Post by Bobby Barratt on Jan 16, 2018 7:06:33 GMT -5
This RP was set before another title match with Jack Diamond. It was Bobby looking back at what made him the person he is today, and if different choices might have made him a better person:
We open at the side of Lake Bemidji, MN. Home this week to ICW's biggest Pay-Per-View yet, Midsummer Night's Massacre. No one has arrived yet. The place is so tranquil, with the occasional breeze rustling through the leaves of differing shades of green being the only thing to be heard. The sun is bright, the weather is that of a typical Summer day. We flip shot to Bobby Barratt sitting alone on the end of a walkway sticking out into the lake. The type which people use to board small boats. Barratt sits quietly, almost silently with his feet hanging off the walkway, much more pensive than usual.
When we are young, we come into this world a blank canvas, influenced by nothing and believing in nothing. The world we live in changes us, moulds us around our experiences and the trials and tribulations we endure as human beings. The person we become as an adult is the result of every experience, every decision, every significant moment we experience in our lives. Am I proud of everything I have ever done to get here? I'd be lying if I said that was the case. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't cut a corner, taken a deal or acted unceremoniously to become the man I am today. What counts however, is that it got results...
Walsall, May 2006
We join a local Wrestling show mid-match, the shot focussing on a much younger Bobby Barratt. He runs out of a turnbuckle, ducking a clothesline from his opponent, leaping to the second rope in the opposite corner, executing a backflip before landing horribly. His knee crumbles beneath him and instantly all play stops. The referee hesitates for a moment to make sure it isn't part of the show before throwing up the familiar "X" signifying a problem before the match ends. Confusion in the crowd as Barratt holds his knee in agony...silence.
We go forward a few minutes. Barratt is being helped to the back by two fellow babyfaces in an effort to maintain character. He is lowered into a chair in the corner, before the First Aider on call for the show starts to take a look at him. Tim, Bobby's trainer paces nervously.
How you feeling, mate? That bump looked ugly!
Mate...it feels like my knee just fucking exploded. I've landed that shit a thousand times picture perfectly.
Barratt grimaces as his knee is poked and prodded by the examiner. His pain, both physical and mental are obvious to everyone. This was to be his big night. The night that punters from around the area, as well as a Talent Scout for another company were to witness him winning the Championship. This was to be the start of a big push for a lad who had worked so hard to receive a break. Giving up his job, time at home and missing countless engagements with his girlfriend. The examiner tapes up Barratt, advising him to stay off it for a while before disappearing.
So?
So what? It doesn't look great right now. I'm off home to wash down a few painkillers with a couple of beers and see how I feel in the morning. I'll keep you posted.
With that, Barratt throws his stuff into his bag, puts his coat on and hobbles out of the back entrance to the venue in the best way he can.
PRESENT DAY
Many people like to judge what they see before them. The man that graces their venues, their TV screens and their homes. They think because they paid their money or sat down with an oversized bag of crisps each, that they know me. They know what shaped me. The fact is that no one ever asked. No one ever wondered why I make the decisions I do. Am I just a dirty player? Or is there something else?
WALSALL, JULY 2006
We come back to a house in Walsall. Bobby Barratt is walking to the door. His knee appears to be better. His rehab a success. He has his kit bag on his shoulder. Maybe he has just come home from the big comeback show that his girlfriend was too sick to get to. A shining title belt adorns his other shoulder, just catching the moonlight on the clean, metallic plates. His family witnessed it, even his elderly Grandma. It was the first and last time she ever got chance to see Bobby in action. He puts his key in the door and unlocks it, expecting to see his girlfriend in her familiar seat in the lounge, watching some late night crappy TV show. Nothing. The lights are off and there are no signs of life down here.
What's that?
Bobby hears a sound upstairs. He moves towards it and starts to head up the stairs, before tripping on a pair of shoes he doesn't recognize. Switching on his phone to gain a bit of light, he sees that the shoes aren't the only thing on the stairs. Discarded trousers, shirts and his girlfriend's familiar underwear, the set she bought to wear for him as a Birthday surprise last year are cast along the floor on the landing. Now we know what those sounds were. Bobby creeps up the stairs. He wants to catch them in the act. On reaching the door, it seems he hasn't been noticed. He hesitates for a second. The other side of that door, the girl he had been with for five years was with another man. He seems to ponder the consequences of his actions. Seconds seem like hours right now.
