Rebirth of an Emperor [RP #2]
Apr 4, 2020 1:50:08 GMT -5
Mongo the Destroyer, Dave D-Flipz, and 2 more like this
Post by anthonycaffrey on Apr 4, 2020 1:50:08 GMT -5
The camera pans out from a ringing alarm clock and an empty bottle of tequila. The room is dark as a loud grown is heard, followed by a slam and the clock stopping. A lamp is turned on, and we can see Anthony Caffrey grabbing his phone. He looks through his Pixel, realizing he’s missed a call. He puts it on speaker phone.
“Hey babe, sorry, forgot the time difference again. Just calling to say I love you-- I know self-isolation is hard, but we’ll come out even stronger. How’s London? I know you’re there, then Spain… then that boat… but uh, just checking in. It’s lonely. My mom’s doing better. They said she tested negative, thank God.”
Caffrey sits on the edge of a bed in a nice hotel, rubbing his face with his eyes. He is wearing a pair of shorts as he yawns, intently listening to the message. He stands up and begins his morning stretches.
“I saw your match with Syberus.”
Caffrey gulps, stopping in his tracks. He leans over his phone, listening.
“I get that he’s a dick, but did you have to cripple him with a chair like that in front of a referee? I thought you were saying you wanted the International Championship? I uh... I’m a little confused. Call me when you can. I--”
He abruptly stops the voicemail with his left hand and begins to shuffle towards his restroom, stepping around a lamp that has crashed down to the floor. He barely avoids stepping on the broken glass as he turns the corner.
The first thing the camera captures is the bathroom mirror, which has a large indent in the center and cracks surrounding the impact. The hole is sizable, and a pile of broken glass sits in the space between the sink and the mirror. Caffrey turns the water on and removes the bandages from his arm, beginning to wash the cuts on his hand and the nasty gash running vertically down his wrist. He fiddles around with his phone, listening to another voicemail as he splashes water into his face in an attempt to wake up.
“Yo Caff, what’s up man? I know you’re busy, but I can’t seem to reach you. International calling is expensive man, you gonna reimburse if you’re not gonna answer the phone? Times are tough, man.”
Caffrey shakes his head, smirking at the jokes. The voice is recognizable as Marcus, his agent and former ring announcer. His smirk quickly turns into a grimace as he examines his arm.
“You been makin’ enemies, my friend. You were right about that cookie recipe: pissed people off and got a lot more of them talking. The website people called and want you to do more. You’ve been on everyone’s minds, mentioned by like at least ten people. Multiple people went into full-fledged rants about you, especially Callahan…”
Caffrey rolls his eyes, doing his best to ignore the mention of his future tag team partner as he has now armed himself with a pair of tweezers and a barrage of curse words to begin working on his hand. He pauses the message to speak freely as he begins.
“It’s almost like-- FUCKING OW OW! GODDAMNIT OW---- everyone assumes I’ll already be X-Crown Champion.”
Caffrey drops another f-bomb as he finishes pulling a chunk of glass out of his wrist. Blood begins to pour back out as he quickly grabs his shirt from the previous evening off the ground and begins wrapping it around his wrist to try to stop the bleeding.
“A bunch of small cuts…”
Caffrey’s focus is broken by the blood as he mutters to himself.
“Goddamnit I really don’t want to go to the hospital right now, I don’t need to get sick…”
He sighs before refocusing on what he’s saying.
“A bunch of small cuts, but ultimately, none of them will matter. I will heal."
He applies pressure to the wound as he bites his lip to seethe in pain.
“With everyone gunning for me... you all do realize Sainovic is the actual champion, right? I realize even reading a Felix text can make AWFers pretty dumb, but Sainovic is no underdog. While you’re isolating, most of you braindead turds should watch an episode of SWAT. You’re missing a Manchester Street Fight, a Great Pit of Carkoon Death match, and a Blanket Forth Death Match. And… removing how ridiculous all that sounds from the equation… the Serbian is a very fucking legitimate threat to win, boys.”
He removes the towel to check his wrist and see if the bleeding has stopped. He shakes his head and we can hear the word “stupid” come out of his mouth as it clearly hasn’t. He leans back and sits just next to the sink for a few seconds to discuss the X-Crown champion.
