Post by Andrew Jacobsen on Mar 22, 2017 5:17:31 GMT
We open on Andrew sitting on a bench in the IWF Performance Center next to a bank of treadmills. He's slick with sweat, his shirt removed and hanging on the bench next to him. His breath comes deep and even, and Andrew grabs at a towel hanging from a rack nearby, using it to wipe the sweat from his eyes. As his chest rises and falls, a wolf-whistle sounds out. Andrew looks up to see Emma Danielson walking over, rolling her wrists. Andrew pats an open spot on the bench next to him, and Emma sits down, looking Andrew up and down. "You looking to give someone a heart attack, lounging around like that?"
Andrew smirks. "Only the readership of People. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"
"I work here, Andy." Emma reminds him, pulling out her phone and scrolling through her e-mails. "You're just using the facilities. And by the way, when you're done with the towel, please for the love of God put it in the bin. I'm not people's mother, I'm done picking up after them."
Andrew nods, obligingly holding onto his towel instead of setting it down. "Fair enough. So...just popping over to remind me of the housekeeping rules?"
Emma shakes her head, hand reaching over for something that she realizes isn't there halfway through the reach. "Dammit, I wish I had something to drink...no, I came over to wish you luck in the Roulette, numbskull. Unless you don't want it."
Andrew shakes his head, gesturing with his hand in a "bring it on" motion. "No, I could use just about everything I can get. Luck, skill, a new set of ribs...trust me, the well-wishes don't go amiss."
Emma nods, grinning. "I figured. You've always taken everything but an actual hand when it comes to stuff like this. And I know, I know, you don't want it. Would taint the victory or something. I'm just sayin', there are guys in that match that would bring in a SWAT team if they could get away with it."
"Right." Andrew nods. "But if I did that, I wouldn't have my damn fool pride, and what am I without my damn fool pride?"
"The fourth most important member of Body Count?" Emma snarks back at Andrew, who has the good decency to look wounded by the barb.
"Ow. That hurts, really." Andrew chuckles to himself. "Okay, fair point. Have you been hanging around Jake again?"
Emma replies quickly. "No, not really. Why, because I'm making fun of you? Unless Jake Conway was teaching at our high school, I don't think me teasing you really is any sort of indicator of his presence."
Andrew shrugs, putting his hand up defensively. "I'm just saying, it tends to intensify when you've been around him. It's an observation, nothing more."
Emma nods, and a pause hangs over the two for a few seconds as Andrew continues to catch his breath. Finally, she speaks again. "So, you really think this is the year?"
Andrew nods confidently, smiling at her. "Yeah. I do. I feel good about myself. I think I can do it. No tricks, no chicanery. Cardio's the best I've been in ages, and my back's finally getting back to where it ought to be, even with the abuse Cable gave it. I think I've got this."
Emma rolls her eyes. "Right, so the Roulette's going to be fine in the abstract. What about your title match? Aren't you concerned about what Spike'll do to you? I've seen how these matches go, and you're getting in there with the best of the worst."
Andrew pauses, eye twitching slightly. "I...I wish people wouldn't treat me like I'm made of eggshells. I know what I'm getting into with Spike. I signed the contract, didn't I? If I can get that title out of his hands, remind him that before he was the God of Steel he was Spike Kane...point is, I'll worry about my own stupid choices. That's kind of my thing, isn't it?"
Emma nods, tapping her right forearm. "Trust me, I know what it's like to have people second-guess you because of an injury. I'm just trying to pay some of that concern you've shown me back."
Andrew nods to himself, running a hand through his hair. "I suppose that's fair. Although, if you really wanted to pay me back for that, you'd actually try dating for once. I know you can't be happy going home alone all the time. I'm just saying, I've been doing a lot better since I got together with Dani."
Emma groans. "Jesus, you sound like Dad. Okay, fine. If it'll buy me a moratorium on your mother-henning, I'll try something one of these days. Speed dating or something, I dunno. Now...you better shower up. Don't want to drive home all sweaty and get Danielle annoyed you've soaked through your clothes...or maybe..."
