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X-treme Wrestling Federation »   » Archives » Wild Card Weekend (June 29th) PPV RP Archive
Tony Goes to Hollywood ----Deadline----
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Tony Santos Offline
Santos Glares at You



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#1
06-29-2013, 10:59 AM

Santos: Driver, this is good. Let us out here.

The scene opens inside the lavish limo of Tony Santos, which Tony has ordered to pull in next to, another limousine company? Yes, Tony and Jeremy are pulling in to Sterling Limousine Service, only two blocks away from the Staples Center, which is the site of tonight's Wild Card Weekend event.

Limo Driver: Yes, sir. Here?

Tony, slightly perturbed at such a basic question...

Santos: Yes. Here.

The driver lets them off on the corner of South Figueroa Street and West Pico Boulevard. Tony, realizing that he has no actual cash on him at the moment, having spent his money on ridiculously expensive sunglasses, a new wardrobe, and training equipment that he was having shipped back to his "gym" in Brighton (a/k/a, the basement of his apartment). He sifts through the pockets of his jeans one last time, making every effort to look concerned about the fact that he can't tip this man, then proceeds to yank the door open. Briefly jolting his head down to the passenger side window of the limo, he speaks to the limo driver.

Santos: Put the tip on my card. 25%, just for you!

The driver, a man of roughly 40 or so and Hispanic descent, gives a look of confusion.

Limo Driver: Sir, you gave me no card.

Too late. Tony was already trudging along down the sidewalk. Jeremy, still awkwardly sitting in the limo, hands the driver a five dollar bill and some coins, pitifully trying to make up for Tony's frugality.

Jeremy: Sorry, this is all I have. I'll credit you when we get back?

The limo driver, knowing that they wouldn't be back, ever, simply waves Jeremy off.

Limo Driver: Thank you for your kindness, sir.

Jeremy bolts out of the car at the rate of a freed hostage. Rushing up to catch Tony, who was already schmoozing with the locals. Tony was particularly interested in one fairly attractive woman, most likely mid-to-late 20s, who was giving him attention...

Santos: You want an autograph? Sure. No, no, I don't do paper autographs. What about your, well...

Tony motions to her breasts. He receives only an offended look and a slap to the face.

Santos: Well, to hell with you then! You're missing out on big things, honey!

The woman makes a hand gesture using her index and middle fingers on her right hand, making it clear that she thinks that she, well, isn't missing anything big.

However, before Tony can respond with something that he'll regret five seconds later, Jeremy catches up with him. Not far behind him is a reporter with LA Weekly.

Jeremy: Sir, let's get out of here before you make a jerk out of yourself...

Jeremy is shoved to the side by this reporter, who seems intent on grilling Tony as soon as possible prior to his US Title match tonight.

LA Weekly Reporter: Tony Santos! How the hell are ya?? My name is Lawrence (don't call me Larry) Riley, and I'm with LA Weekly. You have a pretty big match tonight against Mr. Satellite tonight, am I right? Tony, am I right?

This man's up front and obnoxious personality manages to throw off Tony of all people, but only slightly. Feeling a bit slighted, Tony looks to brush this man off, but, hey, this is a Los Angeles tabloid magazine, these folks are like sharks. You don't brush them off, ever. They've dealt with the likes of Paris Hilton, Kanye West, Tommy Lee (90s reference), and many, many similar celebrities. Some professional wrestler wasn't going to push them away, no matter how intimidating or unwelcoming. They'd seen the worst, and could handle the worst.

Lawrence (don't call him Larry): Tony! The people of Southern California need to know! Are you ready for tonight, or are your boozing problems and daddy issues going to keep you from being focused tonight?

Tony stops and turns toward Lawrence (don't call him Larry), and flashes a smile.

Santos: Larry, let's talk. You got a place we can sit?

Lawrence (don't call him Larry): Tony, it's Lawrence, thank you. Yes, let's talk in our trailer over here. I promise you, it's quite nice!

Lawrence (don't call him Larry) leads Tony down South Figueroa, toward the Staples Center. They reach a large, white trailer with "LA Weekly" plastered across the side of it. Clearly, this tabloid was making good money.

