Where There's Smoke

Roleplay Roleplay by KURTIS RAY
On Sun, May14, 2017 6:57pm America/Phoenix
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Where There's Smoke
(Gentle piano music can be heard playing, muffled by a metal-clad door with a fancy digital lock bearing an ominous sign that says "Members Only - All Others Prohibited." There are a couple of people hanging around but they seem purposefully disinterested. One is seated on a curb focused on his cellphone and the other teeters off down an alleyway, singing along to a Rihanna song before abruptly stopping and fumbling with his belt.)

VOICE: The hell are you recording, you freak?

(The camera pans to reveal Kurtis Ray, dressed in a designer suit with a scowl on his face. A muffled voice can be heard from behind the camera, but Kurtis merely rolls his eyes, sneering.)

KURTIS: Whatever floats your dinghy, I guess. Still, drunks whizzing in an alley? Bonafide winner on staff here. Man...

(Kurtis shakes his head, glaring at the camera for another moment before he starts, a ghost of a smile appearing on his face as he seems to suddenly remember what they're there for. He moves over to the door marked "Member's Only," producing a white card with a magnetic strip from his pocket. In one deft movement, there is a click and he pulls the door open, gesturing for the cameraman to follow.

The piano music increases in volume as they make their way down a dimly-lit corridor. After a moment Kurtis stops in front of another door, turning back to face the camera.)

KURTIS: Alright, ground rules, camera monkey: No talking, no gawking, and no wandering into the can to catch a glimpse of someone taking a whizz, capisce?

(The cameraman mumbles something and Kurtis sighs, looking exasperated.)

KURTIS: I don't know why I even bother sometimes. I don't care that you have a name, dummy. I care that you do your job, and you don;t embarrass me. This is a classy joint, and it cost me a lot of money to get on the members list. Last thing I need is my tripod saying or doing something stupid to get me kicked out. You dig? You hear me, Tripod? I said 'You dig?'

(Finally the cameraman sounds an affirmative and Kurtis looks satisfied, though the sneer never quite disappears from his face. He pauses long enough to tighten his tie and run his fingers through his hair before opening the door and ushering the cameraman through, revealing what does indeed appear to be an upscale establishment. Various people in elaborate dress are about, gathered in small groups and partaking of wine or cigars. A timid man in a nice, if not obviously much-cheaper suit than the rest of the clientele appears, eyeing Kurtis with the most sycophantic of smiles.)

HOST: Good evening, Mr. Ray and-

(The host turns his gaze on the cameraman, his lip curling in thinly-veiled distaste.)

HOST: -Guest. It's a pleasure to have you visit us, this evening. Your table has been prepared.

(At this, the weaselly man gestures towards a table near two rather comfortable looking leather chairs.)

HOST: Is there anything I can retrieve for you, sirs?

(Kurtis smiles at the man, but it is clearly disingenuous.)

KURTIS: I heard from a friend that you had Black Dragons? If so, I'll take one to start, otherwise whatever's entirely too expensive and preferably Cuban. And a triple of Aberfeldy, no ice. Chimpy here will have a glass of water. That right, Tripod?

(The cameraman sounds a hasty affirmative, and the weaselly man's simpering smile returns.)

HOST: Of course, sirs. If you would please take a seat, your order will be brought to you momentarily.

(Kurtis chuckles, shaking his head, before leading the cameraman over to the indicated seats. Kurtis sets down in one, leaning back and stretching. The cameraman doesn't sit right away, earning another eye roll from Kurtis.)

KURTIS: What did I tell you about making an ass of yourself, dummy? Sit down. Are you simple or something? Parents related? Or did they just pluck you out of a gutter and hand you a camera? I swear to god, I'm gonna have to talk to whoever's in charge of production to see if we can do something about the caliber of staff they've been providing lately....

(Kurtis huffs, gesturing for the cameraman to sit down, who finally complies.)

KURTIS: Imagine my surprise when I got a call today from the road agent informing me that on Mayhem next week I'm booked in a tag match with Cameron Westport against LuAndre Xavier and Syndicate. Two men who used to be part of the Big Time Agency, some jackoff with a boner for Nike kicks, and me. Sounds great on paper, right? I get to beat the hell out of two guys I don't have a lot of respect for, and Xander Adams booked me my very own cheerleader. Cause let's be honest, really. When you're Kurtis Ray, and your opponents are LuAndre Xavier and Syndicate, your record speaks for itself. I've beaten the Agency. I've beaten Syndicate. And LuAndre Xavier, as much as he wants to pretend he's a threat, isn't even CLOSE to on my level.

