| Subject: Sample, different character. Used this one to intro Xander originally. |
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Xander Townsend.
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Date Posted: 23:48:46 08/21/02 Wed
Time -- 8:47pm
Location -- Miami, Florida
[Scene opens outside of a rather small theater. In the background, we can see the skyline of Miami, Florida, as sunset falls on the home of the NFL's Dolphins and the NBA's Heat. The sounds of the squared circle -- the screams of fans, thuds of flesh hitting the canvas, and the subsequent ringing bell, can be heard coming from inside the building. Our view shifts to the door of the arena, where a figure is leaning against a wall, looking in. After each loud thud, he smiles and shakes his head. We come closer, and it's obvious, due to the cocky half-smile and lime-tinted sunglasses pinning his shoulder-length hair back, that this man is the Gulfsouth Wrestling Alliance's heavyweight champion... "The Legacy" Scott Gibson. The champ turns to the camera, grins, and looks back into the arena.]
The Legacy: "Amateurs. Look at that, he's doing that all wrong! Man, someone should teach these kids a thing or two about a hammerlock. I mean, it's a hammerlock for Christ's sake!"
[From inside, we hear a very loud thud, followed by even louder boos, then a bell ringing. A voice booms over the small arena's poor sound system.]
Voice: "Your winner... Vanquish!!"
[The crowd's distaste is clearly audible, as they boo madly. The Legacy just smiles, and looks at the ground. He kicks a rock down the hall inside the door, which the camera follows. It then rises, and we can see a shoddy, undersized wrestling ring amidst an equally small sea of fans. In the middle of the ring is a middle-aged man in a tuxedo, holding a microphone. That man's familiar voice is heard over the poor sound system again.]
Announcer: "Ladies and gentlemen, this next match is for Miami Championship Wrestling's World championship! Coming to the ring at this time, standing 6'1" tall and weighing 220 lbs... he hails from Miami, Florida! Ladies and gentlemen, the challenger... Xander Townsend!"
["Better Than You" by Metallica blasts over the arena's obviously low-grade stereo, and the crowd is on it's feet instantaneously. They all cheer wildly, and stare to their right, their eyes following one young man. The young man enters the ring within moments, and appears to be rather undersized. His stringy black hair shines under the lights above the ring. His slight frame is dwarfed even by the ring announcer. He begins stretching in his corner, while the crowd calms and his music fades.]
Announcer: "And his opponent, standing 6'6" tall and weighing a massive 289 lbs! He hails from the slums of New York! He is your Miami Championship Wrestling World Champion! He is... 'The Major F'ing Star' Dennis Murphy!"
["Superstar" by Saliva plays over the speakers, and the crowd boos immediately. The displeasure of the crowd is drowned out by a remark from the off-camera GWA World champ.]
The Legacy: "Hey!! I still own the rights to 'Superstar', Goddamnit!"
[A tall, thick man enters the ring wearing red tights and a cheaply-made title belt draped over his shoulder. The crowd pelts him with drinks and other light objects. He laughs it off, and tosses the ref the belt then heads to his corner and begins stretching. The ref holds the belt high, then calls for the bell.]
The Legacy: "Alright kid, let's see what you're made of."
[The big man, Murphy, and the smaller man, Townsend, collide mid-ring. The force of the impact knocks Townsend onto his back, which brings incoherent rambling and laughter from the gullet of his opponent, the so-called "Major F'ing Star". Murphy leans down to grab Townsend, but the smaller man gives him a swift kick to the chin, sending the champ stumbling backwards towards the ropes. The crowd pops as Townsend springs to his feet lucha libre style, and lands a haymaker on the same spot on Murphy's chin -- in one move!]
The Legacy: "Jesus!"
[Townsend shoves Murphy into the corner, and mounts the second rope. But, before he can get a punch in, the champion picks him up, and carries him to the middle of the ring. He lifts Townsend in the air, facing the roof, then brings him down across his over-sized knee with a backbreaker. With a giant, toothy grin, Murphy lets Townsend drop to the ground, then flexes, recieving a chorus of boos.]
The Legacy: "Christ, kid. Brilliant one moment, pathetic the next."
[Big Murphy stands up, and plants a big boot in the small of Townsend's back. Townsend howls in pain, then rolls over. Murphy grabs him by the hair, and lifts him to his feet, then hooks him for a powerbomb. The crowd falls silent.]
The Legacy: "Well this was quick. Waste of my fuckin' time..."
[The sound of Gibson's footsteps grows fainter as Murphy lifts Townsend into the air. Then, in a flash, Townsend slides his legs off of Murphy's shoulders, grabs ahold of the big man's neck, and drives his head into the ground with a DDT. The gasp, then cheers of the crowd get Gibson to rush back into the hall, where he stands to the side, a few feet in front of the camera.]
