Scene opens...

...The dull chatter of normality floods against our ears, the only noise to break the din is the rattle of metal against cheap china.

The bustle of the fervent diner is interspersed with the sharp sparkle of pink from the waitresses uniforms, they ebb and flow seamlessly through the mediocrity of the incumbents who wave their intentions to gorge on food and quaff at beverage.

The camera follows a pink adorned beauty, she's slender in frame, her brunette hair tied back and ponytails its way to a deep contrast of the uniform she wears. She snakes her way through the diner, her direction fixed on an outstretched arm, she approaches the table producing a notepad from her off white and often worn apron. Settling herself at the edge of the table, she daubs the end of a pencil against her strawberry red tongue, pausing it in mid air...

Waitress: “What's it to be handsome?

Man: “A pot of tea?”

The man's accent is heavyset English, stained with dialect thick in West Midlands routes yet conservatively strained to be hidden, there is no way of restraining that patois however, the tinge and swerve of the vocabulary laden with Black Country...

Waitress: “You drinking for one?”

Man: “I wouldn't have ordered a pot dear, bring two cups

The waitress glances a cute wink in the gentleman's direction before adding...

Waitress: “Didn't think a good looking guy like you would be drinking alone...

The man blushes somewhat as the compliment hits him, the waitress pencils in the order to her notebook before slowly reaching her hand across the table and gently caresses the hand of her customer.

She turns to re-enter the foray of the diner floor space, a wry smile piercing her typical and somewhat clichéd American features, slowly tucking her pencil and pad in her apron as she works her way to the counter, thoughts running through her mind.

The man sits confidently at his booth, his blonde hair radiates with the mellow sun that glances it's way through the large diner windows which surround the spacing with which we look. He's smart, dressed somewhat to impress in a well tailored pin stripe suit, his shirt an understated white volumised by the copper and black tie which pulls his look together. From under his cuff the sharpness of a Rolex watch is vibrant against his understated dress and the shine of his platinum wedding ring encapsulates his class.

He looks familiar, yet softened features throw our guesses to who he could be, the realisation soon hits us...

...A storm enters the scene, the light from the glassware, the cleanliness of the man's dress, the shrill of the pink uniforms that dart their way through the doldrums of the diner can not hide from the torrent of anger wrapped in denim and a loose fitting Amity Police Department hoodie. It's the scars on the forehead of Owen Crooks that give him away first, engrained and vehement as he bolsters his way intently to the table where the suited gent sits...

Man: “Brother ...”

He nods his head in the direction of Crooks before slowly standing to his feet...

Crooks: “Robert...”

They loom over the table, their height exact, their stance twinned, the awkwardness apparent.

Over the cheap moulded plastic of the table they lean forward, their arms forced to outstretch as they embrace with an air of friction. Crooks is first to react, the angst in the patting of Robert's back is plain to see, the release mechanism is utilised and Robert knows this, withdrawing from the welcome as quick as it began...

Robert Crooks: “It's good to see you brother...”

Crooks: “It's been too long! What is it now? Eighteen months? More?”

The pair sit across from each other...

Robert Crooks: “Just over two years Owen, two whole years!”

Crooks: “I'd apologise, but I know it won't curry favour, why'd you call me here?”

Robert Crooks: “My firm had some building work to look at in Baltimore, thought I'd make the short trip to see you, last time we met seemed … shall we say … a tad delicate.”

Crooks: “Look Rob, I knew where I wasn't wanted!”

Puzzlement and anger seethe over the younger Crooks face...

Robert Crooks: “Sorry?”

Crooks: “I love you bruv, but Lisa … well it was apparent she didn't want me there, hastened to let me in your front door, hurried to herd me out of it, just saying...”

Robert Crooks: “Oh Owen, will you quit believing my wife dislikes you? Christ almighty, that night, the small ensemble of people we love brought together, do you know what that was about? Do you know how I know it's been a clear two years since I last saw you?”

Crooks shrugs his shoulders uncaring as his shakes in negativity...

Robert Crooks: “Because, you belligerent fool, that was the night we announced we were expecting our third child! Both I and Lisa WANTED you there for that announcement!”

Crooks' eyes light with joy...

Crooks: “You're expecting another kid?”

Robert Crooks: “No Owen, we HAVE another child, a boy … finally … Christ he's walking now, we wanted you to be apart of that, instead you got your dour head on, got riled by the company and stormed the hell off before we could tell you, then you disappear into the ether, if Lucas hadn't have called me and given me your new number … well, I'd still be worrying what the hell you were doing!”

Crooks: “I'm not being funny Rob, but I got a whole vibe from that night, your friends they were looking at me funny … I didn't fit in with the whole shirt … tie … cuff-links and fancy dress scene!”

Robert Crooks: “When the hell has appearance meant a jot to you? Christ Owen it was Olivia and Grace that were the most upset!”

Crooks slumps somewhat in his chair, the abundance of guilt slapping him around his face as he haunches...

Crooks: “F*beep*k … … … Damn it … … How the hell are my angels?”

Robert Crooks: “Distressed?”

Crooks: “What you done to them? What's Lisa done to them?”

Robert Crooks: “For real? What have their mum and dad done?”

Robert's face fills with a burden...

