PROTECT YOURSELF
The backstage hallway and all the random doors leading from it are eerily quiet as The Anglo Luchador takes his time filling up a steel water bottle from the cooler. He doesn’t have anything scheduled for the evening, no promos, no interviews with Richard and Nick, but he likes being around, especially now that the time between matches is rife with scoundrels making their presence felt in extracurricular fashion. Paxton Ray being backstage again alone gave him cause enough to be in the building anytime production was taking place. His lucha mask can’t hide the frustration in his eyes distracting him from the task on hand. As the water he’s not paying attention to spills from the top of an overfilled bottle, he recoils.
TAL: FUCK.
Voice from Off-Camera: You know, a supposed “good guy” like you really ought to watch his language.
The camera turns to show Tony Gamble walking towards the Intense Champion, who is rolling his eyes at the incursion upon his privacy.
Tony Gamble: You never know who might be around to hear it. I heard Voss might show up one of these days, and I’d hate for the 15 or so of his kids who are still young enough not to know that word is bad to be given a negative impression.
TAL: What do you want, Wingtips? I don’t have time for your sales pitch again.
Tony Gamble: Sales pitch… Oh, that’s right, you thought I was asking you to join the Gee Aye Ess last Revival. I’m not gonna lie, you’d be an okay addition to the group, but there’s just something about you that just wouldn’t fit. It would be like using a Duplo block in the middle of a Lego build, and we have standards. What I was offering though, was a bit of protection, because seeing you walk around backstage like a puppy being anytime to rub his belly or scratch behind his ear was pathetic. Especially when everyone seemed too busy, or just plain uninterested, in giving you any attention.
Tony presses his pointer finger against the corner of his eye, then drags it down his cheek as he forces his permanent grin into a semi frown.
TAL: A protection racket? Man, I should have figured that out the moment you came back. How much you trying to extort from me, five, six figures?
Tony Gamble: I’m not a monster, and quite frankly I’m offended you would think I would expect anything in return for offering my services. Your well being is plenty payment for making sure compost like the Halls and Ray don’t cause PRIME to fester, but you don’t trust me… so I get it. I just hope you don’t get placed in a position that makes you regret that decision.
The luchador sets the bottle down on the floor and approaches Gamble with a steely look in his eyes.
TAL: Out of one side of your mouth, you say I don’t trust you, and then out the other you give me a reason not to. What makes you think you’re not part of that same compost heap those other miscreants are? I know what you’ve done here isn’t nearly on their level so far, but I know my history.
He pauses pregnantly before uttering what comes next.
TAL: I know about you and your pal Devin Shakur.
Gamble smirks, the extent of his reaction to his pointed history.
TAL: I know what you’re capable of, and I don’t want any of it. You want to show you’re a changed man? Release Mort from his indentured servitude. Don’t make it so Dam and Wade have to drag you kicking and screaming to face off against Craig. Keep your nose out of matches that don’t concern you. Until then, whatever it is you’re offering, whatever edge you think you can give me? I don’t want any goddamn part of it.
Tony steps back with his hands raised.
Tony Gamble: No need to get your panties in a bunch, I simply wanted to offer my assistance. It’s funny though, that you’re hesitant to trust that I’m capable of changing, considering you yourself sported your own set of stripes not too long ago.
With two fingers pressed against his forehead in salute, Tony tips his head toward the Intense champion.
Tony Gamble: The offer stands, regardless.
The luchador shakes his head and turns around to pick the water bottle off the floor. Just then, the camera falls over as if the cameraman was run into. The final frame shows a water bottle crashing to the floor as the scene cuts away from backstage, not showing anything indicating what may have caused the supposed accident.