Post by Vossler on Jun 9, 2016 18:36:33 GMT
Sunday, 12th of June.
London, UK. Philippe Chiari's residence.
19:43
CAMERA: OFF
Vossler: "So, you in?"
The man opposite of him, his manager. The ever classy Jolon Stevenson taps his nail against the glass holding his simple Bacardi pour of the night. The two have had a clear history, and not a very positively described one. While many things happened and changed in Jolon's life due to Vossler, he mostly blamed his divorce on him. The only thing he was never honest about. Not too many nights before his release of Brutal Force Wrestling, Jolon claimed to never want to manage Vossler again in a match. The man sighed and shook his head, but not in disagreement with Vossler. More in a way that he couldn't believe his own decision.
Jolon: "Why do I get back into this trouble with you, Phil? Why?"
Vossler sits upright in his chair. No other light is on in his home, apart from the light above the dining table. Some ambient lighting comes from the window with street lights shining through them. In the center of the table is a contract. But clearly not a wrestling one as no promotion is in the header.
Vossler: "Because you need money. And I can offer you just that. This new place I signed with--"
Jolon: "This new place. That's the key words right there Phil. New."
The harsh truth hit him like a truck. It was a new home once again. But, it was a home nonetheless.
Jolon: "New place? So which was it? Pure Amusement? Boardwalk? Fight One?"
Vossler: "Valentine Wrestling Syndicate."
A scoff emerges from Jolon upon hearing that name.
Jolon: "Just your type of place to go to a Syndicate, isn't it. How much money are you making?"
The frenchman raises his shoulders.
Vossler: "For me to know, for you to guess bud."
Jolon: "Well how do I know you're earning enough to pay me?"
Vossler: "Did you even read the contract? You're earning percentage cuts, not flat amounts. Just like it has always been. More than usual. More than most others make."
And that was true too. Vos didn't take low ball offers. He refused to, and was taught not to be the man sitting opposite of him. Jolon usually took care of the business side of things, until Vossler stepped up and decided to handle it all himself. Often with various results.
Jolon: "So... what after this. You plan on steam rolling through this place too?"
Vossler: "Naturally."
The tapping on the glass finally stops after all the time has passed. There was an eerie silence. Vossler's eyes met Jolon's. Neither flinched. It wasn't a movie romantic exchange, not the kind you'd go 'and kiss' over. It was a stare of reading each other's mind. The longtime friends knew each other well. Hell, Jolon might've even changed Voss's diapers at some point. A change of subject might've been a good moment to catch up is what came to the mind of Vossler.
Vossler: "Has she called you yet?"
Jolon sighs and almost answered through his teeth.
Jolon: "... no."
Vossler: "And what about Benjamin?"
Jolon: "I'm worried about 'em."
Vossler: "You don't get to see him?"
Jolon: "Not allowed near. I sometimes drive up to his school though. See him get dropped off. See if he's alright... he's lonely."
Vossler: "So he's gonna grow up w--"
Jolon: "Without a father, yeah. Unless that bitch gets her stuff sorted it does appear that way. What's it to you, Philippe?"
The sudden change in Jolon's voice caught Vos off guard, let alone cussing. That was unlike him, very unusual. But it was understandable. Jolon had very few sensitive subjects, but that was one of them. And it's a nerve he shouldn't have struck.
Vossler: "I'm just worried. About you. About your family. I've always considered your family my family and vice versa, Joel."
Jolon: "DON'T... call me Joel. Alright?"
The manager reaches over to the paper and pulls a pen out of his shirt's pocket. On each page he signs and leaves a signature. Four pages later, the pen is put back in his pocket and picked up to be thrown back at Vossler.
Jolon: "Here. Take your care and shove it. I'm done talking for tonight. Thanks for the booze."
And with that, the man grabbed his coat and slammed the door shut behind him. The wrestler is left sitting alone at the table, with the messy papers on a heap in front of them. He almost looks defeated, but also victorious as well.
He had his friend back... but for how long?
Fade.
Tuesday, 14th of June. During TNT, after Kayla / Isabella.
T-Mobile Arena, Las Vegas Nevada.
The Gorilla Position
London, UK. Philippe Chiari's residence.
19:43
CAMERA: OFF
Vossler: "So, you in?"
The man opposite of him, his manager. The ever classy Jolon Stevenson taps his nail against the glass holding his simple Bacardi pour of the night. The two have had a clear history, and not a very positively described one. While many things happened and changed in Jolon's life due to Vossler, he mostly blamed his divorce on him. The only thing he was never honest about. Not too many nights before his release of Brutal Force Wrestling, Jolon claimed to never want to manage Vossler again in a match. The man sighed and shook his head, but not in disagreement with Vossler. More in a way that he couldn't believe his own decision.
Jolon: "Why do I get back into this trouble with you, Phil? Why?"
Vossler sits upright in his chair. No other light is on in his home, apart from the light above the dining table. Some ambient lighting comes from the window with street lights shining through them. In the center of the table is a contract. But clearly not a wrestling one as no promotion is in the header.
