Post by bad guy™ on May 8, 2012 20:23:26 GMT -5
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"What’s on your mind, Ripp? You’ve barely reacted to anything that happened at the last show. Hell, you’re still talking to me after what I said about you in front of millions of people. What’s the deal?"
"I, last week, just lost my first match, in the cheapest way imaginable, to the guy I have to put my championship on the line against soon. I was mugged by his partner in the middle of that match, and then I was mugged yet again by my opponent in three shows at Survival of the Fittest. Then someone who’s supposed to be a friend slash mentor to me, you, tore me to shreds verbally. How the f*ck do you expect me to react?"
"I expect you to have some sort of emotion, especially after how many days later."
"Says the guy who built a career on claiming to be soulless, despite claiming to constantly be on a mission for God."
"I said heartless. Get it straight. If it had been someone who was soulless, it would have been Cam Nitta."
Ripp Jackson smiles at Malakai’s joke.
Asian joke? Heeeeeeeeeey.
"Seriously Ripp…what’s on your mind brother?"
Ripp sighs.
"No clue."
Both men are sitting down at ringside, facing the ramp, leaning up against the ring apron. Malakai has a bottle of Budweiser in his hand, Jackson holding a bottle of Ginger Ale. In just a couple of hours, this arena will be filled with fans ready to watch the best of the best. But since the WFWF's the most wide open it's been in years, they'll just have to get what they can take. Heh.
"Actually, you know what, I do have something on my mind."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. How did you manage to deal with all of the bullsh*t here?"
"Hmm?" inquires Malakai.
"Since I started here seven shows ago, I’ve gone on a six match win streak. Aided in the elimination of two vile ingrates. Won a tag team championship. Fought with my tag team partner. Lost to one of my championship contenders. Got mugged by his partner and my opponent for a WFWF Championship contenders match, and to top it all off, I’ve been called out twice. How’d you manage?"
"Hell, I should be asking you all of that."
"Hmm?" inquires Jackson now.
"You’ve accomplished more in seven weeks than I did in five years."
"How do you figure? You’re one of the, if not the winningest guy in WFWF history. Hell, you come back, you’ll probably crack the one hundred win mark before you leave again."
"Maybe so. Yeah, I’ve won a bunch of matches, but what do I have to show for it though man? Two WFWF International Championships, zero friends and a whole company and its fanbase against me at one point."
"But you’ve still managed to have one of the most storied careers here, and are arguably the greatest WFWF star to have never held the WFWF Championship."
"I wouldn’t go that far."
"But the argument’s there."
"Perhaps."
Malakai takes a swig of his drink.
"You wanna know how I managed?" asked Malakai. "I played the game, and I was lucky enough to only get burned a handful of times."
"Except for when you light yourself on fire."
"Yeah, talk about literal," says Malakai, looking at his still incredibly bright pink hand that he lit on fire at Super Brawl.
"Yeah. Heh. But…playing the game?"
"Oh, yeah. You gotta know how to play the game of the WFWF."
"And that is?"
"You gotta know when to butt in and bow out. You have to pick your friends wisely, and you have to make rivals and enemies even wiser. You have to know when to take advantage of a situation, and when it’s not appropriate to involve yourself in the matter. Talk the talk, walk the walk, " says Malakai.
"Sage advice, old man."
"Hey, you asked. I told. You want to know how to deal with the political bullsh*t? Pick your battles wisely and if someone comes after you, destroy them. It didn’t get me a whole hell of a lot of accolades, but it helped me continue my livelihood and stay out of the line of fire."
"I guess so."
Both men take swigs of their drinks, almost in unison.
"Why did you say that you should be asking me that though, Malakai?"
"Common sense bro."
Ripp cocks an eyebrow.
"Care to elaborate?"
"You don’t like the politics and other people’s bullsh*t that you’ve encountered so far? Sure. It sucks. But you’ve managed to overcome those issues in under ten shows. You won a championship in your fourth match, and you’ve managed to have a rival and only one psycho after you. You’ve put yourself at the top of the WFWF scene in just a few short shows. My first few weeks consisted of a couple of wins, a couple of losses…no one really caring if I really had a job with the WFWF or not. You’ve set yourself apart. It took me taking a brick to the head and having my tag team partner being revealed as my illegitimate brother a year after I joined for anyone to care about me."
