What Are You Going To Do About It?
Feb 5, 2012 17:41:51 GMT -5
Post by Chandler Scott on Feb 5, 2012 17:41:51 GMT -5
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[The setting? Somewhere inside of a home in the affluent suburbs of Boston, MA. More specifically, the home of Madison Stewart's parents, Grant and Lindsey Stewart. The Stewarts sit around the dining room table. Soft symphony music fills in the background while white cloths, portraits and candles complete the ambiance. Chandler Scott, after excusing himself from the table, heads into the living room, swirling around a clear glass with an amber colored liquid in it. In the distance, laughter can be heard encompassing the dining room after someone shares a presumably bad joke that only rich people would find funny. Chandler just shakes his head, knowing that he's pleased to have missed out on the "comedy". The maid, Manuela (since all rich people have to have maids of Hispanic descent) can be heard telling everyone that desert will be served soon. Grant then makes his way into the living room. Chandler begins to grow uncomfortable.]
Grant:
“Is there a problem?”
Chandler:
“A problem? When have I ever had a problem with you?” asks Chandler in a sarcastic tone. While he's known Grant for years, the two have recently butted heads due to Chandler's wrestling pursuits as opposed to putting his Harvard degree to use.
Grant:
“I'm just concerned about you, that's all.”
Chandler:
“Concerned!? What on earth do you have to be concerned about, Grant? I'm a grown man. I know how to take care of myself,” exclaims Chandler, almost in a defiant tone.
Grant:
“Oh do you?” questions Grant, giving Chandler a slight verbal jab.
Chandler:
“What is that supposed to mean?” asks Chandler, who is beginning to grow annoyed with Grant's act.
Grant:
“Look, you know I think of the world of you. And I understand that you want to pursue this wrestling nonsense. But you haven't gotten any calls from the big leagues. For months, you were cellar dwelling in the middle of nowhere out in the Rockies. And now, you somehow found an even smaller and less established company than that to call home.”
Chandler:
“Frontier Grappling Arts is on the rise. And once we start growing and expanding and our awareness is raised, people will come flocking to us. I may not like a lot of guys in that locker room. But from top to bottom, we all put on one heck of a product. You should come out and see it sometime.”
Grant:
“I wouldn't be caught dead in that toxic waste dump known as New Jersey.” Grant's lip curls up at just the thought.
Chandler:
“Can't say I blame you there. Sometimes the smell is absolutely breathtaking, for all the wrong reasons. And don't even get me started on those Jersey Shore imbeciles....”
Grant:
“Look Chandler, you've been with my daughter for a while now. And I knew from the very first time that I met you that you were the one for her. It's just that.... when you eventually pop the question and you guys do become married and start a family, I just want to know that you will be able to fully provide for her.
Chandler:
“I will always provide for her, Grant. You know that. Like I said, Frontier is growing. We're doing some good things right now. Myself and Preston are two of the biggest names that the place has.”
Grant:
“Yet from what you told me, you failed to become their champion. It's bad enough that you're competing at some hole in the wall. But by your accounts, you let some rookie beat you, taking away what should be an even bigger paycheck from you as champion.”
Chandler:
“Michael Tomkins will be dealt with when the time comes.”
Madison:
“What's going on in here?” asks Madison, who peeks in from the doorway. She then walks over and wraps her arms around Chandler's side. Chandler then wraps his left arm around her shoulders. “You guys aren't arguing again, are you?”
Grant:
“No, just giving Chandler here some Fatherly advice.”
Madison:
“Are you sure? I know how you are, Daddy.”
Chandler:
“No, he's telling the truth.”
Grant:
“It's just that, I know the pickings are slim in this place that you all are at. And Chandler tells me that him and Preston are on a bit of a slide.”
Madison:
“It's nothing they can't take care of.”
Grant:
“A losing streak is a losing streak nonetheless, Madison. This Frontier place isn't exactly known for money. And with these loses, I'm sure Chandler and Preston are losing out on what little extra money they could be getting. I just want to know, Chandler, how are you going to fix this? What are you going to do about it?
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[The scene opens up to the familiar FRONTIER backdrop with the red lion logo. Standing in front of the backdrop are The Harvard Connection, Preston Blake, Chandler Scott and Madison Stewart. The trio are all dressed well, looking like they just took a break from a Ralph Lauren photo shoot. After Preston clears his throat, he speaks.]
