Post by Daddy Sokolov on Dec 2, 2017 19:43:00 GMT -5
You did it. If your dad was still with us, he'd be proud.
Derrick Donovan pats a sweaty, oiled up Daddy Schneider on his hairy back. He pulls his hand away immediately, looking down at it in disgust and wiping it against the brick walls of backstage. Schneider isn't paying attention though, instead he looks down at the gold now placed profoundly in his hands. He goes over the moment in his head again, and again. He has done it. He is a champion, and like his father before him, he owned that ring tonight. He smiles, some tears swelling up in his eyes, he looks back at a sweaty Derrick Donovan and smiles once more, finally realizing what he said.
I hope he is.
He looks down at the belt again, caressing it with all the joy and pleasure in the world. Not only has he captured his first ever wrestling championship, he's become the inaugeral champion aswell. This means the world to him. Nothing can take this moment away. Suddenly, we hear footsteps from the end of the hall. It echoes as a pompous man in a black mafia style suit storms over, a big grin plastered on his face.
You sure did do it, kiddo! Now tell me, how's your arm? We gotta photo shoot in ten, need to skedaddle. Don't want no bruises in our glorious pictures now do we.
Before Daddy can even react Felix, his agent, grabs him by the shoulder and drags him back down the hall. Schneider wants to savoir this moment, it means too much to him to just let it all slide away thanks to another one of these crummy photo shoots. He tries to shrug Felix off, but still his agent perseveres, dragging him to the cold street darkness and into a waiting taxi nearby, wearing only but his trunks and gown.
Look Felix, we did a shoot a few days ago. Can we not give it a rest tonight?
Felix looks at Daddy, shocked and dumbfounded. His client has never asked for a break from photo shoots before, something's up. Maybe this wrestling thing is getting to him too much, maybe he needs to have a word with that Swedish guy, what's his name? Derrick Donald? Ask him if he can tone things down a little, after all Daddy's a model, not a wrestler, right?
No. Never ask me that again. Anyways, we lookin' to incorporate that gold into your newest shoot, we reckon it'll look good on the body and fitness magazine, give it a bit more glam and dazzle, know what I mean?
Daddy, sitting crammed in the back of the taxi, his belt positioned next to him, with a seat-belt of it's own, after all everyone needs a seat-belt, especially a newborn. Felix sits in the passenger seat next to the driver, scrolling through important emails on his flip-phone. Derrick Donovan has been left at the venue, not making it into the ride, that, or Felix told him to stay behind, not wanting him to get in the way of modeling stuff.
I thought I was stopping the modeling for a while? That's what Donovan told me.
Felix chuckles to himself and shakes his head, laughing, finding what Daddy said as a funny joke. He snorts aswell, like that annoying pest who always snorts after they corpse. Is his client being serious? No, of course he isn't, he's pulling his leg, right? I mean, he's a model, not a wrestler, right?
No. I'm being serious, Felix. I'm a wrestler now, not a model.
Felix' heart drops. The world around him spins. He grabs hold of the steering wheel from the taxi driver and turns it into a dark, abandoned alleyway. The driver, reacting on instincts, brings the car to a sudden halt. Felix turns his plump neck and head around towards the back, where a crammed Schneider sits. His face is red, smoke billows from his ears. He's pissed.
What did you say?
Daddy realizes his mistake, he gets embarrassed and nervous, his face going red aswell. He's about to apologize when he stops, looks at the belt besides him and thinks long and hard. No. He won't be used anymore. This is his life now, he'll follow in his dad's footsteps, not some crummy 1940s gangster-looking-agent.
I said I'm a wrestler, NOT a model.
Felix explodes with a fit of fury, fire erupts in his eyes. His hat falls off of his head in fear, his suit buttons popping away. Schneider gets nervous now, so does the taxi driver, who jumps out of his car and runs away, never to be seen again, leaving the keys on the chair.
WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?! I MADE YOU, SCHNEIDER! I MADEEEE YOUUUUU!!!
Daddy grabs his belt, unfastens his seat-belt and opens the taxi door. Storming in his sparkly green dressing gown into to the dark, cold night. Felix opens his door aswell and steps out, shouting at Daddy as he tries to exit the alleyway.
Schneider! Please, I- I'm sorry! Come back! I need you!
Daddy stops retreating, he turns his head slowly, his majestic looking mustache twitching and blowing in the midnight air. He's fairly lit due to the bright lights of the yellow cab. So's Felix, who stands near it, his mafia suit blowing wildly in the wind.
It's over Felix... I- I quit! I'm a wrestler now! Not one of your overused models! So... Uh... Kiss my bu- ass... You...
He stops to contemplate his final word. He needs to nail it, make himself look like a badass. Then he looks down upon his championship, a light-bulb dinging above his head.
