Post by The DVC on Aug 6, 2017 19:43:24 GMT -5
(FADEIN: The interior of a fancy restaurant. Wait-staff hustle about, and the atmosphere is warm and conversant. Seated at a table in the middle of the room is Christian Connolly and a female guest. He’s dressed in a navy blue suit, white shirt, and black tie. His guest looks lovely in a simple black dress. Connolly removes a pair of reading glasses from his pocket and begins perusing the menu.)
GUEST: “I’m glad we did this.”
Connolly: (Looking up) “Huh?”
GUEST: “I said I’m glad we did this.”
Connolly: (Smiling) “Oh. Yeah. Me too. This is gonna be fun.”
GUEST: “Yeah.”
(They both look down at their menus.)
GUEST: (Reading from menu) “Crabcakes stuffed with buttery, shredded Maine rock lobster…mmm, that sounds great!”
(Without looking up, Connolly smiles wryly.)
GUEST: “What?”
Connolly: “What?”
GUEST: “What’s that weird smile about?”
Connolly: “I…it’s nothing.”
GUEST: “What? What are you thinking about?”
Connolly: “It…it’s just that’s what Erik would order.”
GUEST: “That… um… was your wrestling partner, right?”
Connolly: “Still is. We’re about to become three time champs.” (Looking away) “Kind of a big deal.”
GUEST: “Mmm-hmm.”
(They return to their menus.)
Connolly: “Erik loves crabcakes. His favorite. Once... hehehe… once he, he was SO HUNGRY after we baked out the van on a drive from Toledo to Sheboygan…”
(She lowers her eyes as she notices annoyed glares from nearby patrons.)
Connolly: “…we stopped at this little seafood dive, and he INHALED a plate of crabcakes so fast one lodged in his throat and he started…” (waving his arms) “…FLAILING around the restaurant like this… and this big burly bierfrau-lookin’ woman had to come over the counter and Heimlich the poor bastard! You should’ve… hehehe… it was just… he looked like a BABY in her arms while she jerked him to the left, to the right…”
(Wiping his eyes with his napkin) “…it was pretty epic.”
GUEST: “Sounds hilarious. Been a while since we saw a waiter, huh?”
Connolly: (Eyeing his watch) “Has it been? Huh…” (Shrugging) “Anyway, I’m having fun. It’s good to see you.”
(The GUEST’s shoulders loosen up a little, and she smiles.)
GUEST: “It’s good to see you, too. It’s been too long.”
Connolly: “What about you, what are you up to these days?”
GUEST: “I’m working in the hospitality industry, hotel management.”
Connolly: “One time, Erik and I were on the road, and we stayed at this La Quinta in Syracuse, New York, and when we got to the room, I swear to God, we found a bottle of LUBE on TOP of the Gideon’s Bible! On my wife’s grave, I kid you not, a bottle of LUBE!”
(An older woman at a nearby table snorts audibly in disgust. Christian Connolly looks over at her.)
Connolly: “I know, GROSS, right?” (Looking back at his GUEST) “And to make matters worse, it was sticky and used-like, and then Erik sprayed it all over my pillow and I didn’t see it before I laid down…”
(The GUEST makes eye contact with a nearby waiter and mouths “MERLOT” silently and then “BOTTLE” and then “BIG ONE,” gesturing with her hands.)
Connolly: “…and then he felt really bad because I had this HORRIBLE allergic reaction to one of the chemicals and my left eye swelled shut, and…”
(FADETO: Several empty wine bottles litter the table around the GUEST’S bowl of soup. Her face hovers over the glass clutched tightly in her right hand, her head swaying gently from side to side.)
Connolly: (Swirling the ice in his tumbler of bourbon) “So, like, I was saying…”
(The GUEST’s eyes drift lazily up to Christian Connolly’s face.)
Connolly: “It’s just…” (Sigh) “…so HARD, y’know? Because I love teaming with the guy. I LOVE it. And we are f*cking GREAT together. I know that. I do. And what we have going on in WGWF is… it’s crazy. It’s spreading like wildfire. People are crazy into it. And we’re riding the wave. It just feels like… so specific to that place, y’know? And we’ve done everything we need to do on the team end there.” (Counting fingers) “I told myself, ‘Tag Team title,’ ‘World Heavyweight Championship,’ ‘Hall of Fame.’” Those were my goals. Lofty, but I got two of the three done so far… hey, you okay?”
(One of the GUEST’s eyelids flutters.)
Connolly: “Good. You’re a good listener, anyone ever tell you that? So we have this big title match comign up Monday and I'm having all these mixed emotions. I mean, on one hand, we have a chance to add to our awesome legacy. But on the other hand, no matter who wins, they're retiring the tag team division. But if we win, I'll finally get a chance to at singles gold... but I'll have to face Erik to get that shot. I just don't know how to feel.
