|
| CURRENT
RECORD: 0/0/0 |
DATE
OF RP: 01/18/03 |
ACCOMPLISHMENT: -Null- |
| ~~We
open to a shot of KMD's office at his gym. Krev is sitting at his
desk, decked out in his training gear, and Mike sits across from him,
also wearing his training gear, sitting on a chair. Phil is also
in the room, eating a powdered donut and generally not paying attention
to the other two. By the looks of the light filtering through the
office window, it seems to be the end of the day. Both KMD and
Mike have looks of frustration on their faces.~~ KMD: No, Mike. You're not ready...and Sensation or Holliday won't stand for it. ~~In the background, on a display rack wtih a bunch of others, sits the IWF Bad-Ass title, gleaming in the sunlight. Mike stands up, slamming his fists on the desk. Phil looks up, white powder all over his face.~~ MIKE: Damn it, dad. Are you even listening? I'm not going to the IWF. ~~Krev gets an odd look across his face.~~ KMD: What do you mean..."not going to the IWF"? MIKE: I'm not going to go there...I knew they wouldn't let me join because you wouldn't let me. Are you afraid of me? Why are you holding me back? You know damn well that I'm an in-ring expert. KMD: You're not an expert- MIKE: You know how good I am. ~~Krev shakes his head, trying to clear things up in his mind. He leans back in his chair, covering his face with his hands.~~ KMD: You are good...but...where are you going? MIKE: ASW. ~~Krev jumps forward in his chair, standing up and looking at Mike. A half-chewed donut falls out of Phil's mouth as it drops.~~ KMD: ASW? Are you nuts? I've done ASW...it's- ~~Mike turns around, looking at Krev's trophy wall. Phil looks up with a look of horror/confusion on his face. Krev steps around the desk.~~ KMD: -it's just...they play rough there, you know that? Any place plays rough, but because I was there, they'll probably treat you rougher. MIKE: Dad, half of those people are gone now...if you're worried about Sonny taking revenge on me for you, it won't happen...he isn't there. I'ts a new age in the ASW. ~~KMD nods his head.~~ KMD: I just don't think you're ready- ~~Mike takes the IWF Bad-Ass title off the wall, looking over it, turning it over in his hands...he has a look of deep thought in his eyes as he strokes the shiny metal surface. Phil looks back and forth between Mike and KMD, who now watches Mike, a look of understanding slowly coming across his face.~~ MIKE: ...it's my turn. This is my generation...I should be wearing gold. KMD: Is that what you want? ~~Mike turns to KMD, title in hand. He nods his head.~~ MIKE: You're fighting guys my age, dad. ~~Krev looks away, out the window. Mike puts the title back on the wall.~~ KMD: ASW, huh? ~~Mike nods at KMD. Krev turns back to Mike.~~ KMD: I still don't think it's a good idea...you just got out- ~~Mike turns away from Krev and Phil, walking towards the door.~~ KMD: ...you just- MIKE: I'm going. The paperwork is in the mail...I just have to see Rose about it. ~~KMD slowly nods.~~ KMD: Rose. MIKE: I'm the best the world has yet to see. KMD: ... ~~Mike turns back around, nodding at Krev, and then walks out the door, closing it behind him. Krev stands there, motionless for a moment, and then slowly sits down. Phil watches him...Krev stares off forward, toward the door.~~ KMD: Phil. PHIL: Yeah? KMD: You're going with him. PHIL: Uh...what? ~~Krev slowly turns his head towards Phil.~~ KMD: You're going to ASW with him...you work for me for him. Manage him, watch him, tape him, whatever he wants...you two can figure the situation out. But no matter what, you're going with him. PHIL: But you- KMD: But you work for me. Go. ~~Phil slowly nods at Krev as he stands. He pauses for a moment, getting no reaction from Krev. He slowly walks out the door, looking to follow Mike. We fade to black.