the other side, which is a football field, regulation size, but only the crossbar is visible due to the lay of the land. The cameraman goes to sit down, or so it seems, but he is stopped by the Akita’s low-pitched growl. The camera angles down at the dog for a moment.
Rebel “WOOF!”
Rebel lets out a single loud bark, rather high in pitch compared to that low growling, and pounces from his hind legs onto that empty spot on the bench, landing several inches away from Roy, and lays his front paws across one of Roy’s legs, laying down in the process. Rebel’s head soon rests across Roy’s leg as well, and Roy looks up at the camera with a smile on his face as one hand scratches the Akita behind the ears.
Cameraman: “Uh... That was my seat.”
Roy Speede: “No, I offered this to Rebel. Sorry. Besides, it would be really hard to shoot this promo if you were sitting two feet from my face, you know?”
Roy lets out a laugh, and Rebel releases a high-pitched whine at the joke, before yawning, and finally placing his head back across the top of Roy’s thigh. Roy continues.
Roy Speede: “But still, having Rebel sitting beside me is much more appropriate. They always say dog is a man’s best friend, and in the case of Rebel and myself, that couldn’t be more true. Aside from my beautiful Aubrey, there’s not a single soul in the wrestling business who can be as loving and caring as Rebel is. My four-legged buddy here is the most loyal friend a guy could have, and I would trust Rebel with my life if I had to. While Rebel may only be one hundred pounds in weight and twenty seven inches tall at the shoulder, he’s earned my love and respect a lot more than anyone involved with the main event at Ultimate Showdown. He’s been through the highs and the lows with me, and has always been there for me when I needed a listening ear or a friendly warming hug. Sure, until now, the WCF has yet to be introduced to my precious Akita, but Rebel is someone who is worth giving the chance to say ‘hi’ to all the fans all around the world.”
Rebel: “WOOF!”
Roy Speede: “And he understands loving and respecting the fans more than some of those ingrates in the Ultimate Showdown main event ever could; Jay Price and Odin Balfore, among others, have little respect for the fans all around the world, even with the undeniable fact that without the fans there would be no WCF.”
Rebel lets out another high-pitched whimper, followed by a yawn. The contagious effect of the yawn apparently catches the cameraman, because a yawn is heard from off-camera, and that gets a yawn out of Roy. Roy brushes his hand down the back of Rebel’s head and down along his back, repeating this action several times, effectively getting the dog even more relaxed, and another yawn from Rebel follows the petting.
Roy Speede: “You’re right, buddy, I really should get to the point of why I’m here. You see, not too long ago, I was out of commission, staying at home with Rebel with injuries from Brad Kane’s vicious assault. Rebel and I... We got a chance to bond as best friends that we hadn’t had since before my career in the WCF had begun. Brad told me how I was a nuisance, and how I needed to shut up, and for a while, I thought he was right. But I’ve figured out that where I am at my best is when I have words out there to back up, so without further ado, I’ve got a few things I need to say.
First off we have the sadistic being, Oblivion. As I’ve said, Oblivion has been on the decline lately. He lost to Phillip Baines a half dozen times or so before he finally got the win, and it just shows him to be pathetic as a wrestler. You remember when my partner and I lost the tag team title belts the first time I got a hold of them? Well Oblivion and his partner took those titles, and it was Oblivion’s partner, Greenfever, that made the team what it was. Without Greenfever, the Shadow Conspiracy would’ve fallen just like all the others, and that’s because I mistakenly underestimated what he could do. I haven’t misjudged Oblivion’s skill level, that much I know; I’m confident that I have his number and I’m going to take Oblivion out of the equation.
Oblivion thinks I’m still just a kid, and that I need to grow up before I ever get a title shot, much less the World Heavyweight Title over my shoulder or around my waist. Granted, I may still be young, but I’m more than ready to take the reins and capture that all-important World Heavyweight Championship. You’re just one of those obstacles I’m going to have to push out of my way.”
Rebel: “WOOF!”