The Legacy: [Somewhat amazed] "Holy shit. That's what I'm talkin' 'bout!"
[Back in the ring, Townsend has mounted the farthest top rope, and is posing for the adoring fans.]
The Legacy: "Fuckin' rookie thinks he's Jimmy Snuka. I hate when they do that!"
[Dennis Murphy climbs to his feet, and groggily stumbles around. Townsend takes a flying leap across the ring, flinging his body recklessly, and connects with Murphy's chest perfectly. The cross-bodyblock knocks Murphy onto his back, shoving every gasp of breath from his lungs. The crowd, elated, is on it's feet, as Xander holds on for the cover.]
The Legacy: "Hell yes! That's what I came to see, Xander!"
[The ref stares at the competitors for a moment, in shock, then dives into position for the count.]
The Legacy: "...One! ...Two! ...And-a-three!"
[Screams and cheers fill the air, while Xander stands up, and is handed the MCW World title belt. With tear-filled eyes, he waves for the crowd. The announcer enters the ring, and points to Townsend as the ref raises his hand.]
Announcer: "Your winner, and new Miami Championship Wrestling World champion... Xander Townsend!!"
[The Legacy turns around, and grabs the camera by the lens. He drags it outside, and focuses it on himself.]
The Legacy: "At last Sunday's pay-per-view, I beat my best friend for the World championship, damning the poor bastard to a month of Hell in Speical Ed. Without a doubt, that's the hardest win I've ever had. The match wasn't that big of a deal... pretty much what I expected. But having to deal with the outcome, that's been the tricky part."
[He sighs, and shoves his hands in the pockets of his khaki cargo shorts. He turns his back to the camera, and rests on his heels.]
The Legacy: "I mean, I just sent the guy I trust the most in the world, regardless of in-ring bullshit, to forced participation among the biggest bunch of rejects and failed abortions since the DoD. No offense towards my newest compadre', El Franchismo."
[He stands up straight, and waves a finger in the air as if a thought just popped in his head.]
The Legacy: "Which reminds me, you guys are probably also wondering just why in fuck's name I would team with the Franchise of all people. Well, it's actually pretty simple."
[His usual light-hearted, smiling look disappears from his face. It's replaced by a determined, hopeful, and somewhat arrogant expression.]
The Legacy: "Since day one in the GWA, my goal was to be the next Franchise. I mean hey, who wouldn't want a career that mirrors Rick's? Then, a big fiasco happened back in March. I had a month or so off. I thought about things. Re-evaluated my career goals. Number one was 'beat Franchise, be Franchise'. Think about that. The thought that I, The Legacy, wanted to be somebody else, now... is absurd, ain't it? Now, if someone else wanted to be The Franchise, I wouldn't have a problem. But this isn't somebody else. This is me, Scott Gibson, we're talkin' about here. And there ain't nobody else I'd rather be!"
[The familiar, laid-back look returns to the champ, and he begins almost playfully pacing back and forth.]
The Legacy: "So I made a new plan. First thing on the list: dominate. Be The Legacy. Make that name mean as much as, if not more than, The Franchise. Make the name 'Scott Gibson' as household as any other in the nation. You know Curt Schilling and Randy Johnson? You know Scott Gibson. You know Tom Brady? You know Scott Gibson. You know Shaq & Kobe? You'd better know Scott Gibson. I'm a champion, worthy of being mentioned among those names. Now, I want to be a legend. Fuck Shaq, Kobe, Schilling, Brady... I want to be with Babe Ruth, Ted Williams, Walter Payton, Joe Montana, Magic Johnson, and Michael Jordan."
[He points to his chest.]
The Legacy: "And I will. Because of what's in here. I've got as much heart as any man in sports history. The killer instinct of Michael Jordan. The picture-perfect technique of Ted Williams. The calm under pressure that was Joe Montana's magic. What'll they talk about, when I'm done? Everything. What didn't he do well? Not a whole Hell of alot. You people are looking at a complete competitor. I'm equally adept at high-flying, submissions, suplexes, brawling, hardcore... you name it, I've done it. And done it well. Which brings me to why the Franchise is now one of my closest compadres. You see... we've never hated each other. We've had a mutual respect. I don't need to beat him to garner the respect I know I can earn. And he has nothing to gain by fighting me again, that he hasn't already had. Some may say I conceded... that I admitted to myself that I can't beat him. To them, I say 'the Hell with you'. I have beaten Rick. I can beat Rick. But I ask you... what's the fuckin' point? If we fight together, in the Lynch Mob, we're completely unstoppable. No group of people can beat us, and if I may steal a quote from him... there's not a damn thing anyone can do about it!"
