Post by Wilhelm 'Flammenkrieg' Kaast on Sept 18, 2011 11:23:31 GMT -4
*Wilhelm sits in a chair, placed in the waiting room for the Federal bureau of alcohol, tobacco, and firearms nursing a stiff neck sustained in his tribute match for the 9/11 victims. He got a clean, and more importantly, a decisive victory over his opponent, but that was hardly enough. He needed to get back into action against any competitor in AWF, and more importantly, he needed to get that damned licence so that he could operate his damned flame gun without being hassled by security. Soon, a 20something year old comes up to the counter*
Woman: Mr. Kaast?
*Wilhelm approaches the desk*
Woman: I have your papers here, I just need to ask a few questions and we should be done.
Wilhelm: That’s fine. Ask away.
*The woman looks down at the piece of paper in front of her*
Woman: What is your occupation?
Wilhelm: I work as a wrestler for the AWF
Woman: What do you intend on using the device for?
Wilhelm: Strictly for prop purposes.
*She scribbles some stuff on the clipboard*
Woman: Have you ever spent time in a mental institute?
Wilhelm: No, I am mentally stable.
*more scribbling
Woman: One last question, have you ever served a prison term, or been accused of a violent crime?
Wilhelm: No. I am an average, law abiding citizen of this great nation.
*She finishes taking down the notes*
Woman: Alright, Mr. Kaast. Your licence is ready. It will take a few weeks for the actual licence to get printed, but until then, present anyone who questions wether or not you have authority to operate the device with this receipt. This will hold as a legal license until your actual one is ready.
*She hands the piece of paper over*
Wilhelm: Dank.
*Wilhelm exits the office, receipt in hand, and satisfied that he may now use that damn prop without being hassled by that jerk, Neal Steal. He climbs into his Porsche 911 turbo, and speeds off down the streets of New York. He drives past the newly unveiled 9/11 memorial, the once grey empty space now a luscious green jungle in the middle of the city. He smiles slightly, knowing that the memory of the people, and not that of the attack on America, would survive and thrive. The scene fades out to later on in the week. JK is watching the Rugby League Brisbane vs. St. George-Illawarra final. He is on the edge of his seat as the game has gone into golden point extra time*
JK: Come on, Brissie....do it for Lockyer...send him to the prelims, and get him to the Grand final.
*There is a knock on his door, he turns his attention towards it, and turns his head back to the game after a massive cheer, only to find that Lockyer has kicked a field goal, to bring the game to a close, and more importantly, to give the Brisbane Broncos the win 13-12*
JK: Ah shit! I missed it!
*Another knock on the door. JK sighs in annoyance*
JK: This better be fucking important!
*He goes over, and answers the door, only to find his 6’11” 300lb German cousin at the door. JK does not want to piss this bloke off and is quick to retract his previous statement*
JK: G’day mate, didn’t know it was you...Sorry about the outburst....
*Wilhelm looks in, and sees Darren Lockyer celebrating the win on TV*
Wilhelm: Oh, I did not realise that the NRL Semi-finals are on. I hope I did not interrupt your game.
JK: Nah, mate. Just mist Locky’s field goal which won the Broncos the game. Nothing I can’t catch on sports tonight.
*Wilhelm smirks a little at his cousin’s blatant, yet timid, sarcasm*
Wilhelm: I am sorry that you missed that, believe me, it was not my intention. I just heard you were in New York instead of your usual place in LA, wanted to know why.
*JK sighs*
JK: Just having second thoughts about this TVK business, nothing too major. Just wanted to get away from it for a day or two, know a guy who has an apartment in New York, got him to rent it to me for the weekend.
Wilhelm: That’s fair enough.
*Wilhelm sits down on the couch as JK crosses over to the fridge*
JK: You still drink Becks?
*Wilhelm smirks*
Wilhelm: Ist das nicht offensichtlich?
*JK laughs a little*
JK: Messe genug, mate. Still German through and through, I see.
Wilhelm: And still not a virus.
*They both share a laugh as JK grabs a Becks and a Four X from the fridge. He chucks the Becks over to Wilhelm, who rips it off without a lid opener. JK scoffs*
JK: Bloody show off.
Wilhelm: When you have strength, why not use it?
