Post by Technical Perfection on Feb 20, 2019 14:28:58 GMT -5
The gentle skittering sound of rats running around their cage fills the air. This lounge is spaciously laid out, designed and furnished in an exquisitely (if rather sombre) modern style. The room, however, is a hive of activity as the owners exchange final instructions with their temporary guests.
Mr Murphy, that tall rangy figure remains quiet, impassive as usual. He flicks the long mane of jet black hair away from his eyes and fiddles around in his pocket for a set of car keys. His wife, the fearsome presence that is Natasha is dressed to kill in black leather jeans and a deep scarlet corset, an outfit that hugs her every curve. Yet she seems a little distant, distracted. As she clutches on to her crutches she has a few words for her sister before leaving.
Diana Card, the recipient of those words stands, smiling. In this light she does look rather like her sister, just as beautiful albeit dressed far less provocatively. Though to be fair, it would be difficult to be dressed more provocatively than Natasha without actually breaking social norms (or for that matter, public decency laws). As her charge for the day comes screaming into the picture, Diana goes to speak but is interrupted by the wild noise that only a young child can make.
Chris Card is the final member of this scene. Dressed sharply as always, he has a uniquely calm air about him. It can be hard to retain your cool when surrounded by the havoc a young child can cause but Card’s innate self assured manner is on full display. Taking events surrounding him in good humour and with an unflappable aura is Card’s signature.
Natasha pauses for half a second.
The Gothic Goddess’ face is one showing more than a little pain. You could put it down to her ankle injury at the hands of Scott Fargo. But praising her brother-in-law is something that pains Natasha more than any injury ever could.
Turning to her son, Natasha’s stoicism drops as she becomes… maternal.
The change in Natasha’s tone between her genuine emotional attachment for her sister and her professional relationship (and occasional complete antipathy) with Chris is laid bare in her ability to change vocal tone between the two parts of her farewell. The Gothic Goddess and her gigantic husband leave, their son waving like a madman as they depart.
~~
Natasha’s lounge camera is set up for recording promotional videos from the comfort of her own sofa. The room is emptier now, Natasha and her husband having long disappeared to whatever business that they had to attend to. From off camera Chris Card’s voice floats over the shot, affecting a generic “TV American” accent, that generic, slightly Midwestern one used by announcers, newscasters and such.
Damian Murphy runs enthusiastically into the middle of the shot, the exuberance of youth (and possibly the sugar rush from a cookie) filling his young body. He yells at the top of his lungs at nothing in particular. You can’t expect a five year old to know anything about addressing a camera directly, after all.
Cut.
~~
Later that afternoon, the lounge is quieter. The rats are still running around, the room is free from childlike enthusiasm, Damian having long gone for his afternoon nap. Chris Card lazes across the sofa, exuding an air of relaxation that will probably be infectious to the viewer. Speaking in a measured tone to the camera, Card’s confidence shows through in every single word he speaks.
Card chuckles to himself.
Card twirls his finger next to his temple and makes a cuckoo like whistle, the universal sign that he thinks someone has gone gaga.
The ice cold delivery on the word “hate” in that last sentence is palpable.
Leaning forward and resting his chin on his fingers, Card looks thoughtful for a second. The mood drops as he leans back again.
Card emits a little “Ha!” sound from his lips before continuing.
Card’s emphasis on the word matches the emphasis that Caffrey used.
Diana Card glides across the back of the shot. She adds, grinning from ear to ear at getting a chance to be unusually self aggrandizing.
Chris grins.
Cut.
Mr Murphy, that tall rangy figure remains quiet, impassive as usual. He flicks the long mane of jet black hair away from his eyes and fiddles around in his pocket for a set of car keys. His wife, the fearsome presence that is Natasha is dressed to kill in black leather jeans and a deep scarlet corset, an outfit that hugs her every curve. Yet she seems a little distant, distracted. As she clutches on to her crutches she has a few words for her sister before leaving.
Natasha: Take good care of Damian while I’m out. Don’t feed him too many cookies.
Diana Card, the recipient of those words stands, smiling. In this light she does look rather like her sister, just as beautiful albeit dressed far less provocatively. Though to be fair, it would be difficult to be dressed more provocatively than Natasha without actually breaking social norms (or for that matter, public decency laws). As her charge for the day comes screaming into the picture, Diana goes to speak but is interrupted by the wild noise that only a young child can make.
Damian Murphy: AAAAUNNNTIIEEEE DEEEEE!
Diana Card: Oh I know how to keep him under control. And I’m not going to put too much sugar down his throat. He is… hyperactive enough as it is.
Natasha: Good. And Chris?
Chris Card: Yes, Nats?
Chris Card is the final member of this scene. Dressed sharply as always, he has a uniquely calm air about him. It can be hard to retain your cool when surrounded by the havoc a young child can cause but Card’s innate self assured manner is on full display. Taking events surrounding him in good humour and with an unflappable aura is Card’s signature.
Natasha: As we agreed, you can use my recording equipment. I know you’ve got a big match ahead against some AXW creep and the Network will be expecting more of your…
Natasha pauses for half a second.