I do know this, come Monday night, me and Erik are gonna leave everything in that ring and do whatever it takes to walk out victorious. If this is gonna be me and Erik last ride, then we're going out champs. Know what I'm sayin'?” (Eyeballing her glass) “Are you having more wine? They’ve gotta be digging pretty deep in the cellar by now with the damage you’ve done here tonight, girl, DAMN!”
(The GUEST’s face falls forward into her bowl, splashing clam chowder onto the tablecloth. Christian Connolly grabs a passing waiter by the arm.)
Christian Connolly: “I think we’re ready for the check.”
* * * * * * *
(FADEIN: Connolly sits in a folding chair in front of an red WGWF banner. Another folding chair is next to him with Erik Josten seated in it. He lights a cigarette.)
VOICE (off-camera): “You can’t smoke in here.”
Connolly: “I get that a lot.” (Turning to camera) "So this is it, huh? The final curtain for the tag team division. I guess it's fitting that it's inside of a steel cage. We've said it time & time again.. no two men can beat us, straight up. And inside that cage at Summer Madness, Hunter Ryan & Chris Page are fucked.
Well.. scratch that.. Hunter is fucked. Cause ya see, he's backed himself into a corner. Now he's gonna be locked inside a cage with not only the most dangerous team in WGWF history, but his partner wants him to get his ass kicked.
Like, how bad do you have to suck at life to get stuck in this predicament? I guess when you're as pathetic as Hunter, this is par for the course.
So.. since we, the DVC, really have no issue with Chris Page... Hunter Ryan...
Your mother is a bitch.
Your father is a bitch.
Your brother is a bitch.
Your dead wife is a bitch.
Your grandma is a bitch.
Your husband is a bitch.
Your best friend is a bitch.
Your worst friend is a bitch.
All of your friends are bitches.
Your pet is a bitch.
You’re a bitch!"
Josten: "You've been a bitch ever since you came back. You been a bitch ever since you let Paul Frost get your wife. Ya' made the biggest mistake of ya' life when you cheated us.
Now, no one can save ya'.. no one can stop us from hurting you. Page ain't need ta worry about fightin' ya' later. Cause afta Summer Madness, there won't be nothin' left of ya. This is us focused on you. And this is you not doing a damn thing:
...
...
...
That silence was a representation of you. So all I need to do is respond with a representation of us:
Fuck you, bitch. Long live the DVC."
FTB.
GUEST: “I’m glad we did this.”
Connolly: (Looking up) “Huh?”
GUEST: “I said I’m glad we did this.”
Connolly: (Smiling) “Oh. Yeah. Me too. This is gonna be fun.”
GUEST: “Yeah.”
(They both look down at their menus.)
GUEST: (Reading from menu) “Crabcakes stuffed with buttery, shredded Maine rock lobster…mmm, that sounds great!”
(Without looking up, Connolly smiles wryly.)
GUEST: “What?”
Connolly: “What?”
GUEST: “What’s that weird smile about?”
Connolly: “I…it’s nothing.”
GUEST: “What? What are you thinking about?”
Connolly: “It…it’s just that’s what Erik would order.”
GUEST: “That… um… was your wrestling partner, right?”
Connolly: “Still is. We’re about to become three time champs.” (Looking away) “Kind of a big deal.”
GUEST: “Mmm-hmm.”
(They return to their menus.)
Connolly: “Erik loves crabcakes. His favorite. Once... hehehe… once he, he was SO HUNGRY after we baked out the van on a drive from Toledo to Sheboygan…”
(She lowers her eyes as she notices annoyed glares from nearby patrons.)
Connolly: “…we stopped at this little seafood dive, and he INHALED a plate of crabcakes so fast one lodged in his throat and he started…” (waving his arms) “…FLAILING around the restaurant like this… and this big burly bierfrau-lookin’ woman had to come over the counter and Heimlich the poor bastard! You should’ve… hehehe… it was just… he looked like a BABY in her arms while she jerked him to the left, to the right…”
(Wiping his eyes with his napkin) “…it was pretty epic.”
GUEST: “Sounds hilarious. Been a while since we saw a waiter, huh?”
Connolly: (Eyeing his watch) “Has it been? Huh…” (Shrugging) “Anyway, I’m having fun. It’s good to see you.”
(The GUEST’s shoulders loosen up a little, and she smiles.)
GUEST: “It’s good to see you, too. It’s been too long.”
Connolly: “What about you, what are you up to these days?”
GUEST: “I’m working in the hospitality industry, hotel management.”
