Post by LiamJR24 on Jun 16, 2013 22:21:13 GMT -5
First & Ten Sports Pub - Trenton, New Jersey. May 25th 2013.
Matt Duvall is sat in the First & Ten Sports Pub, in his home town of Trenton. He stares up at one of the few lights illuminating the bar, before shifting his attention to the television. On the screen, the live broadcast of PCW Rapture is being shown. Duvall watches the match on the screen for a few moments, before scoffing and looking down at his bottle of beer.
Matt Duvall: This is what qualifies for a world class athlete these days? Bullshit.
A few seats down at the bar, another patron's attention is drawn away from the show on the screen and he looks angrily at Duvall. The man is well built and in good physical condition.
Patron: Oh, I suppose you think you could do better huh?
Duvall shakes his head and chuckles to himself, before sipping from his bottle.
Patron: You mocking me, scumbag?
Duvall runs his hand through his hair and closes his eyes. He takes a few deep breaths, already sensing the course this conversation is headed.
Duvall: If you want to think that, feel free pinhead.
The patron walks up to Duvall, getting right in his face.
Patron: You think you're tough huh, you little punk? Let me tell you something. I'm training to be a pro wrestler like those guys on the TV. What they go through is harder than anything you can imagine. They ARE world class athletes. So, before you mock, maybe you should educate yourself.
Without looking up at the other man, or even opening his eyes, Duvall takes another deep breath and speaks in a lowered tone.
Duvall: I suggest you take a few steps back and take yourself out of my personal space.
The patron smirks and gives Duvall a slight nudge with his shoulder.
Patron: And what would be the point in that?
Duvall: Well, for one thing, it would stop your horrible burrito breath from insulting my nostrils. Second of all, it might mean you are able to walk out of here tonight. So why don't you be a good little roidhead and go sit back down, before you small dick complex takes over and you try and start something you might regret?
The patron glares at Duvall, who is still not looking back at him, and snorts out a few heavy, furious breaths.
Duvall: Look, I'm sure you're here with some pretty young thing who you can't satisfy sexually so you have to start on guys like me to remind her you've got big muscles, even though you're packing a needle between your legs that couldn't pop a balloon. So tell her you challenged me to a fight, I apologised and that's that.
With another smirk, the patron has a quick think about Duvall's suggestion, before nodding and walking off. He takes no more than 2 steps before he feels a heavy dull thud on the back of his head, as Duvall smashes his bottle over the back of the patron's skull. Duvall glares down at the patron, who groggily attempts to get back onto his feet.
Duvall: Threaten to stab me outside, would you? You think I'm gonna let you get away with that?
The patron splutters his innocence, as Duvall picks him up by the hair and lifts him onto his shoulders. With the other man close up, Duvall whispers into his ear.
Duvall: I should have told you something. I AM a professional wrestler.
This revelation shocks the patron, but he has little time to think on it as Duvall runs towards a nearby table and powerslams the patron right through it. Not giving him any time to recover, Duvall floats over and locks in a rear naked choke. The patron is unable to fight out of it, and can merely stare pleadingly and wide-eyed to anyone who'll see him. Seeing his obvious distress, Duvall releases the hold and pushes the patron off him.
Duvall: I told you you'd regret this. But I'm thinking I should put in a word for you in the fed I work in...maybe I can get you on board.
The patron looks at him with a slight air of confusion.
Patron: You think I can make it?
Duvall scoffs, stands up and adjusts his shirt, which had been ruffled in the fray.
Duvall: Don't be stupid. I just want another chance to beat the shit out of you again, but I want to be paid good money for it next time. Macho men like you are always weaklings. Easy prey, if you will. Nothing like taking down easy prey.
The patron looks crestfallen as Duvall walks over to the bar, where the bar manager is stood with a nervous look on his face.
Duvall: I guess I'll take two beers for the road.
The manager fumbles for the order, and Duvall throws a few crumpled $1 bills at him.
Duvall: I'm sure that'll cover it. If not, needledick down there will pay.
Duvall picks up the two unopened bottles off the bar and makes his exit out of the bar, with all the other patrons giving him a wide berth.
-------------------------------------
Pride Wrestling Headquarters. 2 days later.
The creaking of the floorboards begins to irritate Matt Duvall as he paces up and down the corridor outside Charles Jackson's office at PW HQ. Having received instructions to visit for a meeting, the New Jersey native was impatiently trying to figure out what it was he had been summonsed for. Deciding that 3 minutes was more than long enough time to wait for his boss to finish the phone call he had been taking when Duvall originally knocked, the brawler simply barges the door open and enters the office. Charles Jackson looks up at him with an unimpressed expression on his face.
