Post by Press1269 on Feb 20, 2020 14:47:18 GMT
As the camera moves down the hallway, it finally comes to rest on the PAW Heavyweight Champion, Press, and his tag-partner, Flaming Youth, The BombTrax. Both men have a serious look about them as they proceed down the hall towards the gorilla position, where Press is about to make his entrance for the fight of his life. As they pass a few doors, Youth looks over to the side, and notices a nameplate on one of the dressing rooms. He comes to a dead stop as Press continues on. The big man pauses to look back, and raises his eyebrow in question.
PRESS: What is it?
YOUTH: Nothing man. Listen, you have a good match. I have to handle something real quick, but I'll be keeping a close watch on the monitor.
Press cocks his head to the side uncertainly, but then shrugs, nodding in agreement.
PRESS: Alright, bro. Do what you have to do.
He smirks as he turns back towards the way he was going, and resumes his walk towards his destiny. Youth, on the other hand, continues to stare at the nameplate, and the camera swings around to where it's now at an angle over his shoulder, staring at the same thing. The nameplate reads 'CJ O'Donnell'.
Youth strokes his chin for a minute, a sour expression coming over his face, before reaching for the door handle, and ripping it open. He darts into the room with the camera in tow, but there's no one in there. Sounds can be heard from in the shower area, and Youth steps over to peak into the bathroom. He turns back to the camera, and makes a motion with his hand for them to back up into the corner, while he grabs up a folding chair, and closes it. He then leans into the space between the lockers and the bathroom doorway, and waits.
After a few moments, the shower stops, and CJ O'Donnell appears in the doorway wrapped in a towel, pausing to examine his bruises in the mirror from the match he had just competed in with Johnny Raike. He shakes his head, and turns to step back into the dressing area, when he comes to a dead stop after noticing the camera pointed right at him. Anger stretches over his face, as he steps further into the room.
CJ O'DONNELL: What the fu....
The words are cut off by the slamming of steel against bare flesh, and O'Donnell is sent lurching forward to sprawl out across the tile floor. He rolls over onto his back in an attempt to shield himself, but Youth brings the steel chair's top end down into his rib cage, causing CJ to curl up into a fetal position. Youth then repositions himself and the chair, and proceeds to wear the #1 Contender out with the make-do weapon. When CJ is no longer putting up any fight, Youth finally relents, tossing the bent and broken chair down beside the Irishman.
YOUTH: I know what you're thinking. This is about the fact that you're next in line to my partner's championship. Hell, he might not even be champion after tonight, but that scenario's unlikely.
Youth takes the toe of his boot, and shoves O'Donnell over onto his back.
YOUTH: No, this doesn't have anything to do with him. This has to do with me, and you. You cost me a month from the profession I love. The only thing I've ever been good at, and that just doesn't stand with me. I was called before the Louisiana State Sporting Commission to testify to that running knee of yours, and you know what I told them? It was a fair and legal move, and shouldn't be banned from the state.
Youth grins, squatting down so that he can be certain he's being heard.
YOUTH: You see, CJ, I testified favorably on your behalf, because if anyone is going to take that move away from you, it's going to be me. Hey, what do you know, I'm doing a public service to the community without even knowing it. I'm giving an 'Unstable' man a little stability.
Youth winks in CJ's direction, before getting to his feet, and walking off camera. O'Donnell watches him go with baleful eyes, before gripping at his injured rib cage in pain as the scene cuts back to ringside.
PRESS: What is it?
YOUTH: Nothing man. Listen, you have a good match. I have to handle something real quick, but I'll be keeping a close watch on the monitor.
Press cocks his head to the side uncertainly, but then shrugs, nodding in agreement.
PRESS: Alright, bro. Do what you have to do.
He smirks as he turns back towards the way he was going, and resumes his walk towards his destiny. Youth, on the other hand, continues to stare at the nameplate, and the camera swings around to where it's now at an angle over his shoulder, staring at the same thing. The nameplate reads 'CJ O'Donnell'.
Youth strokes his chin for a minute, a sour expression coming over his face, before reaching for the door handle, and ripping it open. He darts into the room with the camera in tow, but there's no one in there. Sounds can be heard from in the shower area, and Youth steps over to peak into the bathroom. He turns back to the camera, and makes a motion with his hand for them to back up into the corner, while he grabs up a folding chair, and closes it. He then leans into the space between the lockers and the bathroom doorway, and waits.
After a few moments, the shower stops, and CJ O'Donnell appears in the doorway wrapped in a towel, pausing to examine his bruises in the mirror from the match he had just competed in with Johnny Raike. He shakes his head, and turns to step back into the dressing area, when he comes to a dead stop after noticing the camera pointed right at him. Anger stretches over his face, as he steps further into the room.
CJ O'DONNELL: What the fu....
The words are cut off by the slamming of steel against bare flesh, and O'Donnell is sent lurching forward to sprawl out across the tile floor. He rolls over onto his back in an attempt to shield himself, but Youth brings the steel chair's top end down into his rib cage, causing CJ to curl up into a fetal position. Youth then repositions himself and the chair, and proceeds to wear the #1 Contender out with the make-do weapon. When CJ is no longer putting up any fight, Youth finally relents, tossing the bent and broken chair down beside the Irishman.
YOUTH: I know what you're thinking. This is about the fact that you're next in line to my partner's championship. Hell, he might not even be champion after tonight, but that scenario's unlikely.
Youth takes the toe of his boot, and shoves O'Donnell over onto his back.
YOUTH: No, this doesn't have anything to do with him. This has to do with me, and you. You cost me a month from the profession I love. The only thing I've ever been good at, and that just doesn't stand with me. I was called before the Louisiana State Sporting Commission to testify to that running knee of yours, and you know what I told them? It was a fair and legal move, and shouldn't be banned from the state.
Youth grins, squatting down so that he can be certain he's being heard.
YOUTH: You see, CJ, I testified favorably on your behalf, because if anyone is going to take that move away from you, it's going to be me. Hey, what do you know, I'm doing a public service to the community without even knowing it. I'm giving an 'Unstable' man a little stability.
Youth winks in CJ's direction, before getting to his feet, and walking off camera. O'Donnell watches him go with baleful eyes, before gripping at his injured rib cage in pain as the scene cuts back to ringside.