Post by Press1269 on Feb 12, 2020 18:03:01 GMT
The scene opens in the catering area, the camera having caught up with The BombTrax who are hanging near the table picking at some finger sandwiches. Youth perks up at the sound of someone approaching, and a grin comes over his face as he points to the hallway it appears to be coming from to alert his partner. Press, mouth full of sandwich, looks up a little irritated at being disturbed at his meal, but after realizing what’s happening, nods agreeably.
Youth slips to one side of the wall while Press grabs their trusty steel chair (having replaced it after the first match) and cocks it back, ready to let fly the minute someone walks through the door. The footsteps get louder as the person approaches, unbeknownst to them that they are about to be clobbered.
Youth peaks around the corner and starts counting Press down, and just as he gives the signal and Press starts to swing, he suddenly throws his hands up to halt!
Youth: WHOA, WHOA, WHOA!
Press is able to angle the chair where it goes comically high, striking the cement above the doorframe instead of their intended victim, which reveals themselves to be none other than IPW General Manager, Tapioca Joe. Joe’s furrowed brow goes up as he looks from side to side at the two wrestlers, and shakes his head as Press sheepishly brings the chair down and places it behind his back like a kid trying to hide a treat. Youth sucks in air between his teeth and saddles up beside Joe, placing an arm around his shoulder.
Youth: Sorry about that old dog…didn’t realize it was you.
Tapioca Joe is still shaking his head when he lets out a light chuckle, and retorts in a grizzled voice.
Tapioca: Wow. Lucky me…
Youth: Aww, don’t be like that, Joe. You’re probably the only person here in IPW we actually like, besides Nin of course.
Youth keeps his arm around Joe’s shoulder, and he allows himself to be led further into the room while behind them, Press comically sets the chair to lean against the wall before hot stepping away from the weapon in a ‘You saw nothing’ manner. He joins the two men as they take a seat at a table, Youth kicking his feet up on the table as Joe regards him thoughtfully.
Tapioca: Mighty fine of you to say, boys, but to that point, what the hell is Munin playing at here? I mean, I can understand her issues with Joshua, but taking on the whole company? What you guys did to Captain All-Star was uncalled for.
Youth is stifled into silence while Press crosses his arms over his chest.
Press: Had to be done. He wouldn’t get out of the way, and he cost us.
Tapioca: He was just trying to do what was right…get some measure of justice considering what you two did to him when you arrived.
Press: When has there ever been any justice in the wrestling business?
Tapioca sighs.
Tapioca: It has been waning, as of late, but still…putting everyone on blast? Attacking everyone with abandon? Holding the stooge’s hostage? Where does it end?
Press: Ask, Nin. She’s the one running the show, we’re just doing what we do.
Tapioca: Taking on the whole promotion seems to be biting off more than you can chew, not to mention turning my job into a living nightmare.
Press leaned back in his seat, a little perturbed by Joe’s assessment, while Youth places his elbow on the table and rests his face on his fist.
Youth: Listen man, we’re sorry for causing such a ruckus, but it’s our M.O. You know that. This place has flown under the radar for the most part and etched out a nice living for everyone involved. I even heard you guys might start touring soon, which is great. Only, these kids have never experienced this type of resistance before. They’ve only been challenged with each other and not any real threats.
Joe turned a sidelong glance full of skepticism Youth’s way.
Tapioca: Oh, I see. So, you two are going to give them that. Funny, I’m pretty sure the words you used were ‘Burn this outlaw mudshow to the ground’.
Youth flashed a sly grin followed by a shrug.
Youth: Yeah, well, it’s time for them to shit or get off the pot.
Press: And if we weed a few of the weak out during the process, then so be it.
Joe rolled his eyes, running his fingers through his silver hair.
Tapioca: I guess there’s no way of talking you out of the more extreme examples, is there?
Press gave the old man a wink followed by a grim smile, pushing up from the table.
Press: It’s the only way they’ll learn.
Joe looked away in disapproval while Youth popped up to his feet and patted the GM on the shoulder.
