The scene opens up on Bobby Dean, alone in what is presumably his locker room. Seated on a bench in front of his stall, he has yet to change out of his wrestling trunks, still sporting the trademark blues. It's the perfect color for him too, as it's very indicative of the big mans mood.
He stares at the floor, watching the beads of sweat drip from his hair, down to the concrete his feet rest on. A bucket of chicken rests on the bench beside him, and oddly enough, is overflowing with legs and breasts that remain uneaten. He looks over at the steaming, greasy meal, then returns his attention to the puddle on the floor between his boots.
KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!
Slowly raising his head up, his eyes lock onto the individual in his doorway. He doesn't look too happy, but only lets out an unenthused sigh before letting his head droop. The camera view zooms out, and as it does so, the culprit a knocking at Bobby's door is revealed.
And it's none other than Colton Thorpe.
His punchable features beam more than ever, as he stands feet away from his defeated challenger. Already showered and changed, the wrestling gear are long gone, but one mainstay accessories highlights the brash superstar.
The Wildfire Championship.
Thorpe: Bobby! What's with the long face?
Bobby doesn't look up at Colt, who himself looks around the locker room in confusion.
Thorpe: Wait, where's BJ? She gone already? And where are all your fans? That's right, they've all left too, probably pulling into their driveways by now.
Bobby doesn't reply.
Thorpe: Go figure, when all the laughter is curbed and the people who admire you most finally get to see you for what you really are, they bail and turn their backs on you. Now look at you! All you have is this fat shell of a man you've created, and the unpleasant stench of loneliness.
Bobby's silence is deafening.
Thorpe: You know, you had a chance tonight too. I was down, the referee was down, and you could have done anything and everything to try and get the job done, but you didn't. You overthought it, and froze.
Bobby finally looks up, his eyes locking onto the championship around Bobby's waist.
Thorpe: But I did though, didn't I? And that's why I have this...
Colt pats on the center plate of his championship.
Thorpe: And why you have, well...
Colt looks around the locker room again, finally looking back down at Bobby.
Thorpe: Nothing and nobody.
Colt turns and walks out of the camera view, as Bobby drops his head again. His unusual silence is temporarily broken with another elongated sigh, as he looks over at his bucket of chicken. He lifts his hand off his knee, and slowly reaches over towards the bucket when...
Colt comes flying back into view, his right foot landing across Bobby's jaw. The unexpected kick causes him to tumble off the bench, landing awkwardly between the stall and his seat. Colt stands overtop Bobby, menacingly staring down at him.
Thorpe: And that's all you'll ever have.
Colt reaches forward and swats the bucket of chicken out of view. Bobby is stunned, holding his jaw while looking up at Colt, who again walks out of view. He doesn't get to spend much time alone though, as another man enters the locker room. That man?
Bobby says a short prayer to himself as Dane just looks down on him in complete and utter disappointment.
Dane: Goddammit, Bobby. What’ve I been telling you since I got here?
Nothing escapes Bobby Dean’s lips save for a few whimpers.
Dane: If you ain’t gonna stand up and be a man, Bobby, then you’re wasting everybody’s time. That fat shit nostalgia act is only funny for a while, and even then nobody’s laughing with you. They’re laughing at you.
Dane shakes his head.
Bobby just kind of lays there, gurgling and bubbling snot. He’s almost gone catatonic at this point. It’s all very disgusting and embarrassing.
Dane: Fuckin’ Christ, Bobby. Just go home. Go home and don’t come back.
This finally gets a reaction from the chubby manchild.
Dean: Wh- whaddaya m- mean?
Dane: Don’t get it twisted, Bobby, no matter what Michael Lorenzo says Victory is my show and I demand a certain amount of professionalism and respect on my show. You ain’t cuttin’ it here, Bobby, and frankly there is no place on Victory for an enormous comedy act that isn’t even funny. So leave, go home, get the fuck out of my sight and don’t you dare show your face around here again until you’ve gotten your shit all of the way together!
More tears stream down Bobby’s chubby face.
Dean: Y- yessir…
The Only Star turns and walks away. Just before he makes it out of Bobby’s dressing room, he turns and has one more thing to say.
Dane: If you grow some balls, you come and see me. Until then, stay the fuck out of my business.
Bobby curls further in on himself, completely defeated.
Eric walks away, clearly over Bobby Dean’s shenanigans.
"I NEED CHEESEBURGERS"
- Kentucky Tarzan