| Now & Then; feat. Corey Collins & Chris Kage | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: May 25 2016, 07:59 AM (30 Views) | |
| Michael Draven | May 25 2016, 07:59 AM Post #1 |
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EWA Minority Owner
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what goes around...really goes around Tuesday, May 24, 2016 - 1:01pm EWA Entertainment - The Office of Michael Draven Boston, MA It had been a busy morning for Michael Draven, full of bureaucratic bullshit. Erik had been the one to pitch the idea of changing the company name to EWA Entertainment. Michael had actually agreed wholeheartedly, without realizing just how much work went into changing the name of a company. New promotional materials had to be ordered. Vendors had to be phoned. Ticketmaster had to be notified. It had made for a busy morning - and an early one. He'd left Maggie in bed shortly after 4am to head down to the office, and he'd only now found time to sit down and watch some of Combat TV's latest uploads. Relaxing in his office chair, he was particularly interested in the one on the television right now. An old opponent of his, from back in the NYSWF days. Prudence Collins himself, 'The Harbinger of HATE'. NOTHING. Michael and NOTHING had mixed it up before. They'd teamed up before, against a common foe - Alexander Haven. However, Michael was more interested in what NOTHING was looking at. The remnants of the famous NYSWF Arena in Albany, New York. Michael had driven by it with Maggie just weeks prior. The building was old, dilapidated, and had seen better days...but it still stood. No longer. Michael chuckled to himself. He'd been tempted to jump the fence and enter the old arena when they'd driven by. The highlights - and lowlights - of Michael's career...hell, his life, had taken place in that building. He thought back to the final night he was in that arena...to his final match in the NYSWF, and the conversation that took place afterward. Ironically enough, with the brother of Prudence Collins. January 27, 2002 The NYSWF Arena - Albany, NY Michael Draven pulled his black and red Indian Chief motorcycle into the private parking lot at the back of the NYSWF Arena. He was in a foul mood, as usual, after the events of the last two months. Working for an employer who consistently made promises, only to fall back on his word, had that sort of effect. He switched off the bike, setting the kickstand and unstrapping the backpack he wore, producing the NYSWF World Television Championship. A belt he was now holding for the fifth time, a company record. A belt he was supposed to win from Alexander Haven last month. He entered through the back door, and almost immediately was ambushed by Scott Baio. Yes. That Scott Baio, from Happy Days and Charles in Charge. Baio had been hired by Corey Collins, owner and President of the NYSWF, because...well...to be honest, Michael had absolutely no fucking idea why he'd been hired. Collins seemed to have some sort of starfucker mentality when it came to Baio, and frequently spent afternoons prior to Sunday Night Heat shows holed up in a room with Baio, while Baio recited story after story about his roles as Charles and Chachi. It was strange, and more than a little annoying to many of the wrestlers, especially once Collins had promoted Baio to something akin to an authority figure within the company. "Hey Michael, Boss wants to see you in his office." Corey was never "Corey", or "Mr. Collins", or "President Collins" to Scott Baio. It was always "Boss". "Yeah, what's he want this time?" He knew exactly what Collins wanted. He was the NYSWF World Television Champion, and his contract was expiring at the end of February. "Dunno, Mikey D. He just said --" He shoved Baio aside, continuing his trek through the hallways while calling back to Baio. "Yeah, whatever. And never call me that again." He turned the corner, making a beeline for Collins' office. The NYSWF Television Champion nodded at Andy "Sigul" Phoenix, who was huddled in a corner speaking with the recently returned Grady Smith. No doubt getting some tips from the legend. Phoenix was a solid hand in the ring - Michael had trained with him in Japan, and reunited with him here in New York, even having a month long run with the company's Tag Team Championship. That run ended when Michael "retired" - a retirement that was the brainchild of Collins, in an attempt to manufacture heat for the company. Unlike most professional wrestling organizations, Corey Collins preferred to create artificial storylines for his television programming, blurring the lines between what was "real" and what was not. A prime example was taking Josh Osbourne, a top contender for the NYSWF world Championship, and saddling him with a "character" named ICE. Collins had forced Osbourne to dress in a ridiculous outfit and use cheesy one-liners, solely for "entertainment purposes". Ironically enough, it backfired on Collins - as did most of his "creations" - when Osbourne publicly revolted, shedding the gimmick and choosing to go by his real name. Things like this, and creating artificial family ties that didn't exist "to further enrich existing rivalries" often set Collins at odds with NYSWF talent. Thankfully, Draven himself had never been subject to this. His war against Alexander Haven, a war that had waged for nearly a year and a half now, was completely unscripted. Privately, Draven felt that there was a reason it was voted