Just a Typical Press Conference with the #NewAce
Jan 11, 2017 8:34:39 GMT -5
Dick Devereaux likes this
Post by Deleted on Jan 11, 2017 8:34:39 GMT -5
OOC: This was my sample RP. I hope you enjoy! ^__^
The conference room was small, but it was packed with people that, quite frankly, looked bored out of their skulls. A representative of the Saito Clan wrestling family had arranged for this conference, had invited reporters, photographers and cameramen and yet the guest of honour had yet to arrive, close to twenty minutes after she was supposed to.
“<How much longer are we supposed to wait?>” asked one of the photo guys to the middle-aged woman sitting behind the large table at the end of the room. The woman, Sumie Saito, fixed the man with a stare that was hard enough to shatter stone.
“<You’ll wait for as long as I say you have to,>” responded the elder Saito woman.
“<But it’s obvious your niece isn’t coming, Mrs. Saito. Perhaps we can-->”
“<What part of ‘You’ll wait for as long as I say’ don’t you understand?>” snapped Sumie. “<Are you deaf as well as thick? You must be a true disappointment to your parents, idiot.>”
That seemed to shut the man up. However, another person, a reporter, decided that now was the best time to speak up.
“<But I have to pick up my kids from school in...twenty minutes!>” she complained.
Sumie looked about as concerned about the reporter and her kids as she was about as impressed. Which is, to say, she was not. “<Oh, you want to grab the little kiddies from their crappy public school?>” she asked the reporter, and then pointed to the large double doors to her right. “<There’s the doors. Go. Pick your kids up. You’ll be spending a lot of time with them after I tell your manager you’re not doing your job.>”
The double doors swung open, and the young woman of the hour stepped through. Sara Yoshiko Saint, better known to the wrestling community as Saint Saito, was dressed far too casually for a press conference in her navy blue hoodie, grey pants and baseball cap. Everybody present except for Sumie reacted quickly, snapping photographs of Sara when she decided to give them all a pose for them; beating her chest with a fist twice before she raised that fist in the air before dropping it a moment later, rolling her eyes as she stepped behind the large table beside her aunt.
“<I’d tell you all ‘Sorry for being so late,’>” she began, speaking Japanese into the microphone that was provided for her. Though she was an American, born and raised in San Francisco, she spoke the language as though she were a native of Tokyo. Having a Japanese mother helped in that regard. “<...But I’m not sorry, so if you’re expecting an apology...>”
Sara gave the crowd a short, yet loud round of laughter, and the room was filled with the collective groans of everybody else. Except for Sumie Saito, of course: she herself had only walked in roughly five minutes before her niece did.
“<Alright, so…>” she began to play with her smartphone, clearly more interested in texting than she was in this press conference. “<Yeah, I got a date with some girl friends and a DDR machine in ten...so if we could-->”
“<A moment, Yoshiko-chan,>” Sumie interrupted, using her niece’s middle name as she preferred to use. She pointed to the lady reporter who complained earlier. “<You,>” she barked, “<didn’t I tell you to piss off? Go on, get out of here, idiot.>”
“<But--but I…>”
“Did she stutter, bish?!” demanded Sara with an impatient glare, using her native English before she quickly switched back to Japanese. “<Hit the bricks, already!>”
The conference room was as silent as a tomb as the lady reporter slowly rose from her seat and walked out through the doors. She looked as though she were about to cry, not that was any concern to either Saito lady.
“<Can we---can we get the show on the road, now?>” said Sara, returning to her texting, as she muttered in English, ”Got better things to do, you know…”
“Uh, hai…” started one of the remaining reporters, coughing nervously as he began to read out his question. “<It’s been reported that you have sent out an application and an audition tape to a gaijin wrestling promotion in America, a…’Union Battleground?’ I’m curious: why have you decided to return to America after enjoying a successful career here in Japan?>”
“<I liked the look of their website,>” she answered, not even bothering to look at the man.
“<I’m sorry?>”
“You certainly are,” replied the younger Saito in English, then Sumie decided to speak.
“<Yoshiko-chan already answered your question,>” she said. “<Is there another one?>”
“Excuse me, Saint Saito?” said an American reporter, who raised his hand like he was a little kid in class about to address his teacher. “What do you think the talent guys over at Union Battleground will say if they take a look at your audition tape?”
