WRESTLEVERSE IV: Dopesmoker vs. High Flyer (w/Tony Davis)
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(SFX : CLICK. CLICK.)
(FADE IN. The living room of one Jack Harmen, better known to the wrestling world as High Flyer. A modest living room, a soft leather couch and a large LCD television anchor the room. Hanging on shelves and plastered to the walls are numerous championships that he's held over the course of his career. He's leaning over something that's hidden by his knees, and lifts his head up. A waft of smoke gently hazes at the bottom of the screen, as the camera films the inhaled Flyer from a medium close up. Off screen is his tag team partner and brother-in-law, Tony Davis, headphones hanging from his head.)
TONY DAVIS: What are you doing?
(Flyer coughs, breathing out smoke as he does. He pauses, collecting himself.)
HIGH FLYER: Things.
TONY DAVIS: Shouldn't you be preparing for Wrestleverse?
(Flyer leans down, a lighter CLICK, CLICKING. Flyer raises his head again and raises a finger in the air to let Tony know to wait. Flyer responds, breathing out smoke.)
HIGH FLYER: What's it look like I'm doing?
TONY DAVIS: Getting R-V-O-D.
(Flyer leans toward Tony, sitting on a recliner perpendicular to the couch.)
HIGH FLYER: I'm trying to figure out what makes Erik Black work.
(Flyer looks down to the "device" that whiffs smoke just slightly into frame.)
HIGH FLYER: I think I'm this close to cracking his secret.
(Flyer leans back down. SFX: CLICK. CLICK.)
TONY DAVIS: There is no secret. He's a Dopesmoker. He smokes dope. It's there in his nickname. Like yours, which says you sell snow, travel through time, and you're a little crazy. Pretty straight forward.
(Flyer's head tilts up and he exhales a deep amount of smoke, coughing and sputtering as the smoke grows in size. He reaches over and takes a sip of water. He shakes his head and blinks quickly, staring blankly ahead at Tony.)
HIGH FLYER: Dude. I'm pretty sure this is Pop-Eye's spinach. Guy lights up and he's like John Cena beating up Batman.
(Flyer's eyes go wide. He leans in and grabs Tony by his collar. His voice cracks and trembles.)
HIGH FLYER: I don't know if I can be Batman Tony. And his beard... man that's an awesome beard. I can't kick his beard off his face. That'd be like pissing in holy water.
TONY DAVIS: You've done that before. You told me you wanted people to bathe in you. And that's why I said I'd make sure you never smoke up again.
(Flyer looks down to his hands just off screen. He looks back up at Tony eye brows raised.)
HIGH FLYER: You suck at that.
TONY DAVIS: So are you actually going to get ready to face Black?
HIGH FLYER: What's the point? I've already faced Black. I'm facing him right now. Everything that could be... is. Time isn't linear, it's wiggly wobbly like a big rubber band ball with no tension man. I'm being both born and dying at the same time, right NOW!
(Flyer frowns.)
HIGH FLYER: What were we talking about?
(Flyer looks up to the right, trying to remember.)
HIGH FLYER: Oh yeah. Erik Black. He reminds me of myself when I was younger, except way more stoned. Like, way more stoned. I bet he's got the hash mixed in the middle of his... oh dude. We should get some hash. I mean, we DO live in California.
TONY DAVIS: Hash browns?
HIGH FLYER: Ooh. Those too.
(Flyer reaches down to his table and fumbles with his keys.)
HIGH FLYER: You're driving.
(Flyer tosses Tony the keys, only they go flying a foot and a half away from him and shatter into the frame of a hanging portrait.)
HIGH FLYER: ROOMBA! ROOMBA! COME! NOW!
(Davis sighs, dragging Flyer out of the room.)
TONY DAVIS: You don't have a roomba.
(Davis tosses Flyer through the door frame.)
HIGH FLYER: Then I gotta make another quick stop.
(Flyer raises his pointing finger to the sky.)
HIGH FLYER: Let's get ourselves a pet roomba!
(Tony lowers his head, shaking it from side to side.)
TONY DAVIS: Stop. Just stop.
(The front door closes, leaving the camera behind as it fades to black.)
