Post by kenfucius on Aug 6, 2018 3:59:01 GMT
With the press conference winding down, Sandy Makel tapped away furiously at his phone, trying hard to keep his mind in a hundred places at once. Early in the proceedings, he’d tried to catch Seth Black’s eye, and draw attention towards himself in an effort to do his part and make some discreet apologies and leave. His attempts had either gone ignored or unnoticed, either being very possible and also quite in keeping with Seth Black’s personality. This had left Sandy in something of a spot.
Thousands of miles away, back home, there was a twenty-two year old addict named Micaela who was in a crisis. Sandy was supposed to be there for that, supposed to be the support, the shoulder. That was the whole point about being a sponsor. Of course he knew that going back to the wrestling business and being on the road was a potential problem when it came to meeting responsibilities like that, but this was the first time he’d been in a position where he couldn’t speak to Mica directly,at least over the phone.
He wasn’t about to spread her business in front of a hundred journalists.
Black: And now, finally, if he’ll get off his phone long enough to answer anything, Sandy Makel will take your questions.
The voice made Sandy’s head pop up, and he saw Black directing a disdainful smirk his way. So much for courtesy. Sandy was already of a fragile temper without Seth trying to fire shots his way too. Sandy hadn’t even noticed he was on his feet, staring daggers at the organiser of the Iron King.
Sandy: The fuck was that, Black?
Black gave him an unfriendly smile in return.
Black: Oh, you were listening. That’s good. Perhaps you can join us and show some professionalism for a change.
Sandy shook his head at Black. He was already irritated at being kept in check this long, taking away his opportunity to call Mica and try to talk her down like her last text had asked her to do. Throw in Black trying to score points off his back, and Sandy let loose.
Sandy: I was professional enough to beat your ass from pillar to post ten years ago, boy, and that’s when you actually gave a fuck about fighting. What do you think I’d do to you now when the only exercise you’ve had in years is jerking yourself into carpal tunnel surgery? You did a good job putting the Iron King together, Seth, I’ll give you that much, but at this point any one of us could kill you and call it a pre-fight warm-up, so sit your ass down before you need to hide behind that man again.
At this point, Sandy was pointing at BAD ASS, who may or may not have been aware of everything that was being said, as loud as “Headstrong” was playing on his headphones.
Sandy: Now, questions, let’s get to it, it’s been a long day and I’d like to see it come to an end. You.
Sandy pointed at a reporter, who stammered for a few seconds, thrown off by being singled out as aggressively as he was, before starting to talk.
Reporter #1: Uh… How do you feel about the Pancrase rules in this round? We never got Sherry’s thoughts on that since she wasn’t taking questions...
{b]Sandy: [/b]I feel dandy. There’s a few limitations in there that suit me, a few that suit Sherry, it’s cool. I think I’m in a better spot here than I would have been if I was taking her on in the last round. I took a few licks from Twin that shook me, despite forcing the stoppage, and no disrespect to him, but Sherry throws hands a lot better, so I’ve got more room to breathe right now than I would have last time.
Sandy swung a hand around as he sat back down, pointing out a young woman in the second row.
Reporter #2: Sandy, Ama....
Sandy: No names, this is the quick-fire round, move it or lose it.
The reporter looked annoyed at being cut off, but continued.
Reporter #2: Fine, your opinion on the inter-gender aspect of this, since it wasn’t something you talked about a couple of weeks ago, and now you’re fighting a woman.
Sandy sighed loudly.
Sandy: Sherry isn’t a woman, she’s a fighter, and a fucking great one with a title belt to show for it. We’re all fighters. That’s all that matters.
Sandy gave Sherry a quick look, and a nod, then turned back to the assembled media, pointing out another one with a raised hand and snapping a finger to hustle it up as he watched his phone vibrate in front of him.
Reporter #3Sandy, any ill effects off the back of your match with Conor Blackburn at Signal to Noise? You took a pretty nasty beating that night.
Sandy gave a glance to the serene looking Conor, then turned his attention back to the reporter.
