Post by vaevictisbd on Jan 13, 2023 7:08:38 GMT
Click! Click! The sound of a steel gas lighter opens the candid, the spark wheel being tested to ignite a flame that eventually comes. The embers at the end of a cigarette lit at the end of Jack Haggards' lips, drawing in a drag from the stick as the camera slowly pans away from the oldest of the Haggard siblings, who pockets the lighter before he exhales the plume of smoke that satiates his unhealthy addiction. He is seated upon a bar stool, back towards the wooden frame of the bar itself, his Tag Team Championship sitting on the countertop.
Jack Haggard: In life, a bad reputation will take ya a lot further than a good one ever will. People who try to live what is considered the right way, the straight-n-narrow, they don't get remembered for livin' good lives. Gazelles don't ask the lions politely to not feed on 'em. Live life with a clean nose, you gon' die with it broken up and bleedin' -- that's just how it is. People run the pockets of those with a good reputation. They're easy targets; victims to people who just wanna take -- it don't matter the reason why cause they don't need one. I don't ever want a good reputation.
He draws another drag from his cigarette. In the silence, we hear a faint crashing sound in the background that goes ignored by Jack entirely.
Jack Haggard: But a bad reputation? You wanna know what happens to the people that test the legitimacy of a bad reputation? They get hurt. They go missin'. They feed that reputation, spread it wider and make it bigger, like pouring gasoline on a forest fire. And as it stands right now, Dead End Express has the baddest reputation in all IPDubya. And I'm just gon' say it; I ain't impressed at all with how y'all tryin' ta put us out.
Another crashing sound gets his attention this time, this time a lot louder than the one prior.
Jack Haggard: Can y'all keep it the fuck down, I'm filmin' one of them vignette things!
Clancy Haggard: AIN'T OUR FAULT HE AIN'T COMPLYIN'!
Jack shrugs off the excuse, turning his attention back to the lens.
Jack Haggard: We know where we stand with y'all. We know in that locker room, ain't a single person that like us. We know the people that run this place, don't like us. Bossman himself, he don't like us. But this ain't no popularity contest. We aren't playin' ball like how y'all play ball. So you tried switchin' it up on us. Told us well in advance we were havin' a Tables, Ladders, 'n Chairs match at Gods Amongst Men, then y'all made it Three Stages of Hell out of nowhere. You tried runnin' our pockets but lookie here...
Jack pulls the championship belt from the countertop and slams his palm into it as the cigarette hangs from his lips.
Jack Haggard: Still our property! It weren't goin' nowhere. Cause we still kicked Kane and Pierce's asses for three falls. Now y'all doin' this whole tournament to find us some new challengers that don't even gotta be part of this company. Why? Cause you look in that locker room, and you can't find no-damn-body who can take these belts from us. They just don't got what it takes. Our reputation got 'em scared and shakin' at the knees already. People learnin' real quick.
Another loud crashing, the shelf of beer bottles crash against the floor behind the bar as a body goes flying into them from off-screen. Clancy and Hank Jr come into frame and grab the man on the floor. Jack gives them a passing look over his shoulder before his attention swiftly returns to his candid.
Jack Haggard: But it's clear to me; Pierce and Chaos Theory ain't fast learners. They keep playin' with fire, I'm startin' to think they like gettin' burned. I don't got a problem with them tryin' until they burn alive. It don't matter to me none. Cause this shit just gonna end like it always do. Haggards at the top; these broke bums lickin' their wounds, more broken than they came in. They ain't got no realistic expectations, they just got nothin' if they don't got our crosshairs between their eyes. Only thing that'd change when we pull the trigger is they whistle when they run.
Jack laughs at the image that crosses mind, but is interrupted as the body is lifted by his younger siblings and slammed onto the countertop, writhing in immense pain.
Jack Haggard: You still think you're the one's huntin', Nate? Just because you chasin' these titles still, chasin' some idea of redemption, you still think you're the ones huntin' us? Nah, son. This is bait for people like you. Cause we only get paid if we fight, and you're just walkin' dollar signs to us. You wanna do this one-on-one thinkin' it'll play out any different? You're just bookin' an ass woopin' for one, cause the two old broke ass losers standin' behind you can't eat anymore wit' their missin' teeth. Hold on -- if y'all gonna do that here can y'all at least get me somethin' strong!
A bottle of Whiskey slides across the bar. Mere moments after Jack lifts it up, the body slides across also and the crashing of them falling off can be heard as the other Haggards enter frame, standing behind it and their older brother as he takes a hearty swig from the bottle.
Jack Haggard: You don't gotta learn shit, Nate. In fact, I hope you don't. Fish don't learn what bait is, it'd be cruel to not set the same expectations of you. Only thing you gotta ask yourself is how many times you gonna come at the kings of this shit and leave defeated before it starts becomin' a bad idea. How much you wanna feed our reputation, Nate? Cause we can make this quick, put you out of your damn misery. Or we can let you suffer this fate over and over again. But as I said; don't make a difference to me. You're a reliable food source to me. And we be eatin' like kings.