Post by Thespian on Oct 1, 2021 20:22:23 GMT -5
“HEY! YOU DIRTY, TWO-TIMING--”
God… what do you want, now? Is… Is that a shiv? W-wait, hold on a second!
Get… GET OFF ME! STOP!!
“STOP!!!!”
A ugly screech rouses a man from his slumber. His body snaps to an upright as his head twists around to see the bare visage of the Thespian.
A rather young looking man sits up in his own bed with his arms out in-front of him in a panic. His eyes, as dark as his rather long hair, were wide in terror. It takes a couple moments for the man to catch his breathing before his hands clutch at his own throat. Gasping raspily for air, he slowly begins to calm himself down.
The first man, a tan-skinned gentleman with a matching hairstyle to the Thespian, leans over from his own bed and calmly asks, “Was it the same nightmare again?” This voice would match the one speaking during the Thespian’s Cruiserfest promo; it would be his Interpreter.
Theo nods in response to the question.
“Are you okay?”
Theo nods again before gulping down his fear. The wrestler takes in a deep breath before exhaling it out with the same raspy tone from before. His hands fall from his throat to reveal a light set of bandages wrapping around his entire neck.
It has been a couple of days since the Cruiserfest event as the two men lay in their hotel room, and now, Theo is booked for another busy weekend. On one hand, he has a championship opportunity in Next Level Wrestling. On the other…
… He had End of Days to worry about. The young wrestler had thrown in a make-shift text promo to the organizers, offering to be a filler participant for the tournament should no one else throw their hat into the mix.
And no one did.
Theo raises up his hands and begins to make hand-sign at his Interpreter:
“Who is my opponent for End of Days?”
“Your opponent is Sam Sawyer. Relatively new to the XHF Network, much like yourself. Sixteen-years-old. Doesn’t really talk much… to anyone, it seems.”
“Just a kid? Is it someone I should be concerned about?”
“Most likely. Not the best track record, but they’ve managed to earn themselves an X*Crown Championship match within their first couple of matches. What they lack in social skills they make up for in raw athletic ability and ring presence.”
“Understood. Maybe this match is fitting for the first round. Which mute nobody is stronger?”
Theo mimics a laugh to himself before stretching out in his bed.
“Well. We’ve got to greet our opponent soon, don’t we? Let’s get started.”
The Thespian flings the blanket from his bed and rolls right out. A good distraction from the horrific nightmare is necessary, anyway. He opens the laptop at the hotel’s desk and begins his research...
--
“The gift of Speech is a privilege that is given to man upon their birth. Most are blessed to have the ability with some applied learning. Some, on the other hand, may not be so lucky.”
The voice of the Interpreter serenades the viewers as the Thespian himself sits before the lens; however, instead of the usual suit-and-tie look, Theo wore a different attire. The wrestler sits himself in pitch-black clothing; a long sleeve turtleneck shirt, cargo pants, leather gloves and casual shoes.
The most jarring thing about Theo, however, is the lack of a skinsuit to hide his identity. That is not to say he isn’t making the effort, for over his face instead was a black Luchadore mask that covers all but his dark-colored eyes and lips.
Those eyes, cold and unwavering, stare deep into the lens of the camera as Theo sits still on a steel chair. The world behind and around him is simply that of an empty theater stage. The man’s hands, usually signing to address the audience, stay folded in his lap. The Interpreter continues to talk, despite this fact, while the Thespian holds his position.
“Sam Sawyer. I know you have been wrestling for a couple of months already, but welcome to the world of Professional Wrestling all the same. You’ve had a pretty eventful career so far in the XHF Network, even if it wasn’t filled with victories. That being said, you’ve still managed to score a one-on-one shot against the then-X*Crown champion, Evan Valentine Jr., at Fireside! For that, we commend you!”
Clapping is heard, but it does not come from the Thespian’s hands as he keeps his statue-esque