“Goddamn Sam Skull.“

 

“Who in the holy fuck is Sam Skull?”

 

[It’s several years ago.]

 

[We’re in the old Defiance office, the one we all slummed in before ESEN started picking up the checks. We recognize this particular office as the windowless cave where a legend was concieved. This is the old office of Eric Dane. This is where DEFIANCE was born.]

 

[We open on Steve Greer sprawled across a black leather sofa. The King of Pain has his boots kicked up on a tacky glass coffee table.]

 

[Eric is sitting behind an equally tacky glass desk, several open manilla folders with black and white photos are spread out in front of him. He leans forward picking up one of the photos, some tattooed nobody with cool guy hair looks back at him. Eric just shakes his head and flicks the picture back onto his desk.]

 

Eric Dane:

Some lazy fuck who’s about to lose his opportunity to work here if he doesn't learn to return my FUCKING calls, that’s who. Goddamn show is tomorrow and I’m short one fuckin’ wrestler.

 

Steve Greer:

I saw Hurley walkin’ around outside, why not book him?

 

Eric Dane:

Fuck no and what?

 

[Greer shrugs and motions to the door with his head which is currently buried in his smartphone. His mind elsewhere.]

 

Steve Greer:

Dunno’. Saw him wandering around when I came in earlier.

 

[Dane pressed a button on his desk phone.]

 

Eric Dane:

Kelly, is Eva...

 

Kelly Evans: [speakerphone]

Yeah, him and his creepy fuckin’ friend have been out here for hours. Can I call the goddamn police, please?

 

[He just shakes his head with a sigh.]

 

Eric Dane:

Send Hurley in please.

 

[He picks up and hangs up the receiver.]

 

Eric Dane:

A friend? Fucking give me strength if it’s that twitchy cousin of his.

 

[Greer chuckles, eyes still focused on his phone.]

 

Steve Greer:

Whatever man. This should be fun.

 

Eric Dane:

Kill yourself.

 

[The doorknob whacking into the back wall with a thud harkens the arrival of one Evan Hurley, former WfWA never was. He’s just a black “Tiger” Adam Burke t-shirt and a pair of beat to shit jeans topped off by a huge matted beard and long tangled hair pulled back behind his head. Just a rotten, wounded looking man with tattoos and scars running up and down his his exposed flesh.]

 

[Hurley makes a ‘B’ line towards Dane’s desk... ]

 

Steve Greer:

Sup Violent E?

 

Evan Hurley:

Haha, yeah hey Steve-o!

 

[ … flipping off Greer along the way.]

 

Evan Hurley:

Eat a dick faggot.

 

[Hurley turns back to Eric Dane who’s already scowling.]

 

Eric Dane:

Come to beg for a job, scumbag?

 

Evan Hurley:

Awww fuck you, no. Least not for me anyway.

 

[Eric just sits in stony silence.]

 

Evan Hurley: [hooking a thumb back towards the door]

I got a buddy who’s lookin’ for a job in the RASSLIN’ business. I figured you were running West Coast somethin’ or fuckin’... runnin’ the WfWA or some shit. So here we are! Well, me. He’s out front making that cunty chick o’yours nervous as SHIT. He has that effect on people, sort of a weird dude.

 

[Greer finally looks up from his phone.]

 

Steve Greer:

You talkin’ about that bald guy with that fuckin’ facial hair in the spatz?

 

Evan Hurley:

That’s the guy, yeah.

 

[Greer starts to laugh out loud.]

 

Steve Greer:

Yeah, Eric man you gotta’ check this dude out. Where did you find that goddamn circus freak?

 

[Eric Dane clears his throat, silencing the room before Evan can respond. He just nods towards the door. Evan walks over, opens it and motions for someone to come in. He’s stocky and dressed in a dark brown pinstripe suit. His head is sheared balled. Under his nose a tightly curled handlebar mustache.]

 

Evan Hurley:

Eric Dane... meet the “Bombastic” Bronson Box.

 

[Eric leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers in front of his face. He takes a few moments to eyeball the man. Greer puts away his phone now, his eyes also taking in this bizarre individual.]

 

Eric Dane:

And just what the fuck is a Bronson Box?

 

[Before Evan can even utter a word Bronson answers the question.]

 

Bronson Box:

I’m the man who’s goin’ to DEFINE your new company, sir.

 

[Eric’s eyes grow a little wider. An eyebrow raises involuntarily.]

 

Steve Greer: [to nobody in particular]

And he’s Scottish?! Oh man, this guy is fantastic.

 

[Dane crosses his arms.]

 

Eric Dane:

Is that right? Pardon me but you don’t currently fuckin’ WORK for me, do you... what was it, Boston?

 

Evan Hurley:

Bronson.

 

[Hurley slaps Box on the chest a couple times.]

