Vs. Danny Diamond
Aug 4, 2016 19:02:07 GMT -5
Post by Bondo on Aug 4, 2016 19:02:07 GMT -5
Off-Camera_____
Ramblings from the Narrator, Pt. I
He was quiet for the majority of the last two weeks. He knew it; they all knew why. It was because Chandler Scott, the ever so impressive all-natural athlete, the man most synonymous with success in the FGA, got into his head. It was evident from the start of the bell. Hell, it was pretty evident before the match even started. Chris’ biggest mistake was allowing Chandler to use his sister’s attack against him. Bond knew the rumors that had been swirling since he began his tenure as head trainer and booker for the LDFC. He heard some of the students express that they felt like they were being held back. Or that he had played favorites. But even as he began dating Katie Rogers, publically known as the Crimson Baroness, he tried to keep his personal life out of any decision making. And it worked pretty well.
But ever since Jimmy Page walked in and attacked not only himself, but his students, Bond has felt even more personal for any slides or attacks on his students. He has become so proud of all of them, especially the ones who come in early and stay late. The students like Josh Mitchell, who is constantly trying to improve his game—constantly pushing himself to improve physically, mentally. Students like Nest who have ruled the roost with a hunger some of the main roster guys don’t even possess.
The thing that really stings is that Chandler didn’t once take an interest in his sister’s career. He never called down and asked for any tapes; never asked for feedback on how she was doing. He didn’t even show up when Emily won the Carolina Cup. But it’s been eating at Bond for weeks now. Chandler questioned his honor, his pride, his integrity. And part of him wondered if he was right… what kind of person dates one of his students? It must have been unethical. He couldn’t even blame the first couple romantic encounters on alcohol because he’s been sober for five years solid. Chandler has never seen Bond as an equal. Did he even truly believe those things? Or did he just use whatever he could to attack a man who was potentially a threat to another shot at the FGA World Heavyweight Championship?
Bond’s been so preoccupied with this kind of thinking, in addition to the constant insults from Johnny Cannon and it’s just been chipping away at any kind of positivity in his life. With getting irritated during warm ups; to yelling at several students during practice and training drills for failing to master any of the moves; and if one of them botched—he ripped their heads off. And Katie hasn’t been over to see him since he told her she wasn’t facing Johnny Cannon. It’s not because he doesn’t believe in her. It’s because she’s a target now. Somehow Cannon knows it’s more than a rumor and he’s trying to use her against him. Also, Cannon’s mouthpiece refused to have his client wrestle on PRIDE and demanded the potential match be moved up to Vertigo. He didn’t tell her that. He just let her be mad at him. He knew her at a distance was safer than her near him.
So yeah, he’s been a bit sour. He’s been a bit angry. He’s been on the edge and ready to explode, quite literally explode… and he cracked. He found himself sitting in the parking lot of a liquor store. Staring at the door with bars for what seemed like eternity. His fingers twitched in anticipation. He licked his bottom lip over and over. He could taste the sweet nectar that helped him forget so many problems and that helped him get over so many feelings. But he couldn’t bring his feet to move. The notion of his son being without a father because he couldn’t master his demons… he didn’t want the boy to grow up with two junkie parents. A mother who couldn’t leave the drugs alone and had abandoned her son to be with a guy who pushed her towards that kind of life… and a father who couldn’t keep his hand off the bottle.
His son has kept him sane. Because as soon as he opened his door and saw his son’s eyes light up—he knew that everything else didn’t matter. As soon as his son came running to him with an owie or a hurtie, his heart would break because to his son that was the worst pain in the world Chandler Scott, Johnny Cannon, the world as a whole rarely entered his mind when the little man and him were spending quality time.
He was never going to be the wrestler all of his students wanted to emulate. He wasn’t going to be remembered as the guy who was untouchable—the guy everybody else sought to prove themselves to. But he was consistent. He was full of heart and full of pride. He knew how to handle his business. He knew what was right and what was wrong and he knew that in the end—he just needed to be a man who his son would be proud of, who his son would maybe one day want to grow up and be like.
