Nightmares of the Rumble (Pt.2 - Rumble)
Apr 5, 2021 22:09:55 GMT -5
Mongo the Destroyer, Eron Hunter, and 2 more like this
Post by Jesse Jamester on Apr 5, 2021 22:09:55 GMT -5
‘What makes me dangerous is my morale line is merely chalk waiting for a rain fall.”
Staring out in the distance of the snowy fields of Calgary, Alberta Canada from his porch. The swing on his porch was due a paint job, but the wrap around roofed porch was farmer-esque with the worn white picket fence.
Home to most people, was a memory on the road, one you cherished and counted the days until you got back to your own bed. Oh the comfort of sitting at your table, wife and kids around you, and a big breakfast on your few days off the loop of a wrestling tour.
For Jesse, the kids were all grown up, his wife was deceased nearly 20 years ago, and Jesse, well, his loop was his own schedule now. With the pandemic of the world taking over and changing the wrestling business, his schedule was the lightest it had ever been. Though, for someone of his tenure, it was a nice change.
Reflecting over a cup of black coffee on the front porch. Jesse was reminded that he’d made a claim of being the devil, his tongue hits the inside of his lip as he thinks about it, and he belches a laugh as he rocks on the chair.
Everyone took everything so literally anymore; ‘what a bunch of pussies’ Jesse mutters before he sips from the brim of his cup.
“I’ve never been more proud and yet disappointed in all my time in this business. In an age of glamour and glitz, all the special effects and media outlets; the iPhones and drones, facetime, the Tube, FaceySpace, and Twatt-town, it’s come to my attention that this culture of wrestling has become pretty damn soft,” Jesse speaks out loud, his eye glancing over to where the camera is, as it begins to move, obviously being carried by someone we can’t see.
“Don’t you have any balls? Or is this all some hoo-rah fraternity brotherhood, drop the pickle in the shower and play golf on Sundays sorta club, aye? I’m conflicted because I thought this was a damn Rumble, a massive Rumble in fact - sooo big that I just had to be in it!
I can’t say I find the creativity of this brigade of boys trying to be men, to be anything but an unfair fight. Ya’ll been speaking out about your insecurities, your fears, your doubt - and what I’m hearing is, you lack the man hood to own up to your short-comings, and bring your fuckin’ A game!”
Turning his leg over the other, Jesse leans back, not letting the emotion show from the outside - but resting on every syllable he said.
“When it comes to these sorta events, you have to have a strategy and be ready to execute. Come in there half cocked, and you’ll see yourself chucked like a potato over and out! Personally, I’m watching out for John Cavanagh, the chip on his shoulder - it’s looking more like a mountain every day. I saw him go through the Northern Pro locker room, after starting all over again after EWF. He’s finally finding himself in this new world, and I wouldn’t put it past him to have a Celtic Club member up his sleeve. John, I know we haven’t said more than two words to one another, so I’ll make this real simple fella - stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours. Otherwise, I make no promises.
Now Cavanagh, he I can say I have familiarity with. These other hosses, Armand von Krauss, the ReVenants, and Riley Richards, they all have the same disadvantage as me. We haven’t crossed paths, we aren’t familiar with one another’s work, and therefore, I’m taking my time to find out a little more about each one of you.
The ReVenants don’t seem like the type that stray far from loyalty and mischievous behavior, let alone wanting to do everything to turn the business upside down in their favor. Sounds a lot like The Syndicate, if I do say so. Y’all got a lot of men, but I don’t think it matters if you go over one by one. My goal isn’t to pick apart a team, it’s to isolate myself - what I do with a whole ring to myself, well, that’s a dangerous game you don’t want to try me at.
It’s an open field, depending on what that plan is that everyone has. From the sounds of it though, everyone’s phoning this one in and playing their luck like a power ball ticket in the states. Each every last one of them talking about what ifs and if this or that happens, but the fact of the matter is, it aint - you won’t, and I promise it!”
Rocking to a still, Jesse’s attention travels far out into the field where the hill and the horizon meet. His eyes may have not been that of a young man’s anymore, but the crow feet forming in the corner of his eyes said it all.