Lawrence opens the door and leads Tony, and, reluctantly, Jeremy, inside. Once they step inside, they see a full-fledged living area, with a kitchen, "living room" of sorts with a 50-inch flat screen TV and multiple video game consoles (who said tabloid folks don't like to game?), and a few areas to sleep.

Tony, in awe, looks around the trailer, soaking in all of the amenities. He sinks into the plush, leather couch, smiling and staring at the ceiling. Tony gets up, feels the marble kitchen countertops, awes at the HDTV in front of him, and generally just soaks in everything that he has neglected up to this point. Tony gives a look of realization to Jeremy, clearly understanding what he was going to do with his next paycheck.

Lawrence (don't call him Larry): Tony, Tony. I'm glad you're enjoying my "palace" of sorts. However, do you mind if we sit down and talk about your match tonight?

Tony, smiling, answers...

Santos: Sure, I don't care. This couch is fantastic.

Lawrence (don't call him Larry): Tony, before I start this interview, I must ask you, are you under the influence of marijuana?

Tony just turns his head and smiles at Lawrence...

Santos: Oh, wouldn't you love that, Larry. It'd make for fantastic front-page material. No, no, I'm just comfortable. Enjoying my time here before I have to get in to somewhat serious mode and have my re-match against Satellite.

Lawrence (don't call him Larry): Okay, well then let's begin...

Tony puts a hand up in front of Lawrence...

Santos: Wait, why am I talking to LA Weekly? Don't you guys only deal with celebrities, music, movies, and stuff? You don't care about sports, right? What's the point of me being here?

Lawrence (don't call him Larry): Well, sir, with you, you're front page material. We want to know all about you (and the many mishaps in your life). Let's begin.

Tony, smiling to a completely unamused Jeremy, who's busy playing with a Rubik's Cube and trying to avoid this awkward situation, jerks his head back to Lawrence.

Lawrence (don't call him Larry): So, Tony, you're facing Mr. Satellite tonight for the U.S. Title. This is a rematch of sorts of your battle with him in a steel cage a few weeks ago for the TV Title. How do you feel about this match going in, and what will you do differently this time versus last?

Santos: Larry, I should've won that match and been crowned the XWF TV Champ then, and I'm going to be crowned U.S. Champ tonight. Satellite was saved by a time limit and that only. I can outmaneuver him in the ring and on the mic. While he's dealing with extra-marital issues and alien children, I'm busy going for titles. Have I been successful yet? No. Will I be tonight? Absolutely.

Satellite's weak. My goal is to whip him three times to win the belt. Hell, Satellite's been a whipping boy his entire life, so this will be nothing new to him. He's clearly, clearly ready for an easy victory for himself, but that just shows his ignorance and foolishness. This man forgets that he was brought to the brink for the TV Title on cable television, and I promise that I'll end him on pay TV tonight.


Lawrence (don't call him Larry): But, Tony, this is a man who has won multiple belts. He's a decorated champion in the XWF. How will you get past that?

Santos: Don't worry, Larry, don't worry at all. Satellite is more worried about people obsessing over his greatest than he is about his accomplishments. He's as paranoid as they come. A man that narcissistic and unnecessarily concerned about his well-being will go down in short order. Sure, he's a good champion, but he's insecure. Insecure about his personal life, and insecure about himself in the ring. If he's worrying about things not related to wrestling in the ring, he's not focused.

Tony pauses and looks upward at the white, tile ceiling of the trailer. He pauses for an extra few moments, considering his words carefully.

Santos: My father passed away last week, and it's made me reflect on things. There are more important things down here than what are going on elsewhere. Satellite is stuck in his own head and can't conceive reality. Tonight, I look forward to kicking reality into his skull.

I lost to him once, but I damn well sure won't lose again. Real pain lies on Earth, and Satellite will feel that harsh reality tonight. Goodnight, sweet prince. Say goodbye to the U.S. Title.


Tony abruptly gets up and walks out of the trailer, with plenty of LA to see.

The scene fades to black.
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