He was a man, flawed as any unpolished gem. He wasn’t the FGA World Champion. He wasn’t the guy that Chandler Scott painted him out to be. And he wasn’t being the best boyfriend to a great and beautiful girl. He knew all of that. But he also knew that no matter what he did, he had to stay clean and sober for his son. He had to be the one to tuck him in at night after a marathon of Paw Patrol and read him his bedtime story. He had to tuck him in extra tight so the monsters in his imagination couldn’t get him. He had to kiss him goodnight and kiss him good morning. He had to be there because he was his son’s father… and that was the one thought that kept him from exploding. That kept him from walking into that liquor store. It was the thought that kept him from being buried under the rubble that his life was becoming.
On-Camera_______
The Shoot: Fathers and Sons
“In my entire stay here in the FGA, I have never once, not once, overlooked a single individual.” He started. His eyes narrowed slightly, he paused at the bit at the side of his cheek. Still unshaven, the Battle Hardened Vet finds himself standing in front of red lion FGA logo. He himself is wearing an old school FGA “Hero” lion tee. You can’t see it, but he’s wearing a faded jeans a pair of black and white converse.
“You’ve already lumped me in with every other opponent, Danny. You see me as an end to your mean. You think you’re the only one tired of losing? You think you’re the only one who has something to prove? You’re an incredible talent, Danny. You have every single gift any professional wrestler could ever ask for—charisma, stamina, a natural ability. But your fault lies within. It isn’t a corporate ladder or anything you should be looking for—it’s making a name for yourself.” He pauses briefly, if only to tilt his head just to a side.
“I’ve seen you wrestle and I know what you have to offer. I get why you’re with Carmine and Cannon—I really do. But you’re better than being a lackey for them. You claim you don’t do what you’re told, that you do what you want. That’s one of the greatest excuses I’ve ever heard. I look at you and see a future world champion. I truly honestly do. But Johnny Cannon doesn’t see you as one. He doesn’t see anyone else on this roster, including guys like Dom Harter, Chandler Scott, or even Zero McHannon as worthy enough to be world champion. Johnny Cannon does not respect you, Danny. I know who your father was, and as a fan of this sport, I used to watch him growing up. But you walking around, taking care of Johnny Cannon’s problems doesn’t do his memory justice, does it? Defiant Dan would have never stooped so low as to do someone else’s dirty work…” he trails off. Looking from side to side. It’s obvious to anyone that Bond’s not fully 100% in the game.
“I look around in the world of wrestling and I see each and every one of us wrestling, living for one reason or another… and that’s to continue on a legacy. Each of us were brought into this world full of hope. We even entered this business the same way—constantly towards the future. But for one reason or another, most of us get broken down. And by the time we accomplish something as great as winning a championship, we’re jaded. We’re chipped. We’re no longer looking toward the future. We’re worrying about today. I see hope and innocence in my son’s eyes, Danny. I know that nothing lasts forever, and one day I will cease to be here. But when I look at the world through my son’s eyes, I don’t see that world. I see a world full of hope, and happiness, and sunshine. I see a world where anything is possible. I see a world where imagination and creativity are just as important as money and power are in our world.” Bond raises his hand and scratches just above his ear. His buzzed head leaves no noticeable trace of this action.
“A lot of people wonder why I continue to wrestle. They wonder why I keep coming back for more and more punishment. And I keep telling them it’s because I love it. And it’s true. But I do it because deep down, I want my son to be proud of the legacy I leave here. I want him to possibly one day, lace up a pair of boots and continue on with this sport, this life.” A smirk, small but noticeable hits the corner of his mouth. His lips curls upward. His eyes light up for a moment.
“I didn’t have a father who gave a shit about me. He and my mom divorced when I was three, and except for a few months when I was about ten, I never saw him again. My step-father was worse than my father… because while I never got a thing from my dad, my stepfather showed me all kinds of anger and violence. I couldn’t do anything right for him. I was never his kid, and he let me know it almost daily. He was a drunk and an asshole. And when my mom died I split. I packed a bag and left Texas. I didn’t look back. I didn’t even go back until after he died.” Bond lowers his head for a moment and looks up under his brow.
“You kind of remind me of my stepdad. He too had this Brad Pitt-ish quality.” He tilts his head completely, and rubs at the back of his neck. He exhales audibly for a second before returning his gaze upon the camera.