“He’s the most resourceful man in the XHF. A sneaky motherfucker, hiding weapons, using body doubles, with a complete lack of regard for rules except for the ones benefitting him. He’s a fucking sadist who’ll bring a sickle to the ring with him and slash people until they bleed all over the place. I’ve seen a lot of soft fucks with surrenderist attitudes say if they don’t win, they’re going to hurt people. If no one studies, if people keep sleeping on the current X-Crown Champion that beat Death Trap and Maverick in one match, Zoran Sainovic will hurt people AND win.”
He hops off the sink and turns to face the mirror, beginning his shaving preparations. He runs his hand through his beard, knowing it is time for a change.
“Now, that’s just my observations from one afternoon, and with this isolation, my already masterful planning has been bolstered by having all this time. But please, keep targeting me because I hurt your feelings. You’ll certainly win that way. The devil you know, right?”
Before he begins to shave, Caffrey smiles his sinister smile and hits play on the rest of Marcus’ voicemail. He opens a bottle of Advil and helps himself to a few as the recording resumes.
“I’ve sent you some soundbites from around the Network. Take a listen. I’ve got you booked on something you’ll like next week. Brandon Adams from BA Start -- that kid you did the video with when you were announced as the AXW cover athlete? He’s sending you a headset, you’re gonna need it.”
Caffrey finishes washing his beard and begins to apply shaving cream. He rolls his eyes, wondering what the hell he’s going to need a headset for.
“Also, I saw your match against Syberus and we need to talk about---”
Caffrey’s tone quickly shifts.
“Hey Google, delete this voicemail.”
Caffrey realizes he’s going to have a hard time shaving with how badly he hurts. He takes a deep breath before playing the first clip.
"Your tenure in Ascension Wrestling Federation was… different for you than your time in AXW.”
Caffrey shakes his head disappointedly, knowing exactly that the voice belongs to Hayden Callahan, his new protégé and tag team partner in SWAT.
”Unstoppable, unbeatable and very much untouchable in England but weak, vulnerable and delusional.”
Caffrey stares at his reflection in the broken mirror, zoning out a few seconds before pausing and deleting the clip.
“Ambitious as hell, that one. I like him, actually talented. He’s undefeated in SWAT, absolutely his opponents. Granted, he should probably win a few more matches, so he can get some merch going and be able to afford telling his baby momma to stop dealing on the side, but…”
He lets out a long whistle as he slowly begins his shave.
“...be real fuckin’ careful about biting the hand that feeds you, Callahan. I am an endless supply of knowledge, preparation, and technical ability. I will carry you if need be to the Anzac Cup and the money that comes with winning. Now, I don’t need it, but it’d be a… how’d you put it? It’d be a ‘God fucking Tier’ decision to watch your fucking manners and apologize the next time you see me.”
Caffrey plays the next clip. The first thing he attacks is his mustache, taking care of it rather quickly.
“Yes, Caffrey - I'm looking at you. You get a pass. You get a chance to slide in between the floor boards. You're small enough not to get my attention and you're big enough to actually get the ability to sneak in the win if you're crafty enough.”
Caffrey has to shop shaving because what started as a slow chuckle has devolved into a full-on cackle. He stops the clip, not having to hear more.
“So Michael, which is it? Small enough to not get your attention, or big enough to justify you bringing me up during not one, not two, but three different segments, including a whole boring-ass fifteen-minute rant about how much I suck?”
The camera captures the cracked reflection of Caffrey as he absolutely loses his composure for a few moments and has to lean on the sink to keep his shit together.
“He spent a whole fucking lot of time posturing about who I’m worse than --- and somehow in his deliberations, he seems to have omitted the whole part where I made him tap out. It doesn’t really matter who Storm thinks is better than me, because I’m better than him. Now ain’t that a bitch?”
Caffrey makes the noise of letting out a long exhale as he tries to reclaim his composure in between arrogant laughing fits. He manages to finally bring it in and then plays the next clip.
"What happened to Caffrey in our Rumble? I took his ass out! ME! It doesn’t matter who else jumped on board for the ride, it was our cement that fucked him---”
He erases the clip as he works on his neck with his razor.
“Beat Timeless too, next.”
Caffrey plays the next clip as he finishes cleaning up his neck. He gives it a rub, smooth as a baby’s bottom, before moving onto his face.
