Words of a Champion (GW:S7 RP#1)
Jan 29, 2020 16:44:03 GMT -5
Mongo the Destroyer, Sylvester Calvin/XHF Fair Ref, and 1 more like this
Post by bloodiedfox on Jan 29, 2020 16:44:03 GMT -5
The locker room; post Supremacy. Dread Wolf walks from the shower area, dripping wet. If winning the Phantomweight World Championship has done anything to change his seemingly perpetual sour mood, it is not noticeable on his face. It takes but a moment for him to realise he's not alone, a nervous looking backstage worker also in the room.
Um, Mr Wolf? Sir? Mr Cullen sent me to fetch you. He wants you to address a DHI press conference right away.
Dread Wolf raises an eyebrow, then looks himself up and down.
Right away?
The worker blushes, clearly aware that Wolf has literally just stepped out of the shower.
I... I'm pretty sure he'd prefer you to dry off and get dressed first. I'll just... I'll just go and wait outside.
Dread Wolf snorts derisively as the man skitters away.
A short while later, Dread Wolf indeed arrives at a press conference being held backstage. A few cameras flash as he enters, now dressed in shorts and a tank top, his newly won title belt casually slung over one shoulder. His face a picture of annoyance, he sits himself down in front of several microphones.
I am here through contractual obligation, so I will keep this brief.
He sets the Phantomweight title down on the table in front of him.
I said that I would claim this prize, and I have. I have said that I will consume all who oppose me, and I shall. I have been informed that my next opponent is Carlos Sanchez. He will simply be the first star to be extinguished in the reign of darkness. He may proclaim himself The Cleaver, but no blade is as sharp or biting as the Dread Wolf's tooth and claw. All others in PSW would do well to watch and learn from his fate, and none more so than Lord Dominicus. No other gold should glimmer that is not held in the grasp of the Feral Messiah. I will come for the XHF Junior Heavyweight Championship when the time is right.
The Dread Wolf has spoken. Nothing more need be said.
He stands, picking up the Phantomweight title belt, and walks away, ignoring the various reporters' shouted questions. As he is about to leave the room entirely, he spots the luckless stagehand that brought him here in the first place. He seizes the man's shoulder in a vice-like grip and brings his face close to his.
Take this message to Ryan Cullen: he schedules my matches, he does not schedule my words. If I am trotted out like a circus animal to perform on command again, it will end very poorly for him. Do you understand?
Face pale, the man nods frantically.
Good.
Dread Wolf releases the man from his grasp, and leaves.
Um, Mr Wolf? Sir? Mr Cullen sent me to fetch you. He wants you to address a DHI press conference right away.
Dread Wolf raises an eyebrow, then looks himself up and down.
Right away?
The worker blushes, clearly aware that Wolf has literally just stepped out of the shower.
I... I'm pretty sure he'd prefer you to dry off and get dressed first. I'll just... I'll just go and wait outside.
Dread Wolf snorts derisively as the man skitters away.
A short while later, Dread Wolf indeed arrives at a press conference being held backstage. A few cameras flash as he enters, now dressed in shorts and a tank top, his newly won title belt casually slung over one shoulder. His face a picture of annoyance, he sits himself down in front of several microphones.
I am here through contractual obligation, so I will keep this brief.
He sets the Phantomweight title down on the table in front of him.
I said that I would claim this prize, and I have. I have said that I will consume all who oppose me, and I shall. I have been informed that my next opponent is Carlos Sanchez. He will simply be the first star to be extinguished in the reign of darkness. He may proclaim himself The Cleaver, but no blade is as sharp or biting as the Dread Wolf's tooth and claw. All others in PSW would do well to watch and learn from his fate, and none more so than Lord Dominicus. No other gold should glimmer that is not held in the grasp of the Feral Messiah. I will come for the XHF Junior Heavyweight Championship when the time is right.
The Dread Wolf has spoken. Nothing more need be said.
He stands, picking up the Phantomweight title belt, and walks away, ignoring the various reporters' shouted questions. As he is about to leave the room entirely, he spots the luckless stagehand that brought him here in the first place. He seizes the man's shoulder in a vice-like grip and brings his face close to his.
Take this message to Ryan Cullen: he schedules my matches, he does not schedule my words. If I am trotted out like a circus animal to perform on command again, it will end very poorly for him. Do you understand?
Face pale, the man nods frantically.
Good.
Dread Wolf releases the man from his grasp, and leaves.
