Post by Smith Jones on Aug 11, 2019 11:09:20 GMT -5
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~OFF CAMERA~
SMITH JONES: “I dunno. Maybe I’ve just got a weakness for greasy spoon diners.”
Fade up on a shot of a plate of French toast covered in butter and syrup. Yum. There is already a bite, maybe two missing from one slice. Scratched up silverware comes into the frame, ripping and tearing another piece off, scooping into the mouth of Smith Jones. Syrup drips from his chin as he moans with satisfaction. He wipes it with his napkin and continues to chew slowly. As the camera zooms out, we see that he is seated at the table across from a local police officer inside the throwback red and white checkered motif of the Home Plate Diner in Amarillo, Texas. The officer stares at the side of Smith’s head while Jones stares off at nothing with a slight smile.
OFFICER: “Nothing like the resolution of an intense country-wide manhunt. I promise you that.”
Jones stops chewing and swallows the bolus with a gulp. He thinks about that rainy night on Interstate 95 when he’d stopped to… help a man in need. Jones can still feel the cold rain on his face, the wet steel of the crowbar in his right hand. What has Smith done?! His stomach sinks.
SMITH JONES: “Manhunt?”
OFFICER: “Yeah. You’re Smith Jones right?
SMITH JONES: “I’m right here.”
OFFICER: “I see that. You’re from Canada. Shame about those two boys.”
Smith lets his shoulders slouch a bit. Smith’s snide sneer returns. He prods the officer a bit.
SMITH JONES: “Crying shame. Life creates monsters sometimes. Lotta bad people in the world. Rapists. Killers. Despicable ruffians who would take a life in an instant and never think twice about it. You must must be an adept judge of character, officer. You would know… a killer... if you saw one face to face?”
OFFICER: “Yer darned tootin’!”
SMITH JONES: “Nifty. How can you be so sure?”
Jones stops eating his greasy French toast and puts his cutlery down. He looks up to face the police officer directly across from him, staring into his beady brown eyes from point blank range. The officer leans away a bit.
OFFICER: “It’s just a skill I’ve developed. [ under his breath ] Weirdo.”
The officer slides his chair back with a squeak and stands over Jones. Smitty looks down at his French toast wondering just how much they’ve cooled during this chat. Smith sighs.
SMITH JONES: “Nothing else then?”
OFFICER: “Be careful out there. And good luck against Jubei and Anderson this week!”
The door slams gently, somehow, with the jingle of a little bell. Smith is silently seething at the notion that he would need LUCK against the champ and that bombastic...
SMITH JONES: [ in a hiss ] “Blabbermouth.”
He shoves the plate away from himself with a frown.
AMÉLIE DAVENPORT: “Lost your appetite?”
He freezes at the sound of her voice.
SMITH JONES: “You came.”
Amélie steps up behind Smith and puts her left hand on his left shoulder. Her lovely diamond ring flashes and sparkles in the morning sunlight. Smith reaches up with his right hand and laces fingers with his fiancée.
AMÉLIE DAVENPORT: “I thought you invited me. You said you were hitting the Home Plate--”
SMITH JONES: “That wasn’t an invitation.”
Smitty catches himself being far too gruff and takes a moment to breathe. Amélie sits right next to Smith and takes his right hand with both of hers, placing them all in her lap. She stares at the side of Smith’s face while he stares off at nothing.
AMÉLIE DAVENPORT: “You don’t want to look at me?”
SMITH JONES: “I want to look at you more than anything.”
AMÉLIE DAVENPORT: “I don’t understand you much these days. You left so abruptly. You’ve been gone for weeks. Nice to see you’re on the winning side of things lately. Being on the road? That helps?”
SMITH JONES: “You hate the road.”
AMÉLIE DAVENPORT: “I just love home.”
SMITH JONES: “I love professional wrestling. The road is part of the deal.”
AMÉLIE DAVENPORT: “I love YOU, Smith.”
SMITH JONES: “I love you too, Belle.”
AMÉLIE DAVENPORT: “Why won’t you look at me?”
SMITH JONES: “I’m no good at this!”
Jones closes his eyes for a beat and then glares into Amélie’s eyes for the first time in far too long.
SMITH JONES: “I’m a fighter, not a lover. Everything about this is… incredible. I want to marry you. Don’t worry about that. I just also want… I’m the Number One Contender to the APW World Heavyweight Wrestling Championship! Being on the road--”
AMÉLIE DAVENPORT: “Don't let me stand in your way.”
Amélie gets up and walks towards the door. Smith spins out of his seat and rushes to Amélie, pulling her into a ripcord hello kiss. They passionately greet one another, kissing and holding each other close with yellow-orange sunlight softly streaking in the front window behind them.
~~~
~ON CAMERA~
Fade up on a shot of Smith Jones’ icy blue right eye staring directly into the lens in stark close-up. He doesn’t appear to be in a very good mood.