Reaching back from his chair, Jesse grabbed a rifle that was sitting up against the porch. Scoped up and loaded, he brought it up to his shoulders assuming the position. Moving his tongue along his lips before sealing them. His finger was ready, and within a moment’s notice he pulled.
BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANG!
Out in the distance, the antlers on a stag are seen hitting the sunlight, before the buck crumbles to the ground. Right between the eyes. Jesse sets the gun back down, and looks over at the camera.
“Set your sights on it, and kill. Anything less, and you lost it. Goes for life as it does for this business boys. Every man is hungry, I’m just not every man. I’m hungrier than the rest.”
Walking off the porch, Jesse steps over a quad behind the back side of the porch. Proceeding to kick start the motor and is seen riding off through the grass up the hill towards his kill. An orange rising sun sets on the hill’s horizon as the blue sky all around it transforms into a beautiful hue of colors. A painter’s delight.
Later that night.
The scene opens up to the basement floor, the same as before. Stained with sweat and blood, but this time, instead of a flickering light for ambience, there was flashing light seen reflecting off the water on the floor. As the camera pans up, we see a wall of televisions stacked to the ceiling. The old tube style TVs, in all sizes, tuned in to different wrestling promotions, featuring matches, promos, and ads from all over the XHF.
From the left side of the frame enters the Canadian Nightmare dressed in his mask and demonic leather jacket gear. His dirty brown hair flowed in a wet mess, just barely visible to the deer scalp he wore on his head. Blood still fresh and dripping down the side of his face.
Walking just to the center of the screens, Jesse faces the screens, as they all start blinking to a single face. The face of the X*Crown Champion, Adrien Cochrane.
Jesse’s head tilts to the side, before he turns on his heel to face the camera. Snapping his fingers, and Adrien’s face disappears. Replaced with a close up of Jesse Jamester’s mask on all the televisions. The black lizard mask with the green cut over the right eye, stares back at the camera a hundred fold.
Holding his hands out, Jesse appears to lose it a bit - laughing like a deranged man, before stomping the floor and stopping on the drop of a dime.
“What?! You think this is funny? You think the X*Crown Championship is a joke? Adrien, do you? Because you seem to think lightning strikes twice in the same spot, and I know it don’t. I know what you wanted so dearly, will be leaving your hands come April 25th. What I know about you far exceeds what you know about me Adrien…
I know about your history with Eric Dane. How you could never get out of his shadow or away from him, and were the second fiddle every where you went because he was better than you. I know you spent a lifetime seeking approval from your peers and the fans. Wanting all the recognition just so you could go and waste it with that shit-attitude you call championship material. Pfffft (Jesse spudders his lips like a kid) What is that horse shit you been shoveling to the network about being the great hope and future of XHF? You think that’s going to fly come the Rumble? Do you really even have an iota of a clue, how fucked you are?
Adrien Cochrane. Came to Northern Pro Wrestling on tour. Entered the Cruiserweight Cup tournament hosted by Gus Arnold. Then, I got asked to help get you over. I watched from the back as you fumbled around that ring, like a toddler in a wet paper bag, you were so lost. You were facing Lord Dominicus in the third night of the Cruiserweight Cup, and I was tasked with helping make sure you made it to the finals.
What did I get in return for that Adrien? You missile dropkicked me as a thank you present!”
Tapping his foot, Jesse turns his back to the camera and the TVs catch the side of his face, as another camera is now in focus on the television screens stacked wall to wall and from floor to ceiling. Jesse snaps his fingers again, and the TVs change to Adrien’s face, multiple shots of him after a loss in the Cruiserweight Cup finale to Jay Stevens of Northern Pro Wrestling.
“Your ego will be the death of you Adrien. This is not a fairy tale. This is not a vacation. You are not facing Jay Stevens. You’re not facing Dylan Black. You’re facing every man who wants what you have - every poor sap who thinks they have the golden ticket to Wonka’s factory. Let me give you an insider's secret, I’m Mr. Fucking Wonka, and it’s my fucking factory they are in!
