The scene opens with Becky and Drake in Drake's locker room, Becky holding a large amount of money. Both of them are sweaty, clearly exerted, and Drake's locker room is, unprecedentedly, clean. Becky is counting the money with an amazed look on her face.
Becky: (quietly) 480...490...500...
She sets the money on the table and looks at Drake, stunned.
Becky: Drake...you have a serious, serious problem.
Drake, of course, has an open bottle of beer and he's more interested in it than he is in Becky.
Drake: Whazzat?
Becky: Drake, this...we traded in all the bottles and cans in this room after we cleaned it, and we got back a solid 500 dollars.
Drake looks at her blankly.
Drake: Cool.
Becky rubs her forehead.
Becky: No, Drake, not cool...we got like, 5 cents for each of them. That's 20 to a dollar, and 20 times 500 is...my God...
Drake is counting on his fingers, slowly.
Drake: One...a million? No...12...74?
Becky groans.
Becky: Drake, just...never mind the numbers, the fact is, you are drinking way, way too much.
Drake stares at her incredulously.
Drake: Drinking...too...much?
Becky: Yes! Seriously, this isn't healthy! You're going to rot your liver away before the year is out!
Drake laughs.
Drake: Oh, don't worry about that Becky. I had my liver taken out when I was 12.
Becky stares at him.
Becky: Your liver.
Drake: Yeah. They gave me all the ice cream I could eat after, it was a lot of fun.
Becky opens her mouth, then shuts it, considering.
Becky: Drake...you can't...your liver...no. You can't remove a liver.
Drake: Uh, tell that to the doctors, Becky. They took it out, and here I am, a perfectly healthy and well adjusted person.
There's an awkward silence.
Becky: Okay, fine. Let's pretend you don't have a liver. You're still surely destroying your brain cells.
Drake scratches his head.
Drake: And that is...bad?
Becky: Very bad, Drake! Soon you won't remember people's names, or what you're doing...
Drake gasps.
Drake: Or how to drink!
Becky sighs.
Becky: Somehow, Drake, I don't think you'll ever forget that...
Drake lets out a sigh of relief.
Drake: Well, then what else do I have to worry about?
Becky: Is drinking all you care about?
Drake rubs his chin.
Drake: Uh...well I...there was this...hmm.
There's a moment of consideration.
Drake: No, that's about it.
Becky throws up her hands.
Becky: Come on! No friends, no family, no girlfriend?
Drake shakes his head.
Becky: You like to wrestle, don't you?
Drake: Well, sure. I love to wrestle. They even gave me this fancy belt for smashing someone in the head, how cool is that?
He points out his Mayhem Championship belt.
Becky: Well, there. If you keep drinking like this, you're going to forget how to wrestle, and they'll take away your fancy belt.
Drake ponders it.
Drake: I don't think so, Becky...I've been drunk for damn near every one of my matches, and I do pretty good...
Becky starts to argue, but then rethinks it.
Becky: No...damn it. You shouldn't be able to argue when all your good points are horrible ones.
Drake has a stupid grin on his face as he cracks open another beer.
Becky: How many is that today, Drake?
Drake tries to count.
Drake: Uh...I ran out of fingers. And toes.
Becky: How are you not in a coma by now?!
Drake only shrugs.
Drake: I only do two things, Becky - drink and wrestle.
Drake belches loudly.
Drake: And I'm very, very good at what I do.
Becky just sighs and hangs her head.
Becky: I tried. They all saw it, no one can blame me, I tried. We're moving on.
Drake has moved away and didn't hear her.
Becky: Okay, match. Let's just talk about the match, shall we?
Drake: You wanna sit? I can actually see my benches now...
Becky nods resignedly and takes a seat on a bench across from Drake, who also sits.
Becky: I'll go through this slowly. You're in the semi finals of the EurAsian Championship Tournament.
Drake looks confused.
Becky: What?
Drake: Semi finals...do I have to wrestle on a truck?
Becky's mouth hangs open for a moment.
Becky: No, Drake, it's still in a ring...in an arena...it just means it's the last round before the finals. Anyway, you know you're also putting the Mayhem title on the line.
Drake: I don't remember agreeing to that...
Becky: Well, you didn't. Mr. Bateman made the order that if you wrestle a singles match, you have to defend the title.
Drake: Who now?
Becky: Vance? Vance Bateman?
Drake suddenly stands, silently.
Becky: Drake?
Drake throws a hand out to silence her.
Drake: Bateman?
A cautious moment passes.
Drake: BATEMAN?!
Becky flinches. Drake turns around slowly.
Drake: Never heard of him.
He plops back down on the bench and Becky groans.
Becky: He's the Board Representative...he runs the place...he probably hired you...any of this ring a bell?
Drake: Hired?
Becky: Yeah, like...signed a contract?
Drake: We have contracts?
Becky: Yes! Where the hell do you think the money comes from?
Drake: I don't know...there's always a check in my mailbox...
Becky: You don't even remember signing a contract?
Drake: No...in my defense, I was probably wasted at the time.
Becky: I have absolutely no problem believing that, Drake...moving on.
Drake takes a long drink as Becky collects herself.
Becky: So, semi finals, Mayhem title...you're wrestling Mondragon Meadowgate, a relative newcomer.
Drake: Also, never heard of him.
Becky: (undaunted) He defeated Sanna in the first round and pulled off a big upset over Celeste last round...
Drake: Becky, it would help if you stared using names of people I know.
Becky: Just...listen! Mondragon's wrestled extensively in Japan and was trained by the top athletes in the country...any thoughts?
Drake: What's a Japan?
Becky jams her hands into her head.
Becky: It's not possible to be this stupid, it can't be...
Drake has, meanwhile, cracked open another bottle.
Becky: Anything at all to say?
Drake: Well...I'll win. I beat the big one...the fish guy, last week, and the creepy dude the week before...and I'm reasonably sure I beat a really scary guy for that belt. Things get foggy before that.
Becky: Your point being...?
Drake: Well, I beat a lot of people. People who are probably scarier than this...the guy. That I wrestle.
Becky: Well, scarier, maybe, but he's arguably a superior athlete.
Drake: Well...I think I'll win.
Becky: Baseless optimism?
Drake stares blankly.
Drake: The what now?
Becky: Just...never mind. I'm sure you'll do well. Best of luck.
Drake grins stupidly.
Drake: Thanks, Becky. I'll try my best.
They both stand.
Becky: Anything else to say?
Drake is distracted by his beer bottle.
Drake: Who said the what now?
Becky: I'll take that as a no.
Drake: H'okay.
Becky: 'Till next week?
Drake is already distracted.
Drake: Next month, sure...
Becky sees herself out and shuts the door. She leans against it and closes her eyes.
Becky: (quietly) Have fun with Stacy, Drake...
Becky makes her way down the hallway as the scene fades to black.