HIGH FLYER (OS): Wrestleverse is going to be SO fun!
(FADE IN. The living room of one Jack Harmen, better known to the wrestling world as High Flyer. A modest living room, a soft leather couch and a large LCD television anchor the room. Hanging on shelves and plastered to the walls are numerous championships that he's held over the course of his career. He's leaning over something that's hidden by his knees, and lifts his head up. A waft of smoke gently hazes at the bottom of the screen, as the camera films the inhaled Flyer from a medium close up. Off screen is his tag team partner and brother-in-law, Tony Davis, headphones hanging from his head.)
TONY DAVIS: What are you doing?
(Flyer coughs, breathing out smoke as he does. He pauses, collecting himself.)
HIGH FLYER: Things.
TONY DAVIS: Shouldn't you be preparing for Wrestleverse?
(Flyer leans down, a lighter CLICK, CLICKING. Flyer raises his head again and raises a finger in the air to let Tony know to wait. Flyer responds, breathing out smoke.)
HIGH FLYER: What's it look like I'm doing?
TONY DAVIS: Getting R-V-O-D.
(Flyer leans toward Tony, sitting on a recliner perpendicular to the couch.)
HIGH FLYER: I'm trying to figure out what makes Erik Black work.
(Flyer looks down to the "device" that whiffs smoke just slightly into frame.)
HIGH FLYER: I think I'm this close to cracking his secret.
(Flyer leans back down. SFX: CLICK. CLICK.)
TONY DAVIS: There is no secret. He's a Dopesmoker. He smokes dope. It's there in his nickname. Like yours, which says you sell snow, travel through time, and you're a little crazy. Pretty straight forward.
(Flyer's head tilts up and he exhales a deep amount of smoke, coughing and sputtering as the smoke grows in size. He reaches over and takes a sip of water. He shakes his head and blinks quickly, staring blankly ahead at Tony.)
HIGH FLYER: Dude. I'm pretty sure this is Pop-Eye's spinach. Guy lights up and he's like John Cena beating up Batman.
(Flyer's eyes go wide. He leans in and grabs Tony by his collar. His voice cracks and trembles.)
HIGH FLYER: I don't know if I can be Batman Tony. And his beard... man that's an awesome beard. I can't kick his beard off his face. That'd be like pissing in holy water.
TONY DAVIS: You've done that before. You told me you wanted people to bathe in you. And that's why I said I'd make sure you never smoke up again.
(Flyer looks down to his hands just off screen. He looks back up at Tony eye brows raised.)
HIGH FLYER: You suck at that.
TONY DAVIS: So are you actually going to get ready to face Black?
HIGH FLYER: What's the point? I've already faced Black. I'm facing him right now. Everything that could be... is. Time isn't linear, it's wiggly wobbly like a big rubber band ball with no tension man. I'm being both born and dying at the same time, right NOW!
(Flyer frowns.)
HIGH FLYER: What were we talking about?
(Flyer looks up to the right, trying to remember.)
HIGH FLYER: Oh yeah. Erik Black. He reminds me of myself when I was younger, except way more stoned. Like, way more stoned. I bet he's got the hash mixed in the middle of his... oh dude. We should get some hash. I mean, we DO live in California.
TONY DAVIS: Hash browns?
HIGH FLYER: Ooh. Those too.
(Flyer reaches down to his table and fumbles with his keys.)
HIGH FLYER: You're driving.
(Flyer tosses Tony the keys, only they go flying a foot and a half away from him and shatter into the frame of a hanging portrait.)
HIGH FLYER: ROOMBA! ROOMBA! COME! NOW!
(Davis sighs, dragging Flyer out of the room.)
TONY DAVIS: You don't have a roomba.
(Davis tosses Flyer through the door frame.)
HIGH FLYER: Then I gotta make another quick stop.
(Flyer raises his pointing finger to the sky.)
HIGH FLYER: Let's get ourselves a pet roomba!
(Tony lowers his head, shaking it from side to side.)
TONY DAVIS: Stop. Just stop.
(The front door closes, leaving the camera behind as it fades to black.)
HIGH FLYER (OS): Wrestleverse is going to be SO fun!