Post by photographerbob on Feb 27, 2015 22:51:52 GMT -6
Bob: Aaaand that oughta do it.
We fade in to see Bob Brooks planting one of his many small camera devices into a small ventilation shaft somewhere inside the Landon Arena where he'll be competing tomorrow. He's wearing a pair of jeans and a white tank top, also sporting a blue backpack which was probably used to carry his spy cams into the arena in the first place. He looks content with himself when he is suddenly stopped by an unknown security guard.
Guard: Stop right there!
Oh shit! Bob's eyes go wide as he looks like a deer caught in the headlights. The guard walks up to him, pointing a large flashlight at his face.
Guard: What are you doin here? Trying to steal something in that bag of yours!?
Bob: I um, ofcourse not officer.
Honestly the guard is probably like sixty years old and Bob could probably just kick his ass. But Bob is instinctively a coward, and thus acts like a child whose hand is caught in the cookie jar.
Guard: I'll be the judge of that. Give me that sack of yours boy!
Bob is too shocked to properly respond, as the elderly guard just rips the backpack off his shoulders. Not like, literally rip, as in causing a tear, more like mildly pulling it off in the appropriate manner. The guard turns the bag upside down, and to his, ours, and even Bob's surprise the damn thing is empty. It looks like Bob has already placed all his little gadgets around the building.
Bob: See told you officer, I haven't stolen a thing.
Guard: Haven't stolen a thing YET! Still doesn't explain why you're here.
Bob: Oh that's easy. You see I'm Bob Brooks, like, THEE Bob Brooks. I'm just sort of scouting things out ya know, I compete here tomorrow for Unchained Wrestling Alliance. Wanted to get to know all the hallways and stuff, make sure the ground is even everywhere and stuff. I'd hate to slip and hurt myself before my match.
Guard: Likely story, let me see here.
Old man security guard pulls out a pair of reading glasses, then a promotional card for the upcoming show that lists all the participants. Meanwhile Bob looks up at the hidden spy cam in the vent, hoping the guard doesn't spot it.
Guard: I'm not seeing your name on this flyer here hotshot. No Bob or Brooks anywhere to be found.
Bob: Well yeah, you see, that's because like, I'm not actually on the card card ya know. Like, okay there are the people who wrestle on camera, streaming online or whatever, but then you've got guys like me, fluffers or whatever. We go out before the cameras are ready, get the crowd warmed up and what not."
Guard: Likely story, and who are you facing in this fluff match?
Bob: What?
Guard: You wrestle, means you got an opponent, someone who can back up your story, who is it?
For some reason Bob looks utterly dumbfounded and confused, as he slowly begins to backup.
Bob: Well I um, shit I'm not sure.
Guard: How could you not know your opponent?
Bob: Listen man I'm just picking up a paycheck ya know. Like I said nobody gonna even see our match. Half the people won't even be in the building yet, the other half will probably be in the concession stands, it's fucking filler man. I know it's a guy, because I'd be much less likely to forget about my opponent if it were a smoking hot chick ya know. Some real low rated nobody that you've probably never heard of, I don't even think he's won a match here yet. Hell a loss to me could literally end up getting him his pink slip.
A lightbulb goes off in Bob's head. Not like, a literal lightbulb, like he has an idea.
Bob: Speaking of pink slips, I can't help but to wonder how appreciative the higher ups will be about a security guard holding up one of their stars. I mean right now I'm talking to you, but I could be doing promotional work. Signing autographs or recording a video or something of that nature. You know, earning my keep. A man your age loses an easy gig like this, what else is there for you to do? Janitor work? Go from protecting these halls to mopping up puke and piss?
The guard actually starts to panic, as Bob's bluff appears to have worked. He hands Bob his bag, and begins to walk away from the scene.
Guard: Ah yes, well sorry for the hold up Mr. Brooks. Best of luck in your upcoming match.
The guard runs off, or well, sort of hobbles because he's old as fuck. Bob grabs his bag and smiles, letting out a soft laugh.
Bob: Ha, like I'm gonna go do promotional work for a match nobody is gonna even witness. That said I should probably go double check all the cameras I set up, hate to have one pointing in the wrong direction.
