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"The poet doesn't invent. He listens."; - Jean Cocteau. Nick and Jaime RP.
Topic Started: Mar 25 2008, 12:49 PM (113 Views)
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I'm just a soldier. I'm not worthy.
[ *  *  * ]
Our scene opens in a large luxurious hotel in Manchester. As exclusive as the hotel may be however, the furniture in it still consists of the same basic items, just a little nicer: A large king size bed, a flat screen TV mounted on the wall opposite the aforementioned sleeper, and a large mahogany writing desk, at which Nick Allen is currently sat, amidst a sea of screwed up papers. In one hand is a biro, the end of which has been mutilated beyond recognition due to Nick's thoughtful chewing. As the camera settles on Nick's face, his eyes are rolled upwards in careful thought.

NA: Sweet Miss Lee... No, Dear Miss Lee, you've got to see...Dear Miss Lee, I'll help you be... help you see... set you free... keep your bees... like your knees... Ah, fuck it.

Nick screws up another piece of paper, tossing it over his shoulder. He turns to see if he got it in the bin, and is dismayed to see that in fact, not a single piece has made it to the wastepaper basket, his room now a minefield, littered with balls of grammatical garbage.

NA: This is gonna be harder than I thought. Poor girl, doesn't deserve all the crap she's been through.

Nick once again puts pen to paper:

Hey there Jaime, if its all the same... Excuse me Jaime, if that's your name... claim...frame... lame...

Another piece of paper misses the bin. In fact, this one barely misses the person just walking through the door to Nick's hotel room...
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[ *  *  *  *  * ]
Jaime tears her way through the hotel corridor, anxious to put everything and everyone behind her. This had been quite the whirlwind of nights as far as Jaime’s run-ins have been concerned. It should be noted that she’s still clutching to that t-shirt as if it were some security blanket that is ensuring her safety. It seems to work like magic as she glances up to see her hotel room door coming up.

With her head back down as she braves on through tonight’s storm, she picks up the pace towards the sanctuary of her hotel room. So desperate to get out of the line of more crossfire, she doesn’t even notice the oddity of her hotel room being unlocked, nor did she even think to pull out her key to begin with. Interesting.

She forces the door all the way open, slamming it shut the second she’s within. With her back to the room, she breathes a sigh of relief against the door before her foot nails a sharp toe-kick right into the wood. She throws her back down to the floor and clutches the t-shirt to her chest as she spins around and rests her back against the door.

That’s when she finally opens her eyes to what her room looks like. What a horrible maid service leaves hundreds of crumpled up papers all over the floor? Not a single one is even in the wastebasket. And what kind of maid service leaves a 6’7”, 306 pound man in her room?!

Frozen like a deer in headlights, Jaime stares at “The Firm” sitting at the large mahogany writing desk staring right back at her. Wonder how long it’s been since a woman barged into his hotel room…

Jaime: What are you doing in my room?
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NA: Er, your room? I'm awful sorry Miss Lee, but this is my room. 217.

Nick pulls out a key with a large keyfob attached to it, the numbers '217' engaved on it.

NA: See?

JL: Oh, sorry. I'll...

NA: But, while you're here... Have a seat. I would offer you a drink, but all I got is Special Brew, and that ain't the most ladylike stuff on the planet...

As he says the above, Nick is leaning over and pulling two cans out of his minifridge. He then pulls out another for Jaime, tilting it towards her.

NA: But still, ya want one?

The Hellcat shakes her head slowly, politely declining the offer of what is essentially a can of carbonated rat poison.

NA: I'm sorry about the state of the room 'n' all. If I knew I was gonna have company I'dve tidied up...

Nick looks over at the splintered door. Looks like he's paying for that one...

NA: ...And reinforced the door. Still, you're hear now, and my spidey-sense tells me you aren't in the best of moods. What's wrong, kiddo?

JL: What are all these pieces of paper for?...

Jaime bends down, picking up one of the crumpled up balls of paper. Sitting on the edge of the bed she begins to unfurl it, before Nick quickly knocks it out of her hands.

NA: They're... er... plans. Yeah, plans and diagrams for mine and Jay's match this week. Yeah. And... Er... They're top secret because I know you know Kennedy and I just can't risk you knowing and spilling, even accidentally.

There is a second of silence as Nick tries to hold Jaime's disbelieving stare...

NA: Alright.... That's not really what they are. You know that poem I wrote the other week about that match with Tier and Prime and Ki...Key... The Japanese fella?

Nod.

NA: Well, I heard that you liked it, and I... well... what I thought was... I figured.... Well, erm... Maybe if I like, wrote you something, that you'd... be happy? Cheer up? I dunno... You've got lovely eyes, but they've looked so sad for the last few weeks.

