Post by Storm on Jul 16, 2010 18:52:47 GMT -5
We fade in and find ourselves looking at the outside of the Cookeville Community Center. Soon it will be filled with approximately 400 screaming fans to welcome the return of Kingdom Of Pride; now though, in the middle of the day and with the hot summer sun beating down on the pavement of the parking lot, the area is empty save for some production trucks and wavering lines of hot air rising from the asphalt.
A piece of paper blows through the shot, before sticking to the curb of the sidewalk leading up into the building. The corner flicks in the wind, but from the distance all we can make out on it the Kingdom of Pride logo across the top as letterhead.
The shot begins to move toward the paper, as if the cameraman is trying to get a better shot of what’s on it. However, the motion of the shot is stopped as the rev of an engine is heard and a long white limousine pulls in from off screen. The driver parks the vehicle along the curb, just short of where the paper had landed, and hastily opens the door and heads to the rear end of the limo to open the door for whoever waits inside… though the large “DBS” logo on the side emblazoned atop an American Flag gives us quite a good idea of who is about to emerge.
The driver reaches his hands to the handle and pulls, opening the door and quickly stepping out of the way to the side. The first man to emerge is a large man, though not exceptionally by the standards of professional wrestling. Standing at a little over six feet tall, he is wearing an off-white suit with a blue shirt underneath it, along with a brown tie that matches his cowboy boots and the cowboy hat atop his tussled blond hair. The man that many will recognize as Daniel “Boneham” Stanton steps away from the doorway of the limo, surveying the area as he does so.
DBS: Hmph…sure ain’t much to look at.
As Stanton muses to himself aloud a second figure begins to step out of the limo. This man is considerably larger than the first, not only in height but bulk. At 6’6” and weighing just short of 300 pounds, the man is built like a brick wall. Dark blue jeans along his massive legs, and a tight-fitting plain gray t-shirt clings to his muscled chest. The chiseled man steps away from the limo for the driver to close the door and begins to silently follow Stanton toward the front of the limo and toward the steps leading up to the building.
DBS: I mean, SHOOT son…Pro Wrestling FIRE was a dump, but this place ain’t no more impressive than crippled coyote receiving a mercy killin’.
Stanton stops in front of the limo and places his hands on his lips as he gazes up at the community center, and the larger man – known to most as Storm - steps around beside him. Stanton is squinting against the sun as he observes the building, but his look of dismay meshes well with his statement. Storm’s expression is unreadable however behind the silver sunglasses that adorn his face.
Storm: Well if this place sucks so much maybe I need to find a manager who will get me a job somewhere a bit more promising.
Storm’s statement is ice cold and threatening, but Stanton doesn’t seem at all worried. He’s known Storm for longer than anyone short of the man’s own mother, and he knows damn well that even if Storm would be ready to walk away from his best and probably only friend, he couldn’t stand to have anyone else as his manager.
DBS: Hey, look at the bright side…sure, the place is tiny, but least that means we’ll have less hillbilly Tennessee natives to deal with.
As Stanton makes his offhanded comment, he steps up onto the curb and begins to approach the steps that lead to the building, moving forward with his best John Wayne cowboy-style swagger. Storm remains stationery for a bit longer before beginning to follow suit. As he steps up onto the curb though, his foot comes across a now crumpled piece of paper. Storm snarls and kicks it of his way, but as he does so he catches the letterhead upon it. Storm turns his head to look down at it and crouches, picking it up and unfurling it in his hands. The camera swings around also get a good look at it to reveal it’s the card for the upcoming Oblivion. Storm scans the paper from behind his sunglasses when we see his facial muscles shift as his eyes widen on the other side of the tinted lenses. Storm crumples the paper in one hand and rips of his sunglasses with the other, fluidly folding them and sticking them in his pocket as he quickens his pace to catch an oblivious DBS.
Storm: Dan!
Hearing the call of his friend, Stanton pauses his ascension up the stairs cut into the cement and turns around. He sees Storm standing motionless, angrily holding out the piece of paper toward Stanton. Stanton cocks his head to the side and mouths “What?” but Storm continues to simply wait, a very unpleasant expression now playing across his features. Stanton shakes his head and steps back down to meet Storm, snatching the paper away from Storm and looking it over.
DBS: Great, ya found the card, hoss! Says here you got a match, so we best get inside so we can start laying out the plan and…
Storm: Do you see who my opponent is?
Storm cuts Stanton off through gritted teeth, causing Stanton to take another look. His eyes move as he reads the words across the paper, and then folds the sheet up and slips it into the pocket on his coat.
