Post by nathanneale on Jul 23, 2010 6:17:42 GMT -5
"I'M DEAD! I AM DEAD!"
The shot opens not to the man shouting his head off, but to Alex Avice, practically pulling the cameraman along trying to get to the source of the commotion. After a few moments of winding through corridors, the door standing between the staff and the noise reads five words: "THE REALITY REVOLUTION: NATHAN NEALE". Avice opens the door and slowly walks in. The room is trashed.
"Um, Nathan? Are you okay?" asks the timid wrestler-turned-interviewer. "I heard yelling... is anything wrong?"
The disheveled-looking reality star glares at Avice. His long brown hair, usually shining and clean with the backup of generous portions of hair product, is instead tied behind his head in a rough ponytail, lacking its sheen. He's wearing a pair of custom-designed shuttle shades - but, almost as if they were made to match his current look, some of the plastic bars over the eyes are snapped off and bent outward. His burgundy-red dress shirt is untucked, his pants are unbuttoned, and his demiboots are scuffed. To put it bluntly, Nathan Neale looks the way he feels: like shit.
"Oh, nothing much..." whines Neale, "Except for the fact that my career is over. I'm dead. Dead in the water."
Nathan falls back onto a wall, and slides down.
"What's wrong? Why are you 'dead in the water'? Are you hurt?"
Avice moves close enough to Neale to kneel down.
"Worse."
"Do you have a career-threatening injury?"
"Even worse."
"Are you going to die?"
"Even worse. I'm gonna get screwed here too. Nitro and Bamford knew that I was more talented than their main-event crew, so they kept me at the bottom of the card every week, and never let me get anywhere. Same thing's happening now with Noble and Sterling.
I worked injured last week. Did I get any pats on the back? Did I get any recognition for gritting my teeth and going the distance? No. Instead, this week, yet again, I'm opening. I feel really bad for these fans. My matches are good enough that they're worth the entire price of their tickets, but after I'm done, they've gotta sit through another hour and a half of uninteresting muck."
"If you don't mind me asking... what was your injury, and how severe is it if you're able to work against Dustin Douglas this Sunday?"
"Well, a few weeks back, I was wrestling Alex Sinclair. He was ridiculously unsafe in the ring, and he made me injure my left latador muscle. I'm healed now, but again, worked hurt last week and nobody cared."
"Your... latador muscle?"
"It's in your shoulder."
Nathan turns his head to look at Avice, and makes a point to move his broken shuttle shades down his nose to glare at Alex clearly.
"Do you really wanna question the guy with the best body in the company on whether or not he knows about a muscle?"
"I guess I won't."
Nathan turns his head to look off again.
"The real reason I'm so depressed about my loss last week is that I lost my chance to bond myself into the rebuilding of this place. I make dominating performances in the beginning, I make myself the entire time I'm here.
Hopefully, I beat Douglas tonight, and Noble and Sterling realize that what they're burying at the beginning of the show is a piece of twenty-four karat gold they might just wanna pluck out of the shit before someone else grabs it first. I didn't have to come here. There are dozens of feds along the West Coast alone that would die to have the exclusive rights to air The Neale World. I set up a website for the show the other day, and even started a contest to find my new co-star. Hundreds of applicants already."
"Ah, a replacement for Brianna Rose?"
"DON'T even say that name around me. Get out of here... I've got a win to prepare for."
Fade out.
The shot opens not to the man shouting his head off, but to Alex Avice, practically pulling the cameraman along trying to get to the source of the commotion. After a few moments of winding through corridors, the door standing between the staff and the noise reads five words: "THE REALITY REVOLUTION: NATHAN NEALE". Avice opens the door and slowly walks in. The room is trashed.
"Um, Nathan? Are you okay?" asks the timid wrestler-turned-interviewer. "I heard yelling... is anything wrong?"
The disheveled-looking reality star glares at Avice. His long brown hair, usually shining and clean with the backup of generous portions of hair product, is instead tied behind his head in a rough ponytail, lacking its sheen. He's wearing a pair of custom-designed shuttle shades - but, almost as if they were made to match his current look, some of the plastic bars over the eyes are snapped off and bent outward. His burgundy-red dress shirt is untucked, his pants are unbuttoned, and his demiboots are scuffed. To put it bluntly, Nathan Neale looks the way he feels: like shit.
"Oh, nothing much..." whines Neale, "Except for the fact that my career is over. I'm dead. Dead in the water."
Nathan falls back onto a wall, and slides down.
"What's wrong? Why are you 'dead in the water'? Are you hurt?"
Avice moves close enough to Neale to kneel down.
"Worse."
"Do you have a career-threatening injury?"
"Even worse."
"Are you going to die?"
"Even worse. I'm gonna get screwed here too. Nitro and Bamford knew that I was more talented than their main-event crew, so they kept me at the bottom of the card every week, and never let me get anywhere. Same thing's happening now with Noble and Sterling.
I worked injured last week. Did I get any pats on the back? Did I get any recognition for gritting my teeth and going the distance? No. Instead, this week, yet again, I'm opening. I feel really bad for these fans. My matches are good enough that they're worth the entire price of their tickets, but after I'm done, they've gotta sit through another hour and a half of uninteresting muck."
"If you don't mind me asking... what was your injury, and how severe is it if you're able to work against Dustin Douglas this Sunday?"
"Well, a few weeks back, I was wrestling Alex Sinclair. He was ridiculously unsafe in the ring, and he made me injure my left latador muscle. I'm healed now, but again, worked hurt last week and nobody cared."
"Your... latador muscle?"
"It's in your shoulder."
Nathan turns his head to look at Avice, and makes a point to move his broken shuttle shades down his nose to glare at Alex clearly.
"Do you really wanna question the guy with the best body in the company on whether or not he knows about a muscle?"
"I guess I won't."
Nathan turns his head to look off again.
"The real reason I'm so depressed about my loss last week is that I lost my chance to bond myself into the rebuilding of this place. I make dominating performances in the beginning, I make myself the entire time I'm here.
Hopefully, I beat Douglas tonight, and Noble and Sterling realize that what they're burying at the beginning of the show is a piece of twenty-four karat gold they might just wanna pluck out of the shit before someone else grabs it first. I didn't have to come here. There are dozens of feds along the West Coast alone that would die to have the exclusive rights to air The Neale World. I set up a website for the show the other day, and even started a contest to find my new co-star. Hundreds of applicants already."
"Ah, a replacement for Brianna Rose?"
"DON'T even say that name around me. Get out of here... I've got a win to prepare for."
Fade out.