Idiosyncrasies: Chapter 1

[Corey Lazarus]

the young household - guest room
sudbury, massachusetts
monday, february 9, 2015
3:23 pm

[Corey pops the butt of a cigarette between his lips, brushing his hair out of his face. He rummages through the pockets of his black acid wash bootcut jeans for his Zippo, unable to find it. He rolls out of bed and plants his feet on the hard wood floor, immediately lifting them up and sitting cross-legged in bed.]

Lazarus
...fucking cold-ass fucking New England winter...

[He reaches for his travel bag on a chair nearby, barely grazing it with his finger tips.]

Lazarus
Come here, you son of a...!

[Corey reaches too far and falls to the floor with a resounding thud.]

Lazarus
...FUCK!

[He pops back up and dusts off his jeans, miraculously saving the cigarette between his lips, and then unzips his bag. The door swings open as Krystle Young, Cliff's teenage daughter, walks in.]

Krystle
Corey, mom says to watch your mouth. Joey's home.

Lazarus
Yeah, well, tell your mother that I...

[He turns to face her and his jaw drops, allowing the cigarette to fall to the floor. She looks at him and shakes her head, talking as she walks out into the hallway.]

Krystle
Yeah, I've grown up, I know. Stop gawking.

Lazarus
I wasn't gawking.

[He scoops up his cigarette and grabs a pair of socks from his bag, quickly throwing them on as he grumbles to himself.]

Lazarus
I was just admiring what your momma gave you.

Krystle
I heard that.

[He snickers and quickly slides on a pair of beat-up Adidas throwbacks, grabbing a thermal from the back of the chair and a cowboy hat wrapped with a black and gold bandanna before exiting the room.]

---

the young household - kitchen
sudbury, massachusetts
monday, february 9, 2015
3:25 pm

[Corey walks in to find Tina, Cliff's wife, helping Joey, their tween son, with his homework.]

Joey
So...I'm supposed to explain in words what I just did with numbers?

Tina
I guess so.

Joey
But that's stupid. I just showed my work. Why do I need to explain it again when I already explained it?

Lazarus
Because the people in charge are fucking idiots.

[Joey laughs and Tina shakes her head, giving Corey a glare that can only be explained properly as "mother bitch face."]

Tina
Watch your mouth. Remember?

Lazarus
What? He's heard worse! Hell, I only talk like this because of his old man, anyway.

Tina
Uh-huh...he's downstairs, by the way.

Lazarus
Thank you!

[Corey tips his hat and then opens the door to the basement, immediately hearing the faint tones of classic Slayer.]

Lazarus
I'm glad to see some things never change.

---

the young household - basement
sudbury, massachusetts
monday, february 9, 2015
3:26 pm

[His steps betray him as Cliff meets him at the bottom of the stairs, a bottle of Yeungling in hand. Corey takes it and tips his hat, searching his pockets for a bottle opener.]

Cliff
Lighter's on the table.

Lazarus
Oh? Yeah, that's cool. I was looking for a bottle opener.

Cliff
I don't remember you carrying one of those.

Lazarus
That may be why I can't find it.

[Cliff opens a drawer and rummages briefly, finding one and handing it to Corey. Laz knocks the cap off and has a swig, placing the bottle down on a work bench before admiring Cliff's trophy case.]

Lazarus
That's not anywhere near as good as people make it out to be.

Cliff
Yeah, the allure is starting to wear off.

Lazarus
...did I just hear a "g" at the end of that? Are you talking like a real human being again?

Cliff
Shut ya mouth, khed. Some of us like talkin' the way we do.

[Cliff laughs and then rubs his eyes, sitting down in an old recliner and taking a swig of his own bottle of Yeungling.]

Cliff
I still can't believe we couldn't buy this at a packie for years. So fucking stupid.

Lazarus
I'll say...hey, who's this?

[Corey points to a frame photo of the two of them and the late Jesse White, Cliff's longtime friend and tag team partner.]

Cliff
You already forget Jesse?

Lazarus
No. The guy in the background, some guy wearing a suit who looks like he's trying to get out of the picture. I've never seen him before.

Cliff
That's Kyle's old man.

Lazarus
...so you do go back a long ways, eh?

Cliff
Just like I said I did. He came in one day when your class was in session and started talking about his boy, saying he showed a lot of passion and shit, so I told him to drop me a line if he ever wanted help, and here we are.

Lazarus
I somehow doubt he said all of that in one day.