“As sons, as fathers… we often find ourselves trekking across this great and open plain either trying to fight our ways out of the shadows cast by previous generations, leaving footprints for someone else to follow, or trying to fill a void that was left in our lives long ago. I find myself placing a check in all three columns. And I get the sense that you’re not really following what I’m saying. So let me just say this… I’m not fighting, not wrestling, not competing for a bust in the hall of fame. I’m fighting because I love it. I’m fighting because it’s in my blood and I hope that if I’m good enough, that if I do well enough, that if I show other’s that I’m devoted to a business so brutal and barbaric it’s almost poetic, that my son will follow his dream Just as I did. Do I want him to grow up and follow my steps? Absolutely. But what I want even more is for him to be proud of me. To look at me and realize that I never gave up. Not when I was faced with career-threatening injuries. He’ll see I didn’t fall to my better demons… and he’ll see that when I got knocked down, I got right back up again.” Again, his face lights up, thinking about his son.
“Danny, I don’t look at you and see a walk in the park. I don’t even see a man who’s seen better days. I see a man who’s just as fucking hungry as I am and I see a man who I know can wrestle like very few can. I’m not walking into Vertigo, trying to validate myself as a winner. I was beat by one of the very best this business has to offer—and I’m not ashamed. I will be walking into our match, I will be walking toward the ring with one goal in mind: I want to beat you. Not for glory. Not for confidence, or to boost my ego. I want to beat you because I know, quite simply, that while you’re one of the best this company has to offer, I’m just that much better. It’s not arrogance, it’s not me trying to put you down. It’s age, experience, heart, talent, drive… I want to beat you Danny, because I can beat you.” He stops for a moment, staring coldly into the camera. A chance to drive home his point.
“And when I beat you, Danny, I’m going after your Master. And I’m coming for his blood.” He stops, coldly. A slight snarl across his face. After a moment the scene cuts to static.
Off Camera_______
Charlotte, NC
10:33 PM
He found himself sitting alone at the kitchen table. The house was quiet, Rhys having gone to bed hours ago. There are toys thrown all around. The sink has a few dishes in it; the fridge is covered in magnets and pictures and colored masterpieces that only a five year old could produce. But amongst all that beautiful chaos, Chris found himself staring at a tiny black box. His heart was full of pain. He knew what he did was wrong. He knew it wasn’t productive for a healthy relationship, to put his feelings ahead of her own. He bought this ring for her because he knew, deep down, she was the one. The one who held every aspect of his heart; the one who filled every void that left him damaged and hurt. She was the one missing piece… the one that kept his world together. And she hadn’t spoken to him for days.
He had thought about sending her flowers, but a dozen roses or a beautiful summer bouquet just don’t sell home the “I’m sorry, I’m a huge asshole. Please forgive me.” kind of message. He thought about flying and surprising her in Germany or Japan or Minnesota or Pennsylvania…wherever she might be. But he knew that she had a stiff right hook and that she didn’t want to see him. He even thought about trying to get her friends Annie or Molly to help win her back… but he knew that them, being modern women and all, would side with her and call him a brute or think he was a barbaric Neanderthal. He knew he kind of viewed himself already that way…
He even thought that letting her go was the best decision he could make. Because if she was gone, then she wouldn’t have this kind of control over his heart. That she would be more than able to fight her own battles, and he wouldn’t have to worry about her potentially fight any of his. But he knew, when he looked at the ring and saw how perfect it was, and he thought about how great she would look in it, and in a beautiful white dress walking toward him… he knew that letting her go would be the absolute wrong decision.
And that’s kind of why he knew that dialing her number, at dark thirty in the middle of the night, with a wedding band in one hand and a list of apologies in the other, was the right thing to do. And when she picked up, and didn’t send his call to voicemail, he had hope that one day, he would put this ring on her finger, and their lives would truly be one forever. And the first step, in making that beautiful dream even possible was opening is mouth… and trying to get her to forgive him for being a stupid, stupid fool.
“I’m so sorry, Katie. I love you and I miss you and I just need you to talk to me and tell me how I can fix this. I need you, baby. I can’t not have you in my life…” he started. And it was a pretty good start… but the double negatives would have to be few and she would have to feel the same. He needed her to forgive him, so he could forgive himself, and so he could have another opportunity at trying to spend the rest of his life with the most beautiful and amazing woman he had ever laid his eyes upon.