SMITH JONES: “I see. I stand here at a safe distance from you and I see. I see what you do. I watch what you say better than you do. I watch you. I watch you and I see. I see Allen Anderson running your mouth all over Heck’s half acre, telling anyone within earshot every thought that forms inside your crumby cranium. You are the worst kind of person! You have no filter. All you ever do, Allen, is talk. Ever heard of oversaturation? I’m bored of you already. You talk and talk and never have much of importance to say. Wall of sound in the worst of ways. At the end of every day, at least in my world, it is all about what you do in that ring that matters most. You’ve been impressive, no doubt. But you are no Smith Jones. When the moment arises, I want it to be YOU who takes the fall from me this Monday Night Metal! I want to crush your comically oversized head and crack it open like a pinata on my birthday. Pro tip: peep the bio. Always worth a gander.”
The camera zooms out. We now see that Smith Jones is dressed in dark blue jeans and a gray tee that reads “contender” on the front of it in white lettering. He is standing on the interview set without an interviewer. Without full lighting. He takes a whiff of the air around him and then cringes at the stench. He stares into the camera and he speaks.
SMITH JONES: “I can smell the future. As I stand here inside the Frank Irwin Centre in Austin, Texas, a full day ahead of Monday Night Metal, I can already smell the overpriced cologne of one Allen Anderson an entire day before he comes out here to monopolize the airwaves. Anderson. You and I should start this match and fight the whole thing through? NO TAGS. Just you versus me with Masuda and Jaice Wilds Wilds watching from the apron. What do you say??? Back up all those words of yours. Justify why your every thought deserves space on social media servers for all eternity. Make us all believe that you are a hurricane when you’re nothing more than a rotten gust of hot air. I loathe tag team matches anyway!! I hate them passionately. Let’s hijack this tag match and make it our own. Let’s play, Allen Anderson. Because, I swear to all things good and holy that I will do whatever it takes to put you out of this game for good! I'm going to put you in a crossface chickenwing and secure your torso with a tight body scissors so I can use that leverage to slowly wrench your lower mandible clean off your face! I just plain do not like you and I never want to see your putrid human face again! Come at me. I'm right here!”
Jones has gotten himself quite worked up. He pauses and turns away from camera for a moment before spinning back to the lens with more venom.
SMITH JONES: “We all know what it sounds like when you flap your gums, Allen, but what I really wanna hear is the wet slap of a skin flap hanging off the side of your head from one of those… unforeseen unfortunate mishaps. Please do not try this at home folks. The sacred canvas upon which we tread is stained with the blood of the fallen in a sadistic ceremony known as the professional wrestling match. You wanna make history? Picture this: Allen Anderson. Smith Jones. First ever Tag Free Tag Team Match! And all of a sudden YOU’RE IT!! All eyes on you and not that egotistical tyrant you’re teaming with tomorrow night. Do you really need Masuda’s help to beat Smith Jones? Can't cut it on your own? Just lemme know. Let everyone know. Your move.”
Smitty turns away from the camera again and talks towards the large APW logo on the interview set wall.
SMITH JONES: “Masuda Jubei is the most frightening man in all of APW, to me. He is the only man above me in the World Heavyweight Division. Jubei is the only man I give myself permission to fear. Yet, I fear him not. Master Masuda. I am not as patient a man as I may imply by my actions. I want my title shot sooner than later. I don’t care what the Master Plan is. You’re the champion? Prove it to ME. This Tag Team Main Event is nothing but a steaming nine coil pile of fresh horse pucky to me and I have no enthusiasm for it. What good is a win over the champion for the Number One Contender? I’m already in the top spot! I don’t need a non-title win over Jubei. I need gold. So, I don’t want you to tag into this match at all. I want to watch the look on your face when I steal a victory over you while you watch from the comfort and safety of the ring apron. You’ll be further from the action than the referee! Don’t even bother to lace up. I want you to watch me, Jubei. Bring your iphone and LIVE stream it to your fans. Etch the images into your brain so you can have nightmares about me every single night. If you tag in, Master Masuda, those images in your head will be from a POV perspective and there will be grave pain associated with those memories. Do yourself a favour and do not tag in. Be a spectator. Heck, be a fan if it pleases you in the moment. Because people who fall victim to this particular Smith Jones do not fare well.”
Jones steps right up to the camera, now facing the lens. He is deadly serious. He growls loudly.
SMITH JONES: “While some people pollute the air with the sound of their voice, I stage actions that make their words come crumbling to the ground. I hurt people for a living and I sure as shinola ain’t starving by a long shot. I want to be champion right now. Nobody can say I haven’t been clear. Tag Main tomorrow night on Metal? Okay. I’ll bite. I’ll lace up. I’ll show up. I’m a professional. But, when I arrive in that ring...”
Fade to black.
SMITH JONES: “...I make no apologies for what I will do.”
