Post by Howard Bernstein on Feb 15, 2015 17:56:50 GMT -4
Of all the options, the hotel room seemed liked the least productive of the bunch.
However, Howard made it work.
Upon entering the hotel room the left wall that normally sat a dresser, television, and mini fridge underneath instead had two additional TVs positioned on either side of the single in the middle. Directly across the room the hotel bed was pivoted so the long end was parallel to the wall. With so much more room in the middle it a small coffee table sat in the middle with a large number of tapes and notes spread across it. Howard was nothing if not efficient. Finally, at the far end by the window over looking the “beautiful downtown” (if that's what you could call it) of Concord, was an opened laptop sitting on a freshly cleaned off desk.
Pacing back in forth in front of that desk was the man in question wearing a standard black suit with white shirt underneath. Talking on his bluetooth with his normal stoic expression, as per usual, Mr. Bernstein didn't even seem to notice the camera man entering his room.
He was small fish, lucky to sign. Howard would never say that to his client. Although, he would get him signed. Intangibles was his favourite word to toss around to teams that had money to spend but no brains to believe stats.
While in his conversation Howard completely ignores the loud collision coming from the left most television and the sound of cheers that correlate along with it. On it was the 2009 SCW Deathmatch. One of the many choices his client hand picked for him to watch it. It was, for lack of a better term, a complete and utter catastrophe. Three rings set-up under “death match rules” (A term Howard couldn't grasp.), and a cornucopia of EVPW who's who. NVX, Thomas Cathy, Ryan Hughes, Jake Diamond, Hyper Elf, Winthorpe Darkrites, Skull, Nick Carson, Rhaps, the list went on. Sure, there were a few randoms tossed into the mix but, on paper, it looked like a great affair.
Unfortunately psychology, logic, and talented wrestling was thrown out of the equation. Which was unsettling. Speaking in Howard Bernstein's terms, it was “The Expendables” of wrestling matches.
That was a lie. This client wasn't smart enough to save his money. He'd be broke five years after retirement and dead after ten. It didn't make Howard happy, of course. Nor did it make him upset. It was the cost of business.
The screams of Kingbear and Vladimir Strife resonate from the middle television. A feud escalated to epic proportions. The hype surrounding it was electric. The crowd in Concord was on their next level. Majority of the roster was beyond excited to see it. The undefeated Godking versus the Founding Father of EVPW and The Coven. The match itself? Went fine. Couldn't match the hype. How could it? It was textbook fantasy booking. How else could Strife's streak be ended? Hundreds of ways, realistically. However, you couldn't argue with the magnitude of the outcome especially after the blood feuds of Oliveira and Strife.
On his second run through of it Howard's opinion tended to differ. As far as he was concerned it was “The Godfather III” of matches. On its own was really was quite fine. Compared to that of Godfather II it had to live up to? Questionable.
That call, of course, pertained to the videos that were beginning to fill his life. Ending the call and still pacing throughout the room, Howard's demeanor doesn't change. Serious but equal parts sarcastic. The monotone voice with slight emphasis doesn't adjust either. This client, however, deserves far more of his attention.
On the far right TV, meanwhile, the action begins to pick up between Hayden Hardkore and James Daniels, also known as Desperado. Sure the match was overly gimmicky for Howard's liking, as all EVPW matches seemed to be, but there was something that drew him towards this. Perhaps it was the far more intriguing match-up. To Howard, the match for the vacant Imperial Championship was magical. Desperado and Hayden were dancing perfectly in the ring like two in-sync figure skaters hitting their routine at the Olympics.
If you were to ask Mr. Bernstein what he thought of it, to him it was “The Shawshank Redemption.” To him, even with the gimmicky aspects to it, it was what everyone should strive to match.
It was straight to business, as per usual. Howard listened to his client ramble off as he so typically enjoyed. God, the way he spoke was fascinating.
Continuing to listen, Howard walks his way over to the television stationed war room and stared at the monitors. Squinting at the television broadcasting the SCW Deathmatch, Howard watches as Nicholas Carson picks up a nail gun and raises in the air, much to the admiration of the crowds in attendance.
Someone like him would be cheered in EVPW, wouldn't he? With an audience of hyenas, they would pander to the vulture and not the stallions that were told to be butchered. This was something you didn't take logic into. You would simply shut your brain off, and watch.
He could almost feel his client scoff on the other line. Howard was told the stories countless times before. His client was sick of being treated like a sack of meat, that much he knew. His client was an artist.