Cliff
You're right.

[Cliff takes another sip of his beer and then hands Corey his Zippo.]

Cliff
He asked for help after Kyle decided to lace up a pair of boots. I just haven't been able to help until now.

Lazarus
Too busy re-opening the Academy?

Cliff
Rebuilding the marriage, raising the kids, mourning the friends no longer here...

[Cliff holds his bottle up and bows his head, gulping down the rest of it with ease.]

Lazarus
Where'd you find this, by the way?

[Corey flips his Zippo open and finally lights the cigarette in his mouth, taking a deep drag.]

Cliff
You left it down here after asking me the same questions you just did.

[Beat. Corey takes another drag and, after slowly blowing the smoke out of his nostrils, nods.]

Lazarus
Rock n' roll.

---

front line academy - parking lot
shrewsbury, massachusetts
4:32 pm

[The camera pans around to reveal the mounds of snow outlining the parking lot, in most cases towering over the few vehicles there. An old Honda Civic and a beat-up Jeep Wrangler pull in, slipping along the poorly-plowed concrete just enough to find their operators startled if only for a moment. Both cars park and their drivers exit the vehicles, a college-aged woman - TRICIA SINCLAIR - from Wrangler and a man not much younger - the previously seen ROCKY CHAVEZ - from the Civic. They nod to each other and produce duffel bags behind them, slamming their doors shut and making their way into the building. The camera follows them but then halts as a black Ford Mustang Shelby GT500 with gold racing stripes roars into the parking lot, its wheels screeching on the little pavement it touches.]

Chavez
...the hell...?!

[The Mustang spins wildly on a patch of ice, spinning out towards the camera and forcing the cameraman to begin running away. Suddenly, the Mustange stops and the engine is shut off. The driver's door swings open, but the operator remains inside.]

Tricia
Way to go, dick!

Chavez
Learn how to drive, asshole!

[Out from the Mustang steps COREY LAZARUS, a freshly lit cigarette in his mouth and his eyes shielded from the blinding whiteness by his trademark pair of silver-rimmed Ray Bans. He adjusts the collar of his black leather hooded jacket and then kicks some excess snow from his custom designed black-and-gold Osiris high tops, taking a long drag from his cigarette as he walks toward the camera with a warm, welcoming smile.]

Lazarus
I'm glad you made it! I have something that I feel needs to be said.

[Chavez and Tricia shake their heads and dismiss Corey, continuing their travel into the Front Line Academy. Lazarus takes another long drag of his cigarette and blows the smoke out with gusto, cracking his neck to either side.]

Lazarus
You see, last night? I had a vision. I was lying awake in bed, desperately trying to fall for the seductions of slumber's embrace, and my thoughts began to wander along, as they do when your consciousness begins to drift between two separate realities. Soon enough, my eyes were closed and I entered the realm of the sandman.

The room began melting around me and, soon, I was swimming in the liquefied remnants of that which had once been an old hard wood floor, walls painted a comforting shade of blue, and a twin-sized bed that was somehow both incredibly firm and awkwardly soft. My skin blistered in the cold and yet my insides, perhaps my very soul, warmed the area around me, steaming away whatever liquid came into contact with my flesh.

[He takes a deep drag, emphatically breathing it out while he runs a free hand through his hair.]

Lazarus
The ground beneath me swelled with fury as vines of thorn jettisoned from the sky, surrounding me on all sides and tearing at the custom-tailored pajamas that I had ordered from a designer friend in New York City. My fists clenched tighter than physically possible, I began to lash back, driving each knuckle into whatever was closest to me. I rocked back and forth, swaying along with the impact of my flesh into the vines, and then I was forced into a stone tunnel with this otherworldly and oddly soothing drone escaping my mouth whenever I would try to speak.

Each step echoed throughout the tunnel with each brick beneath me becoming enlightened as if I were regaling myself with a tale of Billie Jean and how there could be no confusion as to whether or not she were my lover. Each blink brought me closer and closer to the opening on the other side and yet I could go no further for what seemed like eons until, finally, I heard a voice.

"Behold," it said, void of gender or age or existing dialect. "Behold the answer to your questions."

I stepped once more and found myself inches from my escape, and at the end of that tunnel? I saw a man.

A tall man wearing an ugly hat and vomiting profusely into an old, rusty bucket, sticking his hand in to stir it around and taste test, savoring its flavor and aroma and texture in between bouts of regurgitory upheaval.