Vossler: "Because you need money. And I can offer you just that. This new place I signed with--"
Jolon: "This new place. That's the key words right there Phil. New."
The harsh truth hit him like a truck. It was a new home once again. But, it was a home nonetheless.
Jolon: "New place? So which was it? Pure Amusement? Boardwalk? Fight One?"
Vossler: "Valentine Wrestling Syndicate."
A scoff emerges from Jolon upon hearing that name.
Jolon: "Just your type of place to go to a Syndicate, isn't it. How much money are you making?"
The frenchman raises his shoulders.
Vossler: "For me to know, for you to guess bud."
Jolon: "Well how do I know you're earning enough to pay me?"
Vossler: "Did you even read the contract? You're earning percentage cuts, not flat amounts. Just like it has always been. More than usual. More than most others make."
And that was true too. Vos didn't take low ball offers. He refused to, and was taught not to be the man sitting opposite of him. Jolon usually took care of the business side of things, until Vossler stepped up and decided to handle it all himself. Often with various results.
Jolon: "So... what after this. You plan on steam rolling through this place too?"
Vossler: "Naturally."
The tapping on the glass finally stops after all the time has passed. There was an eerie silence. Vossler's eyes met Jolon's. Neither flinched. It wasn't a movie romantic exchange, not the kind you'd go 'and kiss' over. It was a stare of reading each other's mind. The longtime friends knew each other well. Hell, Jolon might've even changed Voss's diapers at some point. A change of subject might've been a good moment to catch up is what came to the mind of Vossler.
Vossler: "Has she called you yet?"
Jolon sighs and almost answered through his teeth.
Jolon: "... no."
Vossler: "And what about Benjamin?"
Jolon: "I'm worried about 'em."
Vossler: "You don't get to see him?"
Jolon: "Not allowed near. I sometimes drive up to his school though. See him get dropped off. See if he's alright... he's lonely."
Vossler: "So he's gonna grow up w--"
Jolon: "Without a father, yeah. Unless that bitch gets her stuff sorted it does appear that way. What's it to you, Philippe?"
The sudden change in Jolon's voice caught Vos off guard, let alone cussing. That was unlike him, very unusual. But it was understandable. Jolon had very few sensitive subjects, but that was one of them. And it's a nerve he shouldn't have struck.
Vossler: "I'm just worried. About you. About your family. I've always considered your family my family and vice versa, Joel."
Jolon: "DON'T... call me Joel. Alright?"
The manager reaches over to the paper and pulls a pen out of his shirt's pocket. On each page he signs and leaves a signature. Four pages later, the pen is put back in his pocket and picked up to be thrown back at Vossler.
Jolon: "Here. Take your care and shove it. I'm done talking for tonight. Thanks for the booze."
And with that, the man grabbed his coat and slammed the door shut behind him. The wrestler is left sitting alone at the table, with the messy papers on a heap in front of them. He almost looks defeated, but also victorious as well.
He had his friend back... but for how long?
Fade.
Tuesday, 14th of June. During TNT, after Kayla / Isabella.
T-Mobile Arena, Las Vegas Nevada.
The Gorilla Position
CAMERA: OFF
In the gorilla position Vossler is bouncing on his feet, hyping and warming himself up for his match against Amok. Just before their match was Kayla Richards versus Isabella Olivieri in a great bout. They've just returned and one of them is sitting down. Some other wrestlers are sitting there as well, spectating the show on monitors or scouting the audience. But figuratively Vossler might've had the biggest bullseye on his back out of all of them. Champions had their contenders. Qualifiers had their opponents. They know who they had to face, but one man's fate was very unclear. The very man, with that very big bullseye.
He could hear the whispers and muttering too. The majority of eyes were on him. Having had made some of the most arrogant claims about himself, whilst all of them were fighting for the opportunity to even reach for what he had demanded; A shot at Alex Jones' world title. Or perhaps a chance at Cable Arcane's Velocity championship. But the Brit came in after being fired from his last company only to demand shots right away at the gold in other ones. Where did he pull the guts from?
"What an asshole!"
"He looks like a prick, look at him."
"Look at the patch of pubes on his chin, that's not a beard."
"Who does he think he is?"
Few of them got to him, but then one line got to him. Who said it was unclear, with his back turned to the others in the area.
"I bet he's definitely making his father proud looking like that."
That's when he looked over his shoulders with the coldest glare he had probably ever given.
Vossler: "Go on. What's next?"
That had clearly caught some of the people by surprise, not expecting a response from him whatsoever seeing as he had been quiet so far.
Vossler: "What's wrong? Cat got your tongue, you assholes?"
Again, no reply from any of them.
Vossler: "What, do I have to look like one of you generic, conventional assholes? Do I need a streak of blonde in my hair like Jones? Maybe splatter myself in tattoos like Arcane? How about steroids like Amok, huh? Fact of the matter is that while I could still do all those things, if I were anyone else like say... you guys. I'd still be a goddamn loser in the ring. But I'm not. You wanna talk shit behind my back? You're very free to do so but don't be surprised when you're pointed to a mirror and you're forced to take a long, good look at yourself. Just see how hypocritical all of you are. I came into this company knowing I'd be one of the best right off the bat. The bar isn't set all that high after seeing All In and some of you in Gorilla right now."