Emma gets a devious look on his face, and Andrew throws his hands up, snagging his shirt from the bench as he walks towards the showers. "Dammit...why must you do this to me?" he calls back as he walks.
"Because you've earned it!" Emma calls back, shaking her head as Andrew groans. "Oh, don't be such a baby."
Andrew pauses at the mouth of the locker room. "Just you watch, Em. Just you watch. All of the ass I'm going to kick in the Roulette? It'll be because you egged me on. They're on your head!"
Andrew walks into the locker room, still shaking his head, and Emma calls after him. "Happy to help!" The only response she gets is another loud groan, and Emma chuckles to herself, sitting back down on the bench. "You're welcome, Andy...you're welcome." We fade out on Emma laying down on the bench, staring at the ceiling with a content grin on her face.
In a break from what we have come to expect from Andrew, our scene opens on him sitting on a stool, in the corner of a ring. He's wearing an IWF Performance Center tanktop, a pair of athletic pants, and a pensive expression as he turns a small towel over in his hands. When he speaks, his voice echoes into the room around him, measured and careful in every word.
"Sometimes, I get asked why I stand up for things the way I do. I get asked...why do you keep getting back up if you're only going to get knocked down again? The answer, in a way, is pretty simple. If I don't stand up again, the next time one of those people who's striking at the things I'm standing up for lashes out, they'll make contact. They'll harm them, break them down even just a little. I stand back up because I know that doing what's right isn't easy, but it has to be done. I can't wait on anyone else to do it."
Andrew slings the towel around his neck, exhaling slowly as a faint smile crosses his face. He nods, seemingly to himself, and rolls his wrist, wincing slightly as a flare of pain shoots through his body.
"I haven't been doing this for half the time some of the people in this company have. I don't have the road miles on me that men like Nighthawk, Spike Kane or Falcon do. But...by IWF's standards, I'm a veteran. I'm old guard. And despite all that, I feel like I've been fighting this fight all my life. It feels...natural, like it's what I've always been meant to do. And with that fight come the slings and arrows of those who ask why, and every single one of them is going to learn the same lesson...words can't stop me. Deeds can't stop me. Nothing can stop me from continuing to fight."
He takes a moment to look up at the ceiling, and for a heartbeat Andrew looks much older than his thirty-one years. He shakes his head, though, and the shadows circling his face dissipate, returning him to his relatively youthful countenance.
"They've tried. God knows they've tried. And I hear them, even now. Why would you subject yourself to the Roulette? Why would you put yourself in the middle of one of the most taxing matches on the IWF calendar? For a shot at the Imperial Title? There have to be easier ways to do that. Look at Cable Arcane. He jumped the champion and he earned himself another title match, just like that. Why not follow his lead?"
Andrew takes a deep breath through his nostrils, rubbing the bridge of his nose before speaking.
"Because I'm better than that. Because I hold myself to a higher standard than that. Integrity isn't something you can switch on and off whenever it's convenient. If you don't stick to your values when they’re being tested, they’re not values. They're hobbies. And this is not my hobby, this is my life. This is what I do, this is who I am. But this isn't...ALL I want to be."
Andrew stands up fully, stretching as he spins the towel back down off of his neck into his hand.
"I want to be champion. I want to be Imperial Champion. I want to leave no question in anyone's mind that I belong among the elite. I don't say I'm the Best in the World. There's always going to be someone who comes up eventually and knocks you off that pedestal. I don't want to pretend that I'm some unstoppable juggernaut. I just want people to see me for who I am: someone to believe in. I want them to have something to feel good about."
He takes a deep breath, exhaling again and nodding to the camera with a determined expression.
"And I want them to see that heroes, true heroes, can still win. It's simple, it's straightforward...it's me. Night of the Immortals awaits, and to get there, I'll need to go through twenty-nine other men. No sense in leaving this until the last minute..."