DBS: Yep. What’s it matter?
Stanton speaks nonchalantly and casually turns to resume heading toward the entrance. Before he can take a step forward, however, Storm’s voice stops him.
Storm: It matters because it’s Justin Kard. I thought I was done with him. I should have been done with him. Two months ago I broke half the ribs his body, and just a couple of weeks ago I threw him around like a ragdoll in front of a world-wide audience as he offered utterly no resistance. I put him through a table and broke him in half as I laughed. So tell me, Dan…why do I have to deal with him again?
Stanton offers a shrug.
DBS: Hell if I know, but seems like a good thing to me. We already know you can beat him – you’ve done it twice – and I’m sure he’s still banged up from the thrashin’ you gave ‘em. Shoooot, son…looks to me like Noble and Sterlin’ know talent when they see it and they’re just setting you up for an impressive debut and early success.
Storm stay silent, quietly seething as he stares a hole at Stanton, who half turns toward the building and sweeps an arm out.
DBS: Stop bein’ so damned negative, Storm! You beat him this week, lock up this Beat the Clock challenge thing like it’s a de-horned bull on rodeo day, and go on to become the Valiant Champ. We both knew PWF mishandled ya, and I’m sure the boys on the throne in this here kingdom do too. They know you were undefeated on pay-per-view – puttin’ you in the company of only PWF’s last ever tag and Pristine champions, if I’m not mistaken – and they can probably just SMELL the money they’ll make by settin’ you up to win their title. Come on, pal…just think of the Nielsons!
Storm takes a few long strides forward, catching up to Stanton on the stairs. Stanton turns back fully to Storm, and Storm comes eye level to his friend and manager as he stands on the step below him.
Storm: I don’t need them to pave me an easy path, Stanton. I can do my own dirty work.
Stanton begins to open his mouth to offer a retort, but Storm continues before he can make a sound.
Storm: And I will. Are they setting me up for an quick win for this challenge thing? Maybe they are, maybe they aren’t…but they are setting themselves up to be down a wrestler whether they know it or not. I am SICK of Justin Kaard. I’m sick of hearing his name, I’m sick of seeing his face, and I’m sick of destroying him, both in the ring and out of it.
Storm shoulders past Stanton and clears the last few steps before stopping at the top. Taking dramatic care not to turn around at all, Storm speaks with his back to both Stanton and the camera.
Storm: I’ve taken his health. I’ve taken his well-being and even his love life. And now…I will take his pride.
A piece of paper blows through the shot, before sticking to the curb of the sidewalk leading up into the building. The corner flicks in the wind, but from the distance all we can make out on it the Kingdom of Pride logo across the top as letterhead.
The shot begins to move toward the paper, as if the cameraman is trying to get a better shot of what’s on it. However, the motion of the shot is stopped as the rev of an engine is heard and a long white limousine pulls in from off screen. The driver parks the vehicle along the curb, just short of where the paper had landed, and hastily opens the door and heads to the rear end of the limo to open the door for whoever waits inside… though the large “DBS” logo on the side emblazoned atop an American Flag gives us quite a good idea of who is about to emerge.
The driver reaches his hands to the handle and pulls, opening the door and quickly stepping out of the way to the side. The first man to emerge is a large man, though not exceptionally by the standards of professional wrestling. Standing at a little over six feet tall, he is wearing an off-white suit with a blue shirt underneath it, along with a brown tie that matches his cowboy boots and the cowboy hat atop his tussled blond hair. The man that many will recognize as Daniel “Boneham” Stanton steps away from the doorway of the limo, surveying the area as he does so.
DBS: Hmph…sure ain’t much to look at.
As Stanton muses to himself aloud a second figure begins to step out of the limo. This man is considerably larger than the first, not only in height but bulk. At 6’6” and weighing just short of 300 pounds, the man is built like a brick wall. Dark blue jeans along his massive legs, and a tight-fitting plain gray t-shirt clings to his muscled chest. The chiseled man steps away from the limo for the driver to close the door and begins to silently follow Stanton toward the front of the limo and toward the steps leading up to the building.
DBS: I mean, SHOOT son…Pro Wrestling FIRE was a dump, but this place ain’t no more impressive than crippled coyote receiving a mercy killin’.
Stanton stops in front of the limo and places his hands on his lips as he gazes up at the community center, and the larger man – known to most as Storm - steps around beside him. Stanton is squinting against the sun as he observes the building, but his look of dismay meshes well with his statement. Storm’s expression is unreadable however behind the silver sunglasses that adorn his face.
