Post by franchise on Oct 10, 2013 10:49:55 GMT -5
(OOC: This was originally posted at GDW, but with their hiatus, I had no choice but to edit this to fit for Ricky's return to the ring in PWX instead. Enjoy!)
“Hunt with the big dogs…
Or be relegated to the porch.”
-HBK
…
The air is cold but the tension’s thick. Enclosed by four white walls which box him in, Ricky Valero struggles to breathe as he sits on a hospital bed. His legs twitch nervously on the platform beneath his feet, keeping enough of his focus so that he might not pass out.
He’s dressed casually on this day. A plain black t-shirt, dark denim jeans and a pair of Nike AirMax’s in white, black and red. His dirty blonde hair is kept short and his deep blue eyes appear off somewhere in the distance.
He turns his left arm over and stares intently at the simple tattoo that graces his forearm in bold black letters.
The tattoo reads, “ROBBIE DUKES.” His cousin, who’d been murdered in cold play some five years ago. A moment in Ricky’s life that changed everything. A moment that pushed Ricky to devote his professional wrestling career to a far more serious cause than he had taken beforehand, catering to the heads of a reckless promotion that needed their comedic relief character.
Ricky had broken that shell long ago. He became a champion, a showman and a warrior. There was no denying his talent. But at the age of 31, it all hung in the balance once again.
RICKY: What the hell is taking so long?
Seemingly on cue, the door swings open. Ricky takes a deep breath as the doctors enters.
The doctor appears to be no older than 40. He’s good looking. Dark brown hair, brown eyes and a chiseled chin. He places his folder on the countertop and takes a seat across from Ricky. A cold, forced smile reflects back at Ricky, who nervously fakes one of his own.
DOCTOR: I have some good news..and I have some bad news.
Ricky scoffs.
RICKY: Cut to the chase, Doc, I don’t have all day here.
The doctor chuckles, shaking his head at the miserable competitor in front of him. He flips open the folder and pulls out Ricky’s test results, handing them over to him.
DOCTOR: This is what your back looks like right now. It’s worse than it has ever been before.
He points to certain spots in the photos in front of Ricky.
DOCTOR: You have two herniated discs right there and there…and this one…is absolutely crushed. Destroyed. Nothing I could do would fix that problem.
RICKY: And?
The doctor cocks an eyebrow.
DOCTOR: What do you mean, and?
Ricky flashes that trademark smirk, shaking his head at the doctor.
RICKY: I’ve been wrestling with one herniated disc for four years. I’ve suffered eight concussions in my career. A torn meniscus in BOTH knees. Countless cuts, scrapes and bruises. What does this mean?
The doctor takes the results from Ricky’s hands and rolls closer to him. He looks him dead in the eye.
DOCTOR: In my professional opinion, it would be in your best interest to retire from professional wrestling. We’ve had this talk before. With the concussions and the back injuries, it has always been important for you to step away. But you’ve refused. Ricky, listen to me, you MUST retire.
Ricky rolls his eyes.
RICKY: And if I don’t?
DOCTOR: If you don’t…you could end paralyzed. Or worse, you could die in the ring. Every time you step into the ring, Ricky, you’re putting your life on the line. That could not be more true now than ever before. Your life is at risk, Ricky!
Ricky sighs. He leans back and runs his hands through his hair. This was what he was hoping not to hear. Granted, he’d heard bad news before. He’s taken lots of time off over the last three years to ensure his health. But every time, the game dragged him back. He couldn’t help himself. He needed to perform in front of the fans. He needed to feel the energy. The electricity. He was dead without it.
DOCTOR: You have to retire, Ricky…You must.
…
The gym is his domain. There he can block out the whole world and set his focus on improving at the only thing in life he has ever been good at: wrestling.
He’s been a screw up since day one. His parents couldn’t bear to be around him. His teammates despised his arrogant ways in high school. And his drug habits kept him from being the good husband and father he should’ve been.
VOICE: You know you used to be much harder to find.
A woman’s voice breaks his concentrations as he pounds away on the punching bag. He turns around with a smile to find his ex-wife Rochelle McCree and son “Little Richie” at her feet.
RICKY: That’s because I got sick of jumping out of windows to avoid getting caught.
Rochelle sighs as the two embrace in a hug. Then, Ricky crouches down and hugs his son, giving the nearly-two-year-old a kiss on the forehead.
