AS51: Drake Callahan vs. The Masked Gentleman

[Viola Moonlight]

After an impressive string of wins, Callahan will be taking on another mid-carder in the form of the Masked Gentleman who has been catching people's attention as of late. Nothing is on the line here but a victory for the Gent will secure his spot as a rising star whilst Callahan will have little to benefit other than stopping a new competitor having the chance to shine.

Deadline is Tuesday, July 10th at 11:59 PM Central Time.​

 

[TBK]

A mansion stands amongst the outside of Paris, France. The mansion is a three story building with a white paint coating, a tall doorway with a pure gold paint and along every side, windows with a red frame. On top of the house sits, a standard yet classy grey roof complete with skylights to let the light pierce in. On the somewhat small roadway leading to the circle, it is surrounded by finely trimmed hedges complimentary of the gardener and butler, Mr. Liam Banks, except for a small space on the right reserved for a fountain. Where the road to the mansion begins, there is a tall, black gate. It's at the edge of the gate we see a familiar, somewhat scrawny interviewer accompanied by a cameraman, adjusting his glasses to get a better view of the mansion. He closes his eyes as he presses the buzzer on the left to the door of the gate to signify his arrival.

Leon Kensworth: Pardon me, might I have a word with "The Masked Gentleman"

He waits patiently, before a response from a man with an English accent with slight distortion from the buzzer.

Liam Banks: Ah, yes. He mentioned that he was expecting your company later. He told me not to reschedule, but you might want to, sir. I shall explain inside if you wish to continue.

The gates open, with the door opening to the right. Kensworth takes a step to move through the gate, but steps back to hit the buzzer once more.

Kensworth: I am sorry, but I'm not going to reschedule. I have traveled all the way to Paris for this interview and I am going to head out just as fast before I get a flashback of last time I interviewed Mr. Masque and he sort of left me on a rooftop in the middle of Paris with no way down.

Leon walks his way up to the door being closely followed by the cameraman, knocking on the tall golden door. After a short while, the door opens, the man on the buzzer with the English accent opening it.

Banks: Good evening, Mr. Kensworth. My name is Liam Banks. Please, come in and follow me.

Kensworth walks in, with the cameraman following close behind. They walk their way down the long hallway, some doors open, some ranging from spare bedrooms to gyms and indoor movie theaters. Eventually, Mr. Banks stop at one last door right next to the staircase.

Banks: I must warn you, the master tends to become obsessed with besting his opponent to the point where he takes to living their lifestyle in an attempt to understand their way of thinking.

Mr. Banks opens the door to reveal a cellar. Kensworth takes the step down the staircase to see a somewhat tipsy Le Gentleman Masque laying on his bar table surrounded by several empty beer glasses. He hiccups before noticing the arrival of the man set to interview him.

The Masked Gentleman: ... TRESPASSER! Did you know trespassing on my ground is strictly prohibited? I can beat you up.

Kensworth: Sir, we have met before. I am here for your interview for your upcoming match with Mr. Callahan.

The Gent chuckles, grinning like an idiot

The Gent: You think I do not recognize you, my good sir, Callahan? Trying to trick me, eh? INCONCEIVABLE. Though, I guess considering you are doing it right now it would be conceivable....

The Gent reaches for his cane, to hit Kensworth, but misses and ends up throwing it off to the side, missing him completely.

Kensworth: Mr. Masque, may I ask about your tactics?

The Gent: ...Tactics? My Tactics is to LEARN HIS STRATEGY.

Kensworth sighs reflecting that maybe he should have waited to do his interview.

The Gent: Let me tell you a story Sir.......

Kensworth: Kensworth.

The Gent: Kensworth. Yes. I remember what inspired me to be a Gentleman with my talents. Back in prison, I was allowed reading material due to more of a...separation from most prisoners despite a rather good attitude.

The Gent laughs to himself.

The Gent: My word, that reminds me of a funny story.

Kensworth: Pardon me, I don't want to be rude, but can you get back to the one about the gentleman? I am not too fond of this city.