Natasha: Unique brand of wisdom.
The Gothic Goddess’ face is one showing more than a little pain. You could put it down to her ankle injury at the hands of Scott Fargo. But praising her brother-in-law is something that pains Natasha more than any injury ever could.
Chris Card: Can I ask for one my favour, Nats?
Natasha: What?
Chris Card: Can I borrow my delightful nephew for something?
Natasha: For what? You’re not going to do anything reckless. Not with my child.
Chris Card: Oh, you know me well enough to know I’m never reckless, Nats. This is really calculated. And he’s going to enjoy it.
Natasha: Fine. Come, Sean. We have business to attend to. I will have to wait to hear what my brother-in-law has planned.
Mr Murphy: Yes Dear. Bye bye, Damian.
Turning to her son, Natasha’s stoicism drops as she becomes… maternal.
Natasha: You be good for Uncle Chris and Auntie Dee, honey. We will be back later.
Damian Murphy: BYE MOMMY! BYE DADDY!
Diana Card: Bye, sis. Love you!
Chris Card: I’ll help take care of your little one, Nats. See you soon.
Natasha: Love you, Dee. See you later, Chris.
The change in Natasha’s tone between her genuine emotional attachment for her sister and her professional relationship (and occasional complete antipathy) with Chris is laid bare in her ability to change vocal tone between the two parts of her farewell. The Gothic Goddess and her gigantic husband leave, their son waving like a madman as they depart.
Chris Card: So, are you ready to be a star, Damo?
Damian Murphy: YES!
~~
Natasha’s lounge camera is set up for recording promotional videos from the comfort of her own sofa. The room is emptier now, Natasha and her husband having long disappeared to whatever business that they had to attend to. From off camera Chris Card’s voice floats over the shot, affecting a generic “TV American” accent, that generic, slightly Midwestern one used by announcers, newscasters and such.
Chris Card: The following is an endorsement on behalf of Anthony Caffrey.
Damian Murphy runs enthusiastically into the middle of the shot, the exuberance of youth (and possibly the sugar rush from a cookie) filling his young body. He yells at the top of his lungs at nothing in particular. You can’t expect a five year old to know anything about addressing a camera directly, after all.
Damian Murphy: ANKIE LOCK! ANKIE LOCK! I’M THE BEST! I’M THE BEST! I’M THE BEST! BEST! BEST! BEST! BEEEEEEEEEEEST!
Chris Card: Thankyou, “Anthony Caffrey.”
Cut.
~~
Later that afternoon, the lounge is quieter. The rats are still running around, the room is free from childlike enthusiasm, Damian having long gone for his afternoon nap. Chris Card lazes across the sofa, exuding an air of relaxation that will probably be infectious to the viewer. Speaking in a measured tone to the camera, Card’s confidence shows through in every single word he speaks.
Chris Card: The pressure causes the fissure. The fissure becomes a crack. The crack becomes a break. Anthony Caffrey? You’ve cracked. I can hear it in your voice. I can see it in your actions. And if you haven’t already broken, then I am here to provide that little extra pressure to totally break you.
Card chuckles to himself.
Chris Card: And I’m enjoying it.
Chris Card: You’re flipping the bird at posters? You’re trying to imply that it’s my good self that has cracked and then go back and say “I was so angry trying to think of how to respond”. You laugh maniacally over the smallest mental victory that you can conjure up for yourself. You insult interviewers and security guards for not giving you enough respect. Do you think those are the actions of a man in full control of his mental faculties?
Card twirls his finger next to his temple and makes a cuckoo like whistle, the universal sign that he thinks someone has gone gaga.
Chris Card: You accuse me of being pedantic? I think we both know that your usual air of self-assurance gets punctured whenever you make an intellectual mistake. “The Best” doesn’t make mistakes. So I know you loathe having the carcass of your arguments being picked dry by a superior man. It makes you feel small. And you hate feeling small.
The ice cold delivery on the word “hate” in that last sentence is palpable.
Chris Card: It’s made you totally back track on an argument as well. Firstly you accuse me of faux intellectualism. Then when you discover that my intellect is very, very real you immediately switch track and call me a pedant and a bore. Tell me this, Caffrey. If I had less intelligence than you, you would call me an idiot. I have more and am therefore boring. If I had the same and was faking more I would be, as you pointed out, a fraud. So is every one of your group of associates measured to have exactly the same level of intelligence to you? Do you make them sit tests and then expel them from your inner circle if they don’t fail exactly the correct number of questions? I am keen to know.
Leaning forward and resting his chin on his fingers, Card looks thoughtful for a second. The mood drops as he leans back again.
Chris Card: You haven’t given me any credit as a threat, Caffrey. When I have discussed your talents, I have actually been reasonably complimentary about your skill set. And you seize those compliments and hold them as some admission of my inferiority. Of course engaging in a proper discourse about our relative skill sets is apparently beyond you. I find this amusing. Your naivety in this area is almost staggering. That you can make piles of notes on what I am capable of and then dismiss them out of hand. It’s almost like you don’t take me seriously. I, of course, made piles of notes this week too. But talking about venture capital has no place in a wrestling promo.