Preston:[/color]
“How pathetic is this, huh? How pathetic is this? We were this close, Chandler, this close to one of us walking out of the Rahway Rec Center a champion. No one was more prepared than we were. No one was in better physical condition than we were in. And no one had all the tools that we had t their disposal. Yet what happened? Jared James once again steals another victory from The Harvard Connection! Yes, you heard me! I didn't say “beat”, I didn't say “defeated”, I said stole, because that's what Jared did. He outright STOLE another victory from The Harvard Connection, ending my quest in the first round. And then when it looked like Chandler was going to do us proud, when it looked like Chandler was ready to head right on into the finals, out comes Timmy Brown to save Michael Tomkins' sorry hide yet again.” Both Chandler and Madison wag their index fingers at the camera, throwing shame at Tomkins for doing such a thing.
“Though let's be honest. Are we that surprised? No, not really. Michael Tomkins can't wipe his butt without Timmy's assistance. Tomkins can't eat a meal without Timmy constantly going over and wiping off the corners of his mouth with a bib. And Tomkins can't go to sleep without Timmy tucking him in and reading him his favorite bed time story. So no, there was no great shock that Tomkins won yet again because of Timmy's outside interference. But when a man says he wants to do it on his own, we expect him to live up to his end of the bargain. But it's clear as day that Michael Tomkins isn't a man of his word. Hell, he isn't even a man. What he is... is a coddled little boy who needs a grown man to fight his battles for him. Meanwhile, true men, men that this company could build around, men that this company would be proud to call their champion, men that have always fought with two fists and their supreme intellect, have to get bounced in the first and semifinal round.
And then it came down to two. Instead of it being the thrilling matchup that would have pitted Harvard graduate versus Harvard graduate, a match that would have tested both men's mental abilities as well as their physically abilities... instead, we got the disappointing Jared James vs. Michael Tomkins finale. On one hand, you have a man that has skated by on nothing but luck ever since he came to FRONTIER Grappling Arts. And on the other hand, you have Michael Tomkins, a man who can't win matches without his manager serving them up on a platter for him. Just the thought that one of those two men battled it out over the FGA Heavyweight Championship instead of myself and Chandler makes me sick! Madison pats Preston on the shoulder, offering emotional support. Chandler, meanwhile, nods his head in full agreement with Preston's rant. “But nevertheless, if there was once saving grace, it was finally seeing Jared's lucky streak put to a screeching halt. I enjoyed that very much, seeing Jared gag and choke in the championship match.” Preston and Chandler cackle while Madison claps. “I'm surprised the referee didn't stop the match to perform the Heimlich on the poor bastard.” Chandler can be seen holding his neck with both hands, pretending to choke while Madison pats his back. “But now, a man who can't win much of anything on his own has now been propped up as the measuring stick here in FRONTIER; the true epitome of excellence, if you will. And on our end, well, what do we have to show for it? Our hands are empty. There is no championship around our waists. And all we have to show for it is an unfortunate losing streak.” The Harvard Connection put their hands on their waists and shake their heads in shame. “But are we going to mope about it? Are we going to go and cry into our pillow over it? Will we just stop caring? Well the answer to that is simply no. After all, our names aren't Ace Andrews, Scott Reave, Jack Flener, Evan Bodom and the other wastes of space that have joined FRONTIER with a lot of hype, only to end up doing nothing. No, we won't throw in the towel. No, we won't quit. We're bigger than that. We're better than that. We are Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarvard men. And that means that we're better than each and everyone of you.” Preston cackles while he rubs his hands in anticipation for what's next.
Chandler:
“You ask what we're going to do about this recent turn of unfortunate events? Well, we'll show you exactly what we're going to do about it this Wednesday on Combat. Myself and Preston are finally back to doing what we do best. And that, my friends, is tag team wrestling. When you think about it, there is no other team, no other team on the independent scene that is better than the Varsity Villain and the Straight-A Stud” Madison claps in agreement. “Think about it. Upon our arrival, we invigorated and breathed new life into two floundering tag team divisions in other federations. But upon our exits, those divisions, which thrived during our occupancy, soon took a free fall; a fall that has yet to stop to this very day. That's how damn good we are! That's the power of The Harvard Connection. And our opponents this Wednesday will find that out the hard way."
Madison:
"In a way it's almost ironic. In Frontier's first ever tag team match, they were smart enough to include The Harvard Connection as one of its participants. And in the other corner stands two men whom you've both taken issue with – Jared James and Blaine Harrison.”
Chandler:
“Ah yes, Jared James and Blaine Harrison. FRONTIER's own crime fighting dynamic duo. FRONTIER'S answer to the Scooby Doo Gang. They're all about doing the right thing and going about business the right way. They chase down the teenager that stole your grandmother's purse. They beat up the bully that harassed your little brother for his lunch money. They even volunteer to climb up and bring down your kitty cat from out of that tree. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaw, aren't they just the best, Preston?”
Preston:
“Gee wiz, Chandler, they sure are.” Preston scoffs at the notion.... “Give me a freaking break! I am so tired of these two. You wouldn't believe it.
