CARSON!

The scene opens to a state-of-the-art gym in the City of Angels. Just another day in the life of Carson Waters. He’s standing in front of a heavy bag, with a visibly frustrated Miss Fortune standing beside it, face beet red and eyes staring daggers into the slouching, awkward looking motherfucker she’s yelling at.

WHAT?

Focus! You have your wrestling debut in…

Psssh, not even a big deal. You saw who they got me going against, right? Brian fucking Douglas. I got this shit in the bag. I don’t even need to be here right now.

Miss Fortune sighs and shakes her head.

Well, since we are here, would it kill you to actually try?

Alright, fine. But just because I like you. I’ll actually try a little bit.

Carson turns his head away from his manager and stares down the heavy bag.

To beat the bag, you gotta BE the bag!

I regret this already.

Carson pulls his arm back and lets it go, aiming right for the center of the bag.

You can’t stop me now!

His fist connects with the bag, and immediately he pulls it back and grabs his chest. He starts gasping for air and making noises like he’s choking while his other hand creeps up to grab his throat. On wobbly knees he tries to stand, before collapsing on the floor, spinning around in circles on the cold floor, hacking.

Very funny. Go on, get up. People are staring.

It seems Carson didn’t hear any of that, as he continues to spasm about on the ground. He rolls over onto his stomach, reaching one hand out towards Miss Fortune, trying to force words out of his mouth but only getting incoherent growls between coughs. Her eyes widen and she rushes over to her fallen client, rolling him back over onto his back and pounding on his chest.

Oh don’t do this.

She continues to pound on his chest, biting her lips as she watches his face turn a shade of burgundy.

Jesus Christ, come on!

She clenches her fist and brings it down hard on Carson’s ribs, forcing him to gasp. The choking and coughing turns to cackling, and then to laughter. Wild, hysterical laughter. Miss Fortune’s expression changes from concerned friend to pissed off hell beast in .2 seconds flat. Grabbing his chin, she pulls his head closer to her and then slaps the shit out of him!

I hate you so fucking much.

Oh, don’t be that way! Just because you’re gullible doesn’t mean I did anything wrong.

Carson shoves Miss Fortune aside and kips up to his feet. The gym-goers who are still paying attention to the unfolding scene give him a round of applause as Miss Fortune crosses her arms and glares right at him.

You just acted like you were dying!

Acting? Don’t downplay ‘Suddenly Dying Syndrome’. It’s a serious disease! Like, three people die from that A DAY! What do you have to say to their families, huh? They were just acting? Sheesh, I don’t even know why I keep you around.

First off, that’s not a real thing. Secondly, your dad keeps me employed to make sure you make good choices. You don’t pay me shit, so you’re not keeping me around.

Good choices? Dude, you smoked weed with me right before we came here!

Miss Fortune slaps the shit out of him again.

WE ARE IN PUBLIC!

And I came down with SDS, and you didn’t even call an ambulance. Real nice.

That is not a real thing!

She groans loudly and pulls at her hair. Carson begins to laugh once more, this time louder and more manic than before.

You’re so easy to work up, like oh my god. Your face is as red as your hair!

Miss Fortune takes a deep breath, and starts to laugh as well.

I hate you.

No, you don’t.

Shaking her head to clear what’s left of her anger, she steps back towards the heavy bag.

Now, seriously, you need to train for this. Douglas might not seem like much but he has much more experience than you do.

Pffft, experience in losing.

Funny. Seriously, you gotta plan for him unless you want to be the one in 1-99.

Carson grabs at his chest once again with a gasp.

You think I’m the type of nigga to lose to Glass Joe?

I don’t think you’re any type of nigga, you’re white.

GASP!

Racist!

Huh?

You think just because my skin is white that that makes me somehow white? Have you never heard of transracial?

You didn’t until I told you about it yesterday.

Just because I didn’t know there was a word for-- yeah, fuck this. It’s not as funny as I thought it would be. No one batted an eye when I called you racist.

I wonder why.

It’s because I already made too many jokes based on getting their attention already. Like the boy who cried wolf.

I know that.

Okay, just wanted to make sure. You’re the one who thinks I need to train to fight Brian Douglas, after all.

It’s not a crazy idea!

Were we watching the same match? Dude didn’t do shit, dude couldn’t do shit. Dude won’t do shit.

You’re so sure of that now, but when it comes time for the match and you aren’t prepared…

Will it make you feel better if I just go with it?

Yes.

Carson cracks his neck and squares up, facing the heavy bag. He looks away from it for one second and opens his mouth, only to see a fist coming right at him! Without any time to react, Carson gets clocked by the blow and stumbles over before falling flat on his ass. He taps his fingers against his upper lip to feel a trickle of blood. Though his vision is blurry, he squints where the fist came from to see the outline of The Mysterious and Handsome Stranger standing over him.

Uhhhh, what the fuck?

Gotta pay attention, kid.

The Mysterious and Handsome Stranger cracks his knuckles and reaches out to help Carson up to his feet.

Fighting a punching bag isn’t going to help you at all!

So your alternative is to bring him in to throw down in the middle of a gym?

Miss Fortune nods her head.

I knew there was a reason I kept you around!

Whatever. Now, Douglas has two inches and thirty pounds on you. There’s no way you’re going to be able to overpower him. Luckily for you, he’s not half as fast as you are and has trouble dealing with people who have your style of offense.

Dude has problems in general. With talking and wrestling.

The Mysterious and Handsome Stranger throws another punch, but this time Carson ducks out of the way of it.

Haha!

Only to get hit by a second strike from his trainer/attacker, this one a kick to the gut. He coughs loudly and drops to his knees.

Don’t take your eye off the prize!

Fuck man, I get it. Avoid his strikes, quicken the pace as soon as possible. Wreck his fucking shit because he’s too much of a dumbass to adapt to my fighting style. Easy shit, really. Now can we please get out of here? This chick, I know you met her Kylie, the blue haired one. Still stuck in her scene phase? The one had a…

Yes, I know who you’re talking about.

She blushes.

She’s throwing a party at her parents’ place because apparently she still lives with them or something and I plan on showing up there wasted.

Why not just get wasted at the party?

The awkward ‘I’m not thrashed yet’ interval between arriving and when shit gets fun, duh.

Alright. So, were you just gonna jet off alone and not even mention it?

You coming or nah?

She laughs.

Am I coming? You bet your ass I am.

Then we better get the pre-party started right now.

You’re insane.

Nah, I’m pra--pre--pregnant.

Pragmatic. I hope.

Yeah that word.

The trio makes their way out of the gym as the scene fades to black.