A man named Marco Keller.

[Lazarus takes another drag from his cigarette and smirks, turning around to face his car, parked diagonally across multiple spaces.]

Lazarus
My condolences for your losses, Mr. Keller. Both the one you experienced last week and the one you'll experience within a mere collection of hours.

[He turns back around to give the IWF talent and audience its first glimpse of something truly remarkable: his trademark devilish grin. Another drag, another exhale, and a clearing of the throat.]

Lazarus
It wasn't your fault, of course. Freakke, in a stunning display of treachery matched only by his love for all things Hot Topic, sprayed a mist into your eyes, blinding you to the throes of combat that followed. Until that point? The victory was yours. Until that point? Freakke and Jimmie Walker were but rats inching toward a piece of cheese attached to a motion sensor 50-calibre sentry gun with over a thousand rounds of ammunition and amazing, pinpoint precision.

Before I proceed, please do note that I'm not making excuses for you. I'm following your lead, in that regard, as you've chosen to not dwell on your loss and continue forward, doubling down on the same training techniques and ring mentality that has already forsaken you once.

I guess I'm not following your lead anymore with the whole...

[Drag. He quickly throws the cigarette, smoked just slightly more than halfway, on the ground, forming the quotation marks with the index and middle fingers of either hand.]

Lazarus
..."training" mention, babe. Nor should I, really, and allow me to tell you why.

You see, slick, I've been in your position before. I've come into a company as the young lion looking to make a name for myself, as the wide-eyed kid with the bright future so long as I continue to stick to my guns and forge ahead on my path. From an outsider's standpoint? It's actually quite admirable that you would choose to try the same play twice, determined to make it work. From that of a professional who's seen great name after great name come and go, many times at my very hands?

Let's just say I'd advise against it.

[He pockets his Ray Bans to give the camera - and KELLER - a wink, chuckling under his breath as he shakes his head.]

Lazarus
The reasons why are numerous, complex, and occasionally astounding, and I don't wish to bore you with explanations for each and every single one of them, but, hey, I've got some time before I talk some business with an old friend, and I'm feeling a little more charitable side this afternoon, so I'll toss you two examples that you should take to heart.

First? When cutting a promo following a loss, it's not original or in any which way intimidating to have the camera crew meet you in a gym. Yes, we get it, you're keeping yourself in as good of shape as you can get and you're willing to show the kind of determination that you think all legends are made of, but the reality of the situation is that your fear of failure is all we see.

You've admitted defeat. Honorable, yes, but not at all conducive to any sort of mental intimidation. It shows you respect this sport and all of the fine men and women who have been a part of it while simultaneously admitting you're not anywhere near ready to contend with those of an elite breed.

I'm not trying to make you cry, tiger. I'm not even trying to downplay the challenge I'm going to face as I step into the ring for the first time in a few months because, as you alluded to and downright proclaimed...

[He breathes through his teeth, hanging his head while his hands go into the pockets of his hooded jacket and he shrugs his shoulders.]

Lazarus
...yeah. I'm not a young man anymore. You are absolutely, positively, and exponentially accurate in that regard. I'll be celebrating my 37th birthday this June and I've spent most of the last 15 years taking the kinds of risks that would have made Evel Knievel soil his pull-up's, and here I am in the IWF, letting the office throw me to the hungry wolf that, believe me, is quite a few years younger than I am?! A guy who's a hell of a lot stronger than me and, in addition to that little factoid, has a few inches of reach advantage and is probably a hell of a lot better than me on the mat?

[The trademark devilish grin starts to return...]

Lazarus
So why the hell am I taking this all in such magnificent fucking stride?!

[...and turns into a wide smile, accompanied by a quick but firmly condescending laugh.]

Lazarus
Because of the second thing I'm going to share with you, Polo?

[The smile disappears and is replaced by an emotionless stare into the camera. Unblinking. Unmoving. Unnerving.]

Lazarus
You're a fucking idiot.

[Beat.]

Lazarus
Every little piece of me that you think you have figured out, every personality quirk and each option of a strategy that I can tell you're going to put into motion, is dripping with the kind of youthful condescension and outright arrogance that has plagued men bigger and a whole hell of a lot meaner than you are, kiddo, and the last person with soaking wet ears and such a vibrantly verdant complexion who felt the same way about me that you do?

He ended up in a wheelchair, unable to even shake the piss off of his dick for months.