“‘If?’” Sara fixed him with a look that suggested he had gone full retard, and then she rolled her eyes at him as she answered his question. “I think the thing you need to keep in that empty little head of yours,” she said as her aunt translated for the Japanese speakers, “is that they call me the New Ace of Pro Wrestling for a reason. If those guys over at Union Battleground have any business sense at all, they’re gonna take a look at that tape and thank God almighty that Saint Saito wants in their little club. Then they’re gonna get on that phone and they’re gonna say, ‘Yes, we’d love to have you in the roster, mighty Saito-sama. Here’s a big fat paycheck to start you over!’”
One of the gathered crowd let out a brief, quiet laugh.
“‘Why do you say so?’ you ask? Because--and this is the really important part--I’m Saint Saito, the New Ace of Pro Wrestling, the Best of the Next damn Generation, that’s why! Now, I can go on, and on and list all my accomplishments and brag about all my achievements and all that boring jazz. I can talk to you about how I’m this heir of two wrestling legacies, and I can tell you all about how I got into this business and kicking ass at the ripe old age of thirteen, but that’s why they invented Google, motherfucker. Go wikipedia that shit or something if you’re so interested...or you can take my word for it and consider your question answered. It’s as simple as that.”
And with that, Sara turned her attention back to her smartphone. Hands were raised again, and Sumie selected the next reporter to speak.
“<Saito-san,>” said a middle-aged, distinguished looking gentleman, holding his old school notebook and pencil in his hands, “<if any of your potential roster-mates in Union Battleground were to be here in this room, what would you say to them?>”
Sara didn’t answer immediately. In fact, Sara didn’t answer at all, for she was embroiled in whatever was on the screen of her phone.
“<Uh...Saito-san?>” urged the reporter. “<Saito-san...?>”
“<Hey, Aunt Sumie, you ever see this before?>” Sara asked her aunt, completely ignoring the man before showing Aunt Sumie what was on her phone. They both watched the screen for a few moments, when both Saito women suddenly burst into laughter.
“<Oh my, Yoshiko-chan!>” Aunt Sumie eventually said in between bouts of laughter. “<I think your mother would kill us both if she ever-->”
“<Saito-san!!>”
If looks could kill, then that man would already be dead. “The fuck?” said Sara, in English, whereas Sumie simply glared silently at the man.
“<I asked if-- >”
“<I know what you said, asshole,>” cut in Sara. She leaned in closer to the table, her eyes never leaving the man as she answered his question. “<When you say ‘potential roster-mates,’ who exactly do you mean, Chief?>” she asked him, her voice low and dangerous. “<Do you mean Baldilocks One, Two and Three? Or maybe you were talking about Blonde, Blonder and Holy-Shit-Use-A-Little-Less-Peroxide-Next-Time-Lady, or the Masked Megaturd who thinks he’s a space alien or whatever he’s supposed to be? Oooh! Were you talking about the small army of generic white guys of varying levels of douchebaggery? I bet you were talking about those guys, weren’t you?>”
“<I...I...>”
Sara cut him off with a gesture of her hand. “<Doesn’t matter,>” she said. “<Truth be told, they’re just like everybody else whose ass I inevitably beat down: I wouldn’t even give them any thought at all if I didn’t have to step into a ring with them. Hell…!>” she scoffed, “<I barely even give them any thought as it is! So, what would I say to any of them if they were in the same room as me? ...You’d have to watch me on Union Battleground to know the answer to that one.>”
Another reporter was about to open her mouth when Sara suddenly rose from her seat.
“<Okay, I’ve answered enough of your questions,>” she said, curtly. “<Screw you guys, I’m going to go hang out. Peace! Let’s go, Aunt Sumie...>”
And with that, Sara rested her microphone back onto the table, and stepped around to the front with her Aunt Sumie. Cameras snapped and flicked with flashes as the two Saito women posed for them, Sumie with her arms outstretched and Sara on one knee, pounding her chest a couple of times with her fist before raising it in the air. They maintained the pose for just a few brief moments, before Sara rose to her feet and the two Saitos strode toward the door. Sara’s hand grasped the handle and opened one of the doors, allowing her aunt to step past her and into the corridor outside. Sara remained in the conference room, as everybody else was about to make their own exits, and decided to return to the large table, picking up her microphone once again.
“Actually,” she began, speaking in English before she turned to face the gentleman she spoke to earlier. “There is something I’d like to say to my ‘potential roster-mates.’”
Like a viper, Sara’s hand struck, gripping the man by the tie and she slowly drew him closer to him. The shock was etched on his bespectacled face. He clearly didn’t expect such a reaction from the one they called Saint Saito.
Slowly, clearly, she spoke.
“Omae wa mou...shindeiru.”
She released the man with a rough shove, then took a step back and let the microphone in her hand drop to the floor with a heavy, amplified thud, and the high-pitched whine of feedback filled the room, causing some of the crowd to wince and cover their ears. Sara flashed everyone an arrogant smirk, and then she strode out of that room like she owned the place.
