An Introduction... Part 2
Dec 13, 2011 20:21:36 GMT -5
Post by Chandler Scott on Dec 13, 2011 20:21:36 GMT -5
[ We open to a shot of Preston Blake, gazing over the balcony in the East Wing of the Scott estate. Yes, The Harvard Connection will have to make the flight into the cesspool of New Jersey in the wee hours of the morning. But tonight, they celebrate. They will celebrate the mad-making that they've caused. They will celebrate yet another checkmark in the win column. And they will do a bit of celebration over their impending victory over Evan Bodom and Ace Andrews. Yes, impending victory, sense anything less would be absolutely preposterous. While Chandler and Madison are in the study, Preston walks back into the dining room with a glass of wine. What brand? Doesn't matter, it's too expensive for you to purchase, anyway. After enjoying another glass, Preston turns to the camera and grins from ear to ear. ]
Preston:
“Ace Andrews. The stain of professional wrestling. The Billionaire Bust. You know, I don't think I've ever come across a single person that ever had a good thing to say about you. They never went, 'hey, that guy's a big jerk. But he's one hell of a wrestler.' They never went, 'I don't like that Ace. But you know what? He sure does know how to throw one hell of a punch.' No, they just say 'Ace Andrews flat out sucks' and leave it at that.” Preston snickers. “Now Ace, we've never been formally introduced to each other. You don't know me that well. I don't know you that well and don't care to know you, either. So maybe I shouldn't judge a book by its cover. Maybe I shouldn't jump to conclusions. After all, people see these Harvard lettermans and they automatically jump to conclusions about us. But if the rumors are true about you – and I have no reason to believe that they're not, then there's no reason not to believe that tomorrow night shouldn't be an easy night for me.”
“Sure, you're a veteran of this business. You've been doing the professional wrestling thing for a bit longer than myself or Chandler. But what does all of that experience mean if you never learn anything from it? Sort of like what's the point in having all that money if you have no idea what to do with it? I understand that you've been wrestling longer than I have. And that may mean something to most people. It may even mean something to yourself. But it means absolutely nothing to me. I've done more in my brief time in this business than you have in the past five or six years. Myself and Chandler, we've made an impact. We've turned divisions around. While the only thing you've managed to do it get people to turn the TV off whenever your on screen.” Preston flashes an arrogant smirk.
“But I understand why you'd think differently. You're a singles guy, right? So you're used to going it on your own. You're used to having to fight your own battles. But me? I'm just some measly tag team wrestler, right? I can't possibly get the job done on my own. I'll have no one to turn to when I'm in trouble. I won't be able to tag out during my time of need. I understand that rationale. And it'd be a sound way of thinking for most people. But that's the problem, Ace. I'm not most people. I'm well spoken. I have a college degree from the most prestigious university in the world. I wear well-fitted clothing. I'm a HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARVARD man. So that automatically makes me better than everyone else. Including you, Ace. See, I possess the four Bs. I have brains. I have brawn. I have beauty. And when you put all of those things together, it makes me better than the rest of the field. Of course, you'll be finding that out in due time, now won't you, Ace?” Preston snickers.
“Now I know that you're a very wealthy man.... allegedly. Now whether you are or aren't really a billionaire, it doesn't matter to me. Why? Because all of that money.... and all of that wealth will mean nothing once that bell rings tomorrow night. A stack of dollar bills can't save you from the wrestling lesson that I'm about to give you. A briefcase full of singles won't stop me from stomping all over you. So while you may have your riches, what I'll give you tomorrow night is something that all of your money could never buy you. And that, Ace, is knowing that no matter how much money you're worth, you will always be a level below me in this wrestling ring. Evan Bodom says he was born to be hated. I disagree. He was born to live a life at a level below people like The Harvard Connection. You're no different. Maybe I have misjudged you. Maybe you are a heck of a professional wrestler. But no matter how good you think you are, I know I'm better. And I will prove to you, and the rest of FRONTIER, exactly why that is tomorrow night. And that, my friend, is t truth!”
[ The scene fades to crimson, followed by the Harvard “H”. ]
Preston:
“Ace Andrews. The stain of professional wrestling. The Billionaire Bust. You know, I don't think I've ever come across a single person that ever had a good thing to say about you. They never went, 'hey, that guy's a big jerk. But he's one hell of a wrestler.' They never went, 'I don't like that Ace. But you know what? He sure does know how to throw one hell of a punch.' No, they just say 'Ace Andrews flat out sucks' and leave it at that.” Preston snickers. “Now Ace, we've never been formally introduced to each other. You don't know me that well. I don't know you that well and don't care to know you, either. So maybe I shouldn't judge a book by its cover. Maybe I shouldn't jump to conclusions. After all, people see these Harvard lettermans and they automatically jump to conclusions about us. But if the rumors are true about you – and I have no reason to believe that they're not, then there's no reason not to believe that tomorrow night shouldn't be an easy night for me.”
“Sure, you're a veteran of this business. You've been doing the professional wrestling thing for a bit longer than myself or Chandler. But what does all of that experience mean if you never learn anything from it? Sort of like what's the point in having all that money if you have no idea what to do with it? I understand that you've been wrestling longer than I have. And that may mean something to most people. It may even mean something to yourself. But it means absolutely nothing to me. I've done more in my brief time in this business than you have in the past five or six years. Myself and Chandler, we've made an impact. We've turned divisions around. While the only thing you've managed to do it get people to turn the TV off whenever your on screen.” Preston flashes an arrogant smirk.
“But I understand why you'd think differently. You're a singles guy, right? So you're used to going it on your own. You're used to having to fight your own battles. But me? I'm just some measly tag team wrestler, right? I can't possibly get the job done on my own. I'll have no one to turn to when I'm in trouble. I won't be able to tag out during my time of need. I understand that rationale. And it'd be a sound way of thinking for most people. But that's the problem, Ace. I'm not most people. I'm well spoken. I have a college degree from the most prestigious university in the world. I wear well-fitted clothing. I'm a HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARVARD man. So that automatically makes me better than everyone else. Including you, Ace. See, I possess the four Bs. I have brains. I have brawn. I have beauty. And when you put all of those things together, it makes me better than the rest of the field. Of course, you'll be finding that out in due time, now won't you, Ace?” Preston snickers.
“Now I know that you're a very wealthy man.... allegedly. Now whether you are or aren't really a billionaire, it doesn't matter to me. Why? Because all of that money.... and all of that wealth will mean nothing once that bell rings tomorrow night. A stack of dollar bills can't save you from the wrestling lesson that I'm about to give you. A briefcase full of singles won't stop me from stomping all over you. So while you may have your riches, what I'll give you tomorrow night is something that all of your money could never buy you. And that, Ace, is knowing that no matter how much money you're worth, you will always be a level below me in this wrestling ring. Evan Bodom says he was born to be hated. I disagree. He was born to live a life at a level below people like The Harvard Connection. You're no different. Maybe I have misjudged you. Maybe you are a heck of a professional wrestler. But no matter how good you think you are, I know I'm better. And I will prove to you, and the rest of FRONTIER, exactly why that is tomorrow night. And that, my friend, is t truth!”
[ The scene fades to crimson, followed by the Harvard “H”. ]