The Gent: Very well, Sir Kensworth. You win this round. So I remember reading about the Scarlet Pimpernel...

Kensworth: ...Is that the story?

The Gent: ....Most of it, it was a rather good book. It set me down the path to becoming the man I am today, and it taught me the importance of being a gentleman, which is what a Sir Drake Callahan has yet to learn, but let me tell you I've lived the life of a man such as Callahan. I am reliving it through the large consumption of alcohol and let me tell you, I am not too pleased with myself right now, however...

The Gent wobbles his way up to the top of the bar table, making sure to avoid any glasses.

The Gent: An old dog can be taught new tricks, and that is what I'm looking to prove. From glance, Drake Callahan has it all made for him, but I've been looking to get my shot since I have arrived in Ascension Drake is a tough challenge, but I cannot continue this way if I am going to want to teach a lesson or two to him, no, no, no. Look at me, I am the prime example of a man who's living life to the fullest as a gentleman. I'M HAVING THE TIME OF MY LI--

The Masked Gentleman catches himself on a stool before almost falling down.

The Gent: ...I require your uh...what is the word?

Kensworth: Help?

The Gent: That is it.

Kensworth slowly drags the man he was set to interview off the counter, setting him back on a bar stool.

The Gent: Thank you, Sir Kensworth. Now then, I wish for a Mr. Callahan to reflect on this fact, I've won my first two matches and earned my way up to Ascension in such a short amount of time. As for my last two matches, I may have been pinned in both, however I LITERALLY DIDN'T GO WITHOUT A FIGHT!

Kensworth: ...Literally?

The Gent: Upon reflection, the 'literally' within the sentence is quite unnecessary as there is no way to not go without a fight without it being completely literal. With that, I am proud to say that I have the opportunity to face a Mr. Drake Callahan, regardless of if I agree with him, simply on the grounds that he is one of the longest-tenured members I have ever fought. Truly, I have a massive opportunity to prove myself and I won't let it go to waste...Sir Kensworth, might I have my cane back?

Kensworth nods, grabbing the cane that The Masked Gentleman had used to throw at Kensworth earlier. Le Gentleman Masque uses it to help him stand up.

The Gent: My sincerest thanks for this interview, Sir Kensworth. So, I would like a Sir Callahan the best in luck, however I have managed to make it this far in only four matches. I cannot allow myself to be taken down so easily. Now, if you Gentleman will excuse me, I shall be off. I must sleep this off and prepare myself physically.

Kensworth: It was a pleasure interviewing you, Mr. Masque.

Le Gentleman Masque heads past the interviewer, shutting the door behind him. Kensworth smiles, being able to have an interview with him that doesn't end in him being stranded. He makes his way to the door, only to realize he was accidentally locked from the outside by the drunken Masked Gentleman.

Kensworth: Mr. Masque? Mr. Banks? Hello?

Kensworth starts loudly pounding on the door, hoping either man can hear him.

Kensworth: Is anyone there? I would really prefer to leave.

Kensworth continues pounding on the door, before sighing, sitting on the steps reflecting upon the fact he's once again trapped in Paris.

Kensworth: ...Note to self: Tell them I'd prefer someone else to interview Mr. Masque.

 

[Harthan]

Leon Kensworth nervously adjusts his tie, preparing for the upcoming interview. Looking all the part of a top notch broadcast journalist today, his crisp black suit is pressed and neat, a starched white shirt and a rather dazzling deep blue tie completing the ensemble. If only the neatness and order of his ensemble matches his internal demeanor, he thinks ruefully. WZCW was a hostile enough place these days without one of the good ones going bad, but the dark taint of recent times has apparently seeped into one of the few people he thought it would never touch. He shoots a nervous look at the door, then checks his watch. Any second now.

The door bursts open and in walks none other than Drake Callahan. It can hardly be possible for a man to look more different than Leon. Drake is wearing obviously unwashed and disheveled clothes, no more than a ripped T-shirt and a leather jacket atop faded jeans and his own wrestling boots. His hair has grown out, getting greasier, and his facial hair has expanded to the point of bush. He looks dangerous, and his recently acquired reputation backs it up, but he looks oddly down as he enters the room.