The conference room was small, but it was packed with people that, quite frankly, looked bored out of their skulls. A representative of the Saito Clan wrestling family had arranged for this conference, had invited reporters, photographers and cameramen and yet the guest of honour had yet to arrive, close to twenty minutes after she was supposed to.
“<How much longer are we supposed to wait?>” asked one of the photo guys to the middle-aged woman sitting behind the large table at the end of the room. The woman, Sumie Saito, fixed the man with a stare that was hard enough to shatter stone.
“<You’ll wait for as long as I say you have to,>” responded the elder Saito woman.
“<But it’s obvious your niece isn’t coming, Mrs. Saito. Perhaps we can-->”
“<What part of ‘You’ll wait for as long as I say’ don’t you understand?>” snapped Sumie. “<Are you deaf as well as thick? You must be a true disappointment to your parents, idiot.>”
That seemed to shut the man up. However, another person, a reporter, decided that now was the best time to speak up.
“<But I have to pick up my kids from school in...twenty minutes!>” she complained.
Sumie looked about as concerned about the reporter and her kids as she was about as impressed. Which is, to say, she was not. “<Oh, you want to grab the little kiddies from their crappy public school?>” she asked the reporter, and then pointed to the large double doors to her right. “<There’s the doors. Go. Pick your kids up. You’ll be spending a lot of time with them after I tell your manager you’re not doing your job.>”
The double doors swung open, and the young woman of the hour stepped through. Sara Yoshiko Saint, better known to the wrestling community as Saint Saito, was dressed far too casually for a press conference in her navy blue hoodie, grey pants and baseball cap. Everybody present except for Sumie reacted quickly, snapping photographs of Sara when she decided to give them all a pose for them; beating her chest with a fist twice before she raised that fist in the air before dropping it a moment later, rolling her eyes as she stepped behind the large table beside her aunt.
“<I’d tell you all ‘Sorry for being so late,’>” she began, speaking Japanese into the microphone that was provided for her. Though she was an American, born and raised in San Francisco, she spoke the language as though she were a native of Tokyo. Having a Japanese mother helped in that regard. “<...But I’m not sorry, so if you’re expecting an apology...>”
Sara gave the crowd a short, yet loud round of laughter, and the room was filled with the collective groans of everybody else. Except for Sumie Saito, of course: she herself had only walked in roughly five minutes before her niece did.
“<Alright, so…>” she began to play with her smartphone, clearly more interested in texting than she was in this press conference. “<Yeah, I got a date with some girl friends and a DDR machine in ten...so if we could-->”
“<A moment, Yoshiko-chan,>” Sumie interrupted, using her niece’s middle name as she preferred to use. She pointed to the lady reporter who complained earlier. “<You,>” she barked, “<didn’t I tell you to piss off? Go on, get out of here, idiot.>”
“<But--but I…>”
“Did she stutter, bish?!” demanded Sara with an impatient glare, using her native English before she quickly switched back to Japanese. “<Hit the bricks, already!>”
The conference room was as silent as a tomb as the lady reporter slowly rose from her seat and walked out through the doors. She looked as though she were about to cry, not that was any concern to either Saito lady.
“<Can we---can we get the show on the road, now?>” said Sara, returning to her texting, as she muttered in English, ”Got better things to do, you know…”
“Uh, hai…” started one of the remaining reporters, coughing nervously as he began to read out his question. “<It’s been reported that you have sent out an application and an audition tape to a gaijin wrestling promotion in America, a…’Union Battleground?’ I’m curious: why have you decided to return to America after enjoying a successful career here in Japan?>”
“<I liked the look of their website,>” she answered, not even bothering to look at the man.
“<I’m sorry?>”
“You certainly are,” replied the younger Saito in English, then Sumie decided to speak.
“<Yoshiko-chan already answered your question,>” she said. “<Is there another one?>”
“Excuse me, Saint Saito?” said an American reporter, who raised his hand like he was a little kid in class about to address his teacher. “What do you think the talent guys over at Union Battleground will say if they take a look at your audition tape?”
“‘If?’” Sara fixed him with a look that suggested he had gone full retard, and then she rolled her eyes at him as she answered his question. “I think the thing you need to keep in that empty little head of yours,” she said as her aunt translated for the Japanese speakers, “is that they call me the New Ace of Pro Wrestling for a reason. If those guys over at Union Battleground have any business sense at all, they’re gonna take a look at that tape and thank God almighty that Saint Saito wants in their little club. Then they’re gonna get on that phone and they’re gonna say, ‘Yes, we’d love to have you in the roster, mighty Saito-sama. Here’s a big fat paycheck to start you over!’”
