"Road less traveled... until now" (Shockwave RP #1)
Jun 21, 2021 23:06:29 GMT -5
Mongo the Destroyer, Eron Hunter, and 3 more like this
Post by Jesse Jamester on Jun 21, 2021 23:06:29 GMT -5
“Respect yourself to know when to stay down, or I will put you down.”
A raspy voice bellows as he walks into the scene, the posters of the Cruiserweight Cup hanging behind him, littering the wall alongside pictures of Eron Hunter, from his appearance as ‘Night’ to his long hair look and now his shorthair look. The room resembled that of an FBI investigation coop, and in the middle of it was the Canadian Nightmare, Jesse Jamester.
Piercing eyes stood there as the light above swung, illuminating the pictures and then half the face of the black lizard mask he dawned. Licking his lips, you could see the green mist from Call to Arms still on his mask, from when he sprayed his opponent in the KGB standoff.
Jesse Jamester: “I’ve been coy with you Eron, and for reasons I’m about to explain. This was never a ‘join the syndicate’ thing as much as it was a dance with respecting your brothers in the locker room. From the day I approached you, I saw the jaded look you gave me because of who I was a party to. Who Jesse rolls with doesn’t define who Jesse is, you see-- NO! It doesn’t fucking make the man, son. Ya-see, when you opened your mouth and disrespected me in front of my son, you made your bed. Now I’m going to put you to rest in it.”
Cracking his knuckles, Jesse turns another light on in front of the camera, which illuminates the room. We see a trail of string tangling all the photos together, as though booby-trapped. While the Canadian Nightmare had claimed to be many things in his time in Northern Pro Wrestling, and many things he was that he had not claimed; being a man of his word, was most certainly one he lived up to.
Jesse Jamester: “Eron… Hunter… (pause) You know why I came to you? Why I picked you? It wasn’t because I wanted to be here, across from you in a ring. It wasn’t because I had an issue with you Eron, no, not at all kid. I chose you Eron, because I thought you’d be the right fit to teach my son a style more adept to his ring style. I thought for the sake of keeping his nose clean of the Syndicate, i could go outside it, and find someone I deemed worthy, talented, and capable of bringing him up to speed of how to work like a high flyer and a technician in that ring. But you never heard me out Eron, no, you jumped to conclusions - you judged a book by it’s cover. Leading us to this…”
Bowing his head, the black mask now dawned a white E on the forehead, rather than the red X that was carved into it when he went into Call to Arms. Fingers wrapped, wrists taped, Jesse folds them up as though praying, as he looks up ever so slightly into the camera, his eyes gazing a hole through it’s lens, as though talking directly to you.
Jesse Jamester: “I have spent my life in this business watching men walk by me only to spit at my shoes. Men have claimed to know what I am, who I am, what roads I have travelled, what struggles I have endured, and tell me what kinda man they think I am. (Pfffft) Time and time again, I have dealt with men like you Eron, who preach the good word, and tell me how to be righteous with myself - to be a better man! HAH! What you lack in wisdom you make up for in heart kid, sure, you got that in spades. But better man? No, you’re certainly not that. You see Eron, for all the times I was in YOUR shoes, I made the same decisions you’re making now; and best believe, it didn’t do dick-diddly to help me along the way. If anything, it sent me backwards, to the door, as a doormat for everyone that came after. Eventually…”
Peeling the mask back, Jesse’s eyes focus to the left, where we hear a flicker of some sort, like fingers snapping, but metallic. Soon, a light bursts from the left side of the camera, and Jesse’s natural face shows; the brown and gray roots of a beard, shaggy and rough, the eyebrows of a winter cowboy, disheveled and ungroomed, and the markings of age.
Jesse Jamester: “Eventually, you learn that watching your own back, having your own priorities, and serving your damn self is the only way to survive this business Eron. I know that lesson is lost on you, being the young calf that you are, you probably haven’t had your back stabbed enough times to make you look over your shoulder. You haven’t seen your best friend’s career go down due to an injury. You haven’t see your own family die, as you sacrificed your time to put a meal on the table, and get your ass on a flight right after, fly 17-hours straight, pissin’ in bottles on the plane cause some jackass clogged a toilet, and all you got to show for it was a lousy T-shirt and bounced check! No Eron Hunter, you haven’t lived the trials and tribulations that I have --- not one day of your life has lived up to a single day I’ve walked in these boots!”
Breathing out, Jesse regains his composure; his passion undeniable in the way he was talking, a bit of a voice reverb when he finished the last sentence. The Canadian Nightmare had a past, one he didn’t speak of much, but it was wearing on him.
Jesse Jamester: “Eron, there is only you and I going in there at Shockwave. I promise you, you will not be the same man coming out. Mark my words.”