Jackson looks down, flushed.
"And, not to mention…just two shows from tonight, you’re already in the biggest tournament this company has. You’re SO big right now that you were the first match announced. And when all is said and done, if you play your cards right, you could be challenging the WFWF Champion at the next pay per view. In nine weeks, you have the opportunity to do something I was never able to. I never challenged for the WFWF Championship, and I only made it past the Survival of the Fittest tournament qualifiers once before."
"So what are you saying?"
"I’m saying that you’re in a better position than I’ve ever been in my entire career, and you’ve done it in a sixty-fourth of the time and you’ve not even had to do anything shady to get there. Hell, if you can’t take the pressure, I’d gladly take your spot."
"Foci l leat cara."
"What’s that mean?" asks Malakai, intrigued.
"F*ck off, mate."
Malakai smiles, extending a hand out for Jackson to slap. Jackson obliges. Both men take swigs of their drinks again.
"So what’s the deal with Ace, mate?" asks Jackson.
"The f*ck if I know, brother."
"He’s lost his bloody marbles, he has."
"It would seem that he has."
Malakai goes for a drink but realizes that his bottle is empty. He chucks it in a can sitting in the corner of the barricade.
Thank god. He can be a jerk, but he’s tolerable. But the drinking…jeez…luckily he handles his alcohol better than Brennan.
Malakai reaches under the ring and pulls out a cooler, popping out another Budweiser, smiling.
"I see my production friend still works here. Heh."
Motherf*cker.
"You’d better stop it with that sh*t. It’s gonna kill you," says Jackson.
"Maybe, but tonight…no. Not tonight it won’t. Well…that is of course unless someone from The New Epoch catches a whiff of my alcohol and try to jack it for themselves, in which case…meh…I still like my odds. Kyzer’s a loser, Brennan’s useless and Drakz is incredibly overrated."
"Harsh words there. You’ve been off the reservation since before I got here. Think you could still take them with that gimp hand of yours?"
"At this point, the only one with a shot at me is Drakz, and I went toe to toe with Drakz two years ago at Scars and Stripes. I’m better now than I was then, and I’ll prove it if I have to."
"Looking to step back in the ring then, eh mate? Or is that just your liquid bravery talking?"
"Both. Heh."
Jackson smiles.
"And about Ace…truthfully man, it’s scaring me about him. I mean, he’s always been a dangerous competitor, I saw it back in our days when we tagged in Revelation. But that’s not what’s scaring me. What’s scaring me is his attitude. It’s like he just doesn’t give a sh*t about what he’s doing, who he’s doing it to…and he thinks that he doesn’t need a reason to do it," says Malakai.
"How is that any different from you before your sh*t that you did before your transfiguration while going at it with your old Revelation leader? Didn’t you say to not let anything get to you?"
"Exactly. And that’s what’s scaring me."
"How so?"
Malakai pops the top off of his bottle.
"Before I was betrayed by my group, I was going at it in some of the most ridiculous match types imaginable. No barbed wire ropes, but…in order to get back at those who I wanted to…I threw Reckless and myself off of a barbed wire steel cage. I leapt off of a ladder, throwing myself into harms way just so that I could drive the neck of my own brother into the canvas. Crikey, I, me, moonsaulted off of a ladder outside of the ring, putting Ashy…and myself…through a freaking table. I was reckless and I had no regard for the safety of myself and anyone else. That’s exactly how Ace is now. And at least I had the support and backing to change my ways for the better. Ace doesn’t have that."
"Not surprising. Guy’s a psycho."
"He’s not always been that way. He was probably the most mellow kid I’d ever met at the time. A bit rambunctious at times, but definitely tolerable," says Malakai, staring at Ripp. If Narrator here didn’t know any better, it could be argued that he’s comparing him to you, Ripp.
I’m not that thick, Narrator. Now go back to doing your f*cking job.
"But it’s not his fault he doesn’t have that system behind him. I’ve always had God behind me. I never had too many friends, especially in this business…but God was always my number one confidant and it worked out in my favor and it helped me reign in my anger and aggression and become the man who is seated here before you today," says Malakai.
"A washed up, elderly alcoholic with a gimp hand?"
"Precisely."
Malakai sighs.