“But Caffrey, nice to see you remember me. How've you been? Still hanging on to "I bEaT AnOmOly! DyLaN IsN't As GoOd As AnOmOly!"
Caffrey deletes the clip.
“Isn’t it funny that almost everyone attacking me is a guy I’ve already beaten? I beat Dylan three fucking times and he’s still talking shit. Of course he isn’t as good as Anomoly. Anomoly at least had draw power. Dylan was the ‘champion’ of two different companies that got the ratings axe. Put the fucking mask back on and suck it up already.”
Caffrey finishes up the left side of his face, turning on another recording.
“Do you think Chris Card wastes his time on dead prospects?”
“Hey babe, sorry, forgot the time difference again. Just calling to say I love you-- I know self-isolation is hard, but we’ll come out even stronger. How’s London? I know you’re there, then Spain… then that boat… but uh, just checking in. It’s lonely. My mom’s doing better. They said she tested negative, thank God.”
Caffrey sits on the edge of a bed in a nice hotel, rubbing his face with his eyes. He is wearing a pair of shorts as he yawns, intently listening to the message. He stands up and begins his morning stretches.
“I saw your match with Syberus.”
Caffrey gulps, stopping in his tracks. He leans over his phone, listening.
“I get that he’s a dick, but did you have to cripple him with a chair like that in front of a referee? I thought you were saying you wanted the International Championship? I uh... I’m a little confused. Call me when you can. I--”
He abruptly stops the voicemail with his left hand and begins to shuffle towards his restroom, stepping around a lamp that has crashed down to the floor. He barely avoids stepping on the broken glass as he turns the corner.
The first thing the camera captures is the bathroom mirror, which has a large indent in the center and cracks surrounding the impact. The hole is sizable, and a pile of broken glass sits in the space between the sink and the mirror. Caffrey turns the water on and removes the bandages from his arm, beginning to wash the cuts on his hand and the nasty gash running vertically down his wrist. He fiddles around with his phone, listening to another voicemail as he splashes water into his face in an attempt to wake up.
“Yo Caff, what’s up man? I know you’re busy, but I can’t seem to reach you. International calling is expensive man, you gonna reimburse if you’re not gonna answer the phone? Times are tough, man.”
Caffrey shakes his head, smirking at the jokes. The voice is recognizable as Marcus, his agent and former ring announcer. His smirk quickly turns into a grimace as he examines his arm.
“You been makin’ enemies, my friend. You were right about that cookie recipe: pissed people off and got a lot more of them talking. The website people called and want you to do more. You’ve been on everyone’s minds, mentioned by like at least ten people. Multiple people went into full-fledged rants about you, especially Callahan…”
Caffrey rolls his eyes, doing his best to ignore the mention of his future tag team partner as he has now armed himself with a pair of tweezers and a barrage of curse words to begin working on his hand. He pauses the message to speak freely as he begins.
“It’s almost like-- FUCKING OW OW! GODDAMNIT OW---- everyone assumes I’ll already be X-Crown Champion.”
Caffrey drops another f-bomb as he finishes pulling a chunk of glass out of his wrist. Blood begins to pour back out as he quickly grabs his shirt from the previous evening off the ground and begins wrapping it around his wrist to try to stop the bleeding.
“A bunch of small cuts…”
Caffrey’s focus is broken by the blood as he mutters to himself.
“Goddamnit I really don’t want to go to the hospital right now, I don’t need to get sick…”
He sighs before refocusing on what he’s saying.
“A bunch of small cuts, but ultimately, none of them will matter. I will heal."
He applies pressure to the wound as he bites his lip to seethe in pain.
“With everyone gunning for me... you all do realize Sainovic is the actual champion, right? I realize even reading a Felix text can make AWFers pretty dumb, but Sainovic is no underdog. While you’re isolating, most of you braindead turds should watch an episode of SWAT. You’re missing a Manchester Street Fight, a Great Pit of Carkoon Death match, and a Blanket Forth Death Match. And… removing how ridiculous all that sounds from the equation… the Serbian is a very fucking legitimate threat to win, boys.”
He removes the towel to check his wrist and see if the bleeding has stopped. He shakes his head and we can hear the word “stupid” come out of his mouth as it clearly hasn’t. He leans back and sits just next to the sink for a few seconds to discuss the X-Crown champion.