Storm: Well if this place sucks so much maybe I need to find a manager who will get me a job somewhere a bit more promising.
Storm’s statement is ice cold and threatening, but Stanton doesn’t seem at all worried. He’s known Storm for longer than anyone short of the man’s own mother, and he knows damn well that even if Storm would be ready to walk away from his best and probably only friend, he couldn’t stand to have anyone else as his manager.
DBS: Hey, look at the bright side…sure, the place is tiny, but least that means we’ll have less hillbilly Tennessee natives to deal with.
As Stanton makes his offhanded comment, he steps up onto the curb and begins to approach the steps that lead to the building, moving forward with his best John Wayne cowboy-style swagger. Storm remains stationery for a bit longer before beginning to follow suit. As he steps up onto the curb though, his foot comes across a now crumpled piece of paper. Storm snarls and kicks it of his way, but as he does so he catches the letterhead upon it. Storm turns his head to look down at it and crouches, picking it up and unfurling it in his hands. The camera swings around also get a good look at it to reveal it’s the card for the upcoming Oblivion. Storm scans the paper from behind his sunglasses when we see his facial muscles shift as his eyes widen on the other side of the tinted lenses. Storm crumples the paper in one hand and rips of his sunglasses with the other, fluidly folding them and sticking them in his pocket as he quickens his pace to catch an oblivious DBS.
Storm: Dan!
Hearing the call of his friend, Stanton pauses his ascension up the stairs cut into the cement and turns around. He sees Storm standing motionless, angrily holding out the piece of paper toward Stanton. Stanton cocks his head to the side and mouths “What?” but Storm continues to simply wait, a very unpleasant expression now playing across his features. Stanton shakes his head and steps back down to meet Storm, snatching the paper away from Storm and looking it over.
DBS: Great, ya found the card, hoss! Says here you got a match, so we best get inside so we can start laying out the plan and…
Storm: Do you see who my opponent is?
Storm cuts Stanton off through gritted teeth, causing Stanton to take another look. His eyes move as he reads the words across the paper, and then folds the sheet up and slips it into the pocket on his coat.
DBS: Yep. What’s it matter?
Stanton speaks nonchalantly and casually turns to resume heading toward the entrance. Before he can take a step forward, however, Storm’s voice stops him.
Storm: It matters because it’s Justin Kard. I thought I was done with him. I should have been done with him. Two months ago I broke half the ribs his body, and just a couple of weeks ago I threw him around like a ragdoll in front of a world-wide audience as he offered utterly no resistance. I put him through a table and broke him in half as I laughed. So tell me, Dan…why do I have to deal with him again?
Stanton offers a shrug.
DBS: Hell if I know, but seems like a good thing to me. We already know you can beat him – you’ve done it twice – and I’m sure he’s still banged up from the thrashin’ you gave ‘em. Shoooot, son…looks to me like Noble and Sterlin’ know talent when they see it and they’re just setting you up for an impressive debut and early success.
Storm stay silent, quietly seething as he stares a hole at Stanton, who half turns toward the building and sweeps an arm out.
DBS: Stop bein’ so damned negative, Storm! You beat him this week, lock up this Beat the Clock challenge thing like it’s a de-horned bull on rodeo day, and go on to become the Valiant Champ. We both knew PWF mishandled ya, and I’m sure the boys on the throne in this here kingdom do too. They know you were undefeated on pay-per-view – puttin’ you in the company of only PWF’s last ever tag and Pristine champions, if I’m not mistaken – and they can probably just SMELL the money they’ll make by settin’ you up to win their title. Come on, pal…just think of the Nielsons!
Storm takes a few long strides forward, catching up to Stanton on the stairs. Stanton turns back fully to Storm, and Storm comes eye level to his friend and manager as he stands on the step below him.
Storm: I don’t need them to pave me an easy path, Stanton. I can do my own dirty work.
Stanton begins to open his mouth to offer a retort, but Storm continues before he can make a sound.
Storm: And I will. Are they setting me up for an quick win for this challenge thing? Maybe they are, maybe they aren’t…but they are setting themselves up to be down a wrestler whether they know it or not. I am SICK of Justin Kaard. I’m sick of hearing his name, I’m sick of seeing his face, and I’m sick of destroying him, both in the ring and out of it.
Storm shoulders past Stanton and clears the last few steps before stopping at the top. Taking dramatic care not to turn around at all, Storm speaks with his back to both Stanton and the camera.
Storm: I’ve taken his health. I’ve taken his well-being and even his love life. And now…I will take his pride.