 

Evan Hurley:

Bronson Box. This guy is a stone cold killer, Eric I...

 

[Dane practically shoots Darkseid-esque Omega Beams from his eyes at the former Violent One that stops the grappler cold.]

 

Eric Dane:

I want to hear it from him. How exactly are you going to DEFINE DEFIANCE, kid?

 

Steve Greer:

This oughta be good.

 

[Box just cracks a little lopsided smile.]

 

Bronson Box:

Well. A very reliable source told me you have a no-show for tomorrow. A hole right in the opening match of your debut show. You need someone to step into that spot. I believe very strongly that when I leave this office you will have given that spot to me.

 

Eric Dane:

We still have most of a day ‘till bell time, maybe he shows up.

 

[Box responds with immediate assuredness.]

 

Bronson Box:

He’s not going to show up, boy’o.

 

[Box balls his fists, shaking them out at his sides. Greer catches this little action, Dane does not. Steve just smiles and stays silent, letting the scene play out.]

 

Eric Dane:

Doesn't matter. What makes you think I don’t have ten fuckin’ WfWA scrubs in my rolodex right the fuck now? Gobs of ‘em just waiting for a call from me for an opportunity like this?

 

Bronson Box:

If that was the case you wouldn't have pictures of skinny little tattooed teenagers all over yer’ desk, lad.

 

[The air gets sucked out of the room, the only thing we hear is the sound of Greer chuckling under his breath.]

 

[Hurley just puts his hand over his eyes with a sigh.]

 

Evan Hurley:

Well, it was a good try Boxer. Come on...

 

[Hurley turns to leave, grabbing Boxer by the arm.]

 

Bronson Box:

Get your hand off me or you’re pullin’ back a stump, fella’.

 

[Bronson doesn't move an inch.]

 

Bronson Box: [stone jawed]

I want that match.

 

[The long quiet stare between Bronson and Eric lasts for what seems like an eternity. Finally Eric breaks eye contact, leans forward and starts scraping the folders and pictures together into one pile. A deep scowl on his face.]

 

Eric Dane:

Get the fuck out.

 

[Bronson stands motionless.]

 

[Dane bursts from his chair, red faced.]

 

Eric Dane:

I SAID GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY OFFICE!

 

[Dane leans forward, his fists planted on his desktop. Getting as close to Bronson’s face as he can manage.]

 

Eric Dane:

Do I DARE repeat myself you fuck? You REALLY don’t want me to repeat myself.

 

[After a tense few moments Box smiles weakly and turns silently towards the door.]

 

[Evan lingers as Box passes through door and back out into the lobby. We can hear Kelly Evans let loose a few cruel jabs as Bronson presumably passes back by her desk.]

 

Evan Hurley:

I, um...

 

Eric Dane: [flat]

… What.

 

[Evan collects his thoughts before saying his piece.]

 

Evan Hurley:

For years you motherfuckers told me I was nothing. It took me just as long to realize you were all right. I’m not good at this sport. But all the fuckin’ shit you guys said I lacked? You just let aaaaaall that shit just walk out of your stupid little office, Jack. 

 

[Evan starts out the door.]

 

Evan Hurley:

But fuck me right? Who am I to tell Team fuckin’ Danger what to do. Good luck with your wrestling promotion, boys. Hope it’s a blast.

 

[The door closes behind him. There’s a long drawn out silence between the two men.]

 

Steve Greer:

You’ve gotta’ sign that fuckin’ guy Eric, come on man. You know he probably took out that Skull fuck to make himself the oppertunity.

 

[Eric chunks the pile of random paper, folder and photo into a nearby bin. He then leans back in his chair with a deep sigh.]

 

Steve Greer:

Awww, fuck you. You’re the one who wanted to open another goddamn wrestling promotion. I told you we should diversify Team Danger’s portfolio a little bit. Radio DJ’s, hip hop moguls... [mumbling] a mother fuckin’ used car lot, a goddamn lawn care service, fuckin’ anything. Hell, me’n Ty’s gonna buy up a buncha Taco Bell franchises!

 

[Greer just pulls back out his phone when he realizes Dane is ignoring him.]

 

[Eric’s eyes are silently locked on the door to his office. After a few moments he leans forward.]

 

Eric Dane:

Kelly, please go tell Slater down in security to never let Mr. Hurley back into this building.

 

[Deep sigh.]

 

Eric Dane:

And go find Mr. Hurley’s friend. Tell him to find his way to the arena with his gear. Maybe he’ll get booked, maybe he won’t.

 

Kelly Evans: [speakerphone]

Do I get his a plane ticket?

 

Eric Dane:

Yes. No. … yeah, no. Tell the fucker to hitchhike if he has to.

 

[Hanging up the phone.]

 

Eric Dane:

Lets see how bad Bronson fuckin’ Box wants to wrestle for DEFIANCE.

 

 

[Fade.]