Roy Speede: “Ahh yes, thanks, Rebel! I almost forgot how Oblivion was bitching and moaning about how I was, quote unquote, ‘barking at people that can kick my ass’. If he thinks I’m mindlessly talking about people who can beat me, he’s sorely mistaken. I can most certainly kick his ass right back. If he wants me to be quiet, it’s put-up or shut-up time for you and I, Oblivion, and I’m in my comfort zone in the World Heavyweight Championship match. Are you comfortable with facing all of these others at once, Obi? Are you ready to step into a match knowing that five other people are going to be looking to beat you? I know I’m ready.
Speaking of being ready, Odin, aren’t you about ready to retire already? I mean, you’re already getting cranky from not getting in that afternoon nap, old man! You really need to step aside and let the wrestlers that aren’t eligible to join the AARP do this. You said it yourself; I’ve specially conditioned myself for this style of match. I’ve developed a skill for tag team matches, as well as that drive make it to the tail end each and every time I step into the ring. I may not be the last one you’re about to be worried about, Odin, but to be completely honest, I shouldn’t be the last one on everyone’s mind. In fact, those of you underestimating me are putting yourselves at risk of little Roy Speede pulling a fast one and knocking you out of this match.
Odin was telling everyone how he thought it was special that I was calling him old, as if it were a sign of respect to his ancient ass. To be honest, though, I was just trying to be a nice guy about it. If I wanted to, I could go through each and every thing about him and explain to him why it’s a disadvantage for him going into this match. One, he’s friends with the most hate man in the WCF, Michael Santiago. He’s got a friend who is the butt of each and every joke anyone makes around here, the man who quite a few of us are dying to get a shot at to get to shut up, and Odin is going to have to watch Santiago’s ass twenty-four seven, or someone’s going to pull that trigger and shut him up. Two, he has a raccoon as a pet. It makes some sense, I guess, considering Odin babbles and barks on and on with a bunch of nonsense like a rabid animal growling and whining and barking and snarling on and on and on, not knowing when to shut up or back the heck off. Three, he spends part of his time complimenting me when he should be looking for every single thing he could use to get into my head, complimenting my conditioning and telling me I have an advantage in the match. I may not have an advantage over most of these wrestlers, but it’s apparent that Odin Balfore fears me. “
A slight whine is heard from Rebel, high in pitch and low in volume. Roy knows exactly what he wants, and nods.
Roy Speede: “Sure, Rebel, grab a drink if you want one.”
The Akita on the park bench hops off the bench with ease, and bolts out of the view of the camera.
Roy Speede: “Rebel’s right. Thinking about how much babbling Odin has been doing is making me thirsty, too. You got a spare water bottle, camera guy?”
Cameraman: “Uh... yeah. Here.”
A bottle of water is tossed into the shot from behind the camera, and Roy catches it. He cracks the top, and takes a drink, finishing about a quarter of the bottle before replacing the cap on top of the bottle. At the same time, Rebel comes running back into the shot, and retakes his spot on the park bench, his front paws wet, likely from wading into the pond to grab a drink; the water starts to soak into Roy’s pants a bit, but Roy not seeming to care at all. A dribble of drool falls from the Akita’s mouth and lands on Roy’s knee, just before Rebel’s head retakes its place on Roy’s leg.
Roy Speede: “And the relaxed tiredness Rebel is exhibiting reminds me of another thing; it reminds me of how sick and tired I am of Kaylyn James Evans. I could go on all day about how she needs to stop picking on my girlfriend, but I know the fans are sick and tired of hearing about how she’s an abusive, self-loving, good-for-nothing wanna-be whose mistreatment of her co-workers would classify for immediate termination of contract most places. By now, I’m even sick of hearing her voice! All this ‘you have to secretly enjoy what I do to her deep down inside’ crap is doing nothing but bringing out the inner rage I have toward her, toward my other opponents, toward all the haters, toward everybody! I’m sick of hearing it, and I’m going to shut her up for all the people that want the voice of Kaylyn James Evans to remain silent. She keeps telling herself she got to where she is on her own merit, but we all know she would be nothing without Creeping Death, or to those out there that know him as such, Corey Black. She thinks I’m the weak one because I called her out on her bullshit, but in reality, she’s the weak one who has to rely on someone else to do her dirty work for her; she won’t win unless she has Corey Black fire all her competitors. If I were weak, I wouldn’t have stepped up to her bullshit and called her out on it.”