*In thought* I have two choices. I break this door down and we see what whoever it is inside my missus is really made of. That's not like me. I prided myself on being a good guy. That's what won her over when I met her. I wasn't like the other jerks and dickheads that hit on her. But the nice guy act isn't what she's into at this minute right? This could change my life. What's the alternative? I leave them to it? Offer them a cuppa for afterwards? Shit, maybe she wants the sheets changing. That's our fucking bed!! I'm...no....cuck!
BOOM!!
Bobby's foot thunders against the wooden door. The door flies open, smashing into the dresser behind it. Makeup flies all over the place as Bobby's girlfriend and a man sit bolt upright. It becomes apparent as Bobby's eyes adjust to the light that the man is none other than his own tag team partner Steve! The guy he has travelled the country with for three years up until his injury! The man that was there in the Hospital as Bobby was told that if the operation didn't work, he was finished. What a fucking betrayal!
Bobby looks heartbroken. In one night, the night that was supposed to be his greatest night and the culmination of years of hard work, his whole world had come crashing around him. He leapt across the bed, tackling Steve to the ground. Steve is rocked, dazed by the speed of the guy who two months back couldn't make the stairs. He hits the wall hard. Bobby is on top of him, raining down lefts and rights into his face. His nose explodes, covering the beige carpet in bright red blood. The contrast is astounding. Steve manages to wriggle free and gets to his feet as Bobby gets up.
Mate I'm sorry! It meant nothing!
NOTHING?! This woman was the woman I was to marry, and you of all fucking people, the man I told about the plan to propose next month, the man I was going to ask to be my best man tears it all down for fucking NOTHING??!
Look, I'm sorry! Mate, come on! You're not being yourself!
Steve is backing away from Bobby. Pleading with him to stop the onslaught as he tries to gather his clothes. Bobby reaches onto the shelf above the bedroom door and pulls down a black bat that they stored there in case of intruders at night. The purple tape on the handle makes it look somewhat familiar. he grasps it tightly in both hands and takes a swing at Steve as he is putting on his trousers!
WHACK!
Steve drops to the ground. Holding his head in pain in a semi conscious state. Again, the bat comes down.
WHACK!
Down onto the left knee of Steve. The same knee Bobby injured himself two months prior. Was this when this all started?
Get up, prick!
Bobby hauls Steve to his feet, forcing him up against the wall at the top of the stairs. The moonlight coming through the window catches the look of sheer hatred and intensity in Bobby's eyes. Similar in emotion to the slightly dazed fear emanating from Steve's eyes. One push was all it took. Steve tumbled down the stairs clumsily, trying to grab a rail on the way down, to no success. Steve hit the floor, trying to get back to his feet to thwart the next attack. Barratt is bearing down on him. His girlfriend is in hysterics, screaming and begging for him to stop. If only he wasn't right by the trousers her phone was in, so she could call for help. He hits the bottom of the stairs and Steve is frantically trying to open the door.
WHACK!
Another swing connects with the hand Steve has against the door, breaking two fingers. Steve screams in agony as he collapses to the ground. His fingers pointing ways in which fingers shouldn't point. Bobby casually kicks the clothes Steve didn't manage to collect away from him, so he is positioned bat in hand between Steve and his clothes.
Well, Steve. You have about three seconds...The times it's going to take me to warm another swing up to get the FUCK out of this house. If I ever see you, hear from you or even hear your name, trust me...this will be just a fucking warm up for what you'll get.
Bobby, mate I'm sorry! Come on!
You want me to finish this count?!
Steve high tails it to his car. Fumbling with the lock, hopping in and in seconds he has gone. Bobby stands in the doorway of the house that just played part in his personal destruction. Picking up his title belt and his kit bag, still bat in hand he walks out of the house, slamming the door behind him. He gets to his car, throwing his bag and belt onto the passenger seat. He takes a look at the bat, decorated with the fresh, warm blood of his former friend.
Well I guess you need a name...How about the name of the one woman it appears I can rely on...I'll call you Debra.
PRESENT DAY
See I could have taken a different road that night and I may be standing here in his shoes. Mr honorable, Jack Diamond. But that night I decided to go a different path. To go and get anything I wanted, nothing was holding me back, no obstacle would be insurmountable by any means necessary! Bare that in mind, Jack! This Sunday...ICW Midsummer Night's Massacre, you will find out just what lengths I will go to in order to get what I want! Oh, and Jackie-boy. You can guarantee I'll be bringing my old girl, here! You remember Debra, right?