as the top feud by fans of the promotion - wrestling fans weren't stupid, and they could tell the difference between bullshit and reality. Except Haven was gone now. He didn't bother knocking on the door, choosing to barge in. Collins was seated behind his desk, eyes glued to his computer. The NYSWF President looked up, breaking out into a huge grin as Draven plopped in a chair, placing the Television Championship belt on his lap. "Michael! Great to see you, buddy. Listen, I had an idea I want to run by you, but Scott was going over contracts, and --" "Haven." The excited look on Corey's face changed to a puzzled expression. He'd clearly caught the NYSWF President off-guard. "I'm...I'm sorry, I don't quite follow --" "You want me to sign a new contract. My contract's up next month. This is a negotiation, Corey. Those are my terms." Collins began to nod rapidly, shuffling some paperwork on his desk. "Of course! I totally understand, Michael, Alex's new contract was going to be very lucrative and would have provided him many opportunities. You've been a multiple-time champion here in the NYSWF, and I don't see any reason why we couldn't pay you on a comparable level to what we were prepared to offer Alexa--" "Fuck your money, Collins. You don't understand shit." The smile on Collins' face quickly evaporated, as his face reddened. "Okay then, Michael. Enlighten me. What is it that I don't understand?" Draven sighed. This was a useless exercise in futility, to try and explain this to Collins. Many before him had attempted it. SmirtDogg. Ray Henson. Grady Smith. Zero. Jack Daniels. Likely Haven himself. Collins, if nothing else, was stubborn and determined to mold his promotion in his image, "reality" be damned. "Corey, Alex and I weren't out there putting on a show for this company's fans. We weren't grabbing beers together afterward, or celebrating another ratings hit. I hate the man, with every ounce of my being. Do you understand? I have nothing - no pun intended - thanks to that son of a bitch. This has never been about popping a rating for me, even though that's exactly what he and I did for you. Your pockets became very, very fat last year because of the two of us." "And I've never once denied that, Michael. Nor have I ever gotten in the way of your vendetta against him. Have we embellished things on air, or outright invented things that focus groups have suggested? Absolutely, you know how it works here. But I've never done that with you. I've never needed to." "Well, you did make me get that ridiculous haircut. The three dreads?" Collins laughed, somewhat uncomfortably. "That's fair, but - I admitted that was a mistake! And look, it all grew back!" "None of that matters, Corey. I'm not here to talk about what you do and don't understand. You want me to re-sign with the company? I'm prepared to put pen to paper right now, at this very moment-- "Fantastic!" "--on one condition." Collins acted as though he'd barely heard Draven's addendum. "Sure, whatever it is, I'm sure we can make it happen, Michael. I know you're in line for another shot at the World Heavy--" "No. I want what you promised me three months ago, Corey. I want Alexander Haven in the ring." Draven had met with Collins in October, the day after Haven had won the World Television Title. He'd made it explicitly clear that he wanted another crack at Haven - he'd been biding his time, but after seeing Haven once again celebrate a championship victory - with a championship Draven had never actually lost, at that - there would be no more time biding. Draven had threatened to walk out of the company, right then and there, and after an hour of back-and-forth negotiating, Collins had agreed to Draven's demands - a match in December against Alexander Haven for the Television Title. Only Haven had left the company, two weeks before the match was scheduled to take place. Michael Draven had heard rumors of "creative differences" and "disagreements about money", but it didn't matter to him. A man with Haven's ego could be coaxed back for the right price - and the pocketbook of Corey Collins ran deep. Now, sitting in front of Corey, he watched the NYSWF President turn a deeper shade of red, as he began to backpedal on his previously agreed upon promise. "Listen, Alexander Haven isn't in the company any more, Michael. He's not a contracted employee --" "So fucking make him one, Corey. This company has the money to throw at Haven. And if that doesn't work, appeal to his ego. Christ knows it's the size of Manhattan. This isn't an impossible task, Collins. Promise him another fucking shot at the Heavyweight Title, let him bang your wife for all I care, but get him back here, under contract, right now, and I'll sign before I leave the building tonight." Corey began shaking his head, furiously. "Listen, Michael, if there's anyone that wants Haven back here as much as you do, it's probably me. He's a cash cow, y'know? But the problem is..." Collins' voice trailed off, as he sighed. "What?" The NYSWF President leaned forward, talking in a hushed tone, as if he were afraid someone was listening in. "He's disappeared, Michael. Nobody knows where he went." Draven threw his arms up in exasperation, sending the Television Title belt toppling to the floor as he leaped out of his seat. He slammed his fists down on Corey's desk, sending the President reeling backwards. "Oh, for fuck's sake, Collins, do you really expect me to believe--" "No, I'm serious! I went to his place