Robert Crooks: “Let me tell you a story you selfish pri*beep*k … Our surrogate father gives me call, my brother and hero has 'made it', he's going to be on TV! My daughters' only uncle and THEIR hero is going to be on TV, imagine that feeling, the man they love and haven't seen for years is going to be famous … and what the hell do we tune in and watch? The same old grumpy sod we're used to, multiplied by two years of solitude.

They watched you Owen, oh yeah they cheered you on and jumped about our living room when you won, but then Liv, who's computer savvy nowadays, checks your profile online … calls me over to watch, and well … let's just say I didn't see my brother on that monitor Owen, I saw someone I thought I'd never see again...

Crooks: “What the hell are you talking about!?”

Robert Crooks: “Owen … … … I saw our old man on that screen!”

Crooks recoils at the comment, his fists clench as his teeth grind together, still firm words grumble from behind them...

Crooks: “Don't ever say sh*beep*t like that again!”

Robert Crooks: “It was him Owen, clear as day, he was spewing forth his vitriol through your body!”

Crooks: “Dad 'spewed forth vitriol' did he? What the hell do you know what he spewed forth?”

Robert Crooks: “You forgetting I was there?”

Crooks: “Oh I remember you were there Robert, I remember quite clearly, see it was me that hurled my way between you and him at every opportunity, so I know you were there … don't think I'd ever forget that. Mum took the punches for us first, then I took over when she took the easy way out...”

Robert Crooks: “EASY?!”

Crooks: “You heard me!”

Robert Crooks: “She went through hell … there was nothing easy about that!”

Crooks: “Oh I'm not denying she went through hell, then she went and left us in the lurch, she left US with that hell, and I was damned if my kid brother was getting it, I took that hell on and felt it's full force!”

Robert Crooks: “Just don't call Mum a coward Owen!”

Crooks: “Suicide is a dirty word Rob, it's a simple way to get rid of a greater problem. She was a coward, she left us … she could have walked through the door and taken us with her, instead she slit her fu*bleep*ing wrists and got carried through that door in a coffin … leaving two kids to deal with an abusive drunk father intent on hurting folk, well that 'folk' turned into me … and it was me to save you!”

Robert Crooks: “ … … And I'm eternally thankful!”

The admission hits the Crooks brothers into a silence, they both skulk back into the rests of their chairs as a burden is somehow lifted, only the emergence of a pink shirt carrying a pot and two cups can lighten the atmosphere. The waitress lays her goods down, senses the air of trepidation and scurries away once more into the diners vibe...

Robert Crooks: “So? Explain what the hell you're doing?”

Crooks: “Doing?”

Robert Crooks: “Owen! You've taken the book 'How to Win Friends and Influence People' and tore it up for arse paper!”

Crooks: “It has to be done Rob! We were nurtured in this sport we love by a great man, a man of principle and standing … I signed for XWF expecting to be utilised for my abilities. It's only since I got into the place that it hit me … they're not interested … they're more task focussed on me towing the company line and becoming a 'superstar' than what I am, a wrestler! I have to stand up for what Lucas brought us up on!”

Robert Crooks: “But hurling abuse at your boss?”

Crooks: “How else can I make him see sense?”

Robert Crooks: “Vowing to go 'straight' in an extreme rules match? That's crazy, you'll get obliterated out there!”

Crooks: “You think I don't know that? Christ I'm against a man who had the living crap kicked out of him on Saturday, I'm against a man desperate for a win, so so desperate, he'll use everything to his advantage. He's a man not only on somewhat of a losing streak, he's a man that's had the sense knocked out of him! He can't even remember that it was ME that won the match against Cheapshots!

His desperation is abundantly clear, but what's more striking is the guys confusion in his own beliefs!

He talks about pulling his last trick, yet he can't see it's that is forcing his hand into a match of this ilk, it's the man he's going against that is pulling not only tricks, but all of Deadly's strings to boot!

I gave him a simple out, I gave him the opportunity to go against the grain the man he despises has set out before him, yet just like everyone else at XWF, the need for fame forces him to do as he is told.

Well my morals and valour run deeper than his, I know what I am, I know what I'm good at … it's hooking, it's shooting, it's the very premise of the industry I love … it's wrestling.

The moment Crimson Deadly raises a weapon in my direction he's lost, the moment he draws blood from my body, he's become a tool of the boss he apparently loathes.

Rob, I'll take that beating, as long as the message is sent … they can't mould me into something I don't want to be!”

Robert Crooks: “I hate you sometimes brother!”

Crooks: “You hate me?”

Robert Crooks: “Because you're always right! Pig ignorant and god damned stubborn, but always right! Here...”

Robert retrieves a manilla envelope from the seat beside him and slides it hopeful across the table, he reaches for the pot and pours two cups, to his own he adds a splash of milk, to the other he adds a dirge of milk and three grotesquely large sugars before stirring it vigorously … Crooks opens the envelope and studies the contents intently as his brother sips at his cup of char...

Crooks: “Health insurance?”

Robert Crooks: “You didn't get any did you?”

Crooks: “Damn, it never crossed my mind.”

Robert Crooks: “I can't have you going into that match, with you tying your hands behind your back without it, call it a present from your nephew!”

Crooks: “Thank you Robert … say … what's the little guys name?”

Robert Crooks: “There was only one name! We called him Owen …”

The scene fades as the brothers sit back in their chairs and slowly begin to drink their hot beverage before Robert begins to produce photos from his wallet, they relax into chat that is long overdue...