[The Legacy looks past the camera, towards the building. He stares in for a moment, then his eyes wander down to his wristwatch. He signals to "cut", and the scene fades to black.]
Sometime later...
[We fade back in facing a road. Cars zip by one by one every few moments. The sun is long gone, replaced by a beautiful night sky filled with an endless number of stars. The moon hangs low, barely scraping the tops of the buildings below it. We zoom out, and pan right. We're on a bench, at a bus stop. Sitting on the far end of the bench is The Legacy, hunched over. He looks past the camera every few seconds, impatiently waiting for someone or something.]
The Legacy: "You guys must be wondering what in the fuck I've been up to since 'American Dream'. Well, to sum it up... I've been scouting. Not for new GWA talent for me to demolish. No... I've been scouting for--"
[Gibson's eyes light up, and the camera quickly spins around to catch a very tired Xander Townsend, dragging his feet, and his gymbag, towards the bench. He's wearing a beat-up pair of sweat pants, equally worn-out shoes, an 'UNSTOPPABLE FORCE' Reaper t-shirt, and rather oddly, considering what we witnessed earlier, he's hanging his head. Either oblivious or blind to it, he doesn't acknowledge the camera. He simply sits down, and buries his head in his hands. The Legacy looks to Xander quizzically, and taps on the bag.]
The Legacy: "...The fuck's in the bag, kid?"
Xander: "Right now, the last thing I need some creepy asshole hittin' on me, 'kay?! Just stick to your end of the bench, and I'll stick to mine. And when the bus gets here, you sit as far away from me as possible on that thing or I'll scream 'sick Catholic priest fuck!' as loud as--"
The Legacy: "Whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa, kid! Don't flatter yourself! The last thing I want is what's in your pants. Do you got that? I'm just wondering if it's your World title belt that's in the bag, is all."
[Xander slams the bag on the ground in front of him. Something inside breaks.]
Xander: "Fuck! My cologne! And no, it's not my World title belt, either. Why? Were you at the show? Listen, I don't do autographs, okay? I'm not some fuckin' star."
The Legacy: "...Like say, The Legacy?"
Xander: "Yeah, like that fuckin' sell-out. Probably charges little kids fifty bucks for him to sign their hat, or their t-shirt. I swear to God, if I ever make it big, he's the first son of a bitch I'm gunning for."
[The Legacy sits silent for a moment, then scoots toward Townsend.]
The Legacy: "So, where the Hell is your title belt, if you ain't got it?"
[Xander sighs, and runs his fingers through his stringy hair, his eyes never leaving the ground.]
Xander: "Back around that big tub of shit Dennis Murphy's waist, thanks to the owner of MCW and his merry band of assholes. He demanded a rematch on the spot, with his special 'enforcers'. Murphy I can take... but six-on-one, that's just impossible. Why the Hell do you care so much? I ain't never seen you before. You're not one of the regulars."
The Legacy: "Kid, you ain't even looked at my face yet. You ain't seen nothin' but the ground you're staring at."
[Xander looks up, and an expression of both horror and awe rolled into one fall across his previously sullen face. He looks to the camera, then back to Gibson, and throws his hands up.]
Xander: "Shit, dude. You're... you're him! Ah shit! I didn't mean what I said about gunnin' for you, man. That... that was just talk! I-I want to just--can, can you--?"
[The Legacy laughs to himself, and motions for Xander to compose himself.]
The Legacy: "Yeah, yeah. It's me. Now calm down, Townsend. I came here to see you, to see if we could... make a deal."
[Xander's eyes widen. He sits down on the bench, and focuses his stare at The Legacy.]
Xander: "A... a deal? You're shitting me, right? You're a lookalike, aren't you? Sent by my dad to--"
[Townsend points an accusing finger at Gibson, who slaps it away and scowls.]
The Legacy: "No, jackass, I want you to be my assistant. My right-hand man, my manager, and all that bullshit. I haven't had one in a year, and with Christian in Speical Ed... I need someone to carry my bags. I need someone to handle my phone calls, arrange my personal appearances, and all that non-sensical shit that I don't want to. Someone to make beer runs, panty raids, and all the good stuff. In exchange, I give you room and board, national exposure, a ringside view of the champ at work, an insider's view of how the big boys do business, your foot in the door, and most importantly... I'll teach you everything I know."
[Defying all facial anatomy, Xander's eyes widen farther. It lasts for a fleeting moment, however, and the look of amazement is replaced by the biggest smile he's ever made. He jolts his hand out to consumate the deal, but The Legacy puts his index finger up.]