Adrien has been hand chosen, because he and he alone knows, he stepped on some people to get the opportunities he had to get that X*Crown championship. He sinned in the name of fame, to have his name written in lights on the marquee. Adrien may play the boy everyone loves, this kid who has a big heart, and looks like the underdog in every fight, but he’s really not. He gets lucky, by using people who want to help him, and playing to their sympathy. Adrien has more skeletons in his closet than even I, and that’s saying something.
Ego though, ego is a tricky thing. On one side of the coin, it plays to that confidence it takes to be X*Crown championship material. To have a set testicles the size of a bull, to be able to take on everybody in the network who wants your strap. Confidence is a great motivator, but it has to be backed up. You have to be able to make the call when the time comes to turn on a friend, to do whatever it takes to pull out the win, and then go look at yourself in the mirror - and be okay with the man you become as a cost of those betrayals. Ego will guide you straight off a cliff, if you're not able to handle it.
Ego can also be blinding. As Adrien realizes when he looks at the roster of names he will have to come out and survive; he realizes, sometimes that ego swallows you up, and spits you out lesser than you began. That pressure to live up to what every one thinks you are, the fighting underdog, the scrappy good guy, the awe-schucks it's Adrien, who has the giant killing mentality that legends are written of! But it's just that, a legend, a fable, a norse tale of seeing Odin - you're a tall tale in a small man's body. You got one over on a beaten Dylan Black, and cashed in on the most glorified title in the history of our business.”
Sparta kicking the TV in front of him, Jesse’s boot crashes through Adrien’s face as he pulls back and watches the televisions above begin to shake. Stepping back once more, he pivots and turns to the camera just as the stack begins to fall behind him. An avalanche of screens shatters, as Jesse walks towards the camera, looking it directly in the lens, his mask is the only visible part, his mouth and his right eye showing on the screen.
“Adrien’s ego is why he has no chance of winning this Rumble. He will get caught up in his feels and crumble, like all the rest who can’t handle the pressure. He’s a paper champ, and I’m going to prove it to the XHF and the rest of the world! You’re only saving grace is you’re the last man to enter the Rumble Adrien.
When you do, I’ll be waiting… I have a special gift just for you, our X*Crown Champion. Enjoy your time in limbo Adrien, it’s coming to an end.”
The camera cuts out and fades to black.
Staring out in the distance of the snowy fields of Calgary, Alberta Canada from his porch. The swing on his porch was due a paint job, but the wrap around roofed porch was farmer-esque with the worn white picket fence.
Home to most people, was a memory on the road, one you cherished and counted the days until you got back to your own bed. Oh the comfort of sitting at your table, wife and kids around you, and a big breakfast on your few days off the loop of a wrestling tour.
For Jesse, the kids were all grown up, his wife was deceased nearly 20 years ago, and Jesse, well, his loop was his own schedule now. With the pandemic of the world taking over and changing the wrestling business, his schedule was the lightest it had ever been. Though, for someone of his tenure, it was a nice change.
Reflecting over a cup of black coffee on the front porch. Jesse was reminded that he’d made a claim of being the devil, his tongue hits the inside of his lip as he thinks about it, and he belches a laugh as he rocks on the chair.
Everyone took everything so literally anymore; ‘what a bunch of pussies’ Jesse mutters before he sips from the brim of his cup.
“I’ve never been more proud and yet disappointed in all my time in this business. In an age of glamour and glitz, all the special effects and media outlets; the iPhones and drones, facetime, the Tube, FaceySpace, and Twatt-town, it’s come to my attention that this culture of wrestling has become pretty damn soft,” Jesse speaks out loud, his eye glancing over to where the camera is, as it begins to move, obviously being carried by someone we can’t see.
“Don’t you have any balls? Or is this all some hoo-rah fraternity brotherhood, drop the pickle in the shower and play golf on Sundays sorta club, aye? I’m conflicted because I thought this was a damn Rumble, a massive Rumble in fact - sooo big that I just had to be in it!
I can’t say I find the creativity of this brigade of boys trying to be men, to be anything but an unfair fight. Ya’ll been speaking out about your insecurities, your fears, your doubt - and what I’m hearing is, you lack the man hood to own up to your short-comings, and bring your fuckin’ A game!”