And the little black box he clutched within the palm of his hand was such a small, tiny little box that held within it a tremendous amount of hope.
Ramblings from the Narrator, Pt. I
He was quiet for the majority of the last two weeks. He knew it; they all knew why. It was because Chandler Scott, the ever so impressive all-natural athlete, the man most synonymous with success in the FGA, got into his head. It was evident from the start of the bell. Hell, it was pretty evident before the match even started. Chris’ biggest mistake was allowing Chandler to use his sister’s attack against him. Bond knew the rumors that had been swirling since he began his tenure as head trainer and booker for the LDFC. He heard some of the students express that they felt like they were being held back. Or that he had played favorites. But even as he began dating Katie Rogers, publically known as the Crimson Baroness, he tried to keep his personal life out of any decision making. And it worked pretty well.
But ever since Jimmy Page walked in and attacked not only himself, but his students, Bond has felt even more personal for any slides or attacks on his students. He has become so proud of all of them, especially the ones who come in early and stay late. The students like Josh Mitchell, who is constantly trying to improve his game—constantly pushing himself to improve physically, mentally. Students like Nest who have ruled the roost with a hunger some of the main roster guys don’t even possess.
The thing that really stings is that Chandler didn’t once take an interest in his sister’s career. He never called down and asked for any tapes; never asked for feedback on how she was doing. He didn’t even show up when Emily won the Carolina Cup. But it’s been eating at Bond for weeks now. Chandler questioned his honor, his pride, his integrity. And part of him wondered if he was right… what kind of person dates one of his students? It must have been unethical. He couldn’t even blame the first couple romantic encounters on alcohol because he’s been sober for five years solid. Chandler has never seen Bond as an equal. Did he even truly believe those things? Or did he just use whatever he could to attack a man who was potentially a threat to another shot at the FGA World Heavyweight Championship?
Bond’s been so preoccupied with this kind of thinking, in addition to the constant insults from Johnny Cannon and it’s just been chipping away at any kind of positivity in his life. With getting irritated during warm ups; to yelling at several students during practice and training drills for failing to master any of the moves; and if one of them botched—he ripped their heads off. And Katie hasn’t been over to see him since he told her she wasn’t facing Johnny Cannon. It’s not because he doesn’t believe in her. It’s because she’s a target now. Somehow Cannon knows it’s more than a rumor and he’s trying to use her against him. Also, Cannon’s mouthpiece refused to have his client wrestle on PRIDE and demanded the potential match be moved up to Vertigo. He didn’t tell her that. He just let her be mad at him. He knew her at a distance was safer than her near him.
So yeah, he’s been a bit sour. He’s been a bit angry. He’s been on the edge and ready to explode, quite literally explode… and he cracked. He found himself sitting in the parking lot of a liquor store. Staring at the door with bars for what seemed like eternity. His fingers twitched in anticipation. He licked his bottom lip over and over. He could taste the sweet nectar that helped him forget so many problems and that helped him get over so many feelings. But he couldn’t bring his feet to move. The notion of his son being without a father because he couldn’t master his demons… he didn’t want the boy to grow up with two junkie parents. A mother who couldn’t leave the drugs alone and had abandoned her son to be with a guy who pushed her towards that kind of life… and a father who couldn’t keep his hand off the bottle.
His son has kept him sane. Because as soon as he opened his door and saw his son’s eyes light up—he knew that everything else didn’t matter. As soon as his son came running to him with an owie or a hurtie, his heart would break because to his son that was the worst pain in the world Chandler Scott, Johnny Cannon, the world as a whole rarely entered his mind when the little man and him were spending quality time.
He was never going to be the wrestler all of his students wanted to emulate. He wasn’t going to be remembered as the guy who was untouchable—the guy everybody else sought to prove themselves to. But he was consistent. He was full of heart and full of pride. He knew how to handle his business. He knew what was right and what was wrong and he knew that in the end—he just needed to be a man who his son would be proud of, who his son would maybe one day want to grow up and be like.
