Post by Bobby Barratt on Apr 20, 2018 6:51:44 GMT -5
We open on an uncharacteristically warm September afternoon at Villa Park. No one is around right now, in fact only two cars are parked near the entrance to the exclusive entrance to the Executive Box. One is a sky blue Rolls Royce with the registration plate reading "AV 1". This car belongs to former owner Doug Ellis OBE. A man that worked with Aston Villa for years before selling up in 2006. Still to this day, he keeps involved with the club, visiting when he can even in a non-ownership capacity. The other car is the well known metallic purple Lamborghini Diablo belonging to ICW Shooting Star Champion, Bobby Barratt. The door of the Diablo opens in it's familiar upward fashion and Bobby takes a quick look around the area, checking no one is around before climbing out of the car. He is dressed to impress in a fitted Armani suit, a dark purple tie and an expensive looking pair of sunglasses. Reaching into the car, he pulls out a leather briefcase before headed to the entrance of the box and up the stairs inside the door.
We cut to Bobby walking the last few steps up onto the landing as his phone rings.
Hey baby, I didn't see you before you left. Everything OK?
Yeah hun, it's all fine. Just had to nip out and get some supplies. You holding up OK?
You know me. Holed up here at your house, feet up and I'm catching up on that Bake Off program. It's pretty good you know!
One day, you'll develop some taste, right? I gotta go baby, I'll call you soon, OK? I love you.
I love you too! Bye!
With that, Bobby puts his phone onto Silent mode before popping it into his pocket. This must be important. He approaches a door which was at the far end of the corridor and scans a key card. The door buzzes and he lets himself in. Sunlight illuminates the room but it quickly becomes apparent that this is a conference room. The decor and furniture look exquisite. Not like you'd expect in a second tier Football club. Bobby approaches the table and sets his case down, taking a second to take in the view over the fabled pitch of Villa Park. Before their demise a couple of years ago, Aston Villa were known to give even the best a hard time here.
BUZZZZZZ!!
Bobby turns around to face the door, leaning against the table. His eyes widen and you see his hands tense, his grip on the solid wooden table increases. Who is he expecting? The door swings open...
Seems you got here early! I'd expect you to be "fashionably late" as always.
I live about fifteen minutes away from here, man. Driving what I drive? Make that twelve!
It quickly becomes apparent that the voice belongs to none other than ICW Champion Jack Diamond! He walks in, subtly checking behind the door to make sure he's ready if this goes south.
I got just as much reason to be apprehensive as you do, Jack. It's not a set up. No one knows we're here.
No one?
No one!
Jack lets his guard down a little bit. Approaching the table, walking right past Bobby and setting himself up on the opposite side of the table. He almost seems to be making a point of laying his ICW Championship belt on the table in front of Bobby. The light from outside catches the metallic plates and sends a shimmering light onto the ceiling as Bobby's eyes widen momentarily, before snapping back to his familiar half-scowl.
Cute. That meant to be a statement?
I know, right? Thought you'd like to get nice and close!
Jack offers his hand to Bobby. Bobby stares at it, back to the title belt and up at Jack's face. The face that displays that familiar oh-so confident smile. After a few seconds, Bobby tentatively accepts Jack's offer of a handshake before both men take seats at the table. The tension is evident. Up until two weeks ago, these guys couldn't be within fifty feet of each other without tearing chunks out of one another. Seconds pass, which seem like hours.
So...why did you ask me here? To sit there and stare at me?
Come on, you may be a poster boy to some, but not to me....Besides, your face always looks better post-Debra.
Jack rubs his jaw, as if he is remembering the sensation of Bobby's inanimate sidekick making contact with his face.
Look...You know and I know that we have a common enemy here. I wanted to bring this together in a professional manner to see if we can make it work. Six days from now we will be out there behind where you sit going up against one of the dark horses of ICW, Maverick and the most puzzling character to walk through those doors in Joe Carroll. Now we can do that two ways. We can go out there, be ourselves, not trust each other as far as we can throw each other and roll over for them, or we can be the Bobby Barratt and Jack Diamond that ended Duke Kosloff's run here in ICW last night. We don't need to be friends, we don't even need to like each other. I just know I prefer to be on the winning side than seeing Reiter's fucking smug grin when he gets what he wants.