RICKY: What brings you guys here?
ROCHELLE: Little Richie wanted to see his Daddy, so I figured we’d come visit you. PLUS, I know you got news from the doctor. What did he say?
Ricky starts to walk away, but Rochelle is hot on his heels.
RICKY: You already know.
ROCHELLE: And you’re not going to quit.
Ricky crouches down and picks up a water bottle from a nearby bench. He takes a sip.
RICKY: I’ve thought about it.
ROCHELLE: And?
She stomps her foot out to the side with her arms crossed, hoping for the “right” answer.
RICKY: Rochelle…
ROCHELLE: Dammit, Rick!
Ricky’s eyes travel to the floor, embarrassed but helpless. Ricky’s need for the wrestling business, along with his past drug and alcohol problems, were much to blame for he and Rochelle’s very early divorce—the two weren’t even married for three months before filing.
Rochelle lets out another sighs. The two have become better friends since the birth of their son. They get each other. They care for another.
ROCHELLE: I understand. I don’t approve of it…but I understand. I miss the ring every day. You have the opportunity, you have to take it. I just hope nothing happens that makes you regret it.
Ricky smiles.
RICKY: I do too. Every single day. I’m terrified of being unable to play catch with my son. But I can’t say no…I need it.
Rochelle bends down and scoops up Little Richie and moves closer to Ricky.
ROCHELLE: I know. And no matter what happens, we’ll be here for you.
RICKY: That’s all I ask…that’s all I ask…
The two hug…as the scene fades…
…
Ricky’s grinning face fills the screen. A simple backdrop paints the picture: this man means business. The look in his eyes makes certain his goal: to rise to the top and reign supreme.
RICKY: In this industry, one must evolve to continue being successful. The landscape of the game is forever changing, and as new blood comes up, the weak links are devoured one by one. But those who learn how to adapt, those who know how to stay ahead of the curve forever stand tall atop the mountain, as king.
Ricky chuckles.
RICKY: And we all think we’re kings, or queens, we all think we’re wrestling royalty. That because we go out in that ring every night, bust our ass and put on a show for the mutants who pay top dollar and chant our name, that we’ve earned the right to think our crap don’t stink. Because if we show even a moment of weakness, we’ll be as a good as dead. And I’ve learned over the years that, for the most part, that’s true. That you can’t afford to admit a fault, you can’t afford to reveal a chink in your armor. Because dammit if that isn’t the first thing someone targets. Dammit if that wasn’t the first thing I would target.
And we’ve also learned that, for the most part, the fans don’t give a rat’s ass about us. If we disappear into obscurity, they’ll forget about us and move on. But that’s okay. That’s the way this industry works and dammit if I don’t still love it when that music hits and I emerge from the back I hear the cheers or boos of tens of thousands of fans. That emotion. That feeling. We truly live and die for that.
He starts to pace now. Walking back and forth as the camera pans back slightly.
RICKY: And that’s why, despite doctor’s order. Despite my ex-wife’s insistence and my baby boy at home unaware of the risk his father goes through day in and day out, I’m here. I’m back. And I’m ready to go to battle. I’m ready to go to war. To put my life on the line for this industry. For this sport that I love so damn much. That we love so damn much. I don’t have many enemies here, so I’m not going to sick here and name drop. There are familiar faces from my days in the SWA and the NEWA, but the past means nothing. This is a clean slate. A new page for me to once again prove my worth in the wrestling world. To prove whether or not I should be considered among the greats.
And you better believe I’m going to do everything in my power to make that happen. If that means winding up in a wheelchair, in a hospital bed, or a casket. I’m always going to go down with a fight, I can guarantee you that!
He smiles, wiping his face with his left hand and smirking once more.
RICKY: My name is Ricky Valero. For those that don’t know it, get to know it, love it, then sit back, relax and enjoy the show. I’ll keep the talk for another time, but I can promise you, even if I’m getting my backside handed to me, I will put a show on and you will not want to miss it. Excuse the cliché, but this is the beginning of a new era in the PWX. The evolution of this promotion is happening right before your very eyes and soon, things won’t look quite as they have for some time now. The cream always rises to the top, and you better believe that’s where I’ll be.
All eyes on me and don’t lose focus. “The Franchise” is here and…
Ricky smirks, clearly filled with excitement.
RICKY: And it’s so damn good to be back!