Jaime looks at Nick, cracking a small smile at how embarrassing the big man finds admitting that he was writing a poem for a giiiiiiiirl.

NA: Yeah, I know. But, well, problem is, I've not really been able to come up with anything decent. I thought I was on to something rhyming 'Jaime Lee' with 'bees', but then I realised that there wasn't a whole lot I could do with that. I promise I'll write you something, though. You'll have something beautiful and moving to take with you for your match on Sunday. Anyway, I do believe you're avoiding my question...

Nick cracks open his first beer, draining half of it. He then moves over to the bed, sits down next to Jaime, and repeats the question:

NA: Now, What's wrong, kiddo?
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Jaime sits in silence, even after Nick repeats the question, making it clear that he would very much like an answer. But Jaime doesn’t give one. Instead she sits on the bed, still in silence, as her eyes move from crumpled up paper to crumpled up paper to even more crumpled up papers. There sure are a lot of crumpled up papers, showing that a lot of time and effort have gone into this.

Jaime: For me? You did all this… for me?

Jaime’s free hand comes up to her chest, a mixture of indicting just who “me” is but also seemingly moved by the gesture of a complete stranger to go to such lengths to make her smile.

Jaime: You don’t even know me.

Nick nods his head, giving a mild shrug of the shoulders before taking another sip of his rat poison. Apparently he’s already come to the conclusion that they aren’t exactly friends or even acquaintances. In fact, they may very well be their first meeting together.

Jaime: Thank you. It’s very sweet but you really don’t need to bother. Nobody really does.

Nick quirks a curious eyebrow at that last comment. What does that mean? That nobody needs to really bother or that nobody ever does bother? It’s only then that Jaime’s eyes travel from the crumpled up papers to her lap, where that t-shirt is still held in her grasp. That reminds her exactly what is wrong and how patient Nick has been in her answering said question.

Jaime: Nothing’s wrong… nothing new, that is.

For a brief moment she glances to the side to give Nick a momentary glance. For whatever reason, she can’t seem to keep watch on him and her eyes go back to her lap.

Jaime: I’m just tired. Of everything and everyone. Tired of my life being out of control ever since Roxie…

And she trails off at that name. Is Roxie to blame for everything that’s gone wrong in her life? Could losing a championship really be the catalyst for all her problems? That seems kind of materialistic if you ask me. But maybe it’s not the fact she lost a title and just the fact that she gave up on the grandest stage of them all (no, not WrestleMania) to someone that’s sole purpose was to prove that Jaime wasn’t good enough. Didn’t she pretty much succeed by making Jaime quit?

Jaime: Do you still love her? Even after everything she’s done… is it okay to still love her?

Her? Roxie? Oh, Nick Allen’s ex-wife? Is that who Jaime is talking about? Or is this topic just a smoke-screen for something else on Jaime’s mind? Perhaps a topic more closely related to what occurred before she rushed into this room and she is reminded of thanks to that shirt clutched into her grasp?
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Nick snorts a quiet laugh.

NA: I wish I could lover her. My life, and the lives of those three little souls I call my family, would be thousands of times easier if I could even begin to forgive her...

Nick stands. For the second time this week he's got a tear in his eye... He turns his back on Jaime and continues.

NA: But I gave her everything. Every single penny, every second, every ounce of strength, every word, and still, I wasn't good enough for her. Being the man who worked every hour god sends just to keep us fed and clothed just wasn't enough, it seems, and I don't know how I could ever love anyone so shallow, so conceited. This woman got up and left her three children. I was prepared to fight tooth and nail through the courts to keep them, but no. On Christmas Eve, she upped and left for her new fella. I dunno if you remember, at the Nenninnee Sennooj...

JL: Nensai Senjou.

NA: Yeah, Nensai Senjou... Huh, that's the first time I've ever been able to say that. Thanks. But anyway, you remember the guy I jumped into the crowd after?

Nod.

NA: Well, that was him, anyway. Scumbag.

Nick suddenly realises - He's been talking about his feelings for longer than he has ever talked about them before, all with a perfect stranger. Maybe that's what makes it easier?

NA: ...So yeah. I figured that If anybody knows what it's like to have a bad day, it's me, and I hear all the backstage gossip and what's going on from Jay, fucking...

Nick stops, and blushes. He might be a thug, but it's just won't do to swear in front of a lady...

NA: Pardon me, I forgot myself.

A swig of beer...

NA: But yeah, I've seen you running around looking pretty upset, and I've also seen you kick a hole in my door, and it doesn't take a mind reader to work out what all that means. Now, if you don't want to tell me exactly what's wrong that's fine. Nothin' worse than being forced to talk. but...

Nick places a mammoth hand on Jaime's shoulder.