The Legacy: "Uh-uh-uh. Not so fast, kid. First, you've got to prove that you're good enough outside the ring."
Xander: "Sure! When?"
The Legacy: "Now."
Xander: "Now? Like right now? Now now?"
The Legacy: "No, tomorrow. Yes now! Right now!"
[Beads of sweat begin collecting on Townsend's forehead, and it's obvious he's nervous and anxious about the proposition laid out before him.]
Xander: "How? How do I prove myself?"
The Legacy: "See the camera?"
[The Legacy points to the camera, which Xander acknowledges and nods to.]
The Legacy: "Tell the Reaper why he isn't going to beat me on Friday."
[All of Xander's tension disappears. He smiles, and stands up.]
Xander: "...Is that all? Shiiit, I thought you were gonna give me somethin' tough to do!"
[The Legacy again points to the camera.]
The Legacy: "So have at 'em."
[Townsend sets himself up dead set in the scene. He composes himself, and clears his throat.]
Xander: "So, Rapes. Can I call you Rapes? Of course I can. What're you gonna do about it? So, Rapes... you're facing my main man, the World champion, The Legacy, on Friday? Even if it's non-title, this could be the match that puts you back on top. If nothing else, you'll establish yourself as the number two player in the game, right? Wrong. Why? Because in order to do that, you'll have to win. And if my man Scott's track record lately has shown anything, it's that he isn't going to lose to some over-the-hill bag of dust and bones like yourself."
[Xander throws an overly-excited hand into the air to emphasize.]
Xander: "Which brings me to my next question. How the Hell old are you, Rapes? Forty? Fifty? Older? My grandpa, Xander, grew up watching The Reaper do battle. What in the fuck, man? Did you know Jesus? Can you get me his number? His autograph? Maybe hook me up with that sweet virgin piece-of-ass, Mary? Hell, Rapes. Maybe you're pre-Christ! You probably wrestled with Fred and Barney, over the right to bash Wilma over the head and drag her back to your cave. Am I right? Of course I am... probably! But maybe not. Maybe you got your start prehistorically. Wrestling the mighty tyrannosaurus babies over territorial bullshit. Maybe you were in the first ever proverbial 'pissing contest'? Shit, I don't know. But what I do know is that your old-school, old-folk's-home, Viagra-usin' ass can't possibly out-match, out-think, or out-wrestle the World champion. That, my geriatric friend, is a fact."
[Xander ponders something for a moment, then resumes.]
Xander: "So much of a fact is that, that I'll wash every car in the state of Florida free of charge, should you beat my main man, Scott, on Friday. And those that know me, know that I never, ever renege on a bet. Ever."
[Xander calms himself, and regains his composure again.]
Xander: "To sum it up for you, in case you didn't catch all that, what with your hearing trouble and Alzheimer's, Rapes... you're too old, too slow, and too stuck in your ways to innovate, overpower, or flat-out beat the World champion. Because he's electrifying, exciting, enticing, and this Friday, just for you, he'll be emasculating. He's gonna rip of your nuts and feed 'em to you, old man. And above that, he's gonna make you like it. 'Cause I guaran-fuckin'-tee that you'd much rather eat your own stones than take the beating of your life from the man they say is..."
[Xander clears his throat, and motions for the camera to come closer. It zooms in on his face, and he cocks a half-smile."
Xander: "Un-fuckin'-stoppable."
[The camera zooms back out, and Xander raises an imaginary mic to his lips, and begins dancing.]
Xander: "Now, just imagine this: 'top of the crown, rape the queen. The fatal mistake in your cradle can't--"
[The Legacy stands up, and slaps Xander's hands down. He looks at him straight, with no emotion at all. Xander can't help but smile and feel good about the performance he just put on.]
The Legacy: "Kid, you may have a bright future. But..."
[The smile on Xander's face disappears. His bright, shining eyes lose their glimmer. The same, sullen look he had when he walked to the bus stop is returning.]
The Legacy: "...With my help, you're gonna be a superstar. You're hired."
[The Legacy extends his hand, and Xander fervently shakes it.]
The Legacy: "One question."
Xander: "...Sure."
The Legacy: "Why in the fuck are you wearing that shirt?"
[Xander laughs to himself.]
Xander: "Man, they give these things out at the Y. They got boxes of 'em. What they can't get rid of, they tear up for rags."
[The Legacy laughs with Townsend, and pats him on the back, leading him off-camera.]
The Legacy: "C'mon man, I got a box of SLUTS™ shirts in the car."
[Xander grabs his bag, and the two men head out of the scene, towards the nearby parking lot, as the scene fades to black.]
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