"Let's Watch This City Burn." Eve of Champions.
Jul 16, 2021 12:07:59 GMT -5
FINN WHELAN and ulvendagoth like this
Post by Deleted on Jul 16, 2021 12:07:59 GMT -5
Bourbon Street, New Orleans. It was busy tonight as it always was. Vagrants mixed with alcohol-fueled, fun-loving tourists, and locals looking to unwind from a hard day of work - to crowd the street. Hosts and hostesses from the various establishments that make up the busy destination, all stand outside of their doors, offering passers-by a little sample of what could be in store for their night if they entered.
Watching from a balcony above, one that you would see housing drunken girls flashing their tits during Mardi Gras, was Lazarus Arjen. He casually leaned against the wooden rail structure, his eyes studying the people scurry opposite ways down the street like rats looking for the next hole in the wall to disappear into.
He called New Orleans his home for almost twenty years, and he’s spent many a’night down there - one of those rats. Illegally drinking away his pain, his fucking rage. He and Charon Seede would use this street and nearby Dauphine and Royal Streets as they’re home base. They would leave the cement temporarily stained red, sometimes with their blood - other times with someone else's.
“Look at them down there.” Lazarus said, quietly - but just loud enough for the camera to pick up over the sounds of music, chatter and the occasional yelling and happy screaming that came from the street below.
“Look at them, wandering around without a care in the world. Unaware that they lead insignificant lives - drinking and partying their so-called troubles away. Whether it be an escape from the mundane day to day jobs, or using this for a vacation - an excuse to walk around with a sense of self-worth and self-entitlement, thinking they’re above others. All of them share the same qualities with David Goon and Graham Baker. David Goon, someone so insignificant that the entirety of the NLW organization gives less than a single fuck about your existance - but he uses NLW to mask his own empty, meaningless life just like the drink does to all of them down there. And Graham Baker choosing to vacation here - nose turned up because of some success he’s found in other organizations - most of which are sub-par in comparison to the big two he represents.” His voice was cold, focused.
“The difference between them and myself is; this is my city. I’ve grown up down there - I’ve had to fight in order to survive on these streets. That is why I take exception to the fact that people like Graham Baker and David Goon represent this city with the Southern States Championship, even going so far as to rebrand it in Goon’s case because he knows that he cannot represent this city. Running the gauntlet as I did guaranteed me a chance at the championship that Baker holds, but David Goon - in another case of self-entitlement - decided to stick his nose into the situation causing this triple threat. I’m not going to fall into the cliche role of upset and pissed off number one contender after a former champion butts in. Instead I’m going to add to the haunted history of New Orleans. Instead of leaving one ghost, I’ll leave two after the violent massacre that will happen at Eve of Champions. Two more mutilated corpses added to the astronomically high body count of this city. Years from now tours will be held, following the footsteps Baker and Goon took toward their untimely demise at Eve of Champions.”
“At Hostile Intent, David Goon was bested. Pinned, no - but out maneuvered. Out enduranced. Graham Baker climbed the ladder, hooked the championship and became the King of the Mountain. I get that for Goon, this is about redemption and trying to regain something that he no longer has in his possession; but the rest of us -- simply don’t care. You had your time. The organization has moved on, the division has moved on - leaving you as a rotting memory of what was. Yet your self-entitlement makes you think you earn a chance at redemption without so much as lifting a finger to earn it. That’s fine with me, though. Two, five - it doesn’t matter the number of opponents; I will cut through them all. Former champion and current, included. I know you, Graham. I’ve watched from the shadows while you’ve climbed global rankings and amassed championship wins and accolades all around the globe. But that does nothing in terms of intimidate me. I can cut you down seven ways from Sunday and diminish your accomplishments - but I won’t do that. Instead of offering you the cliche - ‘it doesn’t matter’, I’ll exhume your corpse from the grave that Darkane left you in - and I will dismember you piece by piece until nothing but your heart remains. And for my own inconvenience, I will take that along with your championship. I have seen what you’re capable of and that is where I have the advantage. I know of your heart and strength, but you know nothing of my madness. This company, that title, may not register high on your priority list - and that is exactly why I will pry it from your cold, dead hands after I finish with you. The legend of Baker doesn’t frighten me, but the stories of what happened to him will frighten others.”
Not once while he spoke did his eyes leave the crowd of people beneath him.