Card emits a little “Ha!” sound from his lips before continuing.
Chris Card: It’s almost like you have deliberately placed yourself in a situation where you have no outs. You have to win. And yet you gain so little for winning because, obviously I’m not up to much as an in ring talent. And if you lose, you have lost to an inferior wrestler. It’s a no win situation for you, Caffrey. No glory in victory, nothing but shame in defeat. It’s a conundrum, that’s for sure. I wonder how you are going to spin that. Another question posed that you have to search inside yourself for a Sarah Sanders level answer.
Chris Card: You think I’m worried about your ankle lock? That people tell me about it every waking moment of my life? That the move haunts my every move, taunting me with it’s dominance? That those three letters, C-A-L are going to be the path to my ultimate failure against you and that I cannot be prepared for the torture you can inflict? Well, I’ve got three letters too. Three letters that should strike fear into the very depths of your soul. Three letters whose meaning will send you further on the path of insanity that you are already barrelling down at full speed. N-A-H.
Chris Card: Nah. Nah, not worried. I’ve already schemed around your ankle lock. I’ve done the prep. So though I respect the move I am not worried in the slightest. And believe me, I do “Not worried” better than any man on the Network. It doesn’t matter how often you talk it up, and believe me the amount you talk that move up was long past due a good satirizing, I never go sleepless over an opponent’s move in professional wrestling. I merely work out how to avoid it and move on with my life. I await how you will respond to “Nah,” as a concept. I’m guessing by talking up the ankle lock even more because, hey, it is your gimmick.
Chris Card: Now, I think that enjoying the finer things in life is perfectly acceptable behaviour. Never to excess, of course. But to my fans who love that level of excess, and it is fun, we were all 21 once, I encourage you to find an affordable spirit of your choice and settle in for the Anthony Caffrey drinking game when he inevitably responds.
Chris Card: Take a sip every time he lauds his ability at applying an ankle lock. Take two if he mentions a different move in his arsenal. Take a sip if he discusses my sex life. Take a sip whenever his mood changes in response to one of my points. Take a sip whenever he busts out his sinister smile. Take a sip whenever he talks about the trappings of my wealth in a fashion that is jealousy incarnate. Take a sip whenever he tries to worm his way out of a point I have raised and fails spectacularly. Take two if he just flat gives up and tries to dismiss it out of hand. Take a sip when he tries to call me out on pulling a trick that he, himself used. No extra shot if I did it better, that would be unfair. Take a sip if he tries to pull the hardcore nationalistic line of argument, despite having shown no flag waving fervour before this match. Drain the entire bottle if he actually raises a salient, well argued point (this is unlikely.)
Chris Card: Actually. Don’t do that. I don’t want suing for the liver damage that will cause amongst my fan base.
Chris Card: Anthony Caffrey. You’re a great professional wrestler. You have a diverse range of skills, not that you talk about that diversity often enough, that made my scouting of you an enjoyable experience. What you can do within the ropes is not to be ignored. You will make an interesting challenge at Diamonds Are Forever, that is a sure thing. But you need a little humility. Anyone who is unquestioning about their own greatness is destined to fall prey to their own ego. Ego makes you sloppy. Ego makes you unfocused against the true dangers of your opponent. You may be undefeated since OCTOBER...
Card’s emphasis on the word matches the emphasis that Caffrey used.
Chris Card: But you haven’t faced me. A man who is also undefeated since... OCTOBER. You haven’t stepped through the ropes against someone who not only recognises your style but one who uses what is essentially a more learned and considered version of it. You can shout to the high heavens about your greatness but no one is listening. Because we’ve heard it all before, Anthony. Something else we’ve heard before? I’m still a bad match up for you. And the last thing you need going into a bad match up is to be in a bad place mentally. And your brain is currently what some would call a “hot mess.”
Chris Card: I’m not going to beat you, Anthony, because I am rich. I’m not going to beat you because I’m Canadian. I’m not going to beat you because I’m intelligent or learned. I’m not going to beat you because I have an expensive house or Italian sports cars or a luxury yacht.
Diana Card glides across the back of the shot. She adds, grinning from ear to ear at getting a chance to be unusually self aggrandizing.
Diana Card: Or a hot wife.
Chris Card: I’m going to beat you because on the night I have all these tools at my disposal to be the better wrestler. I going to beat you because I have the in ring smarts to dictate the pace, run my own game, work the whole match towards my finish. I’m going to beat you because when the going gets tough, as we both know it will, I improvise better than any wrestler alive today. I’m going to beat you because I’m not so reliant on one strategy that I hamper my chances at winning by another method. I’m going to beat you because if I apply one of my spinal submissions, you will fear that your vertebrae will fissure, then crack, then break.
Chris Card: I’m going to beat you because...
Diana leans over the sofa and grasps her husband firmly around his upper body. A genuine moment of affection from an actual loving couple.
Diana Card: He's very, VERY good at what he does.
She leans into his ear and whispers something inaudible to the camera.
Chris grins.
Cut.