The Akita yawns, hops off the bench, and stretches his legs. The camera zooms in more towards Roy as Rebel makes a squatting motion beside the grass.
Roy Speede: “Ahh yes, I almost forgot about the WCF’s local Shit Connoisseur, Jay Price. As if it wasn’t’ embarrassing enough back when I was under the impression that he was my uncle, I’m embarrassed even to have been booked in the same match as him after the terrible jokes he’s been trying to make. Yeah, I ended up giving up against Gravedigger, but that was in the past; who gives a fuck about the past, Price? Right now is right now, and nothing you’ve done in the past is going to matter when you step into that ring on Monday, Price... Oh wait, you already know that, don’t you? I mean, with all the ‘accomplishments’ in your career, you have never held the World Title have you? Well let me tell you something, buddy, it won’t happen this time either. I know that I’m not one of the odds-on frontrunners, but after hearing what you had to say about me, unless you’re just holding out until Monday, you’re in trouble. You can sit there and polish all the shit you want; your jaws spewed a heaping pile of it at me, and it’s all blasphemy. There are realistically a handful of guys in this match who could potentially walk out with the World Championship. All I know is, it won’t be you, Price.”
Rebel returns to the bench, but instead of hopping up on top of it, he sits at Roy’s feet, panting as he watches Roy. Roy reaches down and scratches him behind the ears for a moment, still looking at the camera.
Roy Speede: “The last of the six of us in that match, and by far the man I feel has the greatest chances in this match is Donald ‘D-Day’ Deruty. Mr. Deruty is the one man in this company I have a great deal of respect for after the way events have transpired over the past few weeks. I’ve been listening to every word he has had to say, and am honestly not impressed by what I’ve heard; the one thing he has to say about me is that I’m distracted; so what if I’m distracted, might I ask? I say you’re the one who’s distracted, Mr. Deruty. You haven’t so much as acknowledged my existence in this match because you think I’m getting too side-tracked, focusing on Kaylyn James Evans, thinking it isn’t my time to shine yet, while I have been patiently watching, waiting, preparing for that moment when you would speak a wrong word or make a wrong move in or out of the ring, and I have been anticipating the chance to capitalize. I’m going to be the one to step in when you fall short and hoist that title belt high; it’s who I am and what I do, Mr. Deruty; I will be the World Champion, and you know it.
Now to answer your question, D-Day, I am indeed ready for this match. I’ve been ready for this my entire life, and stepping into that ring to win the World Heavyweight Championship is something I’ve been readying myself for since my first time watching a wrestling match; I told myself ‘I want to be like them.’ And that’s where I am now. Where I am now, it doesn’t get much bigger than walking into the main event of Ultimate Showdown with belt around your waist, even if it is a tag team title belt, but this life-sized dream will mutate even bigger when the World Title is handed to me as I climb that turnbuckle, raising my hands over my head in celebration. When I step in that ring, my personal life won’t matter; I’ll walk in with the mindset of a champion, and I’ll walk out with the World Title belt to match. That strap over your shoulder now, Deruty, is going to be mine; you’re just holding it for me until I claim it as my own this Monday. And claim it I shall; Ultimate Showdown welcomes the Age of Roy Speede.”
As Roy finishes his sentence, he stands up, and throws the tennis ball he’s been holding across the walkway and out into the open field. Rebel dashes after it, and Roy goes running not far behind, once again leaving his tee shirt hanging on the back of that bench. The scene fades to black as a light breeze causes a rustling of the leaves in the tree.