The pictures behind Jesse begin exploding into flames, as the string catches fire and lights firecrackers behind each picture. Burning Eron Hunter all around him.
A raspy voice bellows as he walks into the scene, the posters of the Cruiserweight Cup hanging behind him, littering the wall alongside pictures of Eron Hunter, from his appearance as ‘Night’ to his long hair look and now his shorthair look. The room resembled that of an FBI investigation coop, and in the middle of it was the Canadian Nightmare, Jesse Jamester.
Piercing eyes stood there as the light above swung, illuminating the pictures and then half the face of the black lizard mask he dawned. Licking his lips, you could see the green mist from Call to Arms still on his mask, from when he sprayed his opponent in the KGB standoff.
Jesse Jamester: “I’ve been coy with you Eron, and for reasons I’m about to explain. This was never a ‘join the syndicate’ thing as much as it was a dance with respecting your brothers in the locker room. From the day I approached you, I saw the jaded look you gave me because of who I was a party to. Who Jesse rolls with doesn’t define who Jesse is, you see-- NO! It doesn’t fucking make the man, son. Ya-see, when you opened your mouth and disrespected me in front of my son, you made your bed. Now I’m going to put you to rest in it.”
Cracking his knuckles, Jesse turns another light on in front of the camera, which illuminates the room. We see a trail of string tangling all the photos together, as though booby-trapped. While the Canadian Nightmare had claimed to be many things in his time in Northern Pro Wrestling, and many things he was that he had not claimed; being a man of his word, was most certainly one he lived up to.
Jesse Jamester: “Eron… Hunter… (pause) You know why I came to you? Why I picked you? It wasn’t because I wanted to be here, across from you in a ring. It wasn’t because I had an issue with you Eron, no, not at all kid. I chose you Eron, because I thought you’d be the right fit to teach my son a style more adept to his ring style. I thought for the sake of keeping his nose clean of the Syndicate, i could go outside it, and find someone I deemed worthy, talented, and capable of bringing him up to speed of how to work like a high flyer and a technician in that ring. But you never heard me out Eron, no, you jumped to conclusions - you judged a book by it’s cover. Leading us to this…”
Bowing his head, the black mask now dawned a white E on the forehead, rather than the red X that was carved into it when he went into Call to Arms. Fingers wrapped, wrists taped, Jesse folds them up as though praying, as he looks up ever so slightly into the camera, his eyes gazing a hole through it’s lens, as though talking directly to you.
Jesse Jamester: “I have spent my life in this business watching men walk by me only to spit at my shoes. Men have claimed to know what I am, who I am, what roads I have travelled, what struggles I have endured, and tell me what kinda man they think I am. (Pfffft) Time and time again, I have dealt with men like you Eron, who preach the good word, and tell me how to be righteous with myself - to be a better man! HAH! What you lack in wisdom you make up for in heart kid, sure, you got that in spades. But better man? No, you’re certainly not that. You see Eron, for all the times I was in YOUR shoes, I made the same decisions you’re making now; and best believe, it didn’t do dick-diddly to help me along the way. If anything, it sent me backwards, to the door, as a doormat for everyone that came after. Eventually…”
Peeling the mask back, Jesse’s eyes focus to the left, where we hear a flicker of some sort, like fingers snapping, but metallic. Soon, a light bursts from the left side of the camera, and Jesse’s natural face shows; the brown and gray roots of a beard, shaggy and rough, the eyebrows of a winter cowboy, disheveled and ungroomed, and the markings of age.
Jesse Jamester: “Eventually, you learn that watching your own back, having your own priorities, and serving your damn self is the only way to survive this business Eron. I know that lesson is lost on you, being the young calf that you are, you probably haven’t had your back stabbed enough times to make you look over your shoulder. You haven’t seen your best friend’s career go down due to an injury. You haven’t see your own family die, as you sacrificed your time to put a meal on the table, and get your ass on a flight right after, fly 17-hours straight, pissin’ in bottles on the plane cause some jackass clogged a toilet, and all you got to show for it was a lousy T-shirt and bounced check! No Eron Hunter, you haven’t lived the trials and tribulations that I have --- not one day of your life has lived up to a single day I’ve walked in these boots!”
Breathing out, Jesse regains his composure; his passion undeniable in the way he was talking, a bit of a voice reverb when he finished the last sentence. The Canadian Nightmare had a past, one he didn’t speak of much, but it was wearing on him.
Jesse Jamester: “Eron, there is only you and I going in there at Shockwave. I promise you, you will not be the same man coming out. Mark my words.”
The pictures behind Jesse begin exploding into flames, as the string catches fire and lights firecrackers behind each picture. Burning Eron Hunter all around him.