*JK scoffs again*
JK: Yeah, yeah, whatever.
*The both clank the bottles together, before proceeding to drink*
JK: Looking forward to your match against Red Randal?
Wilhelm: I’m looking forward to the competition, if that’s what you’re asking.
*JK shrugs*
JK: Let’s go with that.
Flammenkrieg: I think that Randall is a good competitor, but he just comes off as one of those competitors that think so highly of themselves that they’d focus in on a wrestler’s name rather than their in-ring abilities. I think this will be his downfall.
*JK raises an eyebrow*
JK: How so?
Flammenkrieg: In his focusing on the name, it shows that he doesn’t pay attention to the in-ring actions. If he did, he would see that I am quite a handful for my opponents. He seems like one of those who believe they can take out any competitor regardless of their strengths. The best always have their weaknesses, and will openly admit to it.
*JK laughs a little*
JK: Mate, I don’t see you showing your weaknesses*
Wilhelm: On the contrary. My disadvantage is also an advantage, my height. Although it means that it is harder for competitors to pick me up and slam me, it also means that I have to duck down a little to put offence on. It wears me out a little bit quicker than the normal 6’ 200lb wrestler, so it’s a little bit of a double edged sword deal.
JK: So do you think you’ll win?
*Wilhelm smiles, and takes a sip of his beer*
Wilhelm: I believe that the both of us have the potential to be the victor. It’ll all come down to who gets lucky over who in the end of things; after all, that is all that a victory is, luck. Picking up on a mistake and taking advantage of it. Hopefully, I will be the one who gets lucky this week.
*JK shrugs*
JK: Well, all the luck to ya, mate.
*They both laugh at the wordplay as the scene fades down to Wilhelm backstage in a suit. He knows that he intends to address the incident that happened a few weeks ago, and although it pained him a little to do so, he knew he had to help clear the name of one of the competitors in the company. He adjusts the mic which is attached to his lapel. He soon looks over to the stagehand, who is just checking a few last minute notes on production. He soon looks up at Flammenkrieg and motions for him to approach the podium set up in the middle of a black curtain, the podium bears the AWF logo on it*
Stagehand: OK, we’re rolling in five, four, three...
*He motions the two and one, and points at Wilhelm as the red light on top of the camera flickers into life. He clears his throat*
Wilhelm: Guten Abend.
*The scene fades down to black as he begins his prepared speech*
Woman: Mr. Kaast?
*Wilhelm approaches the desk*
Woman: I have your papers here, I just need to ask a few questions and we should be done.
Wilhelm: That’s fine. Ask away.
*The woman looks down at the piece of paper in front of her*
Woman: What is your occupation?
Wilhelm: I work as a wrestler for the AWF
Woman: What do you intend on using the device for?
Wilhelm: Strictly for prop purposes.
*She scribbles some stuff on the clipboard*
Woman: Have you ever spent time in a mental institute?
Wilhelm: No, I am mentally stable.
*more scribbling
Woman: One last question, have you ever served a prison term, or been accused of a violent crime?
Wilhelm: No. I am an average, law abiding citizen of this great nation.
*She finishes taking down the notes*
Woman: Alright, Mr. Kaast. Your licence is ready. It will take a few weeks for the actual licence to get printed, but until then, present anyone who questions wether or not you have authority to operate the device with this receipt. This will hold as a legal license until your actual one is ready.
*She hands the piece of paper over*
Wilhelm: Dank.
*Wilhelm exits the office, receipt in hand, and satisfied that he may now use that damn prop without being hassled by that jerk, Neal Steal. He climbs into his Porsche 911 turbo, and speeds off down the streets of New York. He drives past the newly unveiled 9/11 memorial, the once grey empty space now a luscious green jungle in the middle of the city. He smiles slightly, knowing that the memory of the people, and not that of the attack on America, would survive and thrive. The scene fades out to later on in the week. JK is watching the Rugby League Brisbane vs. St. George-Illawarra final. He is on the edge of his seat as the game has gone into golden point extra time*
JK: Come on, Brissie....do it for Lockyer...send him to the prelims, and get him to the Grand final.