With that Bob heads down the other side of the hallway, as the camera fades to black.
We fade in to see Bob Brooks planting one of his many small camera devices into a small ventilation shaft somewhere inside the Landon Arena where he'll be competing tomorrow. He's wearing a pair of jeans and a white tank top, also sporting a blue backpack which was probably used to carry his spy cams into the arena in the first place. He looks content with himself when he is suddenly stopped by an unknown security guard.
Guard: Stop right there!
Oh shit! Bob's eyes go wide as he looks like a deer caught in the headlights. The guard walks up to him, pointing a large flashlight at his face.
Guard: What are you doin here? Trying to steal something in that bag of yours!?
Bob: I um, ofcourse not officer.
Honestly the guard is probably like sixty years old and Bob could probably just kick his ass. But Bob is instinctively a coward, and thus acts like a child whose hand is caught in the cookie jar.
Guard: I'll be the judge of that. Give me that sack of yours boy!
Bob is too shocked to properly respond, as the elderly guard just rips the backpack off his shoulders. Not like, literally rip, as in causing a tear, more like mildly pulling it off in the appropriate manner. The guard turns the bag upside down, and to his, ours, and even Bob's surprise the damn thing is empty. It looks like Bob has already placed all his little gadgets around the building.
Bob: See told you officer, I haven't stolen a thing.
Guard: Haven't stolen a thing YET! Still doesn't explain why you're here.
Bob: Oh that's easy. You see I'm Bob Brooks, like, THEE Bob Brooks. I'm just sort of scouting things out ya know, I compete here tomorrow for Unchained Wrestling Alliance. Wanted to get to know all the hallways and stuff, make sure the ground is even everywhere and stuff. I'd hate to slip and hurt myself before my match.
Guard: Likely story, let me see here.
Old man security guard pulls out a pair of reading glasses, then a promotional card for the upcoming show that lists all the participants. Meanwhile Bob looks up at the hidden spy cam in the vent, hoping the guard doesn't spot it.
Guard: I'm not seeing your name on this flyer here hotshot. No Bob or Brooks anywhere to be found.
Bob: Well yeah, you see, that's because like, I'm not actually on the card card ya know. Like, okay there are the people who wrestle on camera, streaming online or whatever, but then you've got guys like me, fluffers or whatever. We go out before the cameras are ready, get the crowd warmed up and what not."
Guard: Likely story, and who are you facing in this fluff match?
Bob: What?
Guard: You wrestle, means you got an opponent, someone who can back up your story, who is it?
For some reason Bob looks utterly dumbfounded and confused, as he slowly begins to backup.
Bob: Well I um, shit I'm not sure.
Guard: How could you not know your opponent?
Bob: Listen man I'm just picking up a paycheck ya know. Like I said nobody gonna even see our match. Half the people won't even be in the building yet, the other half will probably be in the concession stands, it's fucking filler man. I know it's a guy, because I'd be much less likely to forget about my opponent if it were a smoking hot chick ya know. Some real low rated nobody that you've probably never heard of, I don't even think he's won a match here yet. Hell a loss to me could literally end up getting him his pink slip.
A lightbulb goes off in Bob's head. Not like, a literal lightbulb, like he has an idea.
Bob: Speaking of pink slips, I can't help but to wonder how appreciative the higher ups will be about a security guard holding up one of their stars. I mean right now I'm talking to you, but I could be doing promotional work. Signing autographs or recording a video or something of that nature. You know, earning my keep. A man your age loses an easy gig like this, what else is there for you to do? Janitor work? Go from protecting these halls to mopping up puke and piss?
The guard actually starts to panic, as Bob's bluff appears to have worked. He hands Bob his bag, and begins to walk away from the scene.
Guard: Ah yes, well sorry for the hold up Mr. Brooks. Best of luck in your upcoming match.
The guard runs off, or well, sort of hobbles because he's old as fuck. Bob grabs his bag and smiles, letting out a soft laugh.
Bob: Ha, like I'm gonna go do promotional work for a match nobody is gonna even witness. That said I should probably go double check all the cameras I set up, hate to have one pointing in the wrong direction.
With that Bob heads down the other side of the hallway, as the camera fades to black.