In contrast the story telling in the Asylum Cage was more evident, as far as the Hollywood Agent could tell. The crowd was roaring from the plasma screen. Vladimir Strife was taking a puff back on his cigarette, before pulling back Kingbear's face and feeding him some cheap promo line. As the cigarette was burned into Kingbear's forehead, Howard couldn't help but notice the admiration the crowd had. Vladimir Strife and Kingbear were what the crowd could relate to. The every men. Unfit and nothing to write home about, using grotesque methods to become what they hated.
The crowd idolized them because that could be them.
His client's laugh was unmistakable. It was one that sounded so picture perfect you could almost consider it Hollywood and campy. His client, as far as he could sense and in every definition of the word, was perfect for this business of make-believe.
The major fascination he was told they would share was the workings of Desperado and Hayden. They broke the mold in every way. They were attractive. They were charismatic. They were athletic. They were talented. They had “it.” They, in all aspects imaginable, were above this company.
It was starting to piece together.
Howard knew the answer. He didn't need to listen. His client knew that.
Even in the hardcore aspects of the match, watching as Hayden stands above Desperado, urging him not to get up and both bloodied and burned, Howard could see what they offered.
He needed more.
Howard wasn't listening. He was watching Desperado super kick Hayden into the flaming ring ropes. That did nothing for him, obviously. What did, though, was how willing the two were able to appease the filthy, disgusting heathens in the audience and the same vultures in the head office while still staying true to the art form they believed in.
They were dancers forced into a gladiator pit because their audience wasn't advanced enough.
They were hundred dollar bills being burned in a barrel to simply keep the company warm.
Howard Bernstein was about to take every single cent being burned in EVPW and bleed them dry.
End of thread.
Sources:
SCW Deathmatch
Kingbear vs. Vladimir Strife - Asylum Cage
Hayden Hardkore vs. Desperado - Imperial Championship
However, Howard made it work.
Upon entering the hotel room the left wall that normally sat a dresser, television, and mini fridge underneath instead had two additional TVs positioned on either side of the single in the middle. Directly across the room the hotel bed was pivoted so the long end was parallel to the wall. With so much more room in the middle it a small coffee table sat in the middle with a large number of tapes and notes spread across it. Howard was nothing if not efficient. Finally, at the far end by the window over looking the “beautiful downtown” (if that's what you could call it) of Concord, was an opened laptop sitting on a freshly cleaned off desk.
Pacing back in forth in front of that desk was the man in question wearing a standard black suit with white shirt underneath. Talking on his bluetooth with his normal stoic expression, as per usual, Mr. Bernstein didn't even seem to notice the camera man entering his room.
Howard Bernstein:
“I understand your frustration... Of course, of course you had such a big, big season this year... Oh, believe me we're working on the best deal...”
He was small fish, lucky to sign. Howard would never say that to his client. Although, he would get him signed. Intangibles was his favourite word to toss around to teams that had money to spend but no brains to believe stats.
While in his conversation Howard completely ignores the loud collision coming from the left most television and the sound of cheers that correlate along with it. On it was the 2009 SCW Deathmatch. One of the many choices his client hand picked for him to watch it. It was, for lack of a better term, a complete and utter catastrophe. Three rings set-up under “death match rules” (A term Howard couldn't grasp.), and a cornucopia of EVPW who's who. NVX, Thomas Cathy, Ryan Hughes, Jake Diamond, Hyper Elf, Winthorpe Darkrites, Skull, Nick Carson, Rhaps, the list went on. Sure, there were a few randoms tossed into the mix but, on paper, it looked like a great affair.
Unfortunately psychology, logic, and talented wrestling was thrown out of the equation. Which was unsettling. Speaking in Howard Bernstein's terms, it was “The Expendables” of wrestling matches.
Howard Bernstein:
“Oh! Don't you worry your pretty little head. We'll find you quite a tasty little, nugget with whichever team wants you more. Believe me, I've seen this thousands of times. When you retire, you will not be another statistic...”
That was a lie. This client wasn't smart enough to save his money. He'd be broke five years after retirement and dead after ten. It didn't make Howard happy, of course. Nor did it make him upset. It was the cost of business.
The screams of Kingbear and Vladimir Strife resonate from the middle television. A feud escalated to epic proportions. The hype surrounding it was electric. The crowd in Concord was on their next level. Majority of the roster was beyond excited to see it. The undefeated Godking versus the Founding Father of EVPW and The Coven. The match itself? Went fine. Couldn't match the hype. How could it? It was textbook fantasy booking. How else could Strife's streak be ended? Hundreds of ways, realistically. However, you couldn't argue with the magnitude of the outcome especially after the blood feuds of Oliveira and Strife.