You All Action A-hole!
Boom. Nailed it.
Derrick Donovan pats a sweaty, oiled up Daddy Schneider on his hairy back. He pulls his hand away immediately, looking down at it in disgust and wiping it against the brick walls of backstage. Schneider isn't paying attention though, instead he looks down at the gold now placed profoundly in his hands. He goes over the moment in his head again, and again. He has done it. He is a champion, and like his father before him, he owned that ring tonight. He smiles, some tears swelling up in his eyes, he looks back at a sweaty Derrick Donovan and smiles once more, finally realizing what he said.
I hope he is.
He looks down at the belt again, caressing it with all the joy and pleasure in the world. Not only has he captured his first ever wrestling championship, he's become the inaugeral champion aswell. This means the world to him. Nothing can take this moment away. Suddenly, we hear footsteps from the end of the hall. It echoes as a pompous man in a black mafia style suit storms over, a big grin plastered on his face.
You sure did do it, kiddo! Now tell me, how's your arm? We gotta photo shoot in ten, need to skedaddle. Don't want no bruises in our glorious pictures now do we.
Before Daddy can even react Felix, his agent, grabs him by the shoulder and drags him back down the hall. Schneider wants to savoir this moment, it means too much to him to just let it all slide away thanks to another one of these crummy photo shoots. He tries to shrug Felix off, but still his agent perseveres, dragging him to the cold street darkness and into a waiting taxi nearby, wearing only but his trunks and gown.
Look Felix, we did a shoot a few days ago. Can we not give it a rest tonight?
Felix looks at Daddy, shocked and dumbfounded. His client has never asked for a break from photo shoots before, something's up. Maybe this wrestling thing is getting to him too much, maybe he needs to have a word with that Swedish guy, what's his name? Derrick Donald? Ask him if he can tone things down a little, after all Daddy's a model, not a wrestler, right?
No. Never ask me that again. Anyways, we lookin' to incorporate that gold into your newest shoot, we reckon it'll look good on the body and fitness magazine, give it a bit more glam and dazzle, know what I mean?
Daddy, sitting crammed in the back of the taxi, his belt positioned next to him, with a seat-belt of it's own, after all everyone needs a seat-belt, especially a newborn. Felix sits in the passenger seat next to the driver, scrolling through important emails on his flip-phone. Derrick Donovan has been left at the venue, not making it into the ride, that, or Felix told him to stay behind, not wanting him to get in the way of modeling stuff.
I thought I was stopping the modeling for a while? That's what Donovan told me.
Felix chuckles to himself and shakes his head, laughing, finding what Daddy said as a funny joke. He snorts aswell, like that annoying pest who always snorts after they corpse. Is his client being serious? No, of course he isn't, he's pulling his leg, right? I mean, he's a model, not a wrestler, right?
No. I'm being serious, Felix. I'm a wrestler now, not a model.
Felix' heart drops. The world around him spins. He grabs hold of the steering wheel from the taxi driver and turns it into a dark, abandoned alleyway. The driver, reacting on instincts, brings the car to a sudden halt. Felix turns his plump neck and head around towards the back, where a crammed Schneider sits. His face is red, smoke billows from his ears. He's pissed.
What did you say?
Daddy realizes his mistake, he gets embarrassed and nervous, his face going red aswell. He's about to apologize when he stops, looks at the belt besides him and thinks long and hard. No. He won't be used anymore. This is his life now, he'll follow in his dad's footsteps, not some crummy 1940s gangster-looking-agent.
I said I'm a wrestler, NOT a model.
Felix explodes with a fit of fury, fire erupts in his eyes. His hat falls off of his head in fear, his suit buttons popping away. Schneider gets nervous now, so does the taxi driver, who jumps out of his car and runs away, never to be seen again, leaving the keys on the chair.
WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?! I MADE YOU, SCHNEIDER! I MADEEEE YOUUUUU!!!
Daddy grabs his belt, unfastens his seat-belt and opens the taxi door. Storming in his sparkly green dressing gown into to the dark, cold night. Felix opens his door aswell and steps out, shouting at Daddy as he tries to exit the alleyway.
Schneider! Please, I- I'm sorry! Come back! I need you!
Daddy stops retreating, he turns his head slowly, his majestic looking mustache twitching and blowing in the midnight air. He's fairly lit due to the bright lights of the yellow cab. So's Felix, who stands near it, his mafia suit blowing wildly in the wind.
It's over Felix... I- I quit! I'm a wrestler now! Not one of your overused models! So... Uh... Kiss my bu- ass... You...
He stops to contemplate his final word. He needs to nail it, make himself look like a badass. Then he looks down upon his championship, a light-bulb dinging above his head.
You All Action A-hole!
Boom. Nailed it.