Charles Jackson: I'mma have to call you back, yo. Something annoying just came up.
Duvall rolls his eyes at the insult as his boss motions him to sit down.
Duvall: No, I'd rather stand. I don't trust buildings like this, or the people who work in them. Now, what do you want?
Visibly irritated at his employee's lack of respect, Jackson adopts a mocking tone as he begins his answer.
Jackson: 'How was your day boss?' 'Great thanks Matt, and yours?' 'Awww, just swell boss'. You see Matt, that's how civilised people start a conversation. Want to try again?
Duvall simply raises an eyebrow.
Jackson: Didn't think so. Now, as for why I asked you here, I heard about your little stunt in Trenton, beating up that guy in the bar. Let's just say I'm not fucking impressed. You represent me and my company when you're out in public, what do you think your conduct says about Pride Wrestling as a company?
Duvall: I'd tell you, but that would indicate that I care. Yeah, I fucked the guy up. He was getting in my space and I warned him and I'd do it again. I'm bored in PW, I don't have enough chances to do what I do best and that's fuck people up. I need action otherwise I'm gonna start melting down, lashing out and beating the crap of anyone I can get my hands on - men, women, children, animals....whatever it ends up being, I'll probably kill it. So the ball's in your court 'boss'. Give me something to do.
Taken aback by some of Duvall's comments, Jackson looks momentarily puzzled. Suddenly however, a stroke of genius dawns on him.
Jackson: I've got it. If you're so bored in PW, I think it's time to step up and see if you can hang with the big dogs over in PCW. I'll clear it with the folks in charge over there and we'll see if you can use that anger properly. You'll have to sort a match out for yourself. Sound like a compromise?
Duvall sighs, clearly not 100% happy with the offer on the table but, after a few moments of assessing his situation, he nods.
Duvall: Fine. I already have my first victim in mind...
-------------------------------------
The Camera fades in to show Matt Duvall in an empty white room, with a stern expression on his face. He's wearing a black t-shirt with the words "Wild and Dangerous" on the front, as well as his ring shorts. He stares at the camera for a few seconds, before putting his finger to his lips.
Duvall: SHHHHHHHHHH! Do you hear that silence Draven? Deafening isn't it? It's deafening to you because you know that the silence represents all the people who still think you're relevant to the world of professional wrestling. That silence represents all the people who don't think you're a gibbering half-wit, who couldn't come up with a rational and coherent thought if his life depended on it.
Duvall cracks each of his knuckles before continuing.
Duvall: That silence also represents the number of people who think you have a chance of matching me at Slamathon IV. You see, while you claim to be a 'Psychopath', I don't need to go around shouting it at every opportunity, I just show people what I'm about and at Slamathon, I'm going to show you that I'm all about tearing you to pieces.
The previous stern expression on Duvall's face is replaced with an arrogant smirk, as he continues to berate his Slamathon opponent.
Duvall: Draven, there's a very good reason why you should be concerned for your well-being on June 22nd. Unlike you, I don't have a win-loss record to worry about. Unlike you, I don't have to worry about rebuilding a long decaying legacy. Unlike you, I don't care about winning or losing, I just want to break you. But you know something, part of that breakage starts outside of the ring, here and now. The first part of that breakage is a revelation that I know will hurt you...
At this point, the smirk widens into a full-blown evil grin.
Duvall: You're just as irrelevant to this company as you are to the fans. Even the management has stopped giving a shit about you. You want to know how I know this? Cast your mind back a few weeks, to when our paths first crossed. You appealed to the PCW hierarchy, on twitter, for a singles match in the near future. They said no, they couldn't find the space. I imagine this was mostly because they couldn't bear to sit through another one of your godawful promos, which are just like Prog Rock - outdated, irrelevant, about 3 hours long and complete nonsense. But as soon as I offered to take you on, they were all ears. The company you love deemed ME more important than YOU. They don't give a shit about you Draven, they know you're past it and THEY KNOW that you're only worthy of a place on the card when it's against top talent like me.
Duvall claps his hands together, and rubs them slowly, as the smirk returns to his face.
Duvall: So good luck at Slamathon, Draven. I'm not wishing you luck for the match, I'm wishing you luck in surviving to the end. If you think I'm going to go easy on you, because you're old and retarded, think again. I like destroying the weak and you'll find out just how much on June 22nd, because I am Wild and Dangerous and you're just not ready for the Wildcard. I'll see you in the ring, old man.
