EnRAGEd
“Once blood is shed in a national quarrel, reason and right are swept aside by the rage of angry men.†–David Lloyd George
March 2nd, 2017 – The Green Home; Oak Brook, IL – 9:00 PM
The camera fades into a large living room with tall Windows lining the right side of the spacious room. A fireplace, burning bright, fills the room with a smoked cedar smell that makes the otherwise dark and cold room feel homey. Sitting on the couch, wearing a white cable knit sweater, dark jeans and drinking a glass of scotch is former three time SCW World Heavyweight Champion and SCW Hall of Famer Drake Green. He sips his scotch, letting the oaky beverage swish around his mouth a moment before swallowing, as his beautiful platinum blonde wife walks into the room. She barely glances up as her eyes are on her phone, her fingers moving about, clearly texting or sending a tweet about. She’s sporting a turquoise t-shirt material dress that barely covered her butt. She glances over at her husband and flashes him a smile before walking over and collapsing on the couch next to him.
Mikah: What's up?
She looks at him with a small smirk on her face.
Drake: Nothing.
He barely looks at her as he responds, taking another sip of his single malt beverage.
Drake: It’s eleven o’clock, don’t you have to get down and pray to J2Hism right about now?
She rolls her eyes at her husband and types something else on her phone.
Mikah: That's not how that works, Drake.
She gives him a pointed look before putting her phone between her bare thighs.
Mikah: But I don't really think you care how it works, do you babe?
Drake takes an even bigger drink.
Drake: Please… Enlighten me. What does one who subscribes to J2Hism do? Talk a lot of shit? Be a whiny little bitch? Cry when you don’t get your way?
He finishes his glass.
Drake: Give me a fucking break. He stands up and walks over to the small bar to fix himself another glass. He opens the bottle and pours some in, swishing the glass around as he does.
Drake: Fake ass bullshit if you ask me.
*PLUNK*
He drops a few ice cubes in his fresh glass of scotch before heading back and sitting back in his spot on the large grey couch.
Mikah: And what else do you propose I do, Drake? Sit around and be a housewife for you? Make babies and raise them?
She makes a face. She looks at him and then looks at the drink in his hand.
Mikah: Or would you rather me open the show in stupid matches against Veronica Taylor? I mean because there's not much else for me to do.
She shrugs her shoulders at him. She glances down between her legs at the side of her phone. This annoys Drake to no end so he gets up and smacks the phone out of her hands and it lands on the floor.
Drake: What, is J2Hism all about tweeting no posting slutty pics too?
She looks over at her phone as it lies on the floor before looking up at her husband.
Mikah: I hardly ever tweet about J2H, Drake. If you ever fucking paid attention to Twitter, you'd notice it was mostly about your stupid ass.
She snaps a bit before standing up to go grab her phone. Drake chuckles.
Drake: Maybe you should pay more attention to your career and you wouldn't have to follow some douchebag around. I mean seriously Miks, what the fuck? This guy is an asshole. I don't think I can be ok with this anymore.
He takes a drink and stares at the fire as if the conversation should be over. She bites her bottom lip for a moment just staring at him before crossing her arms over her chest.
Mikah: And what the fuck is that supposed to mean, Drake?
She looks at him and resists the urge to roll her eyes, a nasty habit she had when things didn't quite go her way.
Mikah: What would you do if you were in my position? Oh wait, you'd never be in my fucking position because everybody fucking loves you. You're SCW’S golden boy, you can do no wrong.
She rolls her eyes.
Mikah: I'm not you, Drake. Far from it, actually.
She sits back down, choosing to leave some space between them.
Drake: Ain't that the fucking truth. How about you acting like a bitch all the time, because believe me we all know it's an act, and just be the real Mikah. Maybe then people wouldn't think you're such stuck up bitch and they'd actually like you too. But nope, you just hang off that dickbag’s cock to feel relevant. Don't blame me because I cast a long shadow, sweetheart. You knew what you were marrying.
She gives him a look.
Mikah: Yes, I knew who I was marrying, Drake. And I tried not being a bitch, it sucked and I go absolutely nowhere.
She takes a deep breath, trying to think of something else.
Mikah: I didn't hold the fucking Bombshell championship for nine months because I was identical to Melody Grace or Sam Marlowe, Drake. You knew that when you married me too. You knew and you know what I am like.
She places her phone away from her.
Mikah: Look, J2Hism isn't even really anything that you should be worried about! If it came down to it, I would pick you over J2Hism any day. But if you're going to be an ass about it, I might let you think differently.
Drake let's out a loud obnoxious laugh.
Drake: Go ahead. Pick that asshole. I don't want you to be some fake Melody Grace or dime-a-dozen Sam Marlowe. I want you to be you. You don't need some dipshit to make you relevant. All you have to do is put the effort in. You're better in that ring than any other Bombshell on that roster. But what you're not is some lackey for that dick. It needs to end now. And that's final.
He turns back towards the fire, swishing his ice and his whiskey in his glass. She looks at him as she sits there, biting her bottom lip.
Mikah: I'm not even a lackey! I basically do my own thing.
She stops and bites her tongue for a moment.
Mikah: You know what? It's not worth it. The whole trying to be relevant thing. If it's causing you this much grief, fine whatever. I'll be done with it.
She makes a motion with her hands before crossing her left over her right. Drake let's out a smile.
Drake: Good. My wife can't be seen with a trash bag like that. You're better than that.
He finishes his glass.
Drake: Are we done here?
She looks at him and shrugs her shoulders.
Mikah: I guess. I mean, you're throwing a fit about nothing but you're more important than my career.
She shrugs a bit.
Drake: A fit? This is not a fit. This is me telling how it's gonna be. You're my wife, and that's final.
He gets up to pour himself another glass.
Drake: I don't want to hear any more about it.
She presses her lips together, refraining from saying something else.
Mikah: Fine whatever. You're the one that brought it up but fine, I'll be done with it.
He smiles as he pokes himself another glass.
Drake: Good.
He turns around towards her.
Drake: I'll be in my office.
He brushes past her giving her a cold breeze as he heads out of the room.
"I'm over you. I can't even get annoyed anymore. I can't bother to waste my breath and bang on about the same old tired rhetoric about how you have a better chance of putting me to sleep Sunday night than beating me. I'm done with it. You're not my problem. You're has been, a not quite ever was, clinging to the World Heavyweight Champion, desperately trying to remain somewhat relevant. It doesn't even both that you snuck up on me last week. I know why you did it. We've all been there, that terrible feeling in the pit of our stomachs telling us that it's all over. That our glory days are gone. The problem here is that you're not listening to yours. You see I may be old, shit I may be rusty, but I'm something you'll never be, Rage. Timeless."
"I can walk out of that curtain, gone a half dozen months, and still get the same pop as if I never left. That's who I am. That's what I bring to the table. You all have same speech and I've been hearing it for years. That I don't really care about the fans and that I'm fake and that I just use them for cheap pops and mediocre movie openings. It's old news, man, just like you. So I'm gonna let you run your mouth, much like that smart ass boss of yours, and let you say whatever you want. Because in the end, I'm still better. I'm still going to win and I am going to beat James at Blaze of Glory. That shit is a fact. You? You're just a warm up...and an easy one at that."
