Post by Johnny Reb on Dec 6, 2011 12:53:50 GMT -5
The scene opens with a tight close-up of the Inveterate Confederate’s face, jaw set, eyes burning with barely-controlled fury.
Reb: How long do you think this can go on, Mr. Henry?
The camera pans back to reveal the now-familiar interior of Johnny Reb’s condo. He is seated in a microfiber recliner, leaning forward. Everything in his body language suggests that his mood is dark and tense.
Reb: How long d’ya reckon I’ll put up with bein’ locked into this partnership with you? Hmm? ‘Specially after Sunday night, the way ya tried to take credit for my win… You didn’t hardly do squat. I put in all the work; I’m the one that pinned Hunter – not my greatest accomplishment, but an accomplishment nonetheless – an’ you, gloatin’ like it was all your doin’.
I’m done with this, Doc. Ya might, to all intents an’ purposes, have control of my career – for now – but y’ain’t got my mind, an’ y’ain’t got my soul. If’n ya expect any loyalty outta me, you’re one delusional son of a bitch. Ya done bit off more’n ya can chew, here, Doc. I’m warnin’ ya now – an’ there ain’t gonna be a second one. From here on in, you’re watchin’ your own back. That contract only obligates me to participate in tag matches with ya; it don’t say nothin’ about how I perform. Now, rest assured, I ain’t gonna throw a match just to prove a point…but don’t expect me to be partic’ly enthusiastic ‘bout savin’ your ass when ya get in a jam. I’ll fulfill my contractual obligation. No more, no less.
Ya shoulda known better than to screw with me like this. Y’know that sayin’ ‘bout keepin’ your friends close, an’ your enemies closer? Kinda works both ways. You’ll see what I mean… soon.
A malicious smile plays across Johnny’s lips, just for a moment.
Reb: So that brings us to this week’s match. At least this time there’ll be some actual competition. Now, I dunno much about this young lady Kaylyn – ‘cept that it seems she can hold her own in the ring. Good for you, honey. No, that ain’t condescension. I mean it. It’s a rare thing, even in this enlightened age, to see a woman willin’ an’ able to step into the squared circle an’ stand toe-to-toe with any man. Now, it takes a lot to overcome an upbringin’ like mine, where it ain’t okay to strike a woman… but I’ll try my best, sugar. Outta respect, of course.
He winks at the camera, offering a more genuine smile this time.
Reb: Speakin’ of respect… Donald “D-Day” Deruty, the man who lured me back from my recuperation to take on the likes of Odin Balfore an’ his Alliance. I know ya ain’t been quite the same since WAR… Ya stumbled, almost fell, an’ picked yourself back up again. Ya looked into the abyss an’ ya didn’t turn away; ya fought with monsters, but did not, in so doin’, become a monster. That takes more balls than givin’ in to the darkness the way some men do… like my partner.
I don’t believe you an’ I ever been on opposite sides of the ring… an’ if we have, an’ I simply don’t recall, forgive me. I probably had my bell rung one time too many. Regardless, an’ in spite of my feelin’s toward the predicament in which I find myself, I am lookin’ forward to this. You’re one of the top performers in this organization. Hell, you even beat Torture.
But y’know what? So have I. Sure, it was a ladder match, which already gave me the advantage, an’ I didn’t specifically pin the bastard, but a win is a win. What’s more, an’ what few seem to recall, is that I subsequently beat the man who defeated Torture for the World Title just a couple of months later. But memories are short in this business, an’ defeatin’ Dake Ken a couple years ago don’t mean nothin’ to nobody but me anymore. An’ pretty soon, D-Day, they’ll all forget about you beatin’ Torture the way you did. They’ve started to already. I reckon part of it’s probably jealousy. Whatever folks may say to the contrary, it takes a special caliber of wrestler to bring down a guy like ol’ Tort. You, me, maybe a handful of others over the years…
Honestly, I wouldn’t even bring him up – the guy’s the past – but here he is again, lookin’ to make another comeback. I seen somewhere he done said Johnny Reb was a nobody. Big words comin’ from a man hidin’ behind a keyboard. Maybe if he had the backbone to come say somethin’ like that to my face, I’d be inclined to take him seriously. An’ now he thinks he can just show up here, outta the blue, an’ go right after the top dog in this company.
Johnny shakes his head in disappointment.