Leon is somewhat caught off guard by the appearance, but recovers his professionalism quickly. He takes a few steps toward Drake and puts on a false smile.

Leon: Hello, Drake.

Drake looks him in the eye for longer than Leon is entirely comfortable with. Fully expecting to be chewed out for something, Leon is utterly surprised when a small, weak, and sad smile comes over Drake's face.

Drake: Hello, Leon. It's good to see you.

Leon's smile wavers, his confusion getting the better of him. Fear and nervousness were replaced with...pity? It was hard to say.

Leon extends a hand and Drake takes it with a weak shake. Leon gestures over to the assembled chairs, where Drake takes one. The overwhelming impression he gets of Drake is of tiredness. He moves like a man who's just run a marathon. Even the act of taking his seat seems an arduous endeavor. Leon has to take a long moment to gain his composure. He'd expected - prepared for! - a man full of anger, rage, pure vitriol. Not what could only be described as a husk.

A few deep calming breaths are enough to recover something of his journalistic spirit, and he begins the interview.

----

Drake sits, distantly thinking on something else, while Leon gives the opening to an interview set to appear on a commercial break or some such. He hadn't really paid much attention. The e-mail had summoned him here, at this time, and for reasons he could hardly explain, he'd come. Not for the first time, he finds himself wondering what he's doing here. Sitting in this chair, listening to Leon speak. Knowing full well he'll wrestle again at Meltdown or Ascension or wherever they tell him to be. Why do I do this? He had no answer. He both missed and feared the rages of anger that came and passed on him. When they were on him, he felt alive again. A man with purpose. A man who knew what to do, and more importantly, why he was doing it. But they were always brief, and he could never remember anything more than a vague feeling after them. It seemed the only thing he was able to put any effort toward these days was the act of wrestling itself; he didn't know what marched him to the ring but once he was there he felt...something. Halfway between his anger and his desperation. Until one or the other came back. For the last two matches, it had been the anger. He didn't know what he would do when it was the desperation again. Worst, he didn't know which he wanted more. The anger had caused him to do horrendous things to Showtime and Brad Bomb...but he had won, hadn't he? That still meant something, somewhere. And he felt something when he talked about cleansing WZCW of monsters. It was almost a purpose, but not quite. It hurt his head, sometimes, to think on all this.

Leon was saying something. He didn't know what. Leon stares at him unexpectedly, microphone proffered, expecting a response. Drake can only blink dully, suddenly remembering where he was. The room was darkened, only a lit up poster of WZCW stars behind Leon. He and Leon sat across from one another in raised chairs, lights and cameras focused only on them. An "in depth sit down interview", they'd called it. It sounded important, not that it meant much. Another platform to air his grievances, that was what mattered. It was fortunate they kept booking him in interviews. If he had to find his own way to get the message out...it would be difficult. He returned to the here and now with a jolt.

Drake: Can you repeat the question?

Leon had the grace to look only mildly annoyed as he did so.

Leon: Yes, of course. The question on everyone's mind, Drake, is what's happened to you? You were once one of WZCW's most beloved stars, always ready with a joke and a smile. Now it seems like you've fallen apart. The last two weeks the WZCW Universe has only witnessed you wrestle with viciousness and speak with rage. What's changed?

Drake mulls it over for a moment. Feelings, distant, yet now close, far away again, swirl in and out of his perception as he speaks.

Drake: What changed? Nothing changed. That's the problem. Everything stayed the same. I wrestled on TV, won big, drew in the ratings. Then I got used as a bit player on pay-per-view, and tossed aside like an afterthought. It's been no different since I returned. I'm just tired, Leon. So tired. Tired of not getting anything close to what's mine.

Leon waits only a moment before responding. Drake, meanwhile, only wonders where the words came from. They had seemed to leap upon his lips without any thought before them, but he knew them to be true. Knew them to be what he felt.

Leon: Some would argue instead that you've been given great opportunities and failed to convert them. How would you respond to them?

