Post by johnmwhite on Nov 1, 2009 11:30:34 GMT -5
--John Michael White sits at his desk, an enormous construction of black teak, seeming to have been shorn from a single great tree. How it managed to fit through the narrow locker-room door no one knows, and yet it appears as through it were always there, the lawyer having set up shop in a federation he is not even an official member of. That was the lawyer, though: insidious and ubiquitous. If only wrestlers were smart enough to know what those words meant, they may not so easily fall for his tricks. But then again, they are only human, and every human has her weakness.--
John Michael White: You do realise that you just beat up my mail man? He was delivering my forwarded mail from Posh's Hotel and Casino in Las Vegas.
--The lawyer gestures to a pile of packages and brown envelopes set atop his desk. Curiously, peeking out from amidst the mail, sits a shrink-wrapped, unopened SHIMMER DVD.--
John Michael White: I must say, I am unimpressed. Anyone can beat up a mail man. My dog takes no sport in it any more.
--Kleinman puts his hand back on the vase, causally leaning his weight against the shelf.--
Kleinman: Maybe I'm just getting started.
--The lawyer smirks.--
John Michael White: Well my usual escort is currently a little behind, and I have something of a message to deliver to REW and the world. If you would care to accompany me to the ring and I don't end up with any bruises after the inevitable run-in by that ghastly Aaron Holiday, then I may hold you in higher esteem.
Kleinman: Then we'll be in business?
John Michael White: Oh, no. Then you will merely have passed the first of The Three Trials.
--Kleinman nods. A challenge, is it? After the cakewalk that was his last match, it would be refreshing.--
John Michael White: If you are still serious, I will meet you at the curtain shortly. I have a speech to prepare. They don't write themselves, you know.
--Kleinman, keen to make a good impression, nods politely to his boss and takes his leave. As the door almost closes, a hand catches it, and the battered mailman lurches into the locker-room.--
John Michael White: Feeling all right, Oscar?
Oscar: Meh.
John Michael White: No need to be so grouchy.
Oscar: Ugh. You make that joke every damn time.
--Oscar closes the door, and takes his seat across the desk from the Ring Wars World Champion.--
John Michael White: So what do you think of the kid?
Oscar: He's got a hell of an arm.
John Michael White: Yes, but little in the way of brains, I fear. A smart man would not exert himself to meet with me, he would make me desire to let him in. And he seemed to buy that story about you being a mail man. Who delivers mail on a Sunday?
Oscar: He's young, he'll learn. Especially with a good teacher.
John Michael White: You can't teach intelligence.
Oscar: You can't teach brawn either. Look at you, skinny as a rake, and the longest-reigning Ring Wars World Champion in history. You've still got that belt round your waist.
John Michael White: I know how to make the most of what I've got.
Oscar: And that's what you can teach this guy.
--The lawyer leans back, steepling his fingers.--
John Michael White: Maybe.
Oscar: Come on, you're not getting any younger.
John Michael White: Nor am I getting any older.
Oscar: Oh. Well, they don't know that.
--The lawyer nods.--
John Michael White: I could do with a little further influence in this game. I'll give him a chance. An opportunity. That is all I can guarantee.
John Michael White: You do realise that you just beat up my mail man? He was delivering my forwarded mail from Posh's Hotel and Casino in Las Vegas.
--The lawyer gestures to a pile of packages and brown envelopes set atop his desk. Curiously, peeking out from amidst the mail, sits a shrink-wrapped, unopened SHIMMER DVD.--
John Michael White: I must say, I am unimpressed. Anyone can beat up a mail man. My dog takes no sport in it any more.
--Kleinman puts his hand back on the vase, causally leaning his weight against the shelf.--
Kleinman: Maybe I'm just getting started.
--The lawyer smirks.--
John Michael White: Well my usual escort is currently a little behind, and I have something of a message to deliver to REW and the world. If you would care to accompany me to the ring and I don't end up with any bruises after the inevitable run-in by that ghastly Aaron Holiday, then I may hold you in higher esteem.
Kleinman: Then we'll be in business?
John Michael White: Oh, no. Then you will merely have passed the first of The Three Trials.
--Kleinman nods. A challenge, is it? After the cakewalk that was his last match, it would be refreshing.--
John Michael White: If you are still serious, I will meet you at the curtain shortly. I have a speech to prepare. They don't write themselves, you know.
--Kleinman, keen to make a good impression, nods politely to his boss and takes his leave. As the door almost closes, a hand catches it, and the battered mailman lurches into the locker-room.--
John Michael White: Feeling all right, Oscar?
Oscar: Meh.
John Michael White: No need to be so grouchy.
Oscar: Ugh. You make that joke every damn time.
--Oscar closes the door, and takes his seat across the desk from the Ring Wars World Champion.--
John Michael White: So what do you think of the kid?
Oscar: He's got a hell of an arm.
John Michael White: Yes, but little in the way of brains, I fear. A smart man would not exert himself to meet with me, he would make me desire to let him in. And he seemed to buy that story about you being a mail man. Who delivers mail on a Sunday?
Oscar: He's young, he'll learn. Especially with a good teacher.
John Michael White: You can't teach intelligence.
Oscar: You can't teach brawn either. Look at you, skinny as a rake, and the longest-reigning Ring Wars World Champion in history. You've still got that belt round your waist.
John Michael White: I know how to make the most of what I've got.
Oscar: And that's what you can teach this guy.
--The lawyer leans back, steepling his fingers.--
John Michael White: Maybe.
Oscar: Come on, you're not getting any younger.
John Michael White: Nor am I getting any older.
Oscar: Oh. Well, they don't know that.
--The lawyer nods.--
John Michael White: I could do with a little further influence in this game. I'll give him a chance. An opportunity. That is all I can guarantee.