"The kid had no control over the cards he was dealt. He had to play the hand he was given, not the hand he chose. And unlike some luckier people, he didn’t have an ace of spades up his sleeve. He had no God. He had no Teague. He had himself and his mind, and it appears that one’s finally turned on the other. I partially blame myself. I probably should have stepped up and gave notice, but instead I sat back and drank myself into a stooper while I destroyed Knight, ZMaster, Thunder and some women down in Venice Beach," says Malakai, smirking at that last part.
"And the thought of you being able to help him and choosing not to doesn’t make you want to give up drinking?"
"Nope."
"Then why would you say what you said out there last week after the brawl?"
"If he gets too out of line, I’ll step in, and he knows it."
"You said he was the epitome of every deadly sin. The guy tried to murder two people on live television. That’s not too out of line?"
"Compared to what I know he’s capable of? No."
You think he’s capable of more? F*ck my life.
"Jesus. It sounds like you’re getting some enjoyment out of letting him go insane," says Jackson, concerned.
"Hey, it’s not enjoyment. It’s called studying a unique threat. He’s gotta hit bottom first, just like everyone else, before I can do anything. And as it stands, he’s not at the bottom just yet. This sh*t he has going with Raider…that’s not gonna last. Look at the cracks in the alliance already, Raider bailing on him, leaving Ace to you and Thunder. And when that collapses, and the combination of you and Thunder, and The New Epoch take him down, I’ll step in and set him straight for good."
Malakai chugs what’s left of his second bottle.
"Besides, it’s interesting to see first-hand what my downward spiral looked like while not having to hit rock bottom again myself."
Blimey, he is crazy.
"How can you call yourself a one-time friend of his, and yet only look upon him as a science project and a tool for your own selfish use?"
"Because," says Malakai. "I know you heard every word I said while I was out there, because you were intently hoping I wouldn’t embarrass you again. I said I was friends with and cared for the real Ace Bennett. Not whatever this thing calling itself Ace Bennett right now is."
"That reminds me of one of those philosopher guys I learned about."
"I believe that you’re thinking of Martin Heidegger, Ripp."
"Aye! That’s the guy. Curtain theory, right?"
"Correct. Good on you putting one and one together. This current Ace Bennett is nothing more than a façade, a curtain shrouding the true Ace from the rest of the world. But I can only do something about it when the curtain comes down."
"Fair enough."
Malakai chucks the second bottle into the can and gets up.
"I gotta piss."
"Gentlemanly as ever," says Jackson.
"Yep."
Malakai starts heading to the back.
"You should probably get ready for your match tonight," says Malakai.
"Probably."
"You got Brown, right?"
"Yep."
"You can take him. He’s alright, but you’ve got more skills than him. Play your cards right, and you’ll win."
"I will."
"Atta spirit. Catch ya later, dirty Taig."
Jackson smiles at the use of probably the most derogatory Irish name imaginable.
"Aye. Later, Yank."
Malakai walks to the back, not even staggering even after all of the alcohol. Jackson runs his hands through his hair and takes another swig from his Ginger Ale bottle.
"Last week was f*cking brutal, and it just kept getting worse. I found out I have to go to war with Mak Cross. Again. I lost my first match. My partner continued on his losing streak. Again. We both got jumped, me twice. And if matters couldn’t get any worse, Shawn Malakai decided that it would be a good idea for him to come out and humiliate me in front of the fans. Luckily he’s a friend, and I’m pretty sure he was drunk, otherwise I would have been deeply offended and gone up the ramp and ripped his gimp arm off myself."
"In regards to his crazy friend, Ace Bennett’s a f*cking psycho, no matter what Malakai says about him. I don’t care if Malakai insists that this Ace isn’t the Ace of old. I don’t care if he wants to help him in the future. Whatever this Ace Bennett is right now cost me a match, and is a threat to my championship. I step in the ring against him soon, and I’m going to take him out when I do. His partner’s already giving up on him. If I play my cards right, Malakai won’t even have the chance to get at him. I won’t let him get away with making me lose my first match."
Ripp takes yet another sip from his bottle.
"In losing though, I learned a valuable lesson. Losing gave me a reality check, and one that I desperately needed. Admittedly, Malakai may have humiliated me, but I can’t really argue with what he said about me. I can’t deny that he was right, because he was. I was getting cocky, and too big for my britches. Losing helped me clear my head, something that was desperately needed. But I’m never going to let that happen again."