Turning his leg over the other, Jesse leans back, not letting the emotion show from the outside - but resting on every syllable he said.
“When it comes to these sorta events, you have to have a strategy and be ready to execute. Come in there half cocked, and you’ll see yourself chucked like a potato over and out! Personally, I’m watching out for John Cavanagh, the chip on his shoulder - it’s looking more like a mountain every day. I saw him go through the Northern Pro locker room, after starting all over again after EWF. He’s finally finding himself in this new world, and I wouldn’t put it past him to have a Celtic Club member up his sleeve. John, I know we haven’t said more than two words to one another, so I’ll make this real simple fella - stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours. Otherwise, I make no promises.
Now Cavanagh, he I can say I have familiarity with. These other hosses, Armand von Krauss, the ReVenants, and Riley Richards, they all have the same disadvantage as me. We haven’t crossed paths, we aren’t familiar with one another’s work, and therefore, I’m taking my time to find out a little more about each one of you.
The ReVenants don’t seem like the type that stray far from loyalty and mischievous behavior, let alone wanting to do everything to turn the business upside down in their favor. Sounds a lot like The Syndicate, if I do say so. Y’all got a lot of men, but I don’t think it matters if you go over one by one. My goal isn’t to pick apart a team, it’s to isolate myself - what I do with a whole ring to myself, well, that’s a dangerous game you don’t want to try me at.
It’s an open field, depending on what that plan is that everyone has. From the sounds of it though, everyone’s phoning this one in and playing their luck like a power ball ticket in the states. Each every last one of them talking about what ifs and if this or that happens, but the fact of the matter is, it aint - you won’t, and I promise it!”
Rocking to a still, Jesse’s attention travels far out into the field where the hill and the horizon meet. His eyes may have not been that of a young man’s anymore, but the crow feet forming in the corner of his eyes said it all.
Reaching back from his chair, Jesse grabbed a rifle that was sitting up against the porch. Scoped up and loaded, he brought it up to his shoulders assuming the position. Moving his tongue along his lips before sealing them. His finger was ready, and within a moment’s notice he pulled.
BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANG!
Out in the distance, the antlers on a stag are seen hitting the sunlight, before the buck crumbles to the ground. Right between the eyes. Jesse sets the gun back down, and looks over at the camera.
“Set your sights on it, and kill. Anything less, and you lost it. Goes for life as it does for this business boys. Every man is hungry, I’m just not every man. I’m hungrier than the rest.”
Walking off the porch, Jesse steps over a quad behind the back side of the porch. Proceeding to kick start the motor and is seen riding off through the grass up the hill towards his kill. An orange rising sun sets on the hill’s horizon as the blue sky all around it transforms into a beautiful hue of colors. A painter’s delight.
__________________________________________________________________________
Later that night.
The scene opens up to the basement floor, the same as before. Stained with sweat and blood, but this time, instead of a flickering light for ambience, there was flashing light seen reflecting off the water on the floor. As the camera pans up, we see a wall of televisions stacked to the ceiling. The old tube style TVs, in all sizes, tuned in to different wrestling promotions, featuring matches, promos, and ads from all over the XHF.
From the left side of the frame enters the Canadian Nightmare dressed in his mask and demonic leather jacket gear. His dirty brown hair flowed in a wet mess, just barely visible to the deer scalp he wore on his head. Blood still fresh and dripping down the side of his face.
Walking just to the center of the screens, Jesse faces the screens, as they all start blinking to a single face. The face of the X*Crown Champion, Adrien Cochrane.
Jesse’s head tilts to the side, before he turns on his heel to face the camera. Snapping his fingers, and Adrien’s face disappears. Replaced with a close up of Jesse Jamester’s mask on all the televisions. The black lizard mask with the green cut over the right eye, stares back at the camera a hundred fold.
Holding his hands out, Jesse appears to lose it a bit - laughing like a deranged man, before stomping the floor and stopping on the drop of a dime.
