Threaded Mode | Linear Mode

Steven Kessler · **10-22-2014, 08:22 AM**

He can feel the bright lights drumming a pattern against his skull, pounding with an impact that no steel chair could ever hope to match. His head is throbbing, and the ill-timed migraine has not been improved by his lack of sleep the previous night. He yawns as the cameraman in front of him adjusts the main cameras to the liking of the director and rubs the sleep from his eyes, mildly aware that to all the viewers at home it probably looks like he woke up and stumbled into the set off the street; he’s dressed in a tee-shirt, faded jeans and a leather jacket, his brown hair uncombed and free of any styling product. The feeling he felt towards this interview was reflected in the way he’d chosen to appear in public, which is to say he didn’t really care at all.

He clears his throat, trying hard to ignore the pulsating spotlights bearing down on his eyes. Instead, he puts on a smile and adjusts the collar of his jacket. The cheap looking set is typical of late night television, with its gaudy fake cityscape plastered to the back wall. It’s painted to look like Los Angeles in the backdrop, though the Detroit location of the studio is a dead giveaway to the folks in the audio that it’s a fallacy. Looking back, he wondered how he’d ever been convinced to appear on the “Late Night Spotlight” for a local primetime station, but regardless he understands that it’s too late to walk off now. The studio audience is full of bored looking adults, with the occasional wrestling fan tucked in here and there. The resulting scene is almost humorous to behold, as the room as a whole remains motionless while several idiots scream here and there for attention. Kessler finds himself chuckling as campy jazz music begins to play over the sound system, the theme song to the already God-awful television show. From stage left a man in his mid-thirties emerges, his short cropped hair going grey into his sideburns, and steps into the camera shot as the show goes live. His gaudy, seventies-reject of a suit coat is practically neon in the bright studio light and as he sits down Kessler wrinkles his nose as the smell of stale cigarette smoke and scotch hits his nostrils.

The host smiles at the camera as the crowd claps mindlessly along to the APPLAUSE sign hung just out of view of the camera. His teeth, an almost-too-pearly shade of white, stand out freakishly and as the bad jazz music fades away the announcer’s voice can be heard.

Announcer: “Ladies and gentlemen, LIVE from Los Angeles California, it’s the Late Night Spotlight with you host, the man with all the answers… Kevin Newcastle!”

The crowd claps along again as the host slips his microphone into place and checks to be sure that the switch is turned on. He taps once or twice as the whole of the studio winces along to the feedback.

Newcastle: “Hellllooooooooo ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to the stay that stays up as long as you do, the Late Night Spotlight with me, the host with allllll the answers, Kevin Newcastle! Tonight, we’ve got a very special treat for everyone here in the studio and the viewers at home. With us, in an exclusive interview, is the Xtreme Federation Wrestling competitor, Stevie Kessler!”

The crowd claps along politely, but from the uncomfortable couch next to the desk Kessler shoots the host a look of absolute disgust.

Kessler: “Thanks Kevin, it’s great to be here. Though I feel I should mention that it’s actually the Xtreme Wrestling Federation, and my name is Steven, not Stevie. Though you do get extra points for attempting to know the subject matter before you have a guest on your show, I guess.”

He rolls his eyes, but Kevin seems to miss the sarcasm entirely. He puts on a big, fake grin and flashes his blinding smile at the audience.

Newcastle: “Well thank you, Steven. You’re set to have quite the upcoming week actually, with an appearance in the main event of the coming pay-per-view War Times-“

Kessler: “War Games.”

Newcastle: “*ahem*, where you’ll be teaming with the likes of the Universal Wrestling Champion-“

Kessler: “He’s actually on the team I’m facing off against.”

Newcastle: “Right, sorry, in a team-based bout that will take place in a distinctly violent steel cage. Now let me tell you, I’ve seen these kind of professional wrestling matches before and-“

Kessler: “HA. Bullshit.”

Newcastle: “Well, I’ve read up on them and I must say you’re certainly going to be going through a hellacious experience. There is a definite chance that you could suffer a serious injury, perhaps even something career threatening. It’d be a shame if you scarred your face or something, don’t you think?”

Kessler grins, his bullshit meter reading at an all-time high. Both men understand that they’re here to do a job and as big an idiot that the host may be, starting a fight with a syndicated television host isn’t the best way to gain positive feedback for the XWF, even for a promotion regularly featuring intense levels of violence.

Kessler: “Heh. Messing up my face pursuing victory doesn’t worry me all that much, Kevin. It might give those boys in the back a chance with the women after the show. For a while anyway, since cuts and bruises heal eventually. What will be most important, to me at least, is ensuring a win for my team.”

Kevin nods his head, pretending to understand. Suddenly, he remembers the presence of his teleprompter and he begins to “smarten up” as he reads his dialogue off screen. Kessler rolls his eyes, ignoring the prompts.