With that, Barratt picks up Debra, who was lying next to him the whole time on the walkway. The shot switches to the silhouette of him looking at his bat against the lapping lake, illuminated by the setting sun as the scene fades.
We open at the side of Lake Bemidji, MN. Home this week to ICW's biggest Pay-Per-View yet, Midsummer Night's Massacre. No one has arrived yet. The place is so tranquil, with the occasional breeze rustling through the leaves of differing shades of green being the only thing to be heard. The sun is bright, the weather is that of a typical Summer day. We flip shot to Bobby Barratt sitting alone on the end of a walkway sticking out into the lake. The type which people use to board small boats. Barratt sits quietly, almost silently with his feet hanging off the walkway, much more pensive than usual.
When we are young, we come into this world a blank canvas, influenced by nothing and believing in nothing. The world we live in changes us, moulds us around our experiences and the trials and tribulations we endure as human beings. The person we become as an adult is the result of every experience, every decision, every significant moment we experience in our lives. Am I proud of everything I have ever done to get here? I'd be lying if I said that was the case. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't cut a corner, taken a deal or acted unceremoniously to become the man I am today. What counts however, is that it got results...
Walsall, May 2006
We join a local Wrestling show mid-match, the shot focussing on a much younger Bobby Barratt. He runs out of a turnbuckle, ducking a clothesline from his opponent, leaping to the second rope in the opposite corner, executing a backflip before landing horribly. His knee crumbles beneath him and instantly all play stops. The referee hesitates for a moment to make sure it isn't part of the show before throwing up the familiar "X" signifying a problem before the match ends. Confusion in the crowd as Barratt holds his knee in agony...silence.
We go forward a few minutes. Barratt is being helped to the back by two fellow babyfaces in an effort to maintain character. He is lowered into a chair in the corner, before the First Aider on call for the show starts to take a look at him. Tim, Bobby's trainer paces nervously.
How you feeling, mate? That bump looked ugly!
Mate...it feels like my knee just fucking exploded. I've landed that shit a thousand times picture perfectly.
Barratt grimaces as his knee is poked and prodded by the examiner. His pain, both physical and mental are obvious to everyone. This was to be his big night. The night that punters from around the area, as well as a Talent Scout for another company were to witness him winning the Championship. This was to be the start of a big push for a lad who had worked so hard to receive a break. Giving up his job, time at home and missing countless engagements with his girlfriend. The examiner tapes up Barratt, advising him to stay off it for a while before disappearing.
So?
So what? It doesn't look great right now. I'm off home to wash down a few painkillers with a couple of beers and see how I feel in the morning. I'll keep you posted.
With that, Barratt throws his stuff into his bag, puts his coat on and hobbles out of the back entrance to the venue in the best way he can.
PRESENT DAY
Many people like to judge what they see before them. The man that graces their venues, their TV screens and their homes. They think because they paid their money or sat down with an oversized bag of crisps each, that they know me. They know what shaped me. The fact is that no one ever asked. No one ever wondered why I make the decisions I do. Am I just a dirty player? Or is there something else?
WALSALL, JULY 2006
We come back to a house in Walsall. Bobby Barratt is walking to the door. His knee appears to be better. His rehab a success. He has his kit bag on his shoulder. Maybe he has just come home from the big comeback show that his girlfriend was too sick to get to. A shining title belt adorns his other shoulder, just catching the moonlight on the clean, metallic plates. His family witnessed it, even his elderly Grandma. It was the first and last time she ever got chance to see Bobby in action. He puts his key in the door and unlocks it, expecting to see his girlfriend in her familiar seat in the lounge, watching some late night crappy TV show. Nothing. The lights are off and there are no signs of life down here.
What's that?
Bobby hears a sound upstairs. He moves towards it and starts to head up the stairs, before tripping on a pair of shoes he doesn't recognize. Switching on his phone to gain a bit of light, he sees that the shoes aren't the only thing on the stairs. Discarded trousers, shirts and his girlfriend's familiar underwear, the set she bought to wear for him as a Birthday surprise last year are cast along the floor on the landing. Now we know what those sounds were. Bobby creeps up the stairs. He wants to catch them in the act. On reaching the door, it seems he hasn't been noticed. He hesitates for a second. The other side of that door, the girl he had been with for five years was with another man. He seems to ponder the consequences of his actions. Seconds seem like hours right now.
