Abram Vance: Roleplay #1 of 1
The Rise (Part 2)
A furious Abram Vance storms down a dim hallway in the Crisler Center in Ann Arbor, Michigan. His thick combat boots slam against the dusty cement below as he barrels towards a door at the end of the hallway. He dons a tight, black, leather vest that exposes his chest, loose fitting, black dress pants, and a pair of Ray-Bans that conceal his eyes. His ACW athletic bag hangs sloppily off his shoulder. His eyes are locked intensely on the door he approaches. Without even knocking, he kicks the door open and slumps messily into a nearby seat. Vance recklessly throws his bag to the ground and stares up at the man across the desk from him. He clenches his fist tightly and barks a strained sentence, still short of breath from his trip to the office.
Abram Vance: “Need to talk with you, bossman.”
ACW Owner John McHenry lightly shoves some nearby papers aside and leans in towards Vance. He smiles politely, despite clearly being angered by Vance’s rude and unexpected entrance. McHenry stares down at the disheveled back lying in his office, clearly angered by its presence, but shakes it off. He politely addresses the reigning International Champion.
John McHenry: “I’d appreciate it if you knocked next time…”
I would’ve appreciated you not keeping Rayce around after Phoenix quit, but we can’t always get what we want, right Big John?
Vance cuts off the owner with an amused huff. McHenry pauses for a moment and bites his lip, attempting to restrain his anger. He continues in a professional tone with just slightest trace of frustration in his voice.
John McHenry: “But I’m all ears.”
McHenry folds his hands on the desk and listens in on Vance intently. ‘The Leviathan’ angrily barks out his first complaint.
Abram Vance: “Care to tell me bout’ Trix’s World Title shot?”
McHenry nods and smiles courteously before responding in a professional manner.
John McHenry: “Abe, you only need to know what concerns you, and Nicky Trix doesn’t concern you. Plus, from what I’ve heard, one of your little birds should’ve leaked you the information anyways.”
Who told ya’ that, Johnnie?
Ya’ little bird Beki?
With a knowing smile on his face, Vance continues with his complaints.
Abram Vance: “And what the hell am I supposed to do about my now fuckin’ useless ‘alliance’ with ACW’s new golden boy, Aaron Asterisk?”
McHenry extends his hand towards the aforementioned stack of paper and pulls them towards him. He breaks eye contact with Vance and turns his attention to the papers.
Offended by ma’ swearin’ or…
John McHenry: “Not my problem, Abe.”
Just attempting to appear uninterested, eh’ Johnnie?
Vance begins to fidget in his chair and quickly rub his hand against his arm rest, attempting to appear increasingly frustrated. After a minute, he bolts upright, commanding McHenry’s attention, and leans against the desk in an attempt to intimidate the owner. In a soft yet threatening voice, Vance mutters.
Abram Vance: “Ya’ allowin’ Trix to go for the World Title really fucked up ma’ plans. Now, if ya’ know what’s good for ya’, I want ya’ to book Clement versus Asterisk for tomorrow night, just to rough up golden boy 2.0 a bit…”
McHenry turns his attention from the papers to Vance and leans back comfortably in his leather chair, placing distance between him and the ACW International Champion. He cockily crosses his arms over his chest, believing that he wields all the power in the situation, and smiles like a parent who smiles after their kid suggests a ludicrous idea. Despite the somewhat mocking reaction, McHenry responds in a serious tone.
John McHenry: “I’m a business man, Abe, so you should know that if you want something from me, I’m going to need something of equal value in return.”
Strong willed owner?
That’s fuckin’ new.
Vance chuckles at the comment and immediately shoots back with arrogance bursting from each word.
Abram Vance: “And imma’ an opportunist, so ya’ shouldn’t frget’ who’s holdin’ ya’ title right now.”
Vance stares down at his athletic bag where the ACW International Champion can be seen through the sliver of unzipped area. The golden plate glimmers in the bright fluorescent lighting of McHenry’s office, catching the owner’s eyes. He nods, understanding Vance’s threat, before quickly breaking into an amused chuckle. Abe’s eyebrows rise in surprise at McHenry’s reaction. John responds in a somewhat arrogant yet still serious tone while maintaining his cocky position, leaned back comfortably in his chair.
John McHenry: “And you shouldn’t forget that I know you too well, Abe. You ain’t going to do anything stupid as long as you have that belt. You wouldn’t risk it.”
Vance smiles at McHenry’s response.
Callin’ my bluff, eh’?
Impressive.
Vance rolls his chair closer to the desk, decreasing the distance between McHenry and him. A knowing smile crosses his face as he barks at McHenry in a threatening yet condescending tone.
Abram Vance: “Don’t think the investors would wanna’ hear that ya’ been going around backstage tellin’ guys that ya’ gonna’ book yaself’ for a title shot.”
As the last threat escapes Vance’s lips, McHenry shifts up in his chair and slowly pulls himself towards the desk. He props one elbow on the desk, almost as if he needs the support, before spitefully spitting back.
John McHenry: “I never said that to ANYONE.”
Looks like I got a bite.
A satisfied smile rests on Vance’s face as he continues to decrease the distance between the owner and him, still attempting to intimidate McHenry. Vance continues with his threat in a condescending yet extremely confident tone.
