PROMO: "Respect."

[Guest Kibagami]

PROMO: “Respect.”

 

 

 

The Savvis Center is empty; Lockdown ended hours ago. The ring crew has taken down the announcer’s table (which actually made it through a show), carried away the timekeeper’s paraphenila, packed up all the cameras…everything is packed and ready to move on to the next show, except for the ring.

 

“You know, I watched the replay of Lockdown, after I went back to the locker room. I always watch the replay when I lose a match, so I can see where I went wrong.”

 

The camera focuses on Nathaniel Kibagami, who sits on the ring apron, clad entirely in white. An ugly purple bruise has risen below his left eye – one of many battle scars he’s received this night. His black hair is tied back in a ponytail, though a few stray strands hang in front of his eyes. His mouth smiles; his eyes, on the other hand, do not.

 

“I gave my all in that ring tonight, and so did Mak Francis. He won the match, and he kept his title. Tonight, he deserved it. The kid’s got spunk. I like that.” He pauses. “Another day, another match, and the chips could just as easily fall on my side of the table. Francis knows that, and so do I. There’s probably going to be a next time for us, but I’m not worried about that now. You see, I respect Mak Francis after the match we had tonight, and I like to think that he respects me. The fans respect us; they saw what we went through. I hope that most of the boys in the back respect it, because that match was harder than most.”

 

Kibagami rolls underneath the bottom rope and into the ring. He sits up, still smiling. His eyes, still, do not.

 

“But there are some people who don’t respect this sort of thing. There are people who would like nothing better than to dismiss the thirteen years I’ve spent in this business just to get themselves ninety seconds of camera time. One of those people is named Michael Craven. Let’s talk about him for a minute.”

 

Nathan gets to his feet and begins to pace back and forth, slowly, across the ring. “Did you think I wouldn’t see your little interview, Mikey? Did you think I wouldn’t find out? Who do you think you’re fooling with that nightmare spiel of yours, exactly? I fought you in May, Mikey, and I beat you with two moves. Two. I took the best you had and I came back from it all, and I beat you in two moves. The office played it off as lucky because you had gold at the time and they wanted their champion to look strong, but you and I both know what happened in the ring that night. I wanted to make you look as bad as you are. And that’s what I did.”

 

“And you have the nerve to question me? You have the audacity to criticize me? You think you have the right to degrade a title match you will never be good enough to compete in?” Kibagami leans on the turnbuckle, a dangerous grin creeping across his face as he does so. “Mikey, I’ll be honest with you. I have no respect for you at all. None. Not as a wrestler and not as a person. You’re weak, cowardly, conniving, insecure, and you do your damnedest to suck up to everybody from the commissioner to the World champion to Tom Flesher to Ejiro Fasaki. Oh, I saw that interview too, Mikey. ‘Thank you for freeing me of the shackles that once oppressed me and allowing me to once more follow the path of destiny.’ Christ, Mikey, listen to yourself.” Nathan chuckles and pushes himself off of the turnbuckle and walks towards the center of the ring.

 

“I’ll make this simple for you. Since you seem to have taken issue with my cane, I asked King to make a Singapore cane match for Smarkdown, and he seemed happy to oblige me. The cane will come into play, Mikey – don’t think that you’ll get out of that one – but that’s not really the reason I’ve asked for this match. I try to treat everybody equally when they’re in the ring with me, Mikey, but for you, I’ll make an exception. I’ll give you the recognition you babble about from week to week. I’ll put you on a level that I’ve previously reserved for your idol, my good friend, Edwin MacPhisto. Sound good to you, Mikey?”

 

Kibagami kneels in the center of the ring and takes a small magic marker out of his pocket. He draws a large, black “X” in the middle of the ring, dark enough that the ring crew probably won’t be able to remove it in the morning.

