Post by Vossler on Jul 16, 2019 16:38:39 GMT -5
Hi there. So since Langston and I made bits we sent off to Will for judgement for the impromptu title match on Massacre. And while I'm happy with the result, I'm quite sad a lot of people didn't get to read it. I felt like this piece has a lot of character development in it and gives you a good insight to Vossler. So, here it is;
For context, this piece is supposed to be read before Part 2, but happens -after- it. This would be like, 4 or 5 days before Massacre.
With his feet kicked up on the dusty coffee table, Vossler appears to be in his own home going channel surfing. Shifting through the channels of his TV finding anything to occupy his mind since the chaos that ensued on Monday. The dissatisfaction of still not receiving what he perceives as his due has not worn down like a lasting bitter taste in his mouth, but passed onto his entire being.
Suddenly, the doorbell rings. Much to Vossler's dismay, he hadn't intended on attending to any guests today. Nonetheless, he neglects to open the door. But there is another ring. And two rapid ones. This was usually a sign that it could only mean one other person.
Vossler gets off the dusty couch and walks over to the door, scratching his behind as he does. With a sigh of reluctance the handle is turned to the rainy and gloomy outdoors. Jolon Stevenson is on the other end of the door who recoils at the sight of Vossler.
JOLON: "Jesus christ Phil. In your underwear?"
PHIL: "Who's door are you at?"
JOLON: "Yours."
PHIL: "Did you tell me you were coming over today?"
JOLON: "No. I did not... tell you I was visiting today, no."
Vossler gestures as if Jolon should've expected this which garners a sortlike response from Jolon.
PHIL: "Whatever. I'll go put on some pants or whatever. What, do you want a beer? Help yourself, come on in. Shoes at the door, y'know the drill."
Jolon scoffs.
JOLON: "Yeah, I know the drill. But that's not why I'm here, buddy. It's been a long time since we've actually had time to sit down and talk. So..."
PHIL: "So come on in already."
Vossler has left the door post and gestures inward.
JOLON: "Come with me for a ride, Phil."
Vossler pauses for a moment as he's picking off a pair of pants that laid over the back rest of a chair. He almost looks dumbfounded by the suggestion.
JOLON: "Come on, man. Just join me already. Okay?"
PHIL: "Is this where I say 'Sure Ken!' and you ask me to go party? Or is this a weak attempt at an intervention?"
Vossler doesn't receive an answer. He takes the remote, turns off his television with a groan and slips into his shoes as he follows Jolon down the stairs of the apartment building.
PHIL: "I'm calling shotgun."
JOLON: "Haa-ha. Cute."
The two get in the car as Vossler begins fiddeling with the radio station. Jolon's hand swats his friend's hand away though, with a somewhat discouraging look and shaking his head. The car begins moving.
It's dark and misty out, almost horror-like. After several minutes of silence and seemingly aimless driving, Vossler finally speaks up.
PHIL: "So either this is the worst date you've ever taken me on or I'm not entirely sure what you're trying to do here. Do explain, if you'd please."
Jolon sighs.
JOLON: "So, when's the last time you've done... well, anything aside from going to the gym or lounging around at home?"
PHIL: "I've been consistently going to work every Monday, parole officer."
Jolon can't help but scoff at the comment.
JOLON: "Not what I meant but you're on a roll with the jokes tonight. But jokes won't cut it, okay? This isn't intervention-like but goddamn is this gonna be pretty damn near close to it."
Vossler doesn't respond, instead it's his turn to sigh.
PHIL: "Go on, vent out your frustrations buddy. Tell me about how you really feel."
JOLON: "When's the last time you, I don't know, dated someone? Or went on vacation?"
PHIL: "What?"
JOLON: "I'm asking. Because since you've signed with OCW, you're kind of... focused. Hyper-focused. You've been ignoring most other aspects of your life ever since returning to the show."
Vossler doesn't respond.
JOLON: "... Okay. What I'm saying is, you're putting yourself in an echo chamber. You're boiling up your frustrations constantly and as a result, you're starting to become extremely aggressive in the working environment. I saw what happened on Monday, you got understandably very frustrated with the handling of your booking and the way you aren't receiving what you think is your due. I understand this. Wholeheartedly even. Let's get that out there, I'm on your side here and I'm not here to negate nor say your frustrations do not matter."
Jolon's cautious gaze turns to Vossler for a moment who's looking out the side of the window, onto the rainy outside.
PHIL: "Yeah. I get that. Go on."
Jolon's stare goes back to the road.
JOLON: "I got you into this car because for one, you can't turn the TV up when I'm at your home if you don't want to hear me. Two, you can't kick me out of my own car. Three, you're not stupid enough to jump out of a steadily moving car when you've got so much left to prove over the next couple of weeks, that getting injured again would just prove the hate right."