He was a man, flawed as any unpolished gem. He wasn’t the FGA World Champion. He wasn’t the guy that Chandler Scott painted him out to be. And he wasn’t being the best boyfriend to a great and beautiful girl. He knew all of that. But he also knew that no matter what he did, he had to stay clean and sober for his son. He had to be the one to tuck him in at night after a marathon of Paw Patrol and read him his bedtime story. He had to tuck him in extra tight so the monsters in his imagination couldn’t get him. He had to kiss him goodnight and kiss him good morning. He had to be there because he was his son’s father… and that was the one thought that kept him from exploding. That kept him from walking into that liquor store. It was the thought that kept him from being buried under the rubble that his life was becoming.
On-Camera_______
The Shoot: Fathers and Sons
“In my entire stay here in the FGA, I have never once, not once, overlooked a single individual.” He started. His eyes narrowed slightly, he paused at the bit at the side of his cheek. Still unshaven, the Battle Hardened Vet finds himself standing in front of red lion FGA logo. He himself is wearing an old school FGA “Hero” lion tee. You can’t see it, but he’s wearing a faded jeans a pair of black and white converse.
“You’ve already lumped me in with every other opponent, Danny. You see me as an end to your mean. You think you’re the only one tired of losing? You think you’re the only one who has something to prove? You’re an incredible talent, Danny. You have every single gift any professional wrestler could ever ask for—charisma, stamina, a natural ability. But your fault lies within. It isn’t a corporate ladder or anything you should be looking for—it’s making a name for yourself.” He pauses briefly, if only to tilt his head just to a side.
“I’ve seen you wrestle and I know what you have to offer. I get why you’re with Carmine and Cannon—I really do. But you’re better than being a lackey for them. You claim you don’t do what you’re told, that you do what you want. That’s one of the greatest excuses I’ve ever heard. I look at you and see a future world champion. I truly honestly do. But Johnny Cannon doesn’t see you as one. He doesn’t see anyone else on this roster, including guys like Dom Harter, Chandler Scott, or even Zero McHannon as worthy enough to be world champion. Johnny Cannon does not respect you, Danny. I know who your father was, and as a fan of this sport, I used to watch him growing up. But you walking around, taking care of Johnny Cannon’s problems doesn’t do his memory justice, does it? Defiant Dan would have never stooped so low as to do someone else’s dirty work…” he trails off. Looking from side to side. It’s obvious to anyone that Bond’s not fully 100% in the game.
“I look around in the world of wrestling and I see each and every one of us wrestling, living for one reason or another… and that’s to continue on a legacy. Each of us were brought into this world full of hope. We even entered this business the same way—constantly towards the future. But for one reason or another, most of us get broken down. And by the time we accomplish something as great as winning a championship, we’re jaded. We’re chipped. We’re no longer looking toward the future. We’re worrying about today. I see hope and innocence in my son’s eyes, Danny. I know that nothing lasts forever, and one day I will cease to be here. But when I look at the world through my son’s eyes, I don’t see that world. I see a world full of hope, and happiness, and sunshine. I see a world where anything is possible. I see a world where imagination and creativity are just as important as money and power are in our world.” Bond raises his hand and scratches just above his ear. His buzzed head leaves no noticeable trace of this action.
“A lot of people wonder why I continue to wrestle. They wonder why I keep coming back for more and more punishment. And I keep telling them it’s because I love it. And it’s true. But I do it because deep down, I want my son to be proud of the legacy I leave here. I want him to possibly one day, lace up a pair of boots and continue on with this sport, this life.” A smirk, small but noticeable hits the corner of his mouth. His lips curls upward. His eyes light up for a moment.
“I didn’t have a father who gave a shit about me. He and my mom divorced when I was three, and except for a few months when I was about ten, I never saw him again. My step-father was worse than my father… because while I never got a thing from my dad, my stepfather showed me all kinds of anger and violence. I couldn’t do anything right for him. I was never his kid, and he let me know it almost daily. He was a drunk and an asshole. And when my mom died I split. I packed a bag and left Texas. I didn’t look back. I didn’t even go back until after he died.” Bond lowers his head for a moment and looks up under his brow.
“You kind of remind me of my stepdad. He too had this Brad Pitt-ish quality.” He tilts his head completely, and rubs at the back of his neck. He exhales audibly for a second before returning his gaze upon the camera.