~~  ~~The scene fades back in to a shot of the outside of KMD's wrestling school, the cold city street of Pittsburgh. It's late afternoon, and much of the usual rush-hour traffic has slowed to nothing more than a crawl, the occasional blaring horn of an angry motorist belching out into the vastness of the iced-over city. The camera comes into focus on Mike, leather pants, leather jacket, combat boots, and Oakleys to cut the glare. He has his wrestling bag in hand, and he walks down the street, muttering to himself. Another man, spiked red hair and a thin line of a goat on his chin, is following close behind, wearing a coat that appears would have been worn by James Dean...simple and black...as well as a pair of black jeans and shined black shoes...Phil. He races to catch up with Mike, pushing a pair of black-rimmed and red-tinted glasses up his nose.~~ PHIL: Mike...wait up! ~~Mike pauses, mutters something else to himself, and then turns around to face Phil.~~ PHIL: You're- MIKE: Did he send you after me? Am I supposed to 'come right back, this instant'? PHIL: Naw, man. He'd wish you the best of luck. MIKE: He said that? PHIL: Uh...yeah, sort of. Anyway, he wanted me to go with you. ~~Mike pauses, looking away for a moment. He looks back at Phil, putting the bag down to his side.~~ MIKE: Go where? PHIL: To the ASW. MIKE: Great...he sends me someone to baby-sit me. I'm 22 bloody-[CENSORED]ing years old. Can't he just leave me alone? PHIL: I think it's more like a gift...I could be your manager or something. MIKE: What are you? A lap dog? I don't need this bull[CENSORED]. Go back to Krev, Phil. ~~Mike leans back over and picks up his bag. He turns around and begins to walk down the street again. Phil runs up beside him, rubbing the white powder from his donut (see previous scene) off of his chin.~~ PHIL: No, seriously man. Everyone needs a manager when they start out...it helps them adjust easier. I have a couple years of the sport already under my belt...I'd be a good asset. ~~Mike stops again, not looking at Phil, just straight-forward.~~ MIKE: You did TV production, Phil. Running a camera hardly qualifies you to be a manager. PHIL: I kept your father's wrinkled old ass from getting killed so far, didn't I? MIKE: My father can take care of himself...but he has trouble programming the VCR. He'll probably need your help in that area. ~~Mike continues to walk forward, not looking at Phil. Phil tags along behind.~~ PHIL: I'm going with you, no matter what you say. ~~Phil continues to follow Mike. Mike tries to ignore him, walking a good hundred feet with Phil behind him. Finally, at the corner, he stops and turns around to face Phil.~~ MIKE: Alright. Whatever...but we're putting down some ground rules here. You can manage me, but there are a few changes that need to take place fiirst. For one thing, I'm not KMD, so don't expect me to act like him. From now on, you will address me as "Magic" or "Mike Mac-D". "Mac-D" or even just "Mike" are also fine...but don't call me Mike MacDougan or Mikey or MMD...that sounds too much like my father, and I am NOT riding his coat tail to success. Secondly, your name needs to go. Phil sounds like some lame nerd name. PHIL: But I like my name... MAGIC: What's your last name, anyway? PHIL: O'Brian. ~~Mike pauses as he looks at Phil. He shakes his head.~~ MAGIC: Where you from? PHIL: Philly. ~~Mike laughs, turns around, and begins to walk again.~~ PHIL: What? MAGIC: Philly Phil...damn, man. Nothing works with you, does it? Phil O'Brian is good enough. Then again, I'm just going to call you "O'Brian"...that's a lot easier. The point I'm making here is that things are going to be done much differently now...I'm not playing the mind-games that my father played. I'm not going to call everyone and their mother a "munchkin pudwhacker" or "asshead" or "sacks of talentless waste". I'm going to be original...fresh. New. I'll make sure everyone understand that this greatness is independant from his origin...that this greatness will come at the price of ringing in the new regime and tossing out the old...babies with the bathwater, man. Time is up for my father's generation of wrestler...this is a new dawn in wrestling... ~~Mike stops and points at O'Brian, pushing in on his chest, smiling and showing teeth.~~ O'BRIAN: What do you mean by 'new dawn'? MAGIC: I mean it's going to be magical. Simply Magical. ~~Mike's smile breaks down into a determined grin. He turns back around and continues to walk down the street, O'Brian following close behind. The camera stays stationary as we fade to black.~~ |
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