On his second run through of it Howard's opinion tended to differ. As far as he was concerned it was “The Godfather III” of matches. On its own was really was quite fine. Compared to that of Godfather II it had to live up to? Questionable.
Howard Bernstein:
“You mustn't worry your pretty little head. Dare I remind you, I am the one that holds all of the keys... Listen, baby, you know how much I adore speaking to you, however I have another call I absolutely cannot miss...”
That call, of course, pertained to the videos that were beginning to fill his life. Ending the call and still pacing throughout the room, Howard's demeanor doesn't change. Serious but equal parts sarcastic. The monotone voice with slight emphasis doesn't adjust either. This client, however, deserves far more of his attention.
On the far right TV, meanwhile, the action begins to pick up between Hayden Hardkore and James Daniels, also known as Desperado. Sure the match was overly gimmicky for Howard's liking, as all EVPW matches seemed to be, but there was something that drew him towards this. Perhaps it was the far more intriguing match-up. To Howard, the match for the vacant Imperial Championship was magical. Desperado and Hayden were dancing perfectly in the ring like two in-sync figure skaters hitting their routine at the Olympics.
If you were to ask Mr. Bernstein what he thought of it, to him it was “The Shawshank Redemption.” To him, even with the gimmicky aspects to it, it was what everyone should strive to match.
Howard Bernstein:
“Well if I didn't know better I could have sworn you were checking up on me,”
It was straight to business, as per usual. Howard listened to his client ramble off as he so typically enjoyed. God, the way he spoke was fascinating.
Continuing to listen, Howard walks his way over to the television stationed war room and stared at the monitors. Squinting at the television broadcasting the SCW Deathmatch, Howard watches as Nicholas Carson picks up a nail gun and raises in the air, much to the admiration of the crowds in attendance.
Someone like him would be cheered in EVPW, wouldn't he? With an audience of hyenas, they would pander to the vulture and not the stallions that were told to be butchered. This was something you didn't take logic into. You would simply shut your brain off, and watch.
Howard Bernstein:
“... Oh I absolutely watched all the tapes and, might I say, do I find you taste... fascinating...
Perhaps we should recruit this Carson or this Demon for you, no?”
He could almost feel his client scoff on the other line. Howard was told the stories countless times before. His client was sick of being treated like a sack of meat, that much he knew. His client was an artist.
In contrast the story telling in the Asylum Cage was more evident, as far as the Hollywood Agent could tell. The crowd was roaring from the plasma screen. Vladimir Strife was taking a puff back on his cigarette, before pulling back Kingbear's face and feeding him some cheap promo line. As the cigarette was burned into Kingbear's forehead, Howard couldn't help but notice the admiration the crowd had. Vladimir Strife and Kingbear were what the crowd could relate to. The every men. Unfit and nothing to write home about, using grotesque methods to become what they hated.
The crowd idolized them because that could be them.
Howard Bernstein:
“... Frankly, you may have the wrong clientele.
What could you possibly offer to these people?...”
His client's laugh was unmistakable. It was one that sounded so picture perfect you could almost consider it Hollywood and campy. His client, as far as he could sense and in every definition of the word, was perfect for this business of make-believe.
The major fascination he was told they would share was the workings of Desperado and Hayden. They broke the mold in every way. They were attractive. They were charismatic. They were athletic. They were talented. They had “it.” They, in all aspects imaginable, were above this company.
It was starting to piece together.
Howard Bernstein:
“I suppose the million dollar question is, my friend, where do we get more information?”
Howard knew the answer. He didn't need to listen. His client knew that.
Even in the hardcore aspects of the match, watching as Hayden stands above Desperado, urging him not to get up and both bloodied and burned, Howard could see what they offered.
He needed more.
Howard Bernstein:
“Mmm... Very good, very good then.
Have them sent to my room as soon as you can, could you?”
Howard wasn't listening. He was watching Desperado super kick Hayden into the flaming ring ropes. That did nothing for him, obviously. What did, though, was how willing the two were able to appease the filthy, disgusting heathens in the audience and the same vultures in the head office while still staying true to the art form they believed in.
They were dancers forced into a gladiator pit because their audience wasn't advanced enough.
They were hundred dollar bills being burned in a barrel to simply keep the company warm.
Howard Bernstein was about to take every single cent being burned in EVPW and bleed them dry.
End of thread.
Sources:
SCW Deathmatch
Kingbear vs. Vladimir Strife - Asylum Cage
Hayden Hardkore vs. Desperado - Imperial Championship