(The weaselly host appears again, only appearing in shot long enough to set down a silver tray on which there is a cigar, a cigar cutter, a glass of whiskey, and a bottle of Fiji spring water. Kurtis sounds his thanks and the host disappears. Kurtis picks up the cigar and the cigar cutter, trimming off an end, and then fishes a lighter out of his pocket, puffing the expensive cigar to life.)

KURTIS: You guys, all you ever do is wave your jaws. You rand and rave and elucidate about how you;re such a big deal and how you're going too destroy me. TO prove something. But week after week, match after match, I walk away and I am not destroyed. Syndicate, recently you attacked me with the tag title in a misguided attempt to rob me of success in the Crusade Cup. Not only did your attempt fail to find traction, but it failed to stop me. It pissed me off, and we all know what that led to on Ravage. If you needed a reminder, however...

(Kurtis looks happy with himself, leaning back in the chair and taking a long pull off the cigar, releasing a cloud of thick smoke.)

KURTIS: You and Dre might have history. That's something me and Cameron Westpoint don;t have. But you want to know a little secret, Syndikins? You might wanna listen to, Dre, because this concerns you both. My secret is, I don't care. I don;t care a lick about Cameron Eastbrook. I don;t care about partners, I don't care about tag teams, I don;t care about what Xander Adams is trying to do on Mayhem. I do care about one thing, though, and that is getting my due. I care about punishment. I care about destruction, and I care about showing everybody in the world that there are consequences involved when you mess with Kurtis Ray. Your punishment isn't done, Syndicate, and on Mayhem the WWX Universe will see how much worse it gets.

(Kurtis picks up the glass of whiskey now, taking a long swallow, his expression settling into some combination of mirth and disgust.)

KURTIS: Don't think I've forgotten about you, Dre. LuAndre Xavier. Mouthpiece of a generation I could really care less about. II'm kinda surprised you're still making a go of it, because somewhere in the shuffle I forgot about Dre. Just like everybody else forgot about you before you came back and somehow managed to thrive in this misguided experiment of a TV show they're passing off as wrestling. You've thrived in a small pnd, LX, and I'm gonna be the big fish that ruins that for you. And regardless of what your theme song says, when I'm finished with you next week, there won;t be an encore, cause you won;t be in any shape to get more. I will break you, I will rob you of your will to continue, and I will walk out of that ring victorious. Casper Wexler and you have history, so I'll probably let him kick you around a bit too, give him some hope for the future.

(Kurtis laughs now, though it is a cold sound and devoid of humor. He takes another drink from the glass of whiskey, following it with a long pull off the cigar. When he exhales he looses a satisfied noise.)

KURTIS: Regardless of posturing, regardless of meaningless elucidation, regardless of meaningless machismo, what needs to be said will be said in the ring. I'm rolling into Mayhem with the intention to put a beating on you chumps. I expect you to put up a good fight, cause I know you both got chops. Just try not to be too disappointed when chops don;t get the job done. On a personal note, and I hate to keep going back to Syndicate but here it is. Syndicate, on a personal note, you pull any of that bullhockey like you tried the last time we were in the ring, I promise you something. I will kick out every one of those pearly whites you have. I'll put 'em down your throat if that's what you want. But if you do pull out that title belt and try and take me out with it, it better kill me. Otherwise, sunshine, you will experience a whole new world of hurt. Oh, and Chris Northshire, partner, whatever your name is? If you;'re watching this, you better not try anything either, cause I'm not above putting my partner in the mat.

(Kurtis raises his glass, finishing the last of it. He takes the bottle of water to a strangled sound of protest from the cameraman.)

KURTIS: You don't mind, right Tripod? Cheers, boys. Enjoy your week; next one isn't gonna be a good one for you.

(Kurtis leans back in the chair, opening the water bottle and taking a swig before raising the cigar to his lips again. The camera pans over to the piano in the corner, zooming in on the pianist before the scene abruptly cuts to black.)

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