Post by Press1269 on Mar 28, 2020 21:10:47 GMT
The scene cuts backstage to the familiar office of the General Manager, Tapioca Joe, who sits behind his desk listening to someone off screen. As the camera pans back it picks up The BombTrax, Press leaning against the wall off to the side and Youth sitting on the corner of Tap's desk. The men have their IPW Tag Team Championships thrown over their shoulders, and Youth is finishing up with a story.
Youth: So you see, that's when she said that it's not incest if your mom marries your dad's brother after he passes. That damn Brianna Rissi is a gem, isn't she?
Youth flashes Tap a Cheshire grin, and the grizzled wrestler cocks a bushy eyebrow in his direction, not exactly finding the amusement. To be fair, Press looks fairly bored by the story as well, admiring some of Tap's photos on a nearby filing cabinet.
Tapioca Joe: And what does any of that have to do with making the IPW Tag Team Championships official?
Just then the door to the office bursts open and Jason Dave and Scott Wilson spill into the room. Upon seeing The BombTrax, Jason Dave's eyes go wide as saucers, and he makes a B-Line as if he's ready to start a brawl right then and there. Scott Wilson, however, manages to get a hold of his partner before anything can begin while The BombTrax put themselves behind Tap so that there is a desk and an old G.O.A.T between them and their opponents from earlier in the night.
Jason points an accusing finger at the big man, with venom in his voice.
Jason Dave: That was bullshit out there, and you know it!
Press looked on with mock insult and placed a large hand on his chest over his heart.
Press: Why...Jason, whatever do you mean?
The sarcasm in his voice causes Dave to lurch forward to take a swipe at him, and it is all that Scott can do to keep his partner from getting fined any further tonight. Finally, Jason shrugs his partner off and takes a deep breath, but his jaw is still tight when he looks from The BombTrax to Tapioca Joe.
Jason Dave: We want a damn rematch. You saw what happened out there. They cheated, just like they always do!
Press puts a hand on the back of Joe's chair and leans forward to view the veteran General Manager.
Press: Are you kidding me, Tap? These guys got disqualified and now they want another shot at our IPW Tag Team Championships.
Tap holds up a finger and shakes his head.
Tapioca Joe: Unofficial IPW Tag Team Championships. They don't exist, boys, no matter how much you may threaten the ring assistants to say otherwise.
Press falls back a step deflated when Youth leans forward to chime in.
Youth: Fine, Tap, fine. They aren't the real McCoy, but while we carry them they are still obviously worth something to some of these people, and we got no problem defending them against credible opponents. So go out and find us some.
Tap sits back for a moment to think about it as Jason Dave nods his head in agreement.
Jason Dave: You've already found their opponents! Scott Wilson and Jason Dave!
Youth: Whoa, whoa, whoa! We just beat you guys and you think you're the ones to knocks us off Mount Olympus. Listen Tap, if these guys want us to slap them around again, fine, but you should make them earn it first.
Dave raises up to say something further, but Tap holds his hand up to silence him, the GM finally having had enough of the quibbling tag teams.
Tapioca Joe: Alright, here's what we're going to do. Jason, Scott, you're going to have to earn your shot to face these two again, and you're going to get the opportunity to do that at the next Chaos when Scott goes one on one with Flaming Youth. If you can win, then you have the match at Civil War, and whether or not these IPW Tag Team Championships are real, you'll get your shot at them. If not, then I'll find them another set of suitable opponents.
Youth: Hell yeah, wait...what?
Dave has finally fell back now from his aggressive stance, a smirk settling on his face as Wilson crosses his arms over his chest and nods to approve the decision. Meanwhile, Youth is now standing right beside Tap with his hands on his hips, shaking his head 'No'.
Youth: Come on Tap, that isn't fair. This is about tag teams, not singles competition. Let them face another duo for the honor of facing us at Civil War.
Tapioca Joe: Are you afraid that you might not get the job done or something?
A slight smile tugs at the lips covered by that magnificent silver mustache as Youth is taken aback by such a statement.
Youth: C'mon, Tap! You know I can trounce this guy...but...
Youth pauses to look at Wilson who takes a step forward, his eyes penetrating the bravado.
Scott Wilson: You can say whatever you want with those loose lips of yours, but come next Chaos you aren't going to be able to cheat your way out of this one.
Press bristles a bit in the corner, having for the most part remained silent while the others had compared crotch sizes. He smirks while looking at Dave and Wilson from across the desk, knocking his head from side to side.
Press: You two want some more, then show up to Chaos and take it. It's the only way you're getting through to Civil War, and all I can say is that I wouldn't place your bets just yet.
As Press speaks, Tapioca Joe writes some notes at the top of a paper lying on his desk, and as he caps the pen he pushes the paper forward while standing up from his office chair.
Tapioca Joe: Then it sounds like we're set. When the ink dries, this one will be on the books.
And with that, Tapioca grabs his jacket and slides in front of Press and walks past Dave and Wilson, who look down at the paper satisfied. Youth watches the older wrestler go, followed by the cameraman, with an expression of surprise.
Youth: Tap, where the hell are you going?
The General Manager turns in the doorway before exiting and gives the four men a wry grin. The camera catches each of their expressions from outside of the room over his shoulder.