*In thought* I have two choices. I break this door down and we see what whoever it is inside my missus is really made of. That's not like me. I prided myself on being a good guy. That's what won her over when I met her. I wasn't like the other jerks and dickheads that hit on her. But the nice guy act isn't what she's into at this minute right? This could change my life. What's the alternative? I leave them to it? Offer them a cuppa for afterwards? Shit, maybe she wants the sheets changing. That's our fucking bed!! I'm...no....cuck!
BOOM!!
Bobby's foot thunders against the wooden door. The door flies open, smashing into the dresser behind it. Makeup flies all over the place as Bobby's girlfriend and a man sit bolt upright. It becomes apparent as Bobby's eyes adjust to the light that the man is none other than his own tag team partner Steve! The guy he has travelled the country with for three years up until his injury! The man that was there in the Hospital as Bobby was told that if the operation didn't work, he was finished. What a fucking betrayal!
Bobby looks heartbroken. In one night, the night that was supposed to be his greatest night and the culmination of years of hard work, his whole world had come crashing around him. He leapt across the bed, tackling Steve to the ground. Steve is rocked, dazed by the speed of the guy who two months back couldn't make the stairs. He hits the wall hard. Bobby is on top of him, raining down lefts and rights into his face. His nose explodes, covering the beige carpet in bright red blood. The contrast is astounding. Steve manages to wriggle free and gets to his feet as Bobby gets up.
Mate I'm sorry! It meant nothing!
NOTHING?! This woman was the woman I was to marry, and you of all fucking people, the man I told about the plan to propose next month, the man I was going to ask to be my best man tears it all down for fucking NOTHING??!
Look, I'm sorry! Mate, come on! You're not being yourself!
Steve is backing away from Bobby. Pleading with him to stop the onslaught as he tries to gather his clothes. Bobby reaches onto the shelf above the bedroom door and pulls down a black bat that they stored there in case of intruders at night. The purple tape on the handle makes it look somewhat familiar. he grasps it tightly in both hands and takes a swing at Steve as he is putting on his trousers!
WHACK!
Steve drops to the ground. Holding his head in pain in a semi conscious state. Again, the bat comes down.
WHACK!
Down onto the left knee of Steve. The same knee Bobby injured himself two months prior. Was this when this all started?
Get up, prick!
Bobby hauls Steve to his feet, forcing him up against the wall at the top of the stairs. The moonlight coming through the window catches the look of sheer hatred and intensity in Bobby's eyes. Similar in emotion to the slightly dazed fear emanating from Steve's eyes. One push was all it took. Steve tumbled down the stairs clumsily, trying to grab a rail on the way down, to no success. Steve hit the floor, trying to get back to his feet to thwart the next attack. Barratt is bearing down on him. His girlfriend is in hysterics, screaming and begging for him to stop. If only he wasn't right by the trousers her phone was in, so she could call for help. He hits the bottom of the stairs and Steve is frantically trying to open the door.
WHACK!
Another swing connects with the hand Steve has against the door, breaking two fingers. Steve screams in agony as he collapses to the ground. His fingers pointing ways in which fingers shouldn't point. Bobby casually kicks the clothes Steve didn't manage to collect away from him, so he is positioned bat in hand between Steve and his clothes.
Well, Steve. You have about three seconds...The times it's going to take me to warm another swing up to get the FUCK out of this house. If I ever see you, hear from you or even hear your name, trust me...this will be just a fucking warm up for what you'll get.
Bobby, mate I'm sorry! Come on!
You want me to finish this count?!
Steve high tails it to his car. Fumbling with the lock, hopping in and in seconds he has gone. Bobby stands in the doorway of the house that just played part in his personal destruction. Picking up his title belt and his kit bag, still bat in hand he walks out of the house, slamming the door behind him. He gets to his car, throwing his bag and belt onto the passenger seat. He takes a look at the bat, decorated with the fresh, warm blood of his former friend.
Well I guess you need a name...How about the name of the one woman it appears I can rely on...I'll call you Debra.
PRESENT DAY
See I could have taken a different road that night and I may be standing here in his shoes. Mr honorable, Jack Diamond. But that night I decided to go a different path. To go and get anything I wanted, nothing was holding me back, no obstacle would be insurmountable by any means necessary! Bare that in mind, Jack! This Sunday...ICW Midsummer Night's Massacre, you will find out just what lengths I will go to in order to get what I want! Oh, and Jackie-boy. You can guarantee I'll be bringing my old girl, here! You remember Debra, right?
With that, Barratt picks up Debra, who was lying next to him the whole time on the walkway. The shot switches to the silhouette of him looking at his bat against the lapping lake, illuminated by the setting sun as the scene fades.