One of the gathered crowd let out a brief, quiet laugh.
“‘Why do you say so?’ you ask? Because--and this is the really important part--I’m Saint Saito, the New Ace of Pro Wrestling, the Best of the Next damn Generation, that’s why! Now, I can go on, and on and list all my accomplishments and brag about all my achievements and all that boring jazz. I can talk to you about how I’m this heir of two wrestling legacies, and I can tell you all about how I got into this business and kicking ass at the ripe old age of thirteen, but that’s why they invented Google, motherfucker. Go wikipedia that shit or something if you’re so interested...or you can take my word for it and consider your question answered. It’s as simple as that.”
And with that, Sara turned her attention back to her smartphone. Hands were raised again, and Sumie selected the next reporter to speak.
“<Saito-san,>” said a middle-aged, distinguished looking gentleman, holding his old school notebook and pencil in his hands, “<if any of your potential roster-mates in Union Battleground were to be here in this room, what would you say to them?>”
Sara didn’t answer immediately. In fact, Sara didn’t answer at all, for she was embroiled in whatever was on the screen of her phone.
“<Uh...Saito-san?>” urged the reporter. “<Saito-san...?>”
“<Hey, Aunt Sumie, you ever see this before?>” Sara asked her aunt, completely ignoring the man before showing Aunt Sumie what was on her phone. They both watched the screen for a few moments, when both Saito women suddenly burst into laughter.
“<Oh my, Yoshiko-chan!>” Aunt Sumie eventually said in between bouts of laughter. “<I think your mother would kill us both if she ever-->”
“<Saito-san!!>”
If looks could kill, then that man would already be dead. “The fuck?” said Sara, in English, whereas Sumie simply glared silently at the man.
“<I asked if-- >”
“<I know what you said, asshole,>” cut in Sara. She leaned in closer to the table, her eyes never leaving the man as she answered his question. “<When you say ‘potential roster-mates,’ who exactly do you mean, Chief?>” she asked him, her voice low and dangerous. “<Do you mean Baldilocks One, Two and Three? Or maybe you were talking about Blonde, Blonder and Holy-Shit-Use-A-Little-Less-Peroxide-Next-Time-Lady, or the Masked Megaturd who thinks he’s a space alien or whatever he’s supposed to be? Oooh! Were you talking about the small army of generic white guys of varying levels of douchebaggery? I bet you were talking about those guys, weren’t you?>”
“<I...I...>”
Sara cut him off with a gesture of her hand. “<Doesn’t matter,>” she said. “<Truth be told, they’re just like everybody else whose ass I inevitably beat down: I wouldn’t even give them any thought at all if I didn’t have to step into a ring with them. Hell…!>” she scoffed, “<I barely even give them any thought as it is! So, what would I say to any of them if they were in the same room as me? ...You’d have to watch me on Union Battleground to know the answer to that one.>”
Another reporter was about to open her mouth when Sara suddenly rose from her seat.
“<Okay, I’ve answered enough of your questions,>” she said, curtly. “<Screw you guys, I’m going to go hang out. Peace! Let’s go, Aunt Sumie...>”
And with that, Sara rested her microphone back onto the table, and stepped around to the front with her Aunt Sumie. Cameras snapped and flicked with flashes as the two Saito women posed for them, Sumie with her arms outstretched and Sara on one knee, pounding her chest a couple of times with her fist before raising it in the air. They maintained the pose for just a few brief moments, before Sara rose to her feet and the two Saitos strode toward the door. Sara’s hand grasped the handle and opened one of the doors, allowing her aunt to step past her and into the corridor outside. Sara remained in the conference room, as everybody else was about to make their own exits, and decided to return to the large table, picking up her microphone once again.
“Actually,” she began, speaking in English before she turned to face the gentleman she spoke to earlier. “There is something I’d like to say to my ‘potential roster-mates.’”
Like a viper, Sara’s hand struck, gripping the man by the tie and she slowly drew him closer to him. The shock was etched on his bespectacled face. He clearly didn’t expect such a reaction from the one they called Saint Saito.
Slowly, clearly, she spoke.
“Omae wa mou...shindeiru.”
She released the man with a rough shove, then took a step back and let the microphone in her hand drop to the floor with a heavy, amplified thud, and the high-pitched whine of feedback filled the room, causing some of the crowd to wince and cover their ears. Sara flashed everyone an arrogant smirk, and then she strode out of that room like she owned the place.