up in Buffalo a couple of weeks ago, to try and renegotiate a deal, and it was completely cleaned out. Gone. I have no idea where he is." "Alyssa Marie?" Saying her very name brought back the feelings of betrayal. It'd been nearly a year, and it still ate away at him. "Also gone." "What about Kage?" "Claims he has no clue where Haven is. I believe him. They seem to have had a falling out of sorts. Chris is working on starting a wrestling school up in B'Lo, or I would've at least locked him up." Draven sank back in his seat, stunned. Gone. His chances at revenge. Gone. His reason for staying in this promotion. Gone. His reason for competing. Gone. He sat in disbelief. The silence weighed between the two men for a few moments, before Collins broke it. "Here's what I'll do, Michael. At New Year's Revolution next week in Madison Square Garden...Osbourne needs an opponent. Sign the contract tonight, and we'll do a first time ever champion vs champion match. NYSWF World Television Champion, Michael Draven. NYSWF World Heavyweight Champion, Josh Osbourne. World Title on the line. You'll main event Madison Square Garden. Whaddya say?" Collins extended a pen out to Draven, a look of desperation dancing through his eyes. Draven rose, grabbing the NYSWF Television Championship belt. "I'll wrestle until I lose this belt. Then I'm out.” Draven walked slowly out the door, down the long hall to his locker room. He could hear Collins' screams the entire way. "YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST WALK OUT ON ME?! I'LL SHOW YOU, DRAVEN! NEXT WEEK AT NEW YEAR'S REVOLUTION, YOU'LL DEFEND THAT TITLE AGAINST THE HOTTEST ROOKIE IN PROFESSIONAL WRESTLING! IT'LL BE MICHAEL DRAVEN AGAINST X-CALIBUR! I'LL SHOW YOU, YOU DUMB SON OF A BITCH!" July 28, 2002 Houston Astrodome - Houston, TX Chris Kage was feeling pretty damn good. He'd agreed a week ago to return to the promotion he'd made his name in, the NYSWF. The EWA had shut down last year, leaving him as the final reigning World Heavyweight Champion. He'd lost his taste for the business around that time, and after Alex had bailed, he'd taken his leave as well. But Collins, the conniving little worm he was, had conned him back with this tag team tournament he was running, and the promise of a "random" drawing of his old friend Robert Orr. Now, Kage could sit around the locker room every week getting high with ol' Robbie, and win the Tag Titles in the process? What's not to love? Kage parked his truck in the parking lot of the Astrodome. He'd heard they had only sold about half the tickets for the event - the NYSWF wasn't what it once was, but his pay was guaranteed, so he wasn't concerned. As he exited the truck, he reflected on the days of The Youth, when just last year they were selling out arenas all over the world. It was a huge diff -- His thoughts were interrupted by the feeling of hands on his shoulders. Before he knew it, he was spun around and slammed against his truck. An awful stench filled his nostrils, and all at once he was staring into the eyes of a madman. "WHERE IS HE, KAGE?" Kage barely had time to process what was going on. He lifted a knee, but his assailant saw it coming, dodging and throwing a forearm across his temple. The world spun, but Kage held onto consciousness, getting a better look at his attacker. A man with blazing eyes, a thick beard, and a familiar head of hair... "WHERE'S HAVEN?!" Oh my god, he thought to himself. What the fuck happened to him? "Yo, get your fucking hands off me, Draven, and I'll tell you what I know!" The grip on his jacket loosened, and Michael Draven stepped backwards, as Kage got his first good look at him. The man was wearing tattered clothes, sunglasses with a cracked lens, and had a beard - he looked like he hadn't shaved in months. His eyes darted around as he waited for Kage's response. "You crazy son of a bitch, what the fuck is wrong with you?" "It doesn't concern you, Kage. Tell me where Haven is. I've looked everywhere I can think of." I wish Alex could see this. We literally have driven the man crazy. He could squash Draven like a bug right now. He looked as though he’d lost half his muscle mass. Instead, the last EWA World Heavyweight Champion chose to answer the man. "Listen, man. This is the truth. I don't know. He and Alyssa left back in January. We were going to start a wrestling school together, and then he vanished. I had to put the whole thing on hold because I don't know where he went. Honest. If you find him, let me know, man. I'm worried about him myself." Haven's rival stood silently, as if absorbing what Kage said. Then, without warning, he took off running in the opposite direction, turning a corner and leaving out of sight. He could've told Draven that Alex and Alyssa were in Japan, wrestling. He could've let him know that after this stint with Orr here, he was flying over to join them. He could have told Draven all about the promoters in Japan forking money hand over fist to wrestlers from the US, now that the American wrestling scene had all but dried up. Hell, he could've invited Draven to come along, so they could beat him within an inch of his life for another promotion. But why bother? Let the maniac keep searching for Haven. That was way funnier. He couldn't wait to talk to Alex and Alyssa about this. They were going to love it. Whistling to himself, Kage walked toward the Astrodome in search of a payphone. |
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10:52 AM Jul 11