You know? This might be the first time we see eye to eye. As far as I'm concerned now...We're even. That's why you saw me at Spectacle in your second Shooting Star Title defence. The fact that you got involved in not one, but two title matches of mine which saw me ultimately come out victorious...which I didn't need, by the way...But the fact that you are making moves that intentionally piss of Lucas Reiter is what speaks to me. Me showing up last night was repayment. Like you, I don't do debt. The Cherokee lineage is one of a proud nature and one which believes in honour. So what are you proposing? That we sing and dance merrily into the sunset?
Not at all. Fact is Jack, I never hated you. I'm a cerebral guy, believe it or not. Any time I fucked with you, any time I beat you down was all a mind game. To me, emotion rarely comes into play. I wanted the competitive edge. I wanted to have the advantage going into whatever match we were about to have at the time. I never hated you...But I sure as hell never loved you, either.
Well I can count on one finger the amount of times you gained that edge and still have room to show you the door. Hell, all you did was piss me off, making me more focused and determined to hold onto what is mine. Speaking of which...Why toss me the title? It's all you've wanted for months now.
Well...For one, as you know, I always said I would be the one to dethrone you. I'd be the one to take that title and I'd be the next King of the Mountain. Plus the kicker, Chaos was impressionable. The way he took that deal with Reiter, the way he dropped that Ironman Championship because he heard a few bad words about him...Who knows when he would have gone dark again. If that's the case, Lucas was never getting that power back by re-signing the ICW Champion. That's why you're also a Tag Team Champion too. Every decision I make is made with regards to how much it can weaken the grip Reiter has on ICW.
Jack's eyebrows flick up in a moment of surprise as he takes a sip of cool water. He clearly thought of Bobby as some hot head that acted on impulse all this time.
So here's the proposition. You give me your word that we have each others backs here. We run rough shot on this place, we eliminate the threat of the Prosperous Ones and we can go back to fighting like we used to. In return...I give you my word of the same. I may not appear it, but I have always fulfilled my promises.
Jack nods his head towards the ICW Championship laying in front of him.
Except for one, huh?
Bobby frowns and takes a deep breath before composing himself. It's not the time to lose it.
What I'm saying is I'm more of a man of honour than you probably recognize. Whether it be Jenny, Jericho Kade or Shawn...If I gave my word to them, I'll always go to the wall for them. On top of that...
Bobby opens the briefcase in front of him, spinning it around to face Jack.
That's $250,000 cash! That's what I made from the Castle of Glass show. For one night's work! I know you get a ton of money just for your bloodline, but what I'm proposing is we take that money right now and send a message to Lucas. Just know there's a lot more where that came from....believe me.
Jack takes a second to ponder the proposal and Bobby's justifications. Which make a surprising amount of sense considering the man he thought of Bobby to be. He closes the case and looks directly at Bobby.
First of all, money won't impress me. You think you're the first guy to offer me cash to sign my name? But having considered your proposal, I can agree. Lucas is an infection here in ICW. He needs to be eliminated. He's corrupting the roster one by one. So as of this week, count me in!
Bobby and Jack shake hands much more enthusiastically than before. Locking eyes as they do so.
So Spectacle. Joe Carroll...Maverick. Got any thoughts?
Plenty! First of all, just because Maverick is my co-holder for the Tag Team Titles...Don't think I'll go easy on him. I know there's no love lost between you two anyway, but this is a competition. A fight. End of the day, he's one of Lucas' boys and I know he could turn on me at any point.
Seems like those Tag Titles have a curse of finding lovers who argu-
Joe Carroll...That guy hardly put up a fight at all this last week in any of his contests. He started out hot but without his henchmen, he doesn't concern me too much.
Funny thing is I feel the same and can almost hear Jen's whiny voice in my head telling me not to take them lightly. I don't believe for a second that they can beat us. Not the number one points at himself and number two points at Jack ranked wrestlers in ICW.
Exactly....You think Maverick and Joe Carroll can be a threat to the ICW Champion points at himself...and the ICW Shooting Star Champion? Points at Bobby.
Tension hangs in the air momentarily.
Well played. You have to agree this title looks better on me though.
With that, Bobby and Jack shake hands again. They both get up, pack their belongings in and head to the door together. As they head the same way out along the corridor. You hear Bobby's voice in the background.
Just imagine if there wasn't that bullshit rule about contenders for those Tag Team Titles having to come from opposing teams....If we can hammer out a deal like that...Imagine what we could have done to Chaos and Kosloff.
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