Post by johnmwhite on Nov 2, 2009 14:01:06 GMT -5
--The card is over, with another twist in the tail leaving the REW crowd wowed and the indefatigable Aaron Holiday holding all the gold. Or so he thinks. It's a Monday afternoon, not the most busy time for the REW arena or the camera crew, but this time around the production truck is all keyed up, the gorilla position is a flurry of activity, and the stands are packed with an expectant (and unemployed) crowd. A viral marketing campaign spreading across the Internet over the weekend has left them with the impression that their World Champion will speak, here and now, before their eyes, and explain just what the hell is going on. And, technically, that is correct. And, as we all know, technically is the best kind of correct.--
Amy Lee: Perfect... by nature!
--"Everybody's Fool" by Evanescence rings around the arena, and the lights flee into the enveloping darkness. A spotlight flares into life on the stage, and the well-dressed lawyer John Michael White steps into the brightness. His purple coat hangs open over a crisp black shirt and, gleaming in the flash of a thousand cameras, the Ring Wars World Championship belt. The lawyer looks up, mouth curled in a satisfied smile.--
Allyson: You want to say it?
Simon: No!
Allyson: Well I will.
Simon: Please don't.
--As the Ring Wars World Champion walks across the stage, Allyson takes a deep breath.--
Allyson: Heeeeeeeere's Johnny!
Simon: And he's not alone.
--Accompanying the lawyer, straying into the light as it follows his smooth head down the ramp, is one Steve Kleinman. Arms folded, a menacing scowl etched into his face, Kleinman stalks alongside the champion, keeping a constant watch over the crowd.--
Allyson: Looks like Johnny has some back up. That's Steve Kleinman, he just picked up a win this week at Asylum.
Simon: Yeah, because his mystery opponent did a vanishing act. Not exactly impressive.
Allyson: Well his physique is impressive...
Simon: Ew, don't start.
--As the duo bicker and the narrator wonders what happened to Joel Gertner, John Michael White slithers under the ropes while his defacto bodyguard clambers into the ring, keeping close. The lights flare back into existence as the lawyer pops up, and John Michael White, swiftly slips a sterling silver microphone from his sleeve. He gives the audience, and his theme, a moment to quieten down.--
John Michael White: Pleased to meet you. Hope you guess my name.
--The crowd, of course, know who this is, and they scream with a chaotic cacophony of both respect and revulsion. The lawyer puts his hand up for calm and, as one voice, they obey.--
John Michael White: As the philosopher Jagger said, you can't always get what you want. And Aaron Holiday, I know how hard you have tried, but you have not got what you want. The extraordinary lengths you have gone to are impressive, no doubt, faking your own death, driving a wedge into the heart of this federation, every trick you ever learned from me, just to consolidate your grip on the gold. But you and I both know you have not got what you really want.
--John Michael White reaches into his coat, around his back. With a jolt he unhooks his belt, and slowly unwraps it from his waist, raising it in the air as its shine flares into the camera lens.--
John Michael White: This is what you really want, Holiday. This is what you do not have. This is, after all, the REAL World Championship, a belt of honour and distinction, a belt with a decade of history and with the grubby paw marks of some of the greatest the game has ever known. And it's mine, Holiday.
I stand before you, a prophet in exile, for they are never welcomed in their own lands. I stand with the very symbol of Ring Wars and the symbol of this wrestling world we inhabit. I have liberated it from its bonds in that putrid, squalid casino in Sin City, and now it sits as the supreme prize. The question is...
--John Michael White scans the curtain atop the ramp before him, then flashes a devilish grin.--
John Michael White: Can you get what you want?
Amy Lee: Perfect... by nature!
--"Everybody's Fool" by Evanescence rings around the arena, and the lights flee into the enveloping darkness. A spotlight flares into life on the stage, and the well-dressed lawyer John Michael White steps into the brightness. His purple coat hangs open over a crisp black shirt and, gleaming in the flash of a thousand cameras, the Ring Wars World Championship belt. The lawyer looks up, mouth curled in a satisfied smile.--
Allyson: You want to say it?
Simon: No!
Allyson: Well I will.
Simon: Please don't.
--As the Ring Wars World Champion walks across the stage, Allyson takes a deep breath.--
Allyson: Heeeeeeeere's Johnny!
Simon: And he's not alone.
--Accompanying the lawyer, straying into the light as it follows his smooth head down the ramp, is one Steve Kleinman. Arms folded, a menacing scowl etched into his face, Kleinman stalks alongside the champion, keeping a constant watch over the crowd.--
Allyson: Looks like Johnny has some back up. That's Steve Kleinman, he just picked up a win this week at Asylum.
Simon: Yeah, because his mystery opponent did a vanishing act. Not exactly impressive.
Allyson: Well his physique is impressive...
Simon: Ew, don't start.
--As the duo bicker and the narrator wonders what happened to Joel Gertner, John Michael White slithers under the ropes while his defacto bodyguard clambers into the ring, keeping close. The lights flare back into existence as the lawyer pops up, and John Michael White, swiftly slips a sterling silver microphone from his sleeve. He gives the audience, and his theme, a moment to quieten down.--
John Michael White: Pleased to meet you. Hope you guess my name.
--The crowd, of course, know who this is, and they scream with a chaotic cacophony of both respect and revulsion. The lawyer puts his hand up for calm and, as one voice, they obey.--
John Michael White: As the philosopher Jagger said, you can't always get what you want. And Aaron Holiday, I know how hard you have tried, but you have not got what you want. The extraordinary lengths you have gone to are impressive, no doubt, faking your own death, driving a wedge into the heart of this federation, every trick you ever learned from me, just to consolidate your grip on the gold. But you and I both know you have not got what you really want.
--John Michael White reaches into his coat, around his back. With a jolt he unhooks his belt, and slowly unwraps it from his waist, raising it in the air as its shine flares into the camera lens.--
John Michael White: This is what you really want, Holiday. This is what you do not have. This is, after all, the REAL World Championship, a belt of honour and distinction, a belt with a decade of history and with the grubby paw marks of some of the greatest the game has ever known. And it's mine, Holiday.
I stand before you, a prophet in exile, for they are never welcomed in their own lands. I stand with the very symbol of Ring Wars and the symbol of this wrestling world we inhabit. I have liberated it from its bonds in that putrid, squalid casino in Sin City, and now it sits as the supreme prize. The question is...
--John Michael White scans the curtain atop the ramp before him, then flashes a devilish grin.--
John Michael White: Can you get what you want?
