Post by kingofkings on Feb 10, 2017 18:59:19 GMT -5
”So what we have is a playboy, flashing money around to try and get what he wants?”
“Save the materialistic for somebody who gives a damn. This is a wrestling ring and in the wrestling ring, we fight. We knuckle up and prove who the better man is. We don’t flash money around and eat off of the silver spoon. There are people with talent and people with money. Spoiled rich kids never made it past go when they stepped into the ring with Christian Jones…”
“This is for Austin Gale, that dude from the other side of the tracks. The man who probably wears loafers and a button up while checking the stock market in a loft somewhere… That dude who doesn’t understand shit about how this wrestling thing works. I’m here to prove that it doesn’t matter how much money you have. When you step into the ring with me…”
“Cash isn’t king…”
“Christian Jones is King!!”
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The scene opens up to the sounds of Sam Cooke - “Ease My Troublin’ Mind”, showing the back booth at a night club. Empty bottles of champagne are placed across the table, a shot glass rests in Christian Jones hand… Whiskey presumably…
With the visualization of the bottles and the haze lingering in the room, you can almost imagine the bottles popped and the cigars smoked… or other things, previously throughout the night.
Jones tilts the shot glass back, downing it…
Another shot, down the hatch...
“Look... I got plenty money too, cochese!!”
Jones sense of humor soon turns into a parade of seriousness as a dry expression rests across his face.
“I don’t come from mommy and daddy’s money, though…”
“I made my money and my reputation off of hard work and dedication. I built my empire, got rich off motivation and the drive to do better. I climbed my way from the bottom to the top in any business I signed with. It’s called the art of the hustle. So with that said, there's a difference in the way we earned. The way we think!”
“So yeah, I’ve made my money. I don’t flash it around, because all that money doesn’t mean a damn thing when you’re in a profession where you have to use these to set examples…”
Jones drops the shot glass onto the table, holding his hands outward exposing them to the camera as the cameraman zooms in. You can see the bruising on his knuckles from hitting the punching bag earlier in the week.
“If I did flash my money around and ‘ball out’, what would make me any different than you?”
“A walking clique…”
Christian smirks, shaking his head in a humorous manner as if to say ‘give me a break’...
“See, I came from a broken family. I never knew my mother, and my father damn sure wasn’t a man to idolize. He was a disgusting pig, the type that used to touch my little sister in private places and beat me whatever he could use to inflict damage. That was my motivation to be a better man. I became just that.”
“Gale, you talk about torture and murder. Tell that fraudulent shit to someone who might be gullible, because I don’t believe you, pimpin’!”
“The people that attend AWE shows sure as hell don’t believe it."
“You use this facade as if it’s something you've actually experienced… actually lived through. Trust me, a man’s eyes never lie. When you look into my eyes, you see the pain. You see the beast that lingers inside. You see a hunger for more... As for you??”
Jones chuckles a bit…
“I see the bitch in you!”
“All that talk and all that history is a bunch of bullshit. It’s something you try to throw on your name to make yourself seem like you’re more than you actually are. Truth be told you are only here for amusement. You’re filler for a card to help people like me climb the corporate ladder of Empire.”
Christian makes a gesture as if he’s climbing a ladder… Kinda’ like Dare Clemmens did when he took Austin Gales belt at Executive Action…
“I noticed you had much to say about Clemmens because you thought he was some push over. Now you got the big dog in your path and you go more silent than a Charlie Chaplin film. What I’m wondering is, where's all that talk at now? Where are the puppet shows at??
“Most of all, where the hell you at???”
“Missing In Action like Chuck Norris, I suppose?”
Jones gives off a deep sigh of disappointment.
Well, if that’s how it’s going to be so be it. It doesn’t matter, what does matter is it’s only a matter of time before you have to step into the ring with me. At that point all this talking that I’m doing or all the talking you may do will be useless. In the end, it will come down who's truly better. Believe me, ‘I'm better’!”
Jones thinks for a moment before pointing at the camera, giving a few flicks of the wrist. A gesture as if to bring up a point that he'd almost forgotten about.
“As for Tommy Stone with his shooting blanks comment…”
Jones scratches his head for a minute with a dumbfounded look.
“I already have kids my Mexican friend, or whatever the fuck you are… Trust me, I won’t think about you after this week unless we're booked against each other. The only thing I'll remember is I fought you, I won…. No matter the circumstances.”
Kinda’ like how I’ll remember Austin Gale after this match, you know…”
Jones shrugs as a sarcastic grin grows across his face.
“Circle of life type shit…”
“I enter, ‘fuck shit up’, I leave!”
Jones stands up as the camera pans out, grabbing his jacket from the booth. He tosses it over his shoulder, putting his arm in one sleeve and then the other. Taking one final look at the camera, he gives a wink of the eye zipping up his jacket. It isn’t long after, the screen turns to static...