“This is my city, and I would rather set fire to this motherfucker than allow people like Baker or Goon to represent it. The damage I will cause at Eve of Champions - the fire that I will start - will engulf this entire city, something that will rival - if not completely outdo the fire that ravaged New Orleans in 1788. From the French Quarter all the way to the Mississippi River - there will be nothing left but piles of ashes and bones, destroyed buildings, and Lazarus Arjen standing in the middle of it all with the NLW Southern States Championship.”
Watching from a balcony above, one that you would see housing drunken girls flashing their tits during Mardi Gras, was Lazarus Arjen. He casually leaned against the wooden rail structure, his eyes studying the people scurry opposite ways down the street like rats looking for the next hole in the wall to disappear into.
He called New Orleans his home for almost twenty years, and he’s spent many a’night down there - one of those rats. Illegally drinking away his pain, his fucking rage. He and Charon Seede would use this street and nearby Dauphine and Royal Streets as they’re home base. They would leave the cement temporarily stained red, sometimes with their blood - other times with someone else's.
“Look at them down there.” Lazarus said, quietly - but just loud enough for the camera to pick up over the sounds of music, chatter and the occasional yelling and happy screaming that came from the street below.
“Look at them, wandering around without a care in the world. Unaware that they lead insignificant lives - drinking and partying their so-called troubles away. Whether it be an escape from the mundane day to day jobs, or using this for a vacation - an excuse to walk around with a sense of self-worth and self-entitlement, thinking they’re above others. All of them share the same qualities with David Goon and Graham Baker. David Goon, someone so insignificant that the entirety of the NLW organization gives less than a single fuck about your existance - but he uses NLW to mask his own empty, meaningless life just like the drink does to all of them down there. And Graham Baker choosing to vacation here - nose turned up because of some success he’s found in other organizations - most of which are sub-par in comparison to the big two he represents.” His voice was cold, focused.
“The difference between them and myself is; this is my city. I’ve grown up down there - I’ve had to fight in order to survive on these streets. That is why I take exception to the fact that people like Graham Baker and David Goon represent this city with the Southern States Championship, even going so far as to rebrand it in Goon’s case because he knows that he cannot represent this city. Running the gauntlet as I did guaranteed me a chance at the championship that Baker holds, but David Goon - in another case of self-entitlement - decided to stick his nose into the situation causing this triple threat. I’m not going to fall into the cliche role of upset and pissed off number one contender after a former champion butts in. Instead I’m going to add to the haunted history of New Orleans. Instead of leaving one ghost, I’ll leave two after the violent massacre that will happen at Eve of Champions. Two more mutilated corpses added to the astronomically high body count of this city. Years from now tours will be held, following the footsteps Baker and Goon took toward their untimely demise at Eve of Champions.”
“At Hostile Intent, David Goon was bested. Pinned, no - but out maneuvered. Out enduranced. Graham Baker climbed the ladder, hooked the championship and became the King of the Mountain. I get that for Goon, this is about redemption and trying to regain something that he no longer has in his possession; but the rest of us -- simply don’t care. You had your time. The organization has moved on, the division has moved on - leaving you as a rotting memory of what was. Yet your self-entitlement makes you think you earn a chance at redemption without so much as lifting a finger to earn it. That’s fine with me, though. Two, five - it doesn’t matter the number of opponents; I will cut through them all. Former champion and current, included. I know you, Graham. I’ve watched from the shadows while you’ve climbed global rankings and amassed championship wins and accolades all around the globe. But that does nothing in terms of intimidate me. I can cut you down seven ways from Sunday and diminish your accomplishments - but I won’t do that. Instead of offering you the cliche - ‘it doesn’t matter’, I’ll exhume your corpse from the grave that Darkane left you in - and I will dismember you piece by piece until nothing but your heart remains. And for my own inconvenience, I will take that along with your championship. I have seen what you’re capable of and that is where I have the advantage. I know of your heart and strength, but you know nothing of my madness. This company, that title, may not register high on your priority list - and that is exactly why I will pry it from your cold, dead hands after I finish with you. The legend of Baker doesn’t frighten me, but the stories of what happened to him will frighten others.”
Not once while he spoke did his eyes leave the crowd of people beneath him.
“This is my city, and I would rather set fire to this motherfucker than allow people like Baker or Goon to represent it. The damage I will cause at Eve of Champions - the fire that I will start - will engulf this entire city, something that will rival - if not completely outdo the fire that ravaged New Orleans in 1788. From the French Quarter all the way to the Mississippi River - there will be nothing left but piles of ashes and bones, destroyed buildings, and Lazarus Arjen standing in the middle of it all with the NLW Southern States Championship.”