Madison:
“Oh, I am tired of them, too! Believe me! They're so fake.”
Chandler:
“I know, right? The “shaking hands”, “kissing babies” thing is just so pathetic. Just admit that you're pandering to these idiots in the crowd and get it over with.”
Preston:
“But you know what? All that pandering won't help you a damn bit inside of that ring at Combat because on Wednesday night, when that bell rings.. it's just going to be you, us, and our fists doing all the talking. We will out-punch you. We will out-wrestle you. And we will prove finally that we are superior to the both of you. You can mark it down, I guarantee it!”
Chandler:
“Think about it, gentlemen. No really, think about it. We've known each other for... how long?”
Preston:
“Too long.”
Chandler:
“Exactly! I know this man like the back of my hand and vice versa. We don't need signals or signs to tell each other what we want to do next. We've known each other for so long and have been working together for so long that we know what the other wants to do without even saying a word. That's the hallmark of a true tag team, something which you clearly know nothing about. You know, ever since we've been here, all we've heard from the two of you is “singles match” this and “singles match” that. Well guess what, ladies? You're in our world now. You're entering our domain. You're stepping into our backyard now. You're going onto a field of play that we've dominated. And for good reason. You two pride yourselves on being the underdogs? Good, I'm glad you do, because that's exactly what you two will be this week on Combat!”
Preston:
“Jared, Blaine, how well do you know each other? Hmm? Or better yet, how well do you trust each other. Now me and Chandler here, I trust him more than I trust certain members of my family. Hell, I trust this man with my life. And I know he trusts his with me. But can you two say the same? Honestly, can you? Now I know you've stuck your neck out on the line for each other in recent weeks. Jared, you've saved Blaine's hide and vice versa. But that's totally different than what we're talking about right here. Let's me ask you something else. It's no secret that you two are in the running for a shot at Michael Tomkins' FGA Heavyweight Championship.”
Madison:
“Excuse me, but you mean the FGA Heavyweight Championship that Timmy Brown won FOR Michael Tomkins.”
Preston:
“Correct. How silly of me.”
Chandler:
“No need for apologies, bro....”
Preston:
“Anyway, for better or for worse, the Frontier Office has decided to make you two dweebs the top two contenders for that Heavyweight Championship. Now wouldn't you do just about anything to get a crack at that belt? Hmmm? Wouldn't you do anything just to get a whiff of it? Hmm? Wouldn't you do whatever you could to separate yourself from the competition so that you were the only one in contention for that championship belt?”
Chandler:
“Think about it for a minute, ladies. Jared James, you came sooooooooooooooooooooooooo close to winning that belt. For months now, we've been subjected to your whining and crying about how its your lifelong dream to be crowned a Heavyweight Champion. Clearly a belt like that means the world to you. And wouldn't you do anything, anything to get another chance at that belt? And Blaine Harrison, we all know how much that belt means to you, too, don't we? But it has to eat you up on the inside, just a little bit, to know that the man you're tagging with this week on Combat is the same man, the same man that crushed your dreams of holding that belt. He literally stomped on the dreams like it was an ant, Blaine. He literally picked up your dreams, held them directly in your face and crushed them. And guess what else, Blaine? He did it with pleasure! He enjoyed beating you, Blaine. He enjoyed knocking you out of the tournament. Are you just going to let that slide, Blaine? Are you going to let him get yet another shot at the FGA Heavyweight Championship before you? Or are you going to man up and do something about it?”
Madison:
“Jared, are you listening? I know that Blaine says he's your friend. And I know that you think that he has your back. But how well do you really know Blaine? Would it be out of the realm of possibility for him to attack you, leaving himself as the true number one contender for Michael Tomkins' FGA Heavyweight Title? Is it far fetched to think that if you ever got caught in the Crossface Chickenwing or the Harvard Crab, that he'd turn his back on you? Is it hard to believe that if you scratched, clawed and held your arm out for the desperation tag, that Blaine would hop off the canvas and would leave you to fend for yourself?"
Chandler:
“The Harvard Connection doesn't have these issues to deal with. But guess who does? FGA's very own Bosom Buddies, that's who! So Jared, you try to sleep well knowing that Blaine is after the same thing that you want. And Blaine, try and rest knowing that Jared would love to be the only person to challenge for Tomkins' Heavyweight Title. Oh, and please, don't think we're trying to stir the pot. Don't think we're trying to create problems where there aren't any. We're simply stating the obvious. Like when we say that The Harvard Connection are your mental superiors, your physical better, and the embodiment of your unrealized potential. The Harvard Connection is the best tag team going. And that, my friends, is the truth.”
The Harvard Connection:
“VERITAS!”
[The scene fades to crimson, followed by the Harvard “H.”]