[Another deep breath, another slow exhale, and another chuckle.]

Lazarus
Sorry...I'm, I'm sorry, Helen. It's not your fault you're so deaf, dumb, and blind, even if that babble of a turkey noise called your voice doesn't make any sense. You're young, babe! Inexperienced!

A rookie.

Let me go over what you've got wrong about me, dig? Dig.

For starters, I didn't go from the ring to the sound stage. Quite the opposite, as a matter of fact. Oh, you've never seen anything I was in before my wrestling career took off? No On the Downside, no The Key...not even that episode of That '70s Show where I played Hyde's cousin from Santa Monica?

[He raises an eyebrow, pondering something in his head. He mouths the words, indecipherable to the camera, and then shakes his head.]

Lazarus
No, no...of course they have movies in Sweden. Wait...you are Swedish, right? Finnish?

...Swiss, maybe? Yeah, Swiss. They have movies there, right? You know, those moving pictures with syncopated sound...you've seen at least one of them before, right? Right. Moving on.

[He shrugs, shaking his head briefly before clearing his throat.]

Lazarus
To put it lightly, my parents weren't exactly mill workers in Los Angeles, babe, and I was rubbing elbows with the likes of Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bullock when people actually thought a sequel to Speed was a good idea.

And this whole thing about whatever success I've had away from the ring making me complacent? Yeah. No. To be bluntly honest - which I almost always am - about my own career and personal history? I didn't even get a whiff of a top-level championship until I'd already decided that working for Spielberg was probably a better idea than bleeding in front of a few thousand people.

Complacency? Thy accusations are FALSE!

[Corey lets out a smug, satisfied laugh, and then scratches the back of his neck.]

Lazarus
In fact, kiddo, I'm going to let you in on a little secret-that-isn't-really-a-fucking-secret: this sport is my hobby.

I don't need to jump into the ring and get my limbs wrapped up like a pretzel or my teeth kicked in just to scrape by some meager existence like oh so many of the fine athletes I've shared a locker room with, no! There's this great two-word phrase that sums up my financial situation perfectly.

Independently. Wealthy.

A great triumvirate of parental success, shrewd business moves, and high-yield investments in various fields have left me with a lot of spare time and no need for a 9-to-5, well...ever, really, so when you see me across the ring in the 24 hours? Keep that in mind.

[Shrug.]

Lazarus
Well, until my boot connects with the back of your head so hard that I knock some sense into - and some basic arithmetic out of - you, that is. Then there won't be much left besides the knowledge that you just don't measure up to the L-A-Z, son!

Now, before I depart to go talk business, I'd like to tell you what you got right about me. Namely, that I spent too much time chasing after the approving roars of troglodytic mouth-breathers whose only weekly highlights, beyond the thrill of cheap hookers in dive bar bathrooms, were to see grown adults sadistically tear each other apart.

Yeah, it took its toll on me, doing that multiple times a week for quite some time. I learned quickly, though, that there was much more to life than wrapping some pissant's face in barbed wire and hammering it into their thick fucking skull with a steel chair - or, you know, a hammer - just because that's what people wanted to seee. I learned what every true legend, from the old catch-as-catch-can carnies to the roidgasmic body builders that littered the ring with their trash for over a decade, has learned over the span of their careers, only it took me much, much less time to do so.

The key to success is knowing your own value, and yours truly? The man that the wrestling gods bequeathed the title of "The Premier Attraction" to within mere months of lacing up his first pair of boots?

[Corey leans in close to the camera, letting his face fill the screen.]

Lazarus
He knows he's the best in the entire fucking world.

[Once again? Trademark. Devilish. Grin.]

Lazarus
But hey, Marco, that's life. All you can do is deal with it. Rock n' roll, babe.

ROCK N' FUCKING ROLL

[The scene fades to black as Corey blows the world a quick kiss and heads for the front door of the Academy...]

---

front line academy - cliff's office
shrewsbury, massachusetts
4:46 pm

[Corey, whistling the theme song of Tales From the Crypt, casually strolls in, finding Cliff Young and Rocky Chavez already engaged in heated discussion.]

Chavez
...you want me to be this asshole's WHAT?!

Lazarus
Ah...I see you've already told him. Splendid.

[Corey gives Rocky a condescending thumbs up as the young rookie, flabbergasted, storms out. Cliff leans back in his chair, throwing his feet up on his desk, and crosses his arms over his chest.]

Cliff
Well, that went well.

fini