Tapioca Joe: You four can show yourselves out after doing whatever it is you're all about to do.
With that he tips his imaginary hat and the door closes shut. A loud yell and a scuffle can be heard happening inside just before the scene fades to black.
Youth: So you see, that's when she said that it's not incest if your mom marries your dad's brother after he passes. That damn Brianna Rissi is a gem, isn't she?
Youth flashes Tap a Cheshire grin, and the grizzled wrestler cocks a bushy eyebrow in his direction, not exactly finding the amusement. To be fair, Press looks fairly bored by the story as well, admiring some of Tap's photos on a nearby filing cabinet.
Tapioca Joe: And what does any of that have to do with making the IPW Tag Team Championships official?
Just then the door to the office bursts open and Jason Dave and Scott Wilson spill into the room. Upon seeing The BombTrax, Jason Dave's eyes go wide as saucers, and he makes a B-Line as if he's ready to start a brawl right then and there. Scott Wilson, however, manages to get a hold of his partner before anything can begin while The BombTrax put themselves behind Tap so that there is a desk and an old G.O.A.T between them and their opponents from earlier in the night.
Jason points an accusing finger at the big man, with venom in his voice.
Jason Dave: That was bullshit out there, and you know it!
Press looked on with mock insult and placed a large hand on his chest over his heart.
Press: Why...Jason, whatever do you mean?
The sarcasm in his voice causes Dave to lurch forward to take a swipe at him, and it is all that Scott can do to keep his partner from getting fined any further tonight. Finally, Jason shrugs his partner off and takes a deep breath, but his jaw is still tight when he looks from The BombTrax to Tapioca Joe.
Jason Dave: We want a damn rematch. You saw what happened out there. They cheated, just like they always do!
Press puts a hand on the back of Joe's chair and leans forward to view the veteran General Manager.
Press: Are you kidding me, Tap? These guys got disqualified and now they want another shot at our IPW Tag Team Championships.
Tap holds up a finger and shakes his head.
Tapioca Joe: Unofficial IPW Tag Team Championships. They don't exist, boys, no matter how much you may threaten the ring assistants to say otherwise.
Press falls back a step deflated when Youth leans forward to chime in.
Youth: Fine, Tap, fine. They aren't the real McCoy, but while we carry them they are still obviously worth something to some of these people, and we got no problem defending them against credible opponents. So go out and find us some.
Tap sits back for a moment to think about it as Jason Dave nods his head in agreement.
Jason Dave: You've already found their opponents! Scott Wilson and Jason Dave!
Youth: Whoa, whoa, whoa! We just beat you guys and you think you're the ones to knocks us off Mount Olympus. Listen Tap, if these guys want us to slap them around again, fine, but you should make them earn it first.
Dave raises up to say something further, but Tap holds his hand up to silence him, the GM finally having had enough of the quibbling tag teams.
Tapioca Joe: Alright, here's what we're going to do. Jason, Scott, you're going to have to earn your shot to face these two again, and you're going to get the opportunity to do that at the next Chaos when Scott goes one on one with Flaming Youth. If you can win, then you have the match at Civil War, and whether or not these IPW Tag Team Championships are real, you'll get your shot at them. If not, then I'll find them another set of suitable opponents.
Youth: Hell yeah, wait...what?
Dave has finally fell back now from his aggressive stance, a smirk settling on his face as Wilson crosses his arms over his chest and nods to approve the decision. Meanwhile, Youth is now standing right beside Tap with his hands on his hips, shaking his head 'No'.
Youth: Come on Tap, that isn't fair. This is about tag teams, not singles competition. Let them face another duo for the honor of facing us at Civil War.
Tapioca Joe: Are you afraid that you might not get the job done or something?
A slight smile tugs at the lips covered by that magnificent silver mustache as Youth is taken aback by such a statement.
Youth: C'mon, Tap! You know I can trounce this guy...but...
Youth pauses to look at Wilson who takes a step forward, his eyes penetrating the bravado.
Scott Wilson: You can say whatever you want with those loose lips of yours, but come next Chaos you aren't going to be able to cheat your way out of this one.
Press bristles a bit in the corner, having for the most part remained silent while the others had compared crotch sizes. He smirks while looking at Dave and Wilson from across the desk, knocking his head from side to side.
Press: You two want some more, then show up to Chaos and take it. It's the only way you're getting through to Civil War, and all I can say is that I wouldn't place your bets just yet.
As Press speaks, Tapioca Joe writes some notes at the top of a paper lying on his desk, and as he caps the pen he pushes the paper forward while standing up from his office chair.
Tapioca Joe: Then it sounds like we're set. When the ink dries, this one will be on the books.
And with that, Tapioca grabs his jacket and slides in front of Press and walks past Dave and Wilson, who look down at the paper satisfied. Youth watches the older wrestler go, followed by the cameraman, with an expression of surprise.
Youth: Tap, where the hell are you going?
The General Manager turns in the doorway before exiting and gives the four men a wry grin. The camera catches each of their expressions from outside of the room over his shoulder.
Tapioca Joe: You four can show yourselves out after doing whatever it is you're all about to do.
With that he tips his imaginary hat and the door closes shut. A loud yell and a scuffle can be heard happening inside just before the scene fades to black.