Connolly: “One time, Erik and I were on the road, and we stayed at this La Quinta in Syracuse, New York, and when we got to the room, I swear to God, we found a bottle of LUBE on TOP of the Gideon’s Bible! On my wife’s grave, I kid you not, a bottle of LUBE!”
(An older woman at a nearby table snorts audibly in disgust. Christian Connolly looks over at her.)
Connolly: “I know, GROSS, right?” (Looking back at his GUEST) “And to make matters worse, it was sticky and used-like, and then Erik sprayed it all over my pillow and I didn’t see it before I laid down…”
(The GUEST makes eye contact with a nearby waiter and mouths “MERLOT” silently and then “BOTTLE” and then “BIG ONE,” gesturing with her hands.)
Connolly: “…and then he felt really bad because I had this HORRIBLE allergic reaction to one of the chemicals and my left eye swelled shut, and…”
(FADETO: Several empty wine bottles litter the table around the GUEST’S bowl of soup. Her face hovers over the glass clutched tightly in her right hand, her head swaying gently from side to side.)
Connolly: (Swirling the ice in his tumbler of bourbon) “So, like, I was saying…”
(The GUEST’s eyes drift lazily up to Christian Connolly’s face.)
Connolly: “It’s just…” (Sigh) “…so HARD, y’know? Because I love teaming with the guy. I LOVE it. And we are f*cking GREAT together. I know that. I do. And what we have going on in WGWF is… it’s crazy. It’s spreading like wildfire. People are crazy into it. And we’re riding the wave. It just feels like… so specific to that place, y’know? And we’ve done everything we need to do on the team end there.” (Counting fingers) “I told myself, ‘Tag Team title,’ ‘World Heavyweight Championship,’ ‘Hall of Fame.’” Those were my goals. Lofty, but I got two of the three done so far… hey, you okay?”
(One of the GUEST’s eyelids flutters.)
Connolly: “Good. You’re a good listener, anyone ever tell you that? So we have this big title match comign up Monday and I'm having all these mixed emotions. I mean, on one hand, we have a chance to add to our awesome legacy. But on the other hand, no matter who wins, they're retiring the tag team division. But if we win, I'll finally get a chance to at singles gold... but I'll have to face Erik to get that shot. I just don't know how to feel.
I do know this, come Monday night, me and Erik are gonna leave everything in that ring and do whatever it takes to walk out victorious. If this is gonna be me and Erik last ride, then we're going out champs. Know what I'm sayin'?” (Eyeballing her glass) “Are you having more wine? They’ve gotta be digging pretty deep in the cellar by now with the damage you’ve done here tonight, girl, DAMN!”
(The GUEST’s face falls forward into her bowl, splashing clam chowder onto the tablecloth. Christian Connolly grabs a passing waiter by the arm.)
Christian Connolly: “I think we’re ready for the check.”
* * * * * * *
(FADEIN: Connolly sits in a folding chair in front of an red WGWF banner. Another folding chair is next to him with Erik Josten seated in it. He lights a cigarette.)
VOICE (off-camera): “You can’t smoke in here.”
Connolly: “I get that a lot.” (Turning to camera) "So this is it, huh? The final curtain for the tag team division. I guess it's fitting that it's inside of a steel cage. We've said it time & time again.. no two men can beat us, straight up. And inside that cage at Summer Madness, Hunter Ryan & Chris Page are fucked.
Well.. scratch that.. Hunter is fucked. Cause ya see, he's backed himself into a corner. Now he's gonna be locked inside a cage with not only the most dangerous team in WGWF history, but his partner wants him to get his ass kicked.
Like, how bad do you have to suck at life to get stuck in this predicament? I guess when you're as pathetic as Hunter, this is par for the course.
So.. since we, the DVC, really have no issue with Chris Page... Hunter Ryan...
Your mother is a bitch.
Your father is a bitch.
Your brother is a bitch.
Your dead wife is a bitch.
Your grandma is a bitch.
Your husband is a bitch.
Your best friend is a bitch.
Your worst friend is a bitch.
All of your friends are bitches.
Your pet is a bitch.
You’re a bitch!"
Josten: "You've been a bitch ever since you came back. You been a bitch ever since you let Paul Frost get your wife. Ya' made the biggest mistake of ya' life when you cheated us.
Now, no one can save ya'.. no one can stop us from hurting you. Page ain't need ta worry about fightin' ya' later. Cause afta Summer Madness, there won't be nothin' left of ya. This is us focused on you. And this is you not doing a damn thing:
...
...
...
That silence was a representation of you. So all I need to do is respond with a representation of us:
Fuck you, bitch. Long live the DVC."
FTB.