Matt Duvall is sat in the First & Ten Sports Pub, in his home town of Trenton. He stares up at one of the few lights illuminating the bar, before shifting his attention to the television. On the screen, the live broadcast of PCW Rapture is being shown. Duvall watches the match on the screen for a few moments, before scoffing and looking down at his bottle of beer.
Matt Duvall: This is what qualifies for a world class athlete these days? Bullshit.
A few seats down at the bar, another patron's attention is drawn away from the show on the screen and he looks angrily at Duvall. The man is well built and in good physical condition.
Patron: Oh, I suppose you think you could do better huh?
Duvall shakes his head and chuckles to himself, before sipping from his bottle.
Patron: You mocking me, scumbag?
Duvall runs his hand through his hair and closes his eyes. He takes a few deep breaths, already sensing the course this conversation is headed.
Duvall: If you want to think that, feel free pinhead.
The patron walks up to Duvall, getting right in his face.
Patron: You think you're tough huh, you little punk? Let me tell you something. I'm training to be a pro wrestler like those guys on the TV. What they go through is harder than anything you can imagine. They ARE world class athletes. So, before you mock, maybe you should educate yourself.
Without looking up at the other man, or even opening his eyes, Duvall takes another deep breath and speaks in a lowered tone.
Duvall: I suggest you take a few steps back and take yourself out of my personal space.
The patron smirks and gives Duvall a slight nudge with his shoulder.
Patron: And what would be the point in that?
Duvall: Well, for one thing, it would stop your horrible burrito breath from insulting my nostrils. Second of all, it might mean you are able to walk out of here tonight. So why don't you be a good little roidhead and go sit back down, before you small dick complex takes over and you try and start something you might regret?
The patron glares at Duvall, who is still not looking back at him, and snorts out a few heavy, furious breaths.
Duvall: Look, I'm sure you're here with some pretty young thing who you can't satisfy sexually so you have to start on guys like me to remind her you've got big muscles, even though you're packing a needle between your legs that couldn't pop a balloon. So tell her you challenged me to a fight, I apologised and that's that.
With another smirk, the patron has a quick think about Duvall's suggestion, before nodding and walking off. He takes no more than 2 steps before he feels a heavy dull thud on the back of his head, as Duvall smashes his bottle over the back of the patron's skull. Duvall glares down at the patron, who groggily attempts to get back onto his feet.
Duvall: Threaten to stab me outside, would you? You think I'm gonna let you get away with that?
The patron splutters his innocence, as Duvall picks him up by the hair and lifts him onto his shoulders. With the other man close up, Duvall whispers into his ear.
Duvall: I should have told you something. I AM a professional wrestler.
This revelation shocks the patron, but he has little time to think on it as Duvall runs towards a nearby table and powerslams the patron right through it. Not giving him any time to recover, Duvall floats over and locks in a rear naked choke. The patron is unable to fight out of it, and can merely stare pleadingly and wide-eyed to anyone who'll see him. Seeing his obvious distress, Duvall releases the hold and pushes the patron off him.
Duvall: I told you you'd regret this. But I'm thinking I should put in a word for you in the fed I work in...maybe I can get you on board.
The patron looks at him with a slight air of confusion.
Patron: You think I can make it?
Duvall scoffs, stands up and adjusts his shirt, which had been ruffled in the fray.
Duvall: Don't be stupid. I just want another chance to beat the shit out of you again, but I want to be paid good money for it next time. Macho men like you are always weaklings. Easy prey, if you will. Nothing like taking down easy prey.
The patron looks crestfallen as Duvall walks over to the bar, where the bar manager is stood with a nervous look on his face.
Duvall: I guess I'll take two beers for the road.
The manager fumbles for the order, and Duvall throws a few crumpled $1 bills at him.
Duvall: I'm sure that'll cover it. If not, needledick down there will pay.
Duvall picks up the two unopened bottles off the bar and makes his exit out of the bar, with all the other patrons giving him a wide berth.
-------------------------------------
Pride Wrestling Headquarters. 2 days later.
The creaking of the floorboards begins to irritate Matt Duvall as he paces up and down the corridor outside Charles Jackson's office at PW HQ. Having received instructions to visit for a meeting, the New Jersey native was impatiently trying to figure out what it was he had been summonsed for. Deciding that 3 minutes was more than long enough time to wait for his boss to finish the phone call he had been taking when Duvall originally knocked, the brawler simply barges the door open and enters the office. Charles Jackson looks up at him with an unimpressed expression on his face.