*There is a knock on his door, he turns his attention towards it, and turns his head back to the game after a massive cheer, only to find that Lockyer has kicked a field goal, to bring the game to a close, and more importantly, to give the Brisbane Broncos the win 13-12*
JK: Ah shit! I missed it!
*Another knock on the door. JK sighs in annoyance*
JK: This better be fucking important!
*He goes over, and answers the door, only to find his 6’11” 300lb German cousin at the door. JK does not want to piss this bloke off and is quick to retract his previous statement*
JK: G’day mate, didn’t know it was you...Sorry about the outburst....
*Wilhelm looks in, and sees Darren Lockyer celebrating the win on TV*
Wilhelm: Oh, I did not realise that the NRL Semi-finals are on. I hope I did not interrupt your game.
JK: Nah, mate. Just mist Locky’s field goal which won the Broncos the game. Nothing I can’t catch on sports tonight.
*Wilhelm smirks a little at his cousin’s blatant, yet timid, sarcasm*
Wilhelm: I am sorry that you missed that, believe me, it was not my intention. I just heard you were in New York instead of your usual place in LA, wanted to know why.
*JK sighs*
JK: Just having second thoughts about this TVK business, nothing too major. Just wanted to get away from it for a day or two, know a guy who has an apartment in New York, got him to rent it to me for the weekend.
Wilhelm: That’s fair enough.
*Wilhelm sits down on the couch as JK crosses over to the fridge*
JK: You still drink Becks?
*Wilhelm smirks*
Wilhelm: Ist das nicht offensichtlich?
*JK laughs a little*
JK: Messe genug, mate. Still German through and through, I see.
Wilhelm: And still not a virus.
*They both share a laugh as JK grabs a Becks and a Four X from the fridge. He chucks the Becks over to Wilhelm, who rips it off without a lid opener. JK scoffs*
JK: Bloody show off.
Wilhelm: When you have strength, why not use it?
*JK scoffs again*
JK: Yeah, yeah, whatever.
*The both clank the bottles together, before proceeding to drink*
JK: Looking forward to your match against Red Randal?
Wilhelm: I’m looking forward to the competition, if that’s what you’re asking.
*JK shrugs*
JK: Let’s go with that.
Flammenkrieg: I think that Randall is a good competitor, but he just comes off as one of those competitors that think so highly of themselves that they’d focus in on a wrestler’s name rather than their in-ring abilities. I think this will be his downfall.
*JK raises an eyebrow*
JK: How so?
Flammenkrieg: In his focusing on the name, it shows that he doesn’t pay attention to the in-ring actions. If he did, he would see that I am quite a handful for my opponents. He seems like one of those who believe they can take out any competitor regardless of their strengths. The best always have their weaknesses, and will openly admit to it.
*JK laughs a little*
JK: Mate, I don’t see you showing your weaknesses*
Wilhelm: On the contrary. My disadvantage is also an advantage, my height. Although it means that it is harder for competitors to pick me up and slam me, it also means that I have to duck down a little to put offence on. It wears me out a little bit quicker than the normal 6’ 200lb wrestler, so it’s a little bit of a double edged sword deal.
JK: So do you think you’ll win?
*Wilhelm smiles, and takes a sip of his beer*
Wilhelm: I believe that the both of us have the potential to be the victor. It’ll all come down to who gets lucky over who in the end of things; after all, that is all that a victory is, luck. Picking up on a mistake and taking advantage of it. Hopefully, I will be the one who gets lucky this week.
*JK shrugs*
JK: Well, all the luck to ya, mate.
*They both laugh at the wordplay as the scene fades down to Wilhelm backstage in a suit. He knows that he intends to address the incident that happened a few weeks ago, and although it pained him a little to do so, he knew he had to help clear the name of one of the competitors in the company. He adjusts the mic which is attached to his lapel. He soon looks over to the stagehand, who is just checking a few last minute notes on production. He soon looks up at Flammenkrieg and motions for him to approach the podium set up in the middle of a black curtain, the podium bears the AWF logo on it*
Stagehand: OK, we’re rolling in five, four, three...
*He motions the two and one, and points at Wilhelm as the red light on top of the camera flickers into life. He clears his throat*
Wilhelm: Guten Abend.
*The scene fades down to black as he begins his prepared speech*