Abram Vance: “Ya’ think they’re gonna’ believe the greedy guy who just interrupted the World Title match on a pay-pa’-view and on Adrenaline for selfish reasons, or the old Indy legend who’s lookin’ out for the company.”
McHenry reels back in frustration, rolling his eyes dramatically at the threat. He fires back in a condescending and amused tone with anger brewing beneath it all.
John McHenry: “You don’t watch out for the company!”
Vance releases an amused huff before pointing at a turned off TV in the corner and confidently firing back.
Abram Vance: “True but when those old farts watch Adrenaline every week, it sure as hell looks like I does. Can’t say da’ same for ya’, boss man.”
Check mate, Johnnie.
McHenry bites his tongue in frustration, knowing that his recent actions have allowed Vance to engage in this blackmail. He slams his fist onto the desk and turns his head away from Vance while managing to mutter a response in a hesitant tone.
John McHenry: “Fine… consider it booked...”
Vance smiles cockily and snatches up the bag. McHenry looks down at it in disgust as Abe rudely turns his back to the owner and walks towards the door. As his hand wraps around the door knob, he condescendingly mutters.
Abram Vance: “Enjoyed our little chat ere’, Johnnie. We should do it again sometime…”
Vance doesn’t look back but already knows that McHenry is basically fuming at the mouth in anger. He opens the door, fidgeting in his pant’s pocket for his cigarettes, when McHenry stops him with a desperate plea.
John McHenry: “I’ll do it for you IF you agree to a hardcore match against Chelios. Need to stick someone against him to ‘silence his doubters’.”
Guess Big John don’t know how blackmail works.
Strong willed and stupid? Talk about a winning combination… Hah
I’ll humor im’ though.
Vance barks back bluntly.
Abram Vance: “FINE.”
He slips out the door and into the hallway, removing a cigarette and a lighter from his pocket. He brings the cig’ to his mouth and drops his bag at his feet. Vance takes a breath inwards while leaning comfortably against the wall. He looks up at the ceiling and closes his eyes.
Never once mentioned the pills?
Looks like the bitch is resortin’ to empty threats now.
And he played right into my hand. Just gotta’ make sure Clement roughs Asterisk, and my belt ain’t goin’ nowhere.
As Vance reaches down to snatch his belt from his bag, he is interrupted by the sound of footsteps from ahead. He looks up and disappointment washes over him as Beki Rayce crosses the hallway. He barks at her, somewhat caught off guard by her presence.
Abram Vance: “McHenry’s new body guard or personal hooka’?”
Rayce laughs briefly at the jape before firing back with one of her own.
Beki Rayce: “Did you forget that I’m still an ACW Creative Director, Abe? Must be your old age…”
Vance chuckles at the remark as Rayce slips her backpack off her back and drops it gingerly next to Vance’s larger athletic bag. She slaps his injured knee and stares at him with a sinister almost threatening glare in her eyes. She spitefully spits out.
Beki Rayce: “How’s the knee? … Ya’ know, without the Vicodin and all.”
Abe flinches in pain as she releases her hand and knocks on McHenry’s door, staring at Vance with a sick, satisfied grin on her face. She whispers to him as John calls for her to enter.
Beki Rayce: “Have to have a quick chat with the boss. Got something important to tell him.”
Rayce cocks her head to the side and flashes him a final mocking smile and a sinister wink before disappearing into McHenry’s office. Vance angrily tosses the cigarette to the ground and viciously stomps it out. He quickly reels around and slams his fist into the cement wall when he catches a glimpse of Rayce’s backpack out of the corner of his eye.
Left her bag in da’ hall?
She’s temptin’ me. Tryin’ to set me up. Haha.
Eh but Big John kept starin’ at my bag lookin’ all high and mighty….
Whatever… not passin’ this up.
Hope that bitch still keeps er’ damn phone in ere’.
Vance quickly surveys his surroundings to ensure he’s alone before crouching down next to her bag. He begins unzipping pockets before finally finding an I-Phone. He immediately swipes the screen, unlocking the phone, and goes to her recent contacts.
Still not one to let go?”
Vance uses his free hand to slip his phone out of his pocket as he searches all the calls Rayce made after 10 P.M. After searching Rayce’s call history from the past week, he types in a number on his phone and clicks save to contacts. He then switches to Rayce’s messaging and quickly skims her conversation matching the number he typed in.
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Rayce: Feeling a little stressed. Meet tonight?
???: The usual spot?
Rayce: Yeah. Same price?
???: Maybe even a discount, just for you of course.
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With a satisfied smile, Vance nods his head in approval and places Rayce’s phone back in its pocket in the bag and his phone in his pocket. He zips up her bag and uses the wall as support to get to his feet. He grimaces in pain and clutches at his knee momentarily before taking off down the hallway. As he walks, his eyes stare intensely at his injured his knee, seemingly the thing he’s concentrating on at the moment.
Got me what I need to get more pills. Ya’ won’t be buggin’ me much longer. (Massages his knee)
BUT, I can spot a set up when one goes down.
Gotta’ find a way so Rayce don’t find out that I’m buyin’ again.
That viper’s just waitin’ for me to slip up so she can pounce.
~*~*~*~*~*END OF SCENE*~*~*~*~*~
OOC: Had permission to use John McHenry from ~Primetime~. Won’t be able to get up another one to finish the cap due to time constraints, sorry Slim!