“As sons, as fathers… we often find ourselves trekking across this great and open plain either trying to fight our ways out of the shadows cast by previous generations, leaving footprints for someone else to follow, or trying to fill a void that was left in our lives long ago. I find myself placing a check in all three columns. And I get the sense that you’re not really following what I’m saying. So let me just say this… I’m not fighting, not wrestling, not competing for a bust in the hall of fame. I’m fighting because I love it. I’m fighting because it’s in my blood and I hope that if I’m good enough, that if I do well enough, that if I show other’s that I’m devoted to a business so brutal and barbaric it’s almost poetic, that my son will follow his dream Just as I did. Do I want him to grow up and follow my steps? Absolutely. But what I want even more is for him to be proud of me. To look at me and realize that I never gave up. Not when I was faced with career-threatening injuries. He’ll see I didn’t fall to my better demons… and he’ll see that when I got knocked down, I got right back up again.” Again, his face lights up, thinking about his son.
“Danny, I don’t look at you and see a walk in the park. I don’t even see a man who’s seen better days. I see a man who’s just as fucking hungry as I am and I see a man who I know can wrestle like very few can. I’m not walking into Vertigo, trying to validate myself as a winner. I was beat by one of the very best this business has to offer—and I’m not ashamed. I will be walking into our match, I will be walking toward the ring with one goal in mind: I want to beat you. Not for glory. Not for confidence, or to boost my ego. I want to beat you because I know, quite simply, that while you’re one of the best this company has to offer, I’m just that much better. It’s not arrogance, it’s not me trying to put you down. It’s age, experience, heart, talent, drive… I want to beat you Danny, because I can beat you.” He stops for a moment, staring coldly into the camera. A chance to drive home his point.
“And when I beat you, Danny, I’m going after your Master. And I’m coming for his blood.” He stops, coldly. A slight snarl across his face. After a moment the scene cuts to static.
Off Camera_______
Charlotte, NC
10:33 PM
He found himself sitting alone at the kitchen table. The house was quiet, Rhys having gone to bed hours ago. There are toys thrown all around. The sink has a few dishes in it; the fridge is covered in magnets and pictures and colored masterpieces that only a five year old could produce. But amongst all that beautiful chaos, Chris found himself staring at a tiny black box. His heart was full of pain. He knew what he did was wrong. He knew it wasn’t productive for a healthy relationship, to put his feelings ahead of her own. He bought this ring for her because he knew, deep down, she was the one. The one who held every aspect of his heart; the one who filled every void that left him damaged and hurt. She was the one missing piece… the one that kept his world together. And she hadn’t spoken to him for days.
He had thought about sending her flowers, but a dozen roses or a beautiful summer bouquet just don’t sell home the “I’m sorry, I’m a huge asshole. Please forgive me.” kind of message. He thought about flying and surprising her in Germany or Japan or Minnesota or Pennsylvania…wherever she might be. But he knew that she had a stiff right hook and that she didn’t want to see him. He even thought about trying to get her friends Annie or Molly to help win her back… but he knew that them, being modern women and all, would side with her and call him a brute or think he was a barbaric Neanderthal. He knew he kind of viewed himself already that way…
He even thought that letting her go was the best decision he could make. Because if she was gone, then she wouldn’t have this kind of control over his heart. That she would be more than able to fight her own battles, and he wouldn’t have to worry about her potentially fight any of his. But he knew, when he looked at the ring and saw how perfect it was, and he thought about how great she would look in it, and in a beautiful white dress walking toward him… he knew that letting her go would be the absolute wrong decision.
And that’s kind of why he knew that dialing her number, at dark thirty in the middle of the night, with a wedding band in one hand and a list of apologies in the other, was the right thing to do. And when she picked up, and didn’t send his call to voicemail, he had hope that one day, he would put this ring on her finger, and their lives would truly be one forever. And the first step, in making that beautiful dream even possible was opening is mouth… and trying to get her to forgive him for being a stupid, stupid fool.
“I’m so sorry, Katie. I love you and I miss you and I just need you to talk to me and tell me how I can fix this. I need you, baby. I can’t not have you in my life…” he started. And it was a pretty good start… but the double negatives would have to be few and she would have to feel the same. He needed her to forgive him, so he could forgive himself, and so he could have another opportunity at trying to spend the rest of his life with the most beautiful and amazing woman he had ever laid his eyes upon.
And the little black box he clutched within the palm of his hand was such a small, tiny little box that held within it a tremendous amount of hope.
