Post by Johnny Reb on Nov 26, 2011 13:27:45 GMT -5
** Contains Supershow spoilers **
Once again, the interior of Johnny’s condo. It looks much the same as before; except, perhaps, for a micron-thick layer of dust – hardly enough to notice, let alone bother with. The Inveterate Confederate sits on the edge of his couch, a copy of the New Confederacy contract on the coffee table in front of him, and a cell phone pressed to his ear.
Reb: What d’ya mean, “airtight?” There’s no way! I didn’t sign this thing! I wasn’t even a party to any of it!
A deep scowl asserts itself on his face as he listens to whoever is on the other end.
Reb: Now, you listen here… I’m payin’ ya plenty in overtime! I will not get in the ring with Doc Henry again, ‘less it’s to beat the livin’ hell outta him! You find me a way outta this bullshit contract!
He disconnects, with rather less authority than he had hoped for, and immediately wishes he had a good, old-fashioned telephone. At least then, he could have slammed the receiver forcefully into the cradle to drive home his point. As it stands, he has to settle for tossing the cell phone negligently on the table. Johnny picks up the contract once more and peruses it for what must be the hundredth time.
Reb: Goddamn no-good son of a bitch…. It ain’t enough that I gotta deal with that Yankee asshole Odin Balfore and Corey Black on Sunday; now I gotta do it with Doc Henry in my corner. I’d rather have had Lerch as my teammate. At least I know what to expect outta him: a big, fat nothin’. This is all his fault anyway…
Johnny throws the contract down in disgust, ignoring it when it misses the coffee table and hits the floor instead. He looks up at the camera, eyes blazing with undisguised fury.
Reb: Ya hear me, Lerch? Your goddamned fault! First, ya up an’ leave WCF in the hands of that moron Markman… pavin’ the way for all these jackasses to come an’ run roughshod all the hell over the place… Then ya come back, actin’ like nothin’ happened, business as usual. The only damn thing ya did right was strippin’ Balfore of a title he never deserved in the first place. An’ then, just a month later, ya cap it all off by lettin’ Doc Henry renegotiate the New Confederacy contract how he seen fit, without anyone so much as consultin’ me about it! What the hell, Lerch? You done told me a long time ago it was Doc Henry himself holdin’ me back, an’ when I refused to listen to that little bit of “advice,” ya took it on yourself to pull every sneaky, dirty, underhanded trick in the book just to split up the New Confederacy! An’ now… now ya want us back together as partners?! That don’t make no damn sense!
Whatever Doc paid you to sign off on that contract, it wasn’t enough. You damn well better be glad it ain’t you an’ me pairin’ up in the ring on Sunday, ‘cause I’ve about had it with your backdoor schemin’. The next time I see ya, Lerch, ya better be ready to let me outta that contract – or else I’m gonna give you a little taste of Southern Discomfort, ya got that?
Trusting that he’s made his point, Johnny falls silent for a moment to collect his thoughts.
Reb: Aftermath… At least it’ll be a challenge. UWA threw the best in mediocrity at me, an’ look what happened. Yeah, yeah, okay… Doc Henry helped. That’s what a tag partner is supposed to do. But much like I carried the New Confederacy through three tag title reigns… I carried that match, too. I’m the one who pinned Fear – no noteworthy accomplishment in itself – but Doc’s the one who made the big impression. Enjoy your moment, partner… ‘cause it ain’t gonna last. You an’ me might have to work together one more time, but I guarantee it won’t happen again.
Lerch was right, all those months ago, when he said it was you holdin’ me back. I tried to defend ya, but maybe I wasn’t really lookin’ at reality. You’re a millstone. An albatross. An’ what’s more, you are the most low-down, dirty, cheatin’, dishonest scalawag I know. If there’s a way outta this damn contract, rest assured, I will find it.
That bein’ said… much as I loathe the idea of workin’ with you again, Mr. Henry… I despise Odin Balfore even more. Compared to him, you’re a petty annoyance. Whatever else may happen at Aftermath, I will make Balfore pay for not only takin’ my World Title in the first place… but for the way he dishonored it – an’ by extension, the whole of the WCF – at the Supershow.
If I get my hands on you, Balfore, I’m gonna stick my foot so far up your ass, you’ll be lacin’ my boots with your tongue. Not that you’re worthy of even that dubious honor. Doc Henry might be all them things I said, an’ more… but you… You sink to whole new levels of vileness, a contemptibility that defies description. The only other man I said that about was Torture, so I reckon congratulations are in order on that. Except that compared to you, Torture had some semblance of something that might be loosely interpreted as honor. Or perhaps that’s just a romanticized an’ nostalgic view of the past….
But I digress, as I am wont to do. Point is, Mr. Balfore, that come our encounter at Aftermath, I’m gonna show you up for everythin’ you are; not that the people don’t already know it. I will demonstrate to you precisely how a real champion does things. Whatever differences me an’ Mr. Henry may have… there is a reason that the New Confederacy was – is – one of the best, most widely recognized tag teams in the history of WCF. Now, as to Mr. Identity Crisis himself, Corey Black… what can I say? I don’t think you can count on him to have your back, Balfore. Not after the shit you pulled at the Supershow. Then again, I could be wrong. But I doubt it.
Johnny glances away from the camera, shaking his head.
Reb: Get ready, WCF. One more time – one final time – the New Confederacy is back in action. We ain’t lost a step. We ain’t forgot how to work together. An’ just like we stole the show on Thursday night – we’re gonna do it again at Aftermath. Deo vindice!
The Inveterate Confederate stares at the camera, his gaze full of intense focus, as the scene fades away.
