Post by leonvanzandt on Mar 28, 2021 22:37:13 GMT -5
“It seems I have found myself in the position of troubleshooter in my short time here in Northern Pro Wrestling.”
Cold open.
Leon Van Zandt greets us once again, a small grin forming from the edge on his lips. Sitting on a bench, the Professional is hunched over, glistening in sweat from his most recent hellish workout. At his feet rest a pair of black clubs and a long rod with a bulbous sphere at the end. He’s been training hard.
“Gus Arnold asked me to keep watch on things involving the Syndicate, to keep them from running roughshod through this company. And now? I am given a chance to solve the problem presented by one Chris Cavanaugh a month ago.”
The smile immediately fades away.
“Chris Cavanaugh… the reason I am not next in line for a shot that the North American Double Crown championship. The reason I was unable to prevent his brother from pinning another man, and winning that championship opportunity.
“Chris…”
Leon breathes deeply through his nose, the flaring of his nostrils doing nothing to hide the contempt in his words.
“...Cavanaugh.
“I… am not like many of my contemporaries in North America. Victory and defeat are a part of wrestling, just as it is a part of any other sport. Even when the opponent is breaking the rules, that’s just the way it is sometimes. You face them again down the line and hope things go better the next time. Revenge is… well, my mentors weren’t the sort who would set out to hunt their opponents down outside the ring. Inside, though?
“THAT is when you seek out some sort of comeuppance for your adversary. For me, the goal is to defeat Chris Cavnaugh, and beat him soundly; not just to settle the score for his actions in the triple threat match last month, but ALSO, because the Northern Openweight Championship tournament is coming, and I will want to enter with some momentum; some force that shows the rest of the field that Leon Van Zandt is poised to take home his first championship under the XHF banner.”
The Flemish technical genius sits up, holding a hand up to his scruffy five o’ clock shadow.
“And if I do it by throttling that pipsqueak Trigger’s neck, then all the better.”
The Professional is starting to seethe. You can hear it as his voice deepens and his Flemish accent thickens.
“There is cheating, and then there is being no more than a pack of THUGS, and the Celtic Club is the latter in EVERY SENSE of the word. To restrain me and keep me from breaking up John Cavanugh’s pin on Shawn Kutter. Then to act as if you defeated ME personally, as opposed to catching me in that one moment and keeping me away from the match? PATHETIC. SIMPLY pathetic.
“Yes; the responsibility lies with me for not watching out for you, for not seeing you grab my boots and keep me from stopping the pin. But the way I see it? John Cavanaugh could not beat me alone. And so, he needed aid to take me out of the equation in our match. And if the patriarch of your precious Club needed help, then what makes you think YOU can defeat me in that ring, one on one? To the extent that you address our upcoming bout from the outside of a PUB? To talk trash before a match is normal, but to snub your opponent as someone not worthy of being taken seriously?
“You disgust me.”
Leon slowly rises to his full height. An intimidating specimen by any standard, the Professional looks especially dangerous in the context of professional wrestling, the reflection of an era long gone by.
“The Celtic Club seems to abide by the logic in ‘strength in numbers,’ which is fine, but don’t pretend you beat me, not yet. Not when your opportunity to face me one on one awaits. And CERTAINLY when I have yet to be defeated by pinfall or submission here in Northern Pro Wrestling.
“Now, I’m not naive. Nobody stays undefeated forever, and I know someday the moment will come when I am outwrestled and defeated in the center of that ring.”
He hunches back over, and spits on the ground.
“I also know that it won’t be at your hands, Chris... ‘TRIGGER...’ Cavanaugh. Whether you come alone, or with your brother, or that BUM Andy Donahue, the outcome will be the same. See, I have learned from my mistakes, from not keeping my eyes open in all directions. It cost me one opportunity; it will NOT cost me another.
“On Tuesday night, I will fix ANOTHER problem in the ranks of NPW; when the Northern Openweight Championship is contested in April, I WILL walk into that arena fresh off of defeating and HUMILIATING a member of the Celtic Club. Now, ‘Trigger’...”
He says his opponent’s nickname in a mocking, condescending fashion, fitting for the “little brother” of the pack.
“The choice is yours; will there be one, two, or three Celtic Club bodies in that ring when I’m done with you on March 30?”
The Professional growls to himself, before dropping himself back down to the mat below him, on his hands and feet, doing a complicated maneuver called a “Hindu pushup,” which he does multiple times. Groaning with each one, the Professional continues to train with zeal as we fade to black.
