[Jake Donovan bursts through one of the side curtains off the stage area back first, wanting to watch as much of the chaos he’d caused as possible. Not watching at all where he’s going he slams back first into something solid as a wall. He turns around with a sneer… a sneer that melts off his face along with the flaking remains of his usual facial art project when he gets an eye full of just who he slammed into.]

Donovan:
Who the fu… oh, shit...wow…

[The coffee he was holding is now dripping down his tailored charcoal grey three piece suit down onto his meticulously polished loafers. His mustache twitches in annoyance but surprisingly he shows uncharacteristic restraint.]

Donovan:
Box, erm… shit, Bronson man I’m so fuckin’ sorry, I…holy shit….I just...

[He points back towards the curtain, beyond which Sam Horry is still making his way painfully from ringside surrounded by his fight team. Bronson tosses aside the empty cup and flicks some of the liquid from his vest.]

Box:
Don’t worry I’m not going to eviscerate you if that’s what you’re bloody scared of. Got bigger fish to fry tonight, sunshine.

[Jake frowns at the off handed comment and stands his ground.]

Donovan:
I’m not scared of you. I wasn’t scared of you when I was a fuckin’ rookie so why would I be scared now, Box? I’ve been here a long goddamn time too, you know. You see what I just did out there? Figured a guy with your reputation would appreciate a little anarchy...

Box:
Alright lad, calm yer’ tits. A bloody evil mastermind you are...

[Bronson plucks his smartphone out of his jacket pocket and checks the time as he delivers that last line. Boxer’s casual demeanor and complete no-sell of his gruesome fireball attack on Horry obviously immediately gets WAY under Donovan’s skin.]

[This of course leading to the hotheaded young risk taker make a VERY… stupid mistake.]

Donovan:
You look me in the eye when you address me! Who the fuck do you think you are talking to me like that, HUH?!

[It takes a split second for Box to maneuver Jake’s arm behind his back with a deftly and quite painfully applied wrist lock pushing the side of Donovan’s head into the corridor wall. Bronson’s sour sneering face is inches from Jake’s, reddening in pain. Box lets silence fall between them for a moment, letting Donovan listen to the deep throb of blood pooling up in his eardrums.]

Box:
Are you… FOOKIN’ kiddin’ me, boy? Yer’ right, ye’ have been here a long bloody time. And I’ve watched you do precisely DICK with yer’ good fortune. Yer’ bloody baggy jeans and your fookin’ hack facepaint… yer’ fireball was cute. Made yer’ point… but what are you gunna’ do now, aye? Slap another coat ‘o nonsense on that sour mug of yer’s and keep beatin’ the same dead horse over and over week after week. How much noise can one fool make down in the midcard before it becomes just bloody that. Noise.

[The Wargod leans down on the pressure point at the base of Jake’s wrist underneath his thumb. The fresh shooting pain surging up and down Jake’s arm is evident even behind the flaking smeared remains of his face paint.] 

Box:
Now… 

[Bronson loosens the hold.]

Box:
You want what I’ve got, doncha boy?

[Jake grimaces and nods, face still pressed up against the cold grey hallway.]

Box:
Yer’ little change in attitude’s given ye’ an appetite fer’ this shite, hasn’t it… blood, chaos, anarchy. It's a wild road to the top, that. It’s a hard road, boy. Takes fortitude I'm not sure you've got in ye'... say it… say yer’ sick of where you are. That yer’ sick of settlin’ fer’ the middle of the card…. SAY IT, SUNSHINE!

[Jake screams his response, facepaint and spittle flecking against the wall.]

Donovan:
You're right! Okay! I’m sick of breakin’ my ass for this company for goddamn NOTHING! I wish I’d set that arrogant fuck Horry on FIRE…it’s what I goddamn WANTED to do... 

[Bronson releases the hold, Jake whipping around with a violent glint in his eyes. Bronson just shakes his head, pulling a small white business card from his pocket. He plants the card in Donovan’s hand, clapping him heartily on the shoulder. He then immediately spins on his heels, swaggering away down the corridor towards the private dressing rooms.]

Box:
When ye’ think yer’ ready to man up and finally start makin’ some necessary changes, boy’o? … Contact her.

[Jake Donovan slowly reads and rereads the little white business card with a sigh under his breath.]

Donovan:
Katze & Associates. 

[Jake doesn't look like he quite knows what to take from that exchange… then he catches himself in a nearby monitor. He looks at his image for a moment, an odd look of disapointment mixed with a healthy dolop of frustration… he then quickly pulls his shirt up over his face, rubbing the remaining paint until every bit is gone. He mumbles to himself… ]

Donovan:
… necessary changes…

[Jake takes one last look at the business card before tucking it away in his back pocket and starting off dejectedly down the hallway towards the large group dressing room.]

More Propaganda | View DEFIANCE Spy's Biography