“What?! You think this is funny? You think the X*Crown Championship is a joke? Adrien, do you? Because you seem to think lightning strikes twice in the same spot, and I know it don’t. I know what you wanted so dearly, will be leaving your hands come April 25th. What I know about you far exceeds what you know about me Adrien…
I know about your history with Eric Dane. How you could never get out of his shadow or away from him, and were the second fiddle every where you went because he was better than you. I know you spent a lifetime seeking approval from your peers and the fans. Wanting all the recognition just so you could go and waste it with that shit-attitude you call championship material. Pfffft (Jesse spudders his lips like a kid) What is that horse shit you been shoveling to the network about being the great hope and future of XHF? You think that’s going to fly come the Rumble? Do you really even have an iota of a clue, how fucked you are?
Adrien Cochrane. Came to Northern Pro Wrestling on tour. Entered the Cruiserweight Cup tournament hosted by Gus Arnold. Then, I got asked to help get you over. I watched from the back as you fumbled around that ring, like a toddler in a wet paper bag, you were so lost. You were facing Lord Dominicus in the third night of the Cruiserweight Cup, and I was tasked with helping make sure you made it to the finals.
What did I get in return for that Adrien? You missile dropkicked me as a thank you present!”
Tapping his foot, Jesse turns his back to the camera and the TVs catch the side of his face, as another camera is now in focus on the television screens stacked wall to wall and from floor to ceiling. Jesse snaps his fingers again, and the TVs change to Adrien’s face, multiple shots of him after a loss in the Cruiserweight Cup finale to Jay Stevens of Northern Pro Wrestling.
“Your ego will be the death of you Adrien. This is not a fairy tale. This is not a vacation. You are not facing Jay Stevens. You’re not facing Dylan Black. You’re facing every man who wants what you have - every poor sap who thinks they have the golden ticket to Wonka’s factory. Let me give you an insider's secret, I’m Mr. Fucking Wonka, and it’s my fucking factory they are in!
Adrien has been hand chosen, because he and he alone knows, he stepped on some people to get the opportunities he had to get that X*Crown championship. He sinned in the name of fame, to have his name written in lights on the marquee. Adrien may play the boy everyone loves, this kid who has a big heart, and looks like the underdog in every fight, but he’s really not. He gets lucky, by using people who want to help him, and playing to their sympathy. Adrien has more skeletons in his closet than even I, and that’s saying something.
Ego though, ego is a tricky thing. On one side of the coin, it plays to that confidence it takes to be X*Crown championship material. To have a set testicles the size of a bull, to be able to take on everybody in the network who wants your strap. Confidence is a great motivator, but it has to be backed up. You have to be able to make the call when the time comes to turn on a friend, to do whatever it takes to pull out the win, and then go look at yourself in the mirror - and be okay with the man you become as a cost of those betrayals. Ego will guide you straight off a cliff, if you're not able to handle it.
Ego can also be blinding. As Adrien realizes when he looks at the roster of names he will have to come out and survive; he realizes, sometimes that ego swallows you up, and spits you out lesser than you began. That pressure to live up to what every one thinks you are, the fighting underdog, the scrappy good guy, the awe-schucks it's Adrien, who has the giant killing mentality that legends are written of! But it's just that, a legend, a fable, a norse tale of seeing Odin - you're a tall tale in a small man's body. You got one over on a beaten Dylan Black, and cashed in on the most glorified title in the history of our business.”
Sparta kicking the TV in front of him, Jesse’s boot crashes through Adrien’s face as he pulls back and watches the televisions above begin to shake. Stepping back once more, he pivots and turns to the camera just as the stack begins to fall behind him. An avalanche of screens shatters, as Jesse walks towards the camera, looking it directly in the lens, his mask is the only visible part, his mouth and his right eye showing on the screen.
“Adrien’s ego is why he has no chance of winning this Rumble. He will get caught up in his feels and crumble, like all the rest who can’t handle the pressure. He’s a paper champ, and I’m going to prove it to the XHF and the rest of the world! You’re only saving grace is you’re the last man to enter the Rumble Adrien.
When you do, I’ll be waiting… I have a special gift just for you, our X*Crown Champion. Enjoy your time in limbo Adrien, it’s coming to an end.”
The camera cuts out and fades to black.