Reb: Sad part is, he can… ‘cause Seth Lerch is either too lazy, too corrupt, or flat out too much of a pussy to stand up to guys like Torture…or Doc Henry, for that matter. I shoulda had a rematch after Helloween. I shoulda had another shot at Odin Balfore for that World Title. Everybody knows it. What do I get instead? A goddamned new contract for the New Confederacy; a contract I never negotiated nor signed, an’ yet… I’m stuck with it. No more title shots for Johnny. An’ why the hell not? That’s what I wanna know. It’s what the fans wanna know.
How d’ya let this shit go on, Lerch? Is Doc really payin’ ya that much? Is it worth it? You an’ I both know – the whole world knows – that I deserve another shot at that World Title. I’m a veteran, a superstar, one of the biggest draws in WCF right now. Why shouldn’t I have gold around my waist? At the very least, I deserve answers. No. The guys in the locker room deserve answers. The fans deserve answers. An’ until we get ‘em, don’t expect the Inveterate Confederate to cooperate with your machinations.
Agitated now, Johnny rises from his seat and begins to pace.
Reb: This place is goin’ to hell in a hand basket. Our current World Champion – if’n ya can even call him a champion – ain’t helpin’ matters. What we need now is leadership; real leadership, a man who can inspire others to greatness. Whether he leads by example, or motivates simply by the need to oust him from his position is largely irrelevant. The important thing is… Odin Balfore ain’t really doin’ the trick. Sure, nobody wants to see him hang onto that gold for long – an’ the sooner he loses it, the better. But who’s in the runnin’? Corey Black? Torture? Short list, an’ them options ain’t any more desirable.
There’s only one man worthy of carryin’ this company into the New Year, an’ beyond – an’ that man is the one an’ only Johnny Reb.
He takes a deep breath in an effort to quell the growing anger and frustration.
Reb: Seems I done went off on a tangent again. This is all so much bigger than an ongoin’ dispute between me an’ Doc Henry. But that bein’ said, I don’t wanna pull any more focus away from our tag match this week on Slam.
I may not like what I am compelled to do, in pairin’ with Mr. Henry week in an’ week out. That don’t mean I ain’t gonna do what I have to… within reason. I reckon this time won’t be any different than the last: I will, once again, carry the New Confederacy through this contest to another triumph.
An’ Mr. Henry, one final thing: you step outta line, even once, an’ I will remind you exactly why I am called the Inveterate Confederate.
He looks at the camera again, his teeth clenched. When he speaks again, it’s with a feral growl in his voice.
Reb: Deo vindice.
Reb: How long do you think this can go on, Mr. Henry?
The camera pans back to reveal the now-familiar interior of Johnny Reb’s condo. He is seated in a microfiber recliner, leaning forward. Everything in his body language suggests that his mood is dark and tense.
Reb: How long d’ya reckon I’ll put up with bein’ locked into this partnership with you? Hmm? ‘Specially after Sunday night, the way ya tried to take credit for my win… You didn’t hardly do squat. I put in all the work; I’m the one that pinned Hunter – not my greatest accomplishment, but an accomplishment nonetheless – an’ you, gloatin’ like it was all your doin’.
I’m done with this, Doc. Ya might, to all intents an’ purposes, have control of my career – for now – but y’ain’t got my mind, an’ y’ain’t got my soul. If’n ya expect any loyalty outta me, you’re one delusional son of a bitch. Ya done bit off more’n ya can chew, here, Doc. I’m warnin’ ya now – an’ there ain’t gonna be a second one. From here on in, you’re watchin’ your own back. That contract only obligates me to participate in tag matches with ya; it don’t say nothin’ about how I perform. Now, rest assured, I ain’t gonna throw a match just to prove a point…but don’t expect me to be partic’ly enthusiastic ‘bout savin’ your ass when ya get in a jam. I’ll fulfill my contractual obligation. No more, no less.
Ya shoulda known better than to screw with me like this. Y’know that sayin’ ‘bout keepin’ your friends close, an’ your enemies closer? Kinda works both ways. You’ll see what I mean… soon.
A malicious smile plays across Johnny’s lips, just for a moment.
Reb: So that brings us to this week’s match. At least this time there’ll be some actual competition. Now, I dunno much about this young lady Kaylyn – ‘cept that it seems she can hold her own in the ring. Good for you, honey. No, that ain’t condescension. I mean it. It’s a rare thing, even in this enlightened age, to see a woman willin’ an’ able to step into the squared circle an’ stand toe-to-toe with any man. Now, it takes a lot to overcome an upbringin’ like mine, where it ain’t okay to strike a woman… but I’ll try my best, sugar. Outta respect, of course.
He winks at the camera, offering a more genuine smile this time.