PHIL: "I thought about doing it."
JOLON: "But you didn't."
PHIL: "Yet."
JOLON: "Regardless, this is becoming a tad bit concerning when you're also threatening or going to threaten your employers and the management of the federation you're working for."
Vossler sighs heavily.
PHIL: "I never told you how I got resigned to the company, did I?"
JOLON: "Go on then, tell me."
Vossler sets himself right in his seat, and with a deep breathe he begins.
PHIL: "Right around the time the injury started to show it was nearly through and done, I got a call from Welsh. Marcus Welsh, y'know."
JOLON: "Yeah, I know Welsh."
PHIL: "He asks me how I was doing, the usual pleasantries. Now, I know at that point he was trying to fish for something because if I believe my peers' stories, he's not usually like that. But as the conversation, the casual side of it, moves forward he seems to be far more genuine with his concerns. I actually expected that more from Zybala, y'know, the other guy. But Welsh then begins the corporate side of the conversation. Y'know. Hey Vos, so, I signed you a year ago to a year contract to see if you could live up to the hype, blah blah. That kinda crap. I ask him to get to the point on the corporate side of things. He says look, there are some stips being thrown around that I don't like. Stuff like commissioners being selected. I can feel that as the days loom closer to the event, I lose a bit more of my authority. I already have to share decision making with Zybala, blah blah. I signed you a contract and for most of it, you've been on sick-leave with the injury. But now I have a new beast that needs slaying. Vincent Langston."
Jolon scoffs at the wheel.
JOLON: "The exact words you wanted to hear, the exact name you needed to hear. Smart man, Welsh."
PHIL: "Exactly. So Welsh explains how he knows Langston was the one who took me out, put me on the shelf. And he's offering me an opportunity to get back at him. Not only that, he wants to take Langston down a peg and even book me in a title match against him. Crazy proposal, since he said that from the looks of things after the Not Safe For Work pay per view they have an event seemingly in Korea. And Langston's number 1 contender is either gonna be Kitty Petrova or Logan. Either way, we'd do what we can to fit me in there."
JOLON: "And what happened then?"
PHIL: "I said I'll come to the office at a convenient time and we can talk things through there."
JOLON: "And?"
PHIL: "We talked, I signed a new deal. But I also made Welsh a deal. Should Langston walk out of Not Safe For Work with the title against Max Kael, I'll do whatever I can to make that mother fucker's life a living hell, day to day. And while Welsh was reluctant at first he seemed to be interested in hearing my suggestion. Simple, I said. I'm going to keep going after Langston at every opportunity. Fuck Logan. Fuck Kitty Petrova. I'm going to face Langston for that title before the fucking Korea event. And better yet, I'm going to be the one that's waiting for either Kitty or, as we now know, Logan, at the event. I'm going to steamroll over them too and yeah. I know Langston's wrath is gonna be the equivalent of him shitting fire and thunder from the heavens above or some poetic shit like that, pun intended. But I sure as hell will endure it and make him wish he hadn't responded or even injured me back in the day."
There's a moment of silence in the car as it stops by seemingly a red light. The blurred vision through the windshield seems to suggest a red light, but it might as well have been orange. Both of them are too stuck in their own thoughts.
JOLON: "So... your next step is to injure him?"
PHIL: "No. It's to exact revenge that's been bubbling up in my mind for almost a year now. You tell me I'm too focused? I'm not focused enough, Joe. I'm gonna go after Langston. Win or lose, even that has little meaning to me. Yeah, I want the gold too by the end and fuck it, I might even try for his commissioner spot because why the fuck not. But I wanna lay in a beating so bad that even if he wins, he's going to be pinning me by the skin of his teeth and the only reason he'd ever won is cus of a crooked refferee not being able to count in time. I'm not going down to that motherfucker."
Jolon is quiet, and as the light turns green he makes a risky 180 that rocks the car.
PHIL: "Jesus fucking christ, what the fuck was that for?"
JOLON: "I'm taking you home. It's time to go over battle plans."
Vossler can't help but smile.
PHIL: "Atta boy. Now you're seeing things from my perspective for once."
JOLON: "I thought this was a revenge thing at first. But there's also corporate that's behind you. I figured this was some going-rogue bullshit. But you informed Welsh and Welsh is the one who contacted you for this, correct?"
PHIL: "You've been listening! Correct."
JOLON: "Then you only stand to gain from fighting Langston. That's all I had to hear. Fuck what other implications there might be, violence. Brutality. Blood, sweat, all that shit. Welsh want this match to happen, you want this match to happen, I want this match to happen. The only thing standing in the way is Zybala. And next week, next monday... we're going to make a plan to make him see things your way."
PHIL: "Smart man."
JOLON: "Damn fucking right."
The car speeds up, onwards back to the Chiari residence.