Sandy: Same answer as he gave, hurt doesn’t equal injured. I’ve taken pretty nasty beatings for nearly twenty years, on and off, but I’m still ticking and I’m still here. Back of my head’s still a little tender from where I got cut, but as long as Sherry doesn’t go hitting me where she’s not supposed to, that’s not a factor.
Sandy glanced down at his phone again, seeing the message “I really need you” displayed on his lock screen. Slowly, Sandy squeezed his eyes shut, then looked around the assembled reporters with their hands raised.
Sandy: No, no more. I’ve got something to say to Sherry direct, then I’m done.
Sandy returned to his feet, then stepped around the table to the other side, grabbing his phone and slipping it into his pocket as he did. He walked towards the no man’s land between the two tables. Sherry stood up, looking ready for anything, as she should with the unpredictable reputation of her opponent, with or without his obvious agitation. Sandy looked her dead in the eye.
Sandy: Sherry, you talked about what happened and how you felt about me back in SCW, and you know what? I deserve that shit. I’m the Dice, always have been, and I show the face I need to show at the time. The face I showed then, to you, to him…
A quick thumb in the direction of Rex Evans to show who he was talking about.
Sandy: ... and to a lot of others… it was one that deserved a good goddamn punch. I’m not about that, not today, today you’re getting this face, the real one. To be honest, that ain’t something a lot of people get to see in this sport.
Sandy took a quick breath.
Sandy: So, being real with you, Sherry? One of my great regrets back then was that I never got to go around the houses with you. I can be a lot of other things, but I was never a chickenshit. I wanted the best, I wanted the toughest, I wanted the fucking killers. That’s why I signed up for the Iron King in the first place. Losing to Conor over there in HKW last week? I don’t feel bad about that, because win or lose, that fight was the kind of fight that made me get up in the morning, the kind of fight that makes me live and breathe and keep coming back to this. The kind of fight I pride myself in taking on. I’ve seen people run from him. I’ve seen them run from you.
Sandy gave Sherry a smirk.
Sandy: Not me. Not ever. You’re getting the fight of your life when this one kicks off, Sherry, and I don’t do asterisks anymore. Bring your A game, Sherry. Let’s put on a fucking show.
With that, Sandy turned on his heel and headed for the door, grabbing his phone out of his pocket and calling Mica.
He just had to hope he wasn’t too late.
Thousands of miles away, back home, there was a twenty-two year old addict named Micaela who was in a crisis. Sandy was supposed to be there for that, supposed to be the support, the shoulder. That was the whole point about being a sponsor. Of course he knew that going back to the wrestling business and being on the road was a potential problem when it came to meeting responsibilities like that, but this was the first time he’d been in a position where he couldn’t speak to Mica directly,at least over the phone.
He wasn’t about to spread her business in front of a hundred journalists.
Black: And now, finally, if he’ll get off his phone long enough to answer anything, Sandy Makel will take your questions.
The voice made Sandy’s head pop up, and he saw Black directing a disdainful smirk his way. So much for courtesy. Sandy was already of a fragile temper without Seth trying to fire shots his way too. Sandy hadn’t even noticed he was on his feet, staring daggers at the organiser of the Iron King.
Sandy: The fuck was that, Black?
Black gave him an unfriendly smile in return.
Black: Oh, you were listening. That’s good. Perhaps you can join us and show some professionalism for a change.
Sandy shook his head at Black. He was already irritated at being kept in check this long, taking away his opportunity to call Mica and try to talk her down like her last text had asked her to do. Throw in Black trying to score points off his back, and Sandy let loose.
Sandy: I was professional enough to beat your ass from pillar to post ten years ago, boy, and that’s when you actually gave a fuck about fighting. What do you think I’d do to you now when the only exercise you’ve had in years is jerking yourself into carpal tunnel surgery? You did a good job putting the Iron King together, Seth, I’ll give you that much, but at this point any one of us could kill you and call it a pre-fight warm-up, so sit your ass down before you need to hide behind that man again.
At this point, Sandy was pointing at BAD ASS, who may or may not have been aware of everything that was being said, as loud as “Headstrong” was playing on his headphones.