Charles Jackson: I'mma have to call you back, yo. Something annoying just came up.
Duvall rolls his eyes at the insult as his boss motions him to sit down.
Duvall: No, I'd rather stand. I don't trust buildings like this, or the people who work in them. Now, what do you want?
Visibly irritated at his employee's lack of respect, Jackson adopts a mocking tone as he begins his answer.
Jackson: 'How was your day boss?' 'Great thanks Matt, and yours?' 'Awww, just swell boss'. You see Matt, that's how civilised people start a conversation. Want to try again?
Duvall simply raises an eyebrow.
Jackson: Didn't think so. Now, as for why I asked you here, I heard about your little stunt in Trenton, beating up that guy in the bar. Let's just say I'm not fucking impressed. You represent me and my company when you're out in public, what do you think your conduct says about Pride Wrestling as a company?
Duvall: I'd tell you, but that would indicate that I care. Yeah, I fucked the guy up. He was getting in my space and I warned him and I'd do it again. I'm bored in PW, I don't have enough chances to do what I do best and that's fuck people up. I need action otherwise I'm gonna start melting down, lashing out and beating the crap of anyone I can get my hands on - men, women, children, animals....whatever it ends up being, I'll probably kill it. So the ball's in your court 'boss'. Give me something to do.
Taken aback by some of Duvall's comments, Jackson looks momentarily puzzled. Suddenly however, a stroke of genius dawns on him.
Jackson: I've got it. If you're so bored in PW, I think it's time to step up and see if you can hang with the big dogs over in PCW. I'll clear it with the folks in charge over there and we'll see if you can use that anger properly. You'll have to sort a match out for yourself. Sound like a compromise?
Duvall sighs, clearly not 100% happy with the offer on the table but, after a few moments of assessing his situation, he nods.
Duvall: Fine. I already have my first victim in mind...
-------------------------------------
The Camera fades in to show Matt Duvall in an empty white room, with a stern expression on his face. He's wearing a black t-shirt with the words "Wild and Dangerous" on the front, as well as his ring shorts. He stares at the camera for a few seconds, before putting his finger to his lips.
Duvall: SHHHHHHHHHH! Do you hear that silence Draven? Deafening isn't it? It's deafening to you because you know that the silence represents all the people who still think you're relevant to the world of professional wrestling. That silence represents all the people who don't think you're a gibbering half-wit, who couldn't come up with a rational and coherent thought if his life depended on it.
Duvall cracks each of his knuckles before continuing.
Duvall: That silence also represents the number of people who think you have a chance of matching me at Slamathon IV. You see, while you claim to be a 'Psychopath', I don't need to go around shouting it at every opportunity, I just show people what I'm about and at Slamathon, I'm going to show you that I'm all about tearing you to pieces.
The previous stern expression on Duvall's face is replaced with an arrogant smirk, as he continues to berate his Slamathon opponent.
Duvall: Draven, there's a very good reason why you should be concerned for your well-being on June 22nd. Unlike you, I don't have a win-loss record to worry about. Unlike you, I don't have to worry about rebuilding a long decaying legacy. Unlike you, I don't care about winning or losing, I just want to break you. But you know something, part of that breakage starts outside of the ring, here and now. The first part of that breakage is a revelation that I know will hurt you...
At this point, the smirk widens into a full-blown evil grin.
Duvall: You're just as irrelevant to this company as you are to the fans. Even the management has stopped giving a shit about you. You want to know how I know this? Cast your mind back a few weeks, to when our paths first crossed. You appealed to the PCW hierarchy, on twitter, for a singles match in the near future. They said no, they couldn't find the space. I imagine this was mostly because they couldn't bear to sit through another one of your godawful promos, which are just like Prog Rock - outdated, irrelevant, about 3 hours long and complete nonsense. But as soon as I offered to take you on, they were all ears. The company you love deemed ME more important than YOU. They don't give a shit about you Draven, they know you're past it and THEY KNOW that you're only worthy of a place on the card when it's against top talent like me.
Duvall claps his hands together, and rubs them slowly, as the smirk returns to his face.
Duvall: So good luck at Slamathon, Draven. I'm not wishing you luck for the match, I'm wishing you luck in surviving to the end. If you think I'm going to go easy on you, because you're old and retarded, think again. I like destroying the weak and you'll find out just how much on June 22nd, because I am Wild and Dangerous and you're just not ready for the Wildcard. I'll see you in the ring, old man.