“He’s the most resourceful man in the XHF. A sneaky motherfucker, hiding weapons, using body doubles, with a complete lack of regard for rules except for the ones benefitting him. He’s a fucking sadist who’ll bring a sickle to the ring with him and slash people until they bleed all over the place. I’ve seen a lot of soft fucks with surrenderist attitudes say if they don’t win, they’re going to hurt people. If no one studies, if people keep sleeping on the current X-Crown Champion that beat Death Trap and Maverick in one match, Zoran Sainovic will hurt people AND win.”
He hops off the sink and turns to face the mirror, beginning his shaving preparations. He runs his hand through his beard, knowing it is time for a change.
“Now, that’s just my observations from one afternoon, and with this isolation, my already masterful planning has been bolstered by having all this time. But please, keep targeting me because I hurt your feelings. You’ll certainly win that way. The devil you know, right?”
Before he begins to shave, Caffrey smiles his sinister smile and hits play on the rest of Marcus’ voicemail. He opens a bottle of Advil and helps himself to a few as the recording resumes.
“I’ve sent you some soundbites from around the Network. Take a listen. I’ve got you booked on something you’ll like next week. Brandon Adams from BA Start -- that kid you did the video with when you were announced as the AXW cover athlete? He’s sending you a headset, you’re gonna need it.”
Caffrey finishes washing his beard and begins to apply shaving cream. He rolls his eyes, wondering what the hell he’s going to need a headset for.
“Also, I saw your match against Syberus and we need to talk about---”
Caffrey’s tone quickly shifts.
“Hey Google, delete this voicemail.”
Caffrey realizes he’s going to have a hard time shaving with how badly he hurts. He takes a deep breath before playing the first clip.
"Your tenure in Ascension Wrestling Federation was… different for you than your time in AXW.”
Caffrey shakes his head disappointedly, knowing exactly that the voice belongs to Hayden Callahan, his new protégé and tag team partner in SWAT.
”Unstoppable, unbeatable and very much untouchable in England but weak, vulnerable and delusional.”
Caffrey stares at his reflection in the broken mirror, zoning out a few seconds before pausing and deleting the clip.
“Ambitious as hell, that one. I like him, actually talented. He’s undefeated in SWAT, absolutely his opponents. Granted, he should probably win a few more matches, so he can get some merch going and be able to afford telling his baby momma to stop dealing on the side, but…”
He lets out a long whistle as he slowly begins his shave.
“...be real fuckin’ careful about biting the hand that feeds you, Callahan. I am an endless supply of knowledge, preparation, and technical ability. I will carry you if need be to the Anzac Cup and the money that comes with winning. Now, I don’t need it, but it’d be a… how’d you put it? It’d be a ‘God fucking Tier’ decision to watch your fucking manners and apologize the next time you see me.”
Caffrey plays the next clip. The first thing he attacks is his mustache, taking care of it rather quickly.
“Yes, Caffrey - I'm looking at you. You get a pass. You get a chance to slide in between the floor boards. You're small enough not to get my attention and you're big enough to actually get the ability to sneak in the win if you're crafty enough.”
Caffrey has to shop shaving because what started as a slow chuckle has devolved into a full-on cackle. He stops the clip, not having to hear more.
“So Michael, which is it? Small enough to not get your attention, or big enough to justify you bringing me up during not one, not two, but three different segments, including a whole boring-ass fifteen-minute rant about how much I suck?”
The camera captures the cracked reflection of Caffrey as he absolutely loses his composure for a few moments and has to lean on the sink to keep his shit together.
“He spent a whole fucking lot of time posturing about who I’m worse than --- and somehow in his deliberations, he seems to have omitted the whole part where I made him tap out. It doesn’t really matter who Storm thinks is better than me, because I’m better than him. Now ain’t that a bitch?”
Caffrey makes the noise of letting out a long exhale as he tries to reclaim his composure in between arrogant laughing fits. He manages to finally bring it in and then plays the next clip.
"What happened to Caffrey in our Rumble? I took his ass out! ME! It doesn’t matter who else jumped on board for the ride, it was our cement that fucked him---”
He erases the clip as he works on his neck with his razor.
“Beat Timeless too, next.”
Caffrey plays the next clip as he finishes cleaning up his neck. He gives it a rub, smooth as a baby’s bottom, before moving onto his face.