Andrew tosses the towel up and behind his back, catching it with his other hand without looking backwards. He flashes his familiar million-dollar grin at the camera, cracking his neck slightly.
"Time to get to work."
Andrew's left hand twitches, and he flicks the towel at the camera as we cut to black.
Andrew smirks. "Only the readership of People. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"
"I work here, Andy." Emma reminds him, pulling out her phone and scrolling through her e-mails. "You're just using the facilities. And by the way, when you're done with the towel, please for the love of God put it in the bin. I'm not people's mother, I'm done picking up after them."
Andrew nods, obligingly holding onto his towel instead of setting it down. "Fair enough. So...just popping over to remind me of the housekeeping rules?"
Emma shakes her head, hand reaching over for something that she realizes isn't there halfway through the reach. "Dammit, I wish I had something to drink...no, I came over to wish you luck in the Roulette, numbskull. Unless you don't want it."
Andrew shakes his head, gesturing with his hand in a "bring it on" motion. "No, I could use just about everything I can get. Luck, skill, a new set of ribs...trust me, the well-wishes don't go amiss."
Emma nods, grinning. "I figured. You've always taken everything but an actual hand when it comes to stuff like this. And I know, I know, you don't want it. Would taint the victory or something. I'm just sayin', there are guys in that match that would bring in a SWAT team if they could get away with it."
"Right." Andrew nods. "But if I did that, I wouldn't have my damn fool pride, and what am I without my damn fool pride?"
"The fourth most important member of Body Count?" Emma snarks back at Andrew, who has the good decency to look wounded by the barb.
"Ow. That hurts, really." Andrew chuckles to himself. "Okay, fair point. Have you been hanging around Jake again?"
Emma replies quickly. "No, not really. Why, because I'm making fun of you? Unless Jake Conway was teaching at our high school, I don't think me teasing you really is any sort of indicator of his presence."
Andrew shrugs, putting his hand up defensively. "I'm just saying, it tends to intensify when you've been around him. It's an observation, nothing more."
Emma nods, and a pause hangs over the two for a few seconds as Andrew continues to catch his breath. Finally, she speaks again. "So, you really think this is the year?"
Andrew nods confidently, smiling at her. "Yeah. I do. I feel good about myself. I think I can do it. No tricks, no chicanery. Cardio's the best I've been in ages, and my back's finally getting back to where it ought to be, even with the abuse Cable gave it. I think I've got this."
Emma rolls her eyes. "Right, so the Roulette's going to be fine in the abstract. What about your title match? Aren't you concerned about what Spike'll do to you? I've seen how these matches go, and you're getting in there with the best of the worst."
Andrew pauses, eye twitching slightly. "I...I wish people wouldn't treat me like I'm made of eggshells. I know what I'm getting into with Spike. I signed the contract, didn't I? If I can get that title out of his hands, remind him that before he was the God of Steel he was Spike Kane...point is, I'll worry about my own stupid choices. That's kind of my thing, isn't it?"
Emma nods, tapping her right forearm. "Trust me, I know what it's like to have people second-guess you because of an injury. I'm just trying to pay some of that concern you've shown me back."
Andrew nods to himself, running a hand through his hair. "I suppose that's fair. Although, if you really wanted to pay me back for that, you'd actually try dating for once. I know you can't be happy going home alone all the time. I'm just saying, I've been doing a lot better since I got together with Dani."
Emma groans. "Jesus, you sound like Dad. Okay, fine. If it'll buy me a moratorium on your mother-henning, I'll try something one of these days. Speed dating or something, I dunno. Now...you better shower up. Don't want to drive home all sweaty and get Danielle annoyed you've soaked through your clothes...or maybe..."
Emma gets a devious look on his face, and Andrew throws his hands up, snagging his shirt from the bench as he walks towards the showers. "Dammit...why must you do this to me?" he calls back as he walks.