With a wink, Ricky dashes off set. Slowly but surely, the scene fades to black.
“Hunt with the big dogs…
Or be relegated to the porch.”
-HBK
…
The air is cold but the tension’s thick. Enclosed by four white walls which box him in, Ricky Valero struggles to breathe as he sits on a hospital bed. His legs twitch nervously on the platform beneath his feet, keeping enough of his focus so that he might not pass out.
He’s dressed casually on this day. A plain black t-shirt, dark denim jeans and a pair of Nike AirMax’s in white, black and red. His dirty blonde hair is kept short and his deep blue eyes appear off somewhere in the distance.
He turns his left arm over and stares intently at the simple tattoo that graces his forearm in bold black letters.
The tattoo reads, “ROBBIE DUKES.” His cousin, who’d been murdered in cold play some five years ago. A moment in Ricky’s life that changed everything. A moment that pushed Ricky to devote his professional wrestling career to a far more serious cause than he had taken beforehand, catering to the heads of a reckless promotion that needed their comedic relief character.
Ricky had broken that shell long ago. He became a champion, a showman and a warrior. There was no denying his talent. But at the age of 31, it all hung in the balance once again.
RICKY: What the hell is taking so long?
Seemingly on cue, the door swings open. Ricky takes a deep breath as the doctors enters.
The doctor appears to be no older than 40. He’s good looking. Dark brown hair, brown eyes and a chiseled chin. He places his folder on the countertop and takes a seat across from Ricky. A cold, forced smile reflects back at Ricky, who nervously fakes one of his own.
DOCTOR: I have some good news..and I have some bad news.
Ricky scoffs.
RICKY: Cut to the chase, Doc, I don’t have all day here.
The doctor chuckles, shaking his head at the miserable competitor in front of him. He flips open the folder and pulls out Ricky’s test results, handing them over to him.
DOCTOR: This is what your back looks like right now. It’s worse than it has ever been before.
He points to certain spots in the photos in front of Ricky.
DOCTOR: You have two herniated discs right there and there…and this one…is absolutely crushed. Destroyed. Nothing I could do would fix that problem.
RICKY: And?
The doctor cocks an eyebrow.
DOCTOR: What do you mean, and?
Ricky flashes that trademark smirk, shaking his head at the doctor.
RICKY: I’ve been wrestling with one herniated disc for four years. I’ve suffered eight concussions in my career. A torn meniscus in BOTH knees. Countless cuts, scrapes and bruises. What does this mean?
The doctor takes the results from Ricky’s hands and rolls closer to him. He looks him dead in the eye.
DOCTOR: In my professional opinion, it would be in your best interest to retire from professional wrestling. We’ve had this talk before. With the concussions and the back injuries, it has always been important for you to step away. But you’ve refused. Ricky, listen to me, you MUST retire.
Ricky rolls his eyes.
RICKY: And if I don’t?
DOCTOR: If you don’t…you could end paralyzed. Or worse, you could die in the ring. Every time you step into the ring, Ricky, you’re putting your life on the line. That could not be more true now than ever before. Your life is at risk, Ricky!
Ricky sighs. He leans back and runs his hands through his hair. This was what he was hoping not to hear. Granted, he’d heard bad news before. He’s taken lots of time off over the last three years to ensure his health. But every time, the game dragged him back. He couldn’t help himself. He needed to perform in front of the fans. He needed to feel the energy. The electricity. He was dead without it.
DOCTOR: You have to retire, Ricky…You must.
…
The gym is his domain. There he can block out the whole world and set his focus on improving at the only thing in life he has ever been good at: wrestling.
He’s been a screw up since day one. His parents couldn’t bear to be around him. His teammates despised his arrogant ways in high school. And his drug habits kept him from being the good husband and father he should’ve been.
VOICE: You know you used to be much harder to find.
A woman’s voice breaks his concentrations as he pounds away on the punching bag. He turns around with a smile to find his ex-wife Rochelle McCree and son “Little Richie” at her feet.
RICKY: That’s because I got sick of jumping out of windows to avoid getting caught.
Rochelle sighs as the two embrace in a hug. Then, Ricky crouches down and hugs his son, giving the nearly-two-year-old a kiss on the forehead.
RICKY: What brings you guys here?
ROCHELLE: Little Richie wanted to see his Daddy, so I figured we’d come visit you. PLUS, I know you got news from the doctor. What did he say?