"Last week in general…I learned a lot of things from the entire show, not just what I was involved in. It taught me that I’m not invincible. It taught me that I’m not the only one on my team who’s ready to fight. It taught me that I can’t go it alone. It also reinforced some things I had already thought for some time now. It reinforced that Mak Cross is not as squeaky clean as most would assume. It reinforced that the Ace Bennett that Shawn Malakai took under his wing is dead. It reinforced that Xavier Pierce is clearly playing favorites. It reinforced that Hutton Brown’s not all that good after all."
"I’m in an interesting spot this week against Hutton Brown. He and I have had kind of similar careers here in the WFWF, as anyone could point out. They’ve been short. They’ve been drama filled. They’ve both consisted of undefeated streaks, albeit his has the marring of ties. Those streaks have been laced with gold. We both lost last week. But that’s where the similarities end. He was weak. In the past, he got hurt. He lost a match to a guy who is better than him because he is a loser. He relinquished his title. He left. I’m strong. I haven’t even been hurt a scratch yet. I’ve lost one match, to an opponent who I had no business losing to, but someone I certainly could have toppled. I’m still champion, and I’m still here. Nothing will cause me to leave. Yet Hutton…he can come and go as he pleases. There’s something seriously wrong with that guy."
"I mean, I have a legitimate mental disorder. My DID is one of the most brutal things, it’s something that I’ve never wanted to, and never would, wish on anyone. Luckily for me though, while tough, it’s something that medicine can aid and balance out. But Hutton Brown, that man’s got something that no amount of Ativan can keep in check. That man…he’s got one mighty superiority complex. Anyone here in the WFWF clearly has enough talent to get a contract, and with him being an XWA alumni, it’s even more proof that he’s got talent. Or lots of money to buy a contract for himself. But to do what he’s done here in the WFWF…it’s not talent that’s gotten him this far. It’s luck, and the right amount of money in his bank account. To go undefeated for as long as he did…that wasn’t due to any kind of skill, it was nothing but luck. To defeat the current WFWF Champion Phillip Schneider at Super Brawl when Schneider was hell bent on taking that championship so he could finally be a Grand Slam champion...it’s not skill. It’s luck. If Michael Kyzer couldn’t even beat Phillip Schneider, Hutton Brown certainly couldn’t without buckets of luck and cash."
"And with that complex, he walks around acting like he’s truly the best in this companies’ history. Last time I checked, his name is NOT EBR. He’s cocky, he’s pompous and it’s absolutely disgusting. He’s got a false sense of greatness, and unfortunately no one’s been able to bring him down to earth yet. I mean, I would have no problem with him whatsoever if he actually had the talent to back up his words and actions. But he doesn’t. He’s got an immense stash of luck though. And money, which is how he’s gotten himself into the predicament that he’s in. No way someone like him, who had been gone for how long, randomly pops up, crushed the WFWF Champion and gets himself into a WFWF Championship match without someone getting paid or blown off...and judging the way Hutton acts…he’s not above either. Heh."
Jackson smirks.
"Shawn talked about taking advantage of situations when they come to you. Know when it’s best to nut up and when it’s best to shut up, so to speak. He’s right. And this is my time to do it. It’s all creating the perfect storm. My hatred of Hutton’s superiority complex. My hatred of preferential treatment. My hatred of the preferential treatment that Hutton’s receiving. Me needing to avenge my loss to Raider in spectacular fashion. Me being so geeked to cause Hutton Brown to lose for a second time in a row, thus proving that he’s not actually that good. It’s the perfect time to take advantage of the situation. He’s not that good, but everyone seems to think otherwise. So by defeating him this week, I will defeat one of the supposed best. I will get yet another win, proving to Raider, Ace Bennett, Mak Cross and the rest of the fans that last week was a much needed fluke and that I am a true champion. I will prove that I am a true threat to those involved in Survival of the Fittest. I will prove that I am true WFWF Championship material. And most importantly, I will prove once and for all that I am better than Hutton Brown. Aye...that I will."
Ripp looks up from the bottle, a merry Irish grin stretching across his face.
"Boa sorte, perdedor."
A loose translation, good luck, loser.
You’re gonna need it.
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