Some of them want to reply, and put him in his place verbally. But none actually do. Instead Vossler continues, this time turning to the people behind him.
Vossler: "And sure, some of you have my respect. Some of you are excellent competitors. Kayla and Isabella put on a good match. Many of you have had more title wins than I've had. But none of you have risen to the top of every company you've been in as fast as I have. Every time, it was only a matter of days. If not weeks. I am just that good. It's not arrogance, it's statistics. Second match in Brutal Force; Carnage Champion. One of the most respected champions that company will ever see because I defended it at every opportunity handed to me. Did you? Company before that I entered the tournament and from my very first match onward I became the bookie favorite, going 90% over every other guy in that tournament, splitting the rest of the 10% over the other 8 guys. You do the fucking math."
A few of the competitors have started packing up their things, no longer wanting to be berated for their trash talking earlier.
Vossler: "Yeah, that's right. Go! 'cus as soon as some of you begin talking shit about me, you'll find out very fucking fast just how wrong you pipsqueeks are. Mind your own fucking businesses."
He turns his back to the entrance way, and nods to the sound engineer to begin playing his theme. It begins playing in the arena, and Vossler inhales deeply following it with a slow exhale. Just before stepping out from the curtain, he says one more thing.
Vossler: "Fucking wimps."
In the gorilla position Vossler is bouncing on his feet, hyping and warming himself up for his match against Amok. Just before their match was Kayla Richards versus Isabella Olivieri in a great bout. They've just returned and one of them is sitting down. Some other wrestlers are sitting there as well, spectating the show on monitors or scouting the audience. But figuratively Vossler might've had the biggest bullseye on his back out of all of them. Champions had their contenders. Qualifiers had their opponents. They know who they had to face, but one man's fate was very unclear. The very man, with that very big bullseye.
He could hear the whispers and muttering too. The majority of eyes were on him. Having had made some of the most arrogant claims about himself, whilst all of them were fighting for the opportunity to even reach for what he had demanded; A shot at Alex Jones' world title. Or perhaps a chance at Cable Arcane's Velocity championship. But the Brit came in after being fired from his last company only to demand shots right away at the gold in other ones. Where did he pull the guts from?
"What an asshole!"
"He looks like a prick, look at him."
"Look at the patch of pubes on his chin, that's not a beard."
"Who does he think he is?"
Few of them got to him, but then one line got to him. Who said it was unclear, with his back turned to the others in the area.
"I bet he's definitely making his father proud looking like that."
That's when he looked over his shoulders with the coldest glare he had probably ever given.
Vossler: "Go on. What's next?"
That had clearly caught some of the people by surprise, not expecting a response from him whatsoever seeing as he had been quiet so far.
Vossler: "What's wrong? Cat got your tongue, you assholes?"
Again, no reply from any of them.
Vossler: "What, do I have to look like one of you generic, conventional assholes? Do I need a streak of blonde in my hair like Jones? Maybe splatter myself in tattoos like Arcane? How about steroids like Amok, huh? Fact of the matter is that while I could still do all those things, if I were anyone else like say... you guys. I'd still be a goddamn loser in the ring. But I'm not. You wanna talk shit behind my back? You're very free to do so but don't be surprised when you're pointed to a mirror and you're forced to take a long, good look at yourself. Just see how hypocritical all of you are. I came into this company knowing I'd be one of the best right off the bat. The bar isn't set all that high after seeing All In and some of you in Gorilla right now."
Some of them want to reply, and put him in his place verbally. But none actually do. Instead Vossler continues, this time turning to the people behind him.
Vossler: "And sure, some of you have my respect. Some of you are excellent competitors. Kayla and Isabella put on a good match. Many of you have had more title wins than I've had. But none of you have risen to the top of every company you've been in as fast as I have. Every time, it was only a matter of days. If not weeks. I am just that good. It's not arrogance, it's statistics. Second match in Brutal Force; Carnage Champion. One of the most respected champions that company will ever see because I defended it at every opportunity handed to me. Did you? Company before that I entered the tournament and from my very first match onward I became the bookie favorite, going 90% over every other guy in that tournament, splitting the rest of the 10% over the other 8 guys. You do the fucking math."
A few of the competitors have started packing up their things, no longer wanting to be berated for their trash talking earlier.
Vossler: "Yeah, that's right. Go! 'cus as soon as some of you begin talking shit about me, you'll find out very fucking fast just how wrong you pipsqueeks are. Mind your own fucking businesses."
He turns his back to the entrance way, and nods to the sound engineer to begin playing his theme. It begins playing in the arena, and Vossler inhales deeply following it with a slow exhale. Just before stepping out from the curtain, he says one more thing.
Vossler: "Fucking wimps."