Ricky starts to walk away, but Rochelle is hot on his heels.
RICKY: You already know.
ROCHELLE: And you’re not going to quit.
Ricky crouches down and picks up a water bottle from a nearby bench. He takes a sip.
RICKY: I’ve thought about it.
ROCHELLE: And?
She stomps her foot out to the side with her arms crossed, hoping for the “right” answer.
RICKY: Rochelle…
ROCHELLE: Dammit, Rick!
Ricky’s eyes travel to the floor, embarrassed but helpless. Ricky’s need for the wrestling business, along with his past drug and alcohol problems, were much to blame for he and Rochelle’s very early divorce—the two weren’t even married for three months before filing.
Rochelle lets out another sighs. The two have become better friends since the birth of their son. They get each other. They care for another.
ROCHELLE: I understand. I don’t approve of it…but I understand. I miss the ring every day. You have the opportunity, you have to take it. I just hope nothing happens that makes you regret it.
Ricky smiles.
RICKY: I do too. Every single day. I’m terrified of being unable to play catch with my son. But I can’t say no…I need it.
Rochelle bends down and scoops up Little Richie and moves closer to Ricky.
ROCHELLE: I know. And no matter what happens, we’ll be here for you.
RICKY: That’s all I ask…that’s all I ask…
The two hug…as the scene fades…
…
Ricky’s grinning face fills the screen. A simple backdrop paints the picture: this man means business. The look in his eyes makes certain his goal: to rise to the top and reign supreme.
RICKY: In this industry, one must evolve to continue being successful. The landscape of the game is forever changing, and as new blood comes up, the weak links are devoured one by one. But those who learn how to adapt, those who know how to stay ahead of the curve forever stand tall atop the mountain, as king.
Ricky chuckles.
RICKY: And we all think we’re kings, or queens, we all think we’re wrestling royalty. That because we go out in that ring every night, bust our ass and put on a show for the mutants who pay top dollar and chant our name, that we’ve earned the right to think our crap don’t stink. Because if we show even a moment of weakness, we’ll be as a good as dead. And I’ve learned over the years that, for the most part, that’s true. That you can’t afford to admit a fault, you can’t afford to reveal a chink in your armor. Because dammit if that isn’t the first thing someone targets. Dammit if that wasn’t the first thing I would target.
And we’ve also learned that, for the most part, the fans don’t give a rat’s ass about us. If we disappear into obscurity, they’ll forget about us and move on. But that’s okay. That’s the way this industry works and dammit if I don’t still love it when that music hits and I emerge from the back I hear the cheers or boos of tens of thousands of fans. That emotion. That feeling. We truly live and die for that.
He starts to pace now. Walking back and forth as the camera pans back slightly.
RICKY: And that’s why, despite doctor’s order. Despite my ex-wife’s insistence and my baby boy at home unaware of the risk his father goes through day in and day out, I’m here. I’m back. And I’m ready to go to battle. I’m ready to go to war. To put my life on the line for this industry. For this sport that I love so damn much. That we love so damn much. I don’t have many enemies here, so I’m not going to sick here and name drop. There are familiar faces from my days in the SWA and the NEWA, but the past means nothing. This is a clean slate. A new page for me to once again prove my worth in the wrestling world. To prove whether or not I should be considered among the greats.
And you better believe I’m going to do everything in my power to make that happen. If that means winding up in a wheelchair, in a hospital bed, or a casket. I’m always going to go down with a fight, I can guarantee you that!
He smiles, wiping his face with his left hand and smirking once more.
RICKY: My name is Ricky Valero. For those that don’t know it, get to know it, love it, then sit back, relax and enjoy the show. I’ll keep the talk for another time, but I can promise you, even if I’m getting my backside handed to me, I will put a show on and you will not want to miss it. Excuse the cliché, but this is the beginning of a new era in the PWX. The evolution of this promotion is happening right before your very eyes and soon, things won’t look quite as they have for some time now. The cream always rises to the top, and you better believe that’s where I’ll be.
All eyes on me and don’t lose focus. “The Franchise” is here and…
IT’S GAME TIME BABY!
Ricky smirks, clearly filled with excitement.
RICKY: And it’s so damn good to be back!
With a wink, Ricky dashes off set. Slowly but surely, the scene fades to black.