Newcastle: “Now I’m sure you’ve seen that some of the men in your match have had a few choice words for you, just as you’ve had choice words for them. Just recently, the wrestler known as Evertrust spent a significant portion of interview time discussing you, while another wrestler known as… uh, Ghost Tank, dismissed you almost entirely. Do you have anything to say regarding the attitude either of these men have towards you?”

Kessler: “You know, I find it funny that these two men were the ones who acknowledged my most recent promo material, considering that really they were the ones who I was attempting to address in my own roundabout way. I said that we’d have to be monsters if we wanted to survive in the War Games match, and I meant it. Words are words, Kevin. They’re not going to hurt me and they’re sure as hell not going to protect Evertrust from my fist. He can talk a good game, but so can I. And when push comes to shove, I doubt he has to talent to match me.”

Newcastle: “Are you perhaps suggesting that this Evertrust… is out of your league? I mean, that would be a pretty bold statement, coming from someone who only recently debuted.”

Kessler: “Not at all, Kevin. I’m not saying that Evertrust is out of my league, which would be an arrogant and incorrect statement. Instead, I’m going to say he’s not just out of my league; he’s playing another goddamn sport entirely. I’m a wrestler. I’m the future of the XWF. I fight with my mind and my body, and I sound like an intelligent human being when I speak on the microphone. Evertrust has made a career out of trying to avoid getting knocked down backstage for a three count. That’s how he attempts to prove his superiority. Do I feel the need to bully the backstage XWF staff in order to prove my point? Hell no. I have this, and I have this.”

Kessler holds up each of his fists.

Kessler: “It’s only a matter of time before I’m wearing championship gold. I’m not talking about just any old belt, either. I’m not talking about that piece of garbage Television Championship Gator stole from Steve Davids, nor am I talking about the tard-tastic Xtreme Championship. No, I’m going to be gunning straight for the Universal Championship. The symbol that I’m the best in the XWF. And though I may be crass, I may be cocky, I’m perfectly willing to steamroll over anybody that I have to in order to win it. Eli James is going to realize that I’m a legitimate threat after War Games, and I can guarantee he’ll be running scared.”

Newcastle: “You’re not going out of your way to make friends, it seems. If you’re not worrying about Evertrust, then tell me your thoughts on Eli James. I understand he’s been very quiet regarding the War Games match.”

Kessler: “Look, I’m not going to try and build him up and say that he could be the difference maker in this match. I tend to do that sometimes when I’m in front of the cameras and the bright lights… I get caught up in the moment and I tend to make every match I’m in seem like the extravaganza of the century. I get over excited, I exaggerate and I sell my soul time and time again in order to sell ratings or pay-per-view buys. Eli James probably would’ve had some potential back in the sixties, riding the Grateful Dead’s big bearded wave right before his hairstyle was copyrighted by Charles Manson. He might have done alright in the seventies, snorting coke and beating his girlfriend at Club 54. He may even have been great back in the eighties, when everyone was about long hair and small talent. But unfortunately, it’s almost the year two thousand and fifteen, and I can’t, with any credibility, say that I look at Eli James and don’t see a man I could easily dropkick around the ring.”

Newcastle: “Big words from a big man. But I’m afraid we’re just about out of time for tonight, so-“

Kessler: “I’m not done, jackass. You don’t get to invite me on your show, make a few stupid jokes and then cut me off midstream.”

Newcastle: “Well, I-“

Kessler: “You nothing, Kevin. I’ve got a newsflash for you buddy, your show sucks and eight people watch it. Which means, of course, that even if I attract only eight people to watch your show with my little appearance, I’ll have doubled your fucking viewing audience. So just shut your mouth, stop pretending to know anything about what I do or who I am, and listen to the words that are going to change your life.

I’m getting tired of Team Eli. I’m getting tired of Ghost Tank, of Evertrust, and of Justin Sane showing their faces in my general vicinity and trying to convince anyone who’ll pay attention that they’ll ever be anything than second best. I’m sick of Tubby Tank and his cameraman love-slave discussing current events like people actually give a shit that they exist. I’m tired of Evertrust taking up valuable time I could be using to take a piss or eat a sandwich or something with rambling, incoherent promos. I’m well and truly done with Justin Sane trying to get under my skin with empty threats. No one cares now, no one will ever care and getting your asses beat in front of thousands of people at War Games isn’t going to improve the odds of any of you rising further above being an asterisk on a list of the accomplishments and victories of each member of Team Erebus.

I don’t care who you are or what you’ve done. The simple fact of the matter is that I’m Steven fucking Kessler, and you’re not. You never will be. You think you can take me down a peg or two? Get over yourself and get in line, because you’re just low men on the totem pole and along with my team mates I’m going to show you why this week.

NOW I’m done.”

Kessler stands up, fuming, and storms backstage. Newcastle blinks and quickly clears his throat.

Newcastle: “Um… thanks for watching. I’m Kevin Newcastle.”

Fade to black.

Threaded Mode \| Linear Mode And The World Will Be Watching
Author	Message