Sandy: Now, questions, let’s get to it, it’s been a long day and I’d like to see it come to an end. You.
Sandy pointed at a reporter, who stammered for a few seconds, thrown off by being singled out as aggressively as he was, before starting to talk.
Reporter #1: Uh… How do you feel about the Pancrase rules in this round? We never got Sherry’s thoughts on that since she wasn’t taking questions...
{b]Sandy: [/b]I feel dandy. There’s a few limitations in there that suit me, a few that suit Sherry, it’s cool. I think I’m in a better spot here than I would have been if I was taking her on in the last round. I took a few licks from Twin that shook me, despite forcing the stoppage, and no disrespect to him, but Sherry throws hands a lot better, so I’ve got more room to breathe right now than I would have last time.
Sandy swung a hand around as he sat back down, pointing out a young woman in the second row.
Reporter #2: Sandy, Ama....
Sandy: No names, this is the quick-fire round, move it or lose it.
The reporter looked annoyed at being cut off, but continued.
Reporter #2: Fine, your opinion on the inter-gender aspect of this, since it wasn’t something you talked about a couple of weeks ago, and now you’re fighting a woman.
Sandy sighed loudly.
Sandy: Sherry isn’t a woman, she’s a fighter, and a fucking great one with a title belt to show for it. We’re all fighters. That’s all that matters.
Sandy gave Sherry a quick look, and a nod, then turned back to the assembled media, pointing out another one with a raised hand and snapping a finger to hustle it up as he watched his phone vibrate in front of him.
Reporter #3Sandy, any ill effects off the back of your match with Conor Blackburn at Signal to Noise? You took a pretty nasty beating that night.
Sandy gave a glance to the serene looking Conor, then turned his attention back to the reporter.
Sandy: Same answer as he gave, hurt doesn’t equal injured. I’ve taken pretty nasty beatings for nearly twenty years, on and off, but I’m still ticking and I’m still here. Back of my head’s still a little tender from where I got cut, but as long as Sherry doesn’t go hitting me where she’s not supposed to, that’s not a factor.
Sandy glanced down at his phone again, seeing the message “I really need you” displayed on his lock screen. Slowly, Sandy squeezed his eyes shut, then looked around the assembled reporters with their hands raised.
Sandy: No, no more. I’ve got something to say to Sherry direct, then I’m done.
Sandy returned to his feet, then stepped around the table to the other side, grabbing his phone and slipping it into his pocket as he did. He walked towards the no man’s land between the two tables. Sherry stood up, looking ready for anything, as she should with the unpredictable reputation of her opponent, with or without his obvious agitation. Sandy looked her dead in the eye.
Sandy: Sherry, you talked about what happened and how you felt about me back in SCW, and you know what? I deserve that shit. I’m the Dice, always have been, and I show the face I need to show at the time. The face I showed then, to you, to him…
A quick thumb in the direction of Rex Evans to show who he was talking about.
Sandy: ... and to a lot of others… it was one that deserved a good goddamn punch. I’m not about that, not today, today you’re getting this face, the real one. To be honest, that ain’t something a lot of people get to see in this sport.
Sandy took a quick breath.
Sandy: So, being real with you, Sherry? One of my great regrets back then was that I never got to go around the houses with you. I can be a lot of other things, but I was never a chickenshit. I wanted the best, I wanted the toughest, I wanted the fucking killers. That’s why I signed up for the Iron King in the first place. Losing to Conor over there in HKW last week? I don’t feel bad about that, because win or lose, that fight was the kind of fight that made me get up in the morning, the kind of fight that makes me live and breathe and keep coming back to this. The kind of fight I pride myself in taking on. I’ve seen people run from him. I’ve seen them run from you.
Sandy gave Sherry a smirk.
Sandy: Not me. Not ever. You’re getting the fight of your life when this one kicks off, Sherry, and I don’t do asterisks anymore. Bring your A game, Sherry. Let’s put on a fucking show.
With that, Sandy turned on his heel and headed for the door, grabbing his phone out of his pocket and calling Mica.
He just had to hope he wasn’t too late.