Was it anger that flickered then? Oh, well, it was there and gone again.

Drake: Great opportunities? I'll tell you about these opportunities. I came back to massive applause, and pinned another returning great twice clean. What did I get for that? I get booked into a six man tag, then have the wool pulled over my eyes for a match with Blade instead. You think I wouldn't prepare differently for a match with Blade one on one instead of seeing him across from me in a six man? It's no wonder I lost. It's like asking a man to swim a mile when he's been preparing for a marathon.

Leon: But, immediately after that, you were in the Lethal Lottery, as grand a chance as anyone can ask for.

Drake: Thirty guys tossed into the ring, all clamoring for the victory. No one who doesn't cheat can expect to win, and that's what Ty had to do. He used his Apostles to win. I never had a chance at it. Nor did any fair-playing competitor.

Leon: But at Kingdom Come, you were entered into the King for a Day match, yet another golden opportunity.

Drake: Is it? I'll remind you - and the world - I went undefeated on television between Lethal Lottery and Kingdom Come. And my last victory? Over Barbosa, who was in a #1 contender's match at Kingdom Come. Why was he in that triple threat, and not me? I beat him fair and square, why didn't I get his spot? I'll tell you why. Because no one in management respects me. No one thinks I'm worth a damn. I get used like a ham and egger, because I guess that's all anyone thinks of me. No more, Leon. I'm down continuing to allow it to happen. I'm going after what's mine at all costs.

Leon: Do you believe that management is intentionally holding you back?

Drake: I don't believe it. I know it, Leon. What other explanation is there? I pin Barbosa, but get chucked into King for a Day instead of headlining with Showtime and Black Dragon. I pin Showtime a show before he wins the world title, and I get Brad Bomb.

He shakes his head. The words are starting to make more sense now, their origin clearer. He felt a little more passionate, a little more lifelike, when he was talking about the things that made him angry. It was good. So good. He barks a short laugh.

Drake: Well, at least there's no way I can be overlooked this week, right? Now that Showtime's the world champion and I handily dispatched of Brad Bomb, there's no way I won't be announced as the new #1 contender. And an opponent fitting that status should follow. Steven Kurtesy, Barbosa, or Ty Burna himself. Anything like that should be fine.

Leon now looks uncomfortable. Drake, feeling better by the second, raises an eyebrow.

Leon: Well, Drake, I'm afraid to inform you your opponent has been announced, but it's not any of those men. It's...the Masked Gentleman.

Little more than a twitch passes over Drake's face, which remained otherwise passive. Moments dragged on. Where was the anger? He'd felt it when they gave him Bomb last week, and he knew this was worse. Another violent twitch, and suddenly he could only burst into laughter. Mirthless laughter, edged and harsh, he laughed himself practically hoarse. Leon could only stare in slack jawed wonder as he waited for Drake to wind down. Wiping tears from his eyes, Drake speaks.

Drake: Of course it is. What's next? Derek Jacobs? Isabel Stones? Maybe if I'm lucky I'll main event Aftershock one of these days.

He laughs again, just as long. The entire assembled WZCW staff now looks decidedly uncomfortable.

Drake: The Masked Gentleman? THE MASKED GENTLEMAN?! You've got to be kidding me. I beat the world champion. And I get the reject who got pinned by another nobody last week in a four way filled with curtain jerkers? Jesus, Leon, don't you see what I'm talking about? It's pathetic.

He puts his head in his hands, and waits expectantly. Waits for the anger to rise. But it doesn't come. Why isn't it coming? Why not this time? It's the only thing he can understand right now. He feels lost without it.

Leon: Let's change subjects -

Drake: No, Leon, let's not. I'm done here. I don't know why I even bother anymore.

He stands up, feeling sick. He can barely keep his feet under him. His head feels light, distant. What was this feeling? Or rather this...lack of feeling? Why wasn't he furious over this match? Why wasn't he raging against the Masked Gentleman? God, if only he could be angry. Not this time. His thought? Or someone else's? No time to wonder as he charges out of the room, leaving Leon and the rest of the WZCW media staff confused in his wake.