“But Caffrey, nice to see you remember me. How've you been? Still hanging on to "I bEaT AnOmOly! DyLaN IsN't As GoOd As AnOmOly!"
Caffrey deletes the clip.
“Isn’t it funny that almost everyone attacking me is a guy I’ve already beaten? I beat Dylan three fucking times and he’s still talking shit. Of course he isn’t as good as Anomoly. Anomoly at least had draw power. Dylan was the ‘champion’ of two different companies that got the ratings axe. Put the fucking mask back on and suck it up already.”
Caffrey finishes up the left side of his face, turning on another recording.
“Do you think Chris Card wastes his time on dead prospects?”
He quickly mutes his phone.
“I think Chris Card is so desperate to stay relevant that he opened a training center with his name on it and now found another fancy jackass to team with. Card became a ‘good guy’ but never changed. He’s a slimy asshole underneath the facade, and he’ll wreck you one day kid. Then you’ll sit there and go, oh shit, ‘why did no one tell me?’”
Caffrey does very little to hide his disdain for his former company.
“It’s like joining the AWF. You think it’s a good idea until you spend about three months there and start examining your contract for ways out. When you come to that realization, feel free to call and I’ll gladly get you a job over at the real 'A-show' of the Network.”
Caffrey’s SWAT pride is much higher than it ever was for the AWF.
“Congrats on beating the walking corpse of has-been Bobby, by the way. You and everyone else apparently need to be told he's not in the Rumble, but good for you. I beat him in his prime, but when you carry the world championship of a dead company so fucking terrible that it won’t earn you an X-Crown match, I understand the need to promote yourself. You do you.”
Caffrey deletes Cross’ voicemail without even mentioning his name, an insult in his own way. His face is half-shaven at this point as he continues sorting through his phone.
“My name is Hannah, and I know you might not know me but I'm the girlfriend of the guy you beat for that title there.”
Caffrey lets all of the insults about him run in the background for a few moments as he opens up his phone and shoots off a text, all with an incredibly confused look on his face. He sets the phone back down to continue listening, but Marcus has already responded back. He reads the text out loud, obviously not believing the threats, before continuing to shave the other side of his face.
“Marcus says this is Maverick’s girlfriend. The fuck? Well tell ya what, when she achieves something other than fucking an X-Crown champion, I’ll give a shit what she has to say. Thankfully she had the taste to not fuck the pig, but she didn’t do much better, did she? Real poor taste, and I’m not just talking about her lack of love for peanut butter and chocolate, the heathen. Unfortunately for her, talent is not an STD. If you could become a fucking champion by fucking a champion, Brendan Harding would actually be a talented wrestler and my girl would be world champion by now.”
Caffrey deletes the message as he sees the last voice clip is from Ryan Young.
“Do I even need to listen to this one? Ya know, I'm above all this shit. Everyone knows Ryan was the weak point of his team at Fired Up, he’s constantly carried by Dillinger and shitting his pants because Seth is embracing the inner asshole I knew he had in him all along... I mean for fuck’s sake, Ryan's plastered all over the fucking Network even though he doesn’t deserve it, and anyone who can evaluate talent knows that Bloodied Fox is the future world champion of that pair. But still…”
Caffrey looks down, knowing full well what Young has said and the narratives surrounding him. He sets the phone down to crack into his medical kit, bandaging the hell out of his hand and arm. He has stopped bleeding.
“Another time. The gym calls.”
Caffrey has finished shaving both sides of his face. He wipes his face down with a warm towel and takes a long, hard look at the man in the mirror. He gets lost for a while as he stares into his cracked visage, taking the time his face has been shaved clean. It’s an old look for him, but one he’s had the most success with: it’s the look of an Emperor. He smiles his sinister smile.
Caffrey moves back through the door to the rest of his hotel room. The sun is beginning to come up, and the light indicates that his hotel room has been thoroughly trashed. There are papers all over, empty bottles, broken glass, overturned furniture... a giant mess. He grabs his gym bag and moves to leave, smirking at a sign he can place on the door to indicate for the cleaning services to skip his room. He decides to let them see it all as he fiddles with his phone, punching in a number. He exits the room.
“Hey sweetheart, got your voicemail. Hope you’re doing well. Glad to hear about your mom. It’s been wild over here without you, dear.”
We hear Caffrey one more time before the camera begins to fade.
“About last night...”
Fade to black.