Reb: Speakin’ of respect… Donald “D-Day” Deruty, the man who lured me back from my recuperation to take on the likes of Odin Balfore an’ his Alliance. I know ya ain’t been quite the same since WAR… Ya stumbled, almost fell, an’ picked yourself back up again. Ya looked into the abyss an’ ya didn’t turn away; ya fought with monsters, but did not, in so doin’, become a monster. That takes more balls than givin’ in to the darkness the way some men do… like my partner.
I don’t believe you an’ I ever been on opposite sides of the ring… an’ if we have, an’ I simply don’t recall, forgive me. I probably had my bell rung one time too many. Regardless, an’ in spite of my feelin’s toward the predicament in which I find myself, I am lookin’ forward to this. You’re one of the top performers in this organization. Hell, you even beat Torture.
But y’know what? So have I. Sure, it was a ladder match, which already gave me the advantage, an’ I didn’t specifically pin the bastard, but a win is a win. What’s more, an’ what few seem to recall, is that I subsequently beat the man who defeated Torture for the World Title just a couple of months later. But memories are short in this business, an’ defeatin’ Dake Ken a couple years ago don’t mean nothin’ to nobody but me anymore. An’ pretty soon, D-Day, they’ll all forget about you beatin’ Torture the way you did. They’ve started to already. I reckon part of it’s probably jealousy. Whatever folks may say to the contrary, it takes a special caliber of wrestler to bring down a guy like ol’ Tort. You, me, maybe a handful of others over the years…
Honestly, I wouldn’t even bring him up – the guy’s the past – but here he is again, lookin’ to make another comeback. I seen somewhere he done said Johnny Reb was a nobody. Big words comin’ from a man hidin’ behind a keyboard. Maybe if he had the backbone to come say somethin’ like that to my face, I’d be inclined to take him seriously. An’ now he thinks he can just show up here, outta the blue, an’ go right after the top dog in this company.
Johnny shakes his head in disappointment.
Reb: Sad part is, he can… ‘cause Seth Lerch is either too lazy, too corrupt, or flat out too much of a pussy to stand up to guys like Torture…or Doc Henry, for that matter. I shoulda had a rematch after Helloween. I shoulda had another shot at Odin Balfore for that World Title. Everybody knows it. What do I get instead? A goddamned new contract for the New Confederacy; a contract I never negotiated nor signed, an’ yet… I’m stuck with it. No more title shots for Johnny. An’ why the hell not? That’s what I wanna know. It’s what the fans wanna know.
How d’ya let this shit go on, Lerch? Is Doc really payin’ ya that much? Is it worth it? You an’ I both know – the whole world knows – that I deserve another shot at that World Title. I’m a veteran, a superstar, one of the biggest draws in WCF right now. Why shouldn’t I have gold around my waist? At the very least, I deserve answers. No. The guys in the locker room deserve answers. The fans deserve answers. An’ until we get ‘em, don’t expect the Inveterate Confederate to cooperate with your machinations.
Agitated now, Johnny rises from his seat and begins to pace.
Reb: This place is goin’ to hell in a hand basket. Our current World Champion – if’n ya can even call him a champion – ain’t helpin’ matters. What we need now is leadership; real leadership, a man who can inspire others to greatness. Whether he leads by example, or motivates simply by the need to oust him from his position is largely irrelevant. The important thing is… Odin Balfore ain’t really doin’ the trick. Sure, nobody wants to see him hang onto that gold for long – an’ the sooner he loses it, the better. But who’s in the runnin’? Corey Black? Torture? Short list, an’ them options ain’t any more desirable.
There’s only one man worthy of carryin’ this company into the New Year, an’ beyond – an’ that man is the one an’ only Johnny Reb.
He takes a deep breath in an effort to quell the growing anger and frustration.
Reb: Seems I done went off on a tangent again. This is all so much bigger than an ongoin’ dispute between me an’ Doc Henry. But that bein’ said, I don’t wanna pull any more focus away from our tag match this week on Slam.
I may not like what I am compelled to do, in pairin’ with Mr. Henry week in an’ week out. That don’t mean I ain’t gonna do what I have to… within reason. I reckon this time won’t be any different than the last: I will, once again, carry the New Confederacy through this contest to another triumph.
An’ Mr. Henry, one final thing: you step outta line, even once, an’ I will remind you exactly why I am called the Inveterate Confederate.
He looks at the camera again, his teeth clenched. When he speaks again, it’s with a feral growl in his voice.
Reb: Deo vindice.