Youth: You’re not alone, Tap. We never thought we’d be teachers either.
With that last line The BombTrax walk off camera, leaving Tapioca Joe sitting with his thoughts before cutting back to ringside.
Youth slips to one side of the wall while Press grabs their trusty steel chair (having replaced it after the first match) and cocks it back, ready to let fly the minute someone walks through the door. The footsteps get louder as the person approaches, unbeknownst to them that they are about to be clobbered.
Youth peaks around the corner and starts counting Press down, and just as he gives the signal and Press starts to swing, he suddenly throws his hands up to halt!
Youth: WHOA, WHOA, WHOA!
Press is able to angle the chair where it goes comically high, striking the cement above the doorframe instead of their intended victim, which reveals themselves to be none other than IPW General Manager, Tapioca Joe. Joe’s furrowed brow goes up as he looks from side to side at the two wrestlers, and shakes his head as Press sheepishly brings the chair down and places it behind his back like a kid trying to hide a treat. Youth sucks in air between his teeth and saddles up beside Joe, placing an arm around his shoulder.
Youth: Sorry about that old dog…didn’t realize it was you.
Tapioca Joe is still shaking his head when he lets out a light chuckle, and retorts in a grizzled voice.
Tapioca: Wow. Lucky me…
Youth: Aww, don’t be like that, Joe. You’re probably the only person here in IPW we actually like, besides Nin of course.
Youth keeps his arm around Joe’s shoulder, and he allows himself to be led further into the room while behind them, Press comically sets the chair to lean against the wall before hot stepping away from the weapon in a ‘You saw nothing’ manner. He joins the two men as they take a seat at a table, Youth kicking his feet up on the table as Joe regards him thoughtfully.
Tapioca: Mighty fine of you to say, boys, but to that point, what the hell is Munin playing at here? I mean, I can understand her issues with Joshua, but taking on the whole company? What you guys did to Captain All-Star was uncalled for.
Youth is stifled into silence while Press crosses his arms over his chest.
Press: Had to be done. He wouldn’t get out of the way, and he cost us.
Tapioca: He was just trying to do what was right…get some measure of justice considering what you two did to him when you arrived.
Press: When has there ever been any justice in the wrestling business?
Tapioca sighs.
Tapioca: It has been waning, as of late, but still…putting everyone on blast? Attacking everyone with abandon? Holding the stooge’s hostage? Where does it end?
Press: Ask, Nin. She’s the one running the show, we’re just doing what we do.
Tapioca: Taking on the whole promotion seems to be biting off more than you can chew, not to mention turning my job into a living nightmare.
Press leaned back in his seat, a little perturbed by Joe’s assessment, while Youth places his elbow on the table and rests his face on his fist.
Youth: Listen man, we’re sorry for causing such a ruckus, but it’s our M.O. You know that. This place has flown under the radar for the most part and etched out a nice living for everyone involved. I even heard you guys might start touring soon, which is great. Only, these kids have never experienced this type of resistance before. They’ve only been challenged with each other and not any real threats.
Joe turned a sidelong glance full of skepticism Youth’s way.
Tapioca: Oh, I see. So, you two are going to give them that. Funny, I’m pretty sure the words you used were ‘Burn this outlaw mudshow to the ground’.
Youth flashed a sly grin followed by a shrug.
Youth: Yeah, well, it’s time for them to shit or get off the pot.
Press: And if we weed a few of the weak out during the process, then so be it.
Joe rolled his eyes, running his fingers through his silver hair.
Tapioca: I guess there’s no way of talking you out of the more extreme examples, is there?
Press gave the old man a wink followed by a grim smile, pushing up from the table.
Press: It’s the only way they’ll learn.
Joe looked away in disapproval while Youth popped up to his feet and patted the GM on the shoulder.
Youth: You’re not alone, Tap. We never thought we’d be teachers either.
With that last line The BombTrax walk off camera, leaving Tapioca Joe sitting with his thoughts before cutting back to ringside.