Cold open.
Leon Van Zandt greets us once again, a small grin forming from the edge on his lips. Sitting on a bench, the Professional is hunched over, glistening in sweat from his most recent hellish workout. At his feet rest a pair of black clubs and a long rod with a bulbous sphere at the end. He’s been training hard.
“Gus Arnold asked me to keep watch on things involving the Syndicate, to keep them from running roughshod through this company. And now? I am given a chance to solve the problem presented by one Chris Cavanaugh a month ago.”
The smile immediately fades away.
“Chris Cavanaugh… the reason I am not next in line for a shot that the North American Double Crown championship. The reason I was unable to prevent his brother from pinning another man, and winning that championship opportunity.
“Chris…”
Leon breathes deeply through his nose, the flaring of his nostrils doing nothing to hide the contempt in his words.
“...Cavanaugh.
“I… am not like many of my contemporaries in North America. Victory and defeat are a part of wrestling, just as it is a part of any other sport. Even when the opponent is breaking the rules, that’s just the way it is sometimes. You face them again down the line and hope things go better the next time. Revenge is… well, my mentors weren’t the sort who would set out to hunt their opponents down outside the ring. Inside, though?
“THAT is when you seek out some sort of comeuppance for your adversary. For me, the goal is to defeat Chris Cavnaugh, and beat him soundly; not just to settle the score for his actions in the triple threat match last month, but ALSO, because the Northern Openweight Championship tournament is coming, and I will want to enter with some momentum; some force that shows the rest of the field that Leon Van Zandt is poised to take home his first championship under the XHF banner.”
The Flemish technical genius sits up, holding a hand up to his scruffy five o’ clock shadow.
“And if I do it by throttling that pipsqueak Trigger’s neck, then all the better.”
The Professional is starting to seethe. You can hear it as his voice deepens and his Flemish accent thickens.
“There is cheating, and then there is being no more than a pack of THUGS, and the Celtic Club is the latter in EVERY SENSE of the word. To restrain me and keep me from breaking up John Cavanugh’s pin on Shawn Kutter. Then to act as if you defeated ME personally, as opposed to catching me in that one moment and keeping me away from the match? PATHETIC. SIMPLY pathetic.
“Yes; the responsibility lies with me for not watching out for you, for not seeing you grab my boots and keep me from stopping the pin. But the way I see it? John Cavanaugh could not beat me alone. And so, he needed aid to take me out of the equation in our match. And if the patriarch of your precious Club needed help, then what makes you think YOU can defeat me in that ring, one on one? To the extent that you address our upcoming bout from the outside of a PUB? To talk trash before a match is normal, but to snub your opponent as someone not worthy of being taken seriously?
“You disgust me.”
Leon slowly rises to his full height. An intimidating specimen by any standard, the Professional looks especially dangerous in the context of professional wrestling, the reflection of an era long gone by.
“The Celtic Club seems to abide by the logic in ‘strength in numbers,’ which is fine, but don’t pretend you beat me, not yet. Not when your opportunity to face me one on one awaits. And CERTAINLY when I have yet to be defeated by pinfall or submission here in Northern Pro Wrestling.
“Now, I’m not naive. Nobody stays undefeated forever, and I know someday the moment will come when I am outwrestled and defeated in the center of that ring.”
He hunches back over, and spits on the ground.
“I also know that it won’t be at your hands, Chris... ‘TRIGGER...’ Cavanaugh. Whether you come alone, or with your brother, or that BUM Andy Donahue, the outcome will be the same. See, I have learned from my mistakes, from not keeping my eyes open in all directions. It cost me one opportunity; it will NOT cost me another.
“On Tuesday night, I will fix ANOTHER problem in the ranks of NPW; when the Northern Openweight Championship is contested in April, I WILL walk into that arena fresh off of defeating and HUMILIATING a member of the Celtic Club. Now, ‘Trigger’...”
He says his opponent’s nickname in a mocking, condescending fashion, fitting for the “little brother” of the pack.
“The choice is yours; will there be one, two, or three Celtic Club bodies in that ring when I’m done with you on March 30?”
The Professional growls to himself, before dropping himself back down to the mat below him, on his hands and feet, doing a complicated maneuver called a “Hindu pushup,” which he does multiple times. Groaning with each one, the Professional continues to train with zeal as we fade to black.