"Because you've earned it!" Emma calls back, shaking her head as Andrew groans. "Oh, don't be such a baby."
Andrew pauses at the mouth of the locker room. "Just you watch, Em. Just you watch. All of the ass I'm going to kick in the Roulette? It'll be because you egged me on. They're on your head!"
Andrew walks into the locker room, still shaking his head, and Emma calls after him. "Happy to help!" The only response she gets is another loud groan, and Emma chuckles to herself, sitting back down on the bench. "You're welcome, Andy...you're welcome." We fade out on Emma laying down on the bench, staring at the ceiling with a content grin on her face.
In a break from what we have come to expect from Andrew, our scene opens on him sitting on a stool, in the corner of a ring. He's wearing an IWF Performance Center tanktop, a pair of athletic pants, and a pensive expression as he turns a small towel over in his hands. When he speaks, his voice echoes into the room around him, measured and careful in every word.
"Sometimes, I get asked why I stand up for things the way I do. I get asked...why do you keep getting back up if you're only going to get knocked down again? The answer, in a way, is pretty simple. If I don't stand up again, the next time one of those people who's striking at the things I'm standing up for lashes out, they'll make contact. They'll harm them, break them down even just a little. I stand back up because I know that doing what's right isn't easy, but it has to be done. I can't wait on anyone else to do it."
Andrew slings the towel around his neck, exhaling slowly as a faint smile crosses his face. He nods, seemingly to himself, and rolls his wrist, wincing slightly as a flare of pain shoots through his body.
"I haven't been doing this for half the time some of the people in this company have. I don't have the road miles on me that men like Nighthawk, Spike Kane or Falcon do. But...by IWF's standards, I'm a veteran. I'm old guard. And despite all that, I feel like I've been fighting this fight all my life. It feels...natural, like it's what I've always been meant to do. And with that fight come the slings and arrows of those who ask why, and every single one of them is going to learn the same lesson...words can't stop me. Deeds can't stop me. Nothing can stop me from continuing to fight."
He takes a moment to look up at the ceiling, and for a heartbeat Andrew looks much older than his thirty-one years. He shakes his head, though, and the shadows circling his face dissipate, returning him to his relatively youthful countenance.
"They've tried. God knows they've tried. And I hear them, even now. Why would you subject yourself to the Roulette? Why would you put yourself in the middle of one of the most taxing matches on the IWF calendar? For a shot at the Imperial Title? There have to be easier ways to do that. Look at Cable Arcane. He jumped the champion and he earned himself another title match, just like that. Why not follow his lead?"
Andrew takes a deep breath through his nostrils, rubbing the bridge of his nose before speaking.
"Because I'm better than that. Because I hold myself to a higher standard than that. Integrity isn't something you can switch on and off whenever it's convenient. If you don't stick to your values when they’re being tested, they’re not values. They're hobbies. And this is not my hobby, this is my life. This is what I do, this is who I am. But this isn't...ALL I want to be."
Andrew stands up fully, stretching as he spins the towel back down off of his neck into his hand.
"I want to be champion. I want to be Imperial Champion. I want to leave no question in anyone's mind that I belong among the elite. I don't say I'm the Best in the World. There's always going to be someone who comes up eventually and knocks you off that pedestal. I don't want to pretend that I'm some unstoppable juggernaut. I just want people to see me for who I am: someone to believe in. I want them to have something to feel good about."
He takes a deep breath, exhaling again and nodding to the camera with a determined expression.
"And I want them to see that heroes, true heroes, can still win. It's simple, it's straightforward...it's me. Night of the Immortals awaits, and to get there, I'll need to go through twenty-nine other men. No sense in leaving this until the last minute..."
Andrew tosses the towel up and behind his back, catching it with his other hand without looking backwards. He flashes his familiar million-dollar grin at the camera, cracking his neck slightly.
"Time to get to work."
Andrew's left hand twitches, and he flicks the towel at the camera as we cut to black.
Well howdy there pardner.