NA: If you wanna talk, talk to me. I'm a damn good listener.

A smile on Nick's face lets Jaime know what we already do - Nick isn't being predatory, hoping to pluck the injured lamb for the flock. He's doing this out of his own concern as a human being. He finishes one can, emits an involuntary judder from the gas, then opens the other. He takes a slurp, removing the foamy head from the top of the can, and waits...
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[ *  *  *  *  * ]
Jaime sits in complete silence once again. Everything Nick has just opened up to her, things she never expected to hear come from a man of his stature, has her thinking about everything going on in her own life. She’s never been cheated on, but she knows what it’s like to be deceived. And if he can’t forgive his own wife, a woman he vowed to God he would stay by through the good and the bad, how is it right that she can forgive.

She refuses to look up at the friendly ear that has placed his hand upon her shoulder. So many people have placed themselves in this very same position, anxious to lend an ear to hear any and everything that she’s got to talk about in her personal life. But something about Nick’s offer doesn’t leave Jaime defensive or questioning his motives. In fact, something about Nick has Jaime uttering something we might have thought she’d never utter…

Jaime: I love him…

Still unable to look up from her own lap, Jaime shakes her head at her words. Does she doubt them? Is she ashamed of them?

Jaime: Everything that he’s done to me in the past. He lied to me. He used me. He played on my feelings… and they’re still in me.

Finally, Jaime raises her eyes to look up at her new friend.

Jaime: Am I wrong to love him? Is there something wrong with me?

Well, I’m not sure Nick was expecting to be put on the spot like this. Who is he to confirm or deny Jaime’s sanity in loving a man who has hurt her in the past? Sure, he’s suffered a broken heart himself, but does that really make him the expert?

Jaime: I just don’t want to get hurt again. But…

Again, her eyes fall downward as she finds her words difficult to voice out loud. They’ve definitely been screaming inside her head for quite some time now. But she’s never let those thoughts out… until now.

Jaime: I must be crazy. It hurts me to turn my back on him, and I do that because I’m afraid if I don’t… I’ll get hurt. What is right about that? I feel like I’m losing no matter which way I turn. And this isn’t losing like losing a championship belt. It’s not about losing on pay-per-view. It’s not like giving up. I wish I could give up right now.

A heavy sigh is expelled from Jaime as she finally gives up trying to organize her thoughts. She pushes herself up off the bed, eyes towards the paper-littered floor as she heads right for the door, catching Nick off guard with her unannounced attempt to leave. She stops at the door, spinning back to him.

Jaime: Thank you for trying to cheer me up. But it’s not your job and it’s not right for me to put all of this on you. You need to focus on winning this Sunday. You need to worry about you. I’ve learned that’s best.

And with those words of wisdom(?) Jaime turns and leaves the room… or does she? That’s up to Nick Allen, I suppose. Trust me, if a 6’7”, 306 pound man doesn’t want her to leave, she won’t have much of a say in the matter.
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[ *  *  * ]
Nick leans over Jaime, shutting the door before she can walk through it.

NA: You're not wrong to love him, no. Dammit, I wish I could be as forgiving as you. It's a quality I don't have in me. Cross me once and that's it.

Nick stops for a second or two, an idea bubbling round in his head...

NA: I tell you what. Let me come to the ring with you on Sunday. I know what it's like to be all on your own, and let's face it, with Smark and that nutter with the bag on his head at ringside, you're gonna need all the help you can get.

Nick takes his hand from the door, offering a handshake to Lee instead.

NA: Whaddaya say?


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Jaime eyes his hand for a moment, before taking his large hand in both of hers. It’s not quite a handshake but it’s not leaving him hanging either. Instead she offers a very meek smile at his words, releasing his hand.

Jaime: Thanks, but it’s not necessary. Everything I’ve got in me right now. It’s not me I’m worried about. It’s her that should be worried.

Her words may sound strong but she’s not exactly full of fight at the moment. Must be that tiredness of everyone and everything she mentioned earlier. She readjusts her bag over her shoulder, eyeing the shirt in her other hand as she finally lets it fall free from the ball it had been wrapped up in, flashing a smile to herself. After all, she pretty much told Nick all he needs to know about Adam. Seeing that she has his shirt isn’t exactly shocking at this point, is it?

Jaime: But thanks for everything. You know, you actually remind me of a good friend of mine. He’s got his own problems right now and it just feels selfish of me to weigh him down with mine. Prime doesn’t need that.

Huh. Nick reminds her of Prime? That’s quite a shocking turn of events considering everything we’ve seen between the two of them this week. One can only guess how Nick feels about being compared to Prime. Jaime doesn’t seem to get the irony in it and finally takes her leave from the hotel room that most certainly isn’t hers.
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