No Excuses
Dec 1, 2016 19:09:58 GMT -5
Post by barry on Dec 1, 2016 19:09:58 GMT -5
“I bet you’re fucking tickled pink, aren’t you, Terrence?”
We fade in to show the face of Becker Gaines, clad in a fine dry-fit polo shirt and a pair of khaki pants with creases on them sharp enough to cut lemons, all accented by the finer things the Hollywood star used to be able to splurge on: A Rose-Gold Vacheron-Constantin watch, the band a chocolate leather that matches his spit-shone Ferragamo wingtips, the ensemble capped off with white-framed Bently sunglasses.
“I bet you’re just having a real roar about what you did, sticking your nose into a match that I had won against Shintaro - any loss I have is totes theft - Majima. You must have been close to injuring yourself jerking off backstage at getting one over on your better - on ME - because well… by golly I just deserved it, didn’t I?”
The question hangs in the air with uncomfortable earnestness as Becker’s upper lip curls.
“After all, that was entirely justified right? Putting your filthy, grimy, commoner’s hands on me when I had that match in the bag. I mean after all, I TOTALLY blew your chance at having a mediocre win and title reign, right? Tit-for-tat and all that happy bullshit except… oh right! I didn’t once set my hands on you, did I? I didn’t plant you into the ground in your weakened state and leave you laying for Majima to reap the benefits, did I? No, because you see, I didn’t need to…”
Becker starts walking, camera keeping pace beside him as it's revealed he’s walking along the Hollywood 'Walk of Fame', his feet callously scuffing the stars of many celebrities whose stars shone brighter than his.
“... you can whine about me being there, getting a close-up view of the garbage 3GW has seen fit to pit me against, but in the end Terrence, I didn’t cost you a damn thing. You fucked yourself because you’re an inferior competitor - in wrestling AND life - to me. You took your eyes off the prize and Majima reaped the benefits - mind you I have no doubt a part of Shin’s stunted little mind believes he had that won too - but if you go back and review. You’ll see the truth: your failures are your own.”
A dry bark of laughter escapes him.
“Not the Mayor of Hollywood, who saw your gross injustice and reversed the decision of that farce of a 15 Championship match ending and kept it out of Shintaro’s undeserving palms, not Shintaro - the man I’ve defeated ON MY OWN TWICE now - Majima, the man who already proved he was better than you when shit counted-”
He shifts his sunglasses down his nose, looking over the lenses with an arched brow.
“-and certainly not me, Becker Gaines, the HOLLYWOOD STAPLE, KING of this godforsaken shithole built on the crushed dreams of pissants and stepping stools like you, and the RIGHTFUL holder of the 15 Championship!”
At that Becker lifts his shirt to reveal the front plate of the aforementioned championship belt, it gleams in the daylight as he continues his brisk pace down the Boulevard.
“All your actions have done Terrence is piss me off, but more importantly than that? They’ve shown me that I am completely inside your head, and yeah you can boast that your BIG MOVE can keep me down provided you attack me from behind at the tail end of a long match, but I’m not fooled! You’re scared of me, of what I can do, of how much smarter I am, and by my overwhelming, magnetic presence wherever I go in my fucking life. You’re threatened by the fact that I’ve been overshadowing you from the moment I was announced in this company. I'm a mere visitor in your profession and all I’ve done is prove I’m better than you… EVERY. STEP. OF. THE. WAY!”
As he stresses each word he pounds a fist into his title, emphasising his point with each successive smack.
“At Night One, Terrence, I’m going to give you the one thing you want - you NEED - more than MY belt, because I’m keeping this...”
He stops then, slapping the belt on his waist as he turns to the camera.
“I’m going to give you cause to finally have a reason to hold me responsible for why you’re not achieving anything in 3GW, because in that ring, on that night, for this belt, I’m finally going to be personally responsible for beating the shit out of you, pinning you, and showing everyone in the locker room, in the audience, and watching at home, that Becker Gaines is better than Terrence Tillman!”