 

“You see this spot, Mikey?” Nathan taps the “X” gently. “This is where I’m going to pin you, Mikey. I’m going to pin you here, in the center of the ring, after I snap your neck like a particularly fragile twig with the Demonstar Driver.” Kibagami pauses, feigning surprise. “What’s that, you say? The Demonstar is dangerous? Yes, Mikey, it is! You say I shouldn’t use it? No, Mikey, I probably shouldn’t. You say I shouldn’t have told you ahead of time? That’s where you’re wrong, Mikey.”

 

”You see, I want you to have five days. Five days to prepare for the Demonstar as best you can. Learn every counter there is, train as hard as you want. Get your affairs in order, too. Because no matter what you do, you will take a Demonstar on Smarkdown, right where I say you will – on that “X”, no place else. I tell you this because I want you to know, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that you cannot stop me from doing whatever I want in a wrestling match, much less provide competition. But I’ll tell you what – if I do break your neck on Monday, I’ll look after Amy and the kid for you. Maybe I’ll even show her a good time…if she ever gets back from Buffalo, anyway.”

 

Kibagami briskly walks across the ring and hops over the ropes, landing on his feet next to the apron. The camera stays in place as he walks up the ramp, but the microphone still picks up his voice quite clearly.

 

“There are things you can say and get away with saying them, Mikey, and there are things you can’t. I’ve stood toe-to-toe with the best this federation has to offer and I’ve come out ahead just as often as not. A self-professed “King of the Undercard” has no business telling me when my time is up. You remember Silent so goddamn well, let’s see if you remember how to fight him on Monday night. You dug your grave in about two minutes on Lockdown, Craven. On Smarkdown, I’ll fill in the hole.”

 

“Whether you stop breathing before or after I fill it in…it makes no real difference to the Silent One.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Victory in battle that All-Under-Heaven calls skilled

Is not skilled.

Thus lifting an autumn hair does not mean great strength.

Seeing the sun and the moon does not mean a clear eye.

Hearing thunder does not mean a keen ear.

So-called skill is to be victorious over the easily

Defeated.

 

Thus the battles of the skilled are without

Extraordinary victory, without reputation for

Wisdom and without merit for courage.

 

-- Chapter Four of the Sun-Tzu.

 

 

 

END

Edited July 31, 2003 by Grand Slam

[Guest TheAntipop]

Dun da dunna dun

 

RE!!

 

Dun da dunna dun

 

SPECT!!

 

[Guest Crowe]

One word can describe this promo.

 

OWNAGE!!!

 

This was excellent, and scary, because Kibs was talking to himself and stuff. Excellent writing as always with Mr Kibs, and now, I look forward to the match... more so than before.

[Guest Thoth]

AHAHAHHAHA! This is awesome!

 

PWNED~

[Guest Evolution]

Whee.

 

Two things:

 

1) Great promo.

2) Craven's going to get his shit all fucked up.

[Guest Space_Cowboy]

I like it. I like it alot.

[janusd 0]

 

Go Silent.

 

[Guest Ash Ketchum]

... I r dead.

[Guest Muzz]

I respect it.

 

Another bitchin' promo, only a matter of time now before you get a sword, a scar across your face and change your name to squall...

[Guest Edwin MacPhisto]

This kinda ruled all things. Allow me to also say that Ash's show promo was ballsy and awesome. Add this and, like Mak/Kibagami, we have another awesome one-off match set-up for the show. I am pleeeeeeased.

[Guest realitycheck]

This promo broke 120 hits WITHOUT me commenting? Oh, *my* that's bullshit.

 

Anyway, a very good 'threat' promo. I'm a big fan of the straight dialog stuff, opposed to interior monologue or character banter.

 

Still, it was good, imo, but not really spectacular or anything. You're not particularly good with character dialog, and it kind of showed here. At least to me. It seemed too... complex? That's probably not the best word for it, but what I mean is that I've never really seen Nathan to be the type to talk a lot. A few sentances and a derisive snort are all that woluld be needed.

 

But that might just be me.

 

-Z