Becker pauses, then grins maliciously.
“What excuse will you have then?”
We fade to black.
We fade in to show the face of Becker Gaines, clad in a fine dry-fit polo shirt and a pair of khaki pants with creases on them sharp enough to cut lemons, all accented by the finer things the Hollywood star used to be able to splurge on: A Rose-Gold Vacheron-Constantin watch, the band a chocolate leather that matches his spit-shone Ferragamo wingtips, the ensemble capped off with white-framed Bently sunglasses.
“I bet you’re just having a real roar about what you did, sticking your nose into a match that I had won against Shintaro - any loss I have is totes theft - Majima. You must have been close to injuring yourself jerking off backstage at getting one over on your better - on ME - because well… by golly I just deserved it, didn’t I?”
The question hangs in the air with uncomfortable earnestness as Becker’s upper lip curls.
“After all, that was entirely justified right? Putting your filthy, grimy, commoner’s hands on me when I had that match in the bag. I mean after all, I TOTALLY blew your chance at having a mediocre win and title reign, right? Tit-for-tat and all that happy bullshit except… oh right! I didn’t once set my hands on you, did I? I didn’t plant you into the ground in your weakened state and leave you laying for Majima to reap the benefits, did I? No, because you see, I didn’t need to…”
Becker starts walking, camera keeping pace beside him as it's revealed he’s walking along the Hollywood 'Walk of Fame', his feet callously scuffing the stars of many celebrities whose stars shone brighter than his.
“... you can whine about me being there, getting a close-up view of the garbage 3GW has seen fit to pit me against, but in the end Terrence, I didn’t cost you a damn thing. You fucked yourself because you’re an inferior competitor - in wrestling AND life - to me. You took your eyes off the prize and Majima reaped the benefits - mind you I have no doubt a part of Shin’s stunted little mind believes he had that won too - but if you go back and review. You’ll see the truth: your failures are your own.”
A dry bark of laughter escapes him.
“Not the Mayor of Hollywood, who saw your gross injustice and reversed the decision of that farce of a 15 Championship match ending and kept it out of Shintaro’s undeserving palms, not Shintaro - the man I’ve defeated ON MY OWN TWICE now - Majima, the man who already proved he was better than you when shit counted-”
He shifts his sunglasses down his nose, looking over the lenses with an arched brow.
“-and certainly not me, Becker Gaines, the HOLLYWOOD STAPLE, KING of this godforsaken shithole built on the crushed dreams of pissants and stepping stools like you, and the RIGHTFUL holder of the 15 Championship!”
At that Becker lifts his shirt to reveal the front plate of the aforementioned championship belt, it gleams in the daylight as he continues his brisk pace down the Boulevard.
“All your actions have done Terrence is piss me off, but more importantly than that? They’ve shown me that I am completely inside your head, and yeah you can boast that your BIG MOVE can keep me down provided you attack me from behind at the tail end of a long match, but I’m not fooled! You’re scared of me, of what I can do, of how much smarter I am, and by my overwhelming, magnetic presence wherever I go in my fucking life. You’re threatened by the fact that I’ve been overshadowing you from the moment I was announced in this company. I'm a mere visitor in your profession and all I’ve done is prove I’m better than you… EVERY. STEP. OF. THE. WAY!”
As he stresses each word he pounds a fist into his title, emphasising his point with each successive smack.
“At Night One, Terrence, I’m going to give you the one thing you want - you NEED - more than MY belt, because I’m keeping this...”
He stops then, slapping the belt on his waist as he turns to the camera.
“I’m going to give you cause to finally have a reason to hold me responsible for why you’re not achieving anything in 3GW, because in that ring, on that night, for this belt, I’m finally going to be personally responsible for beating the shit out of you, pinning you, and showing everyone in the locker room, in the audience, and watching at home, that Becker Gaines is better than Terrence Tillman!”
Becker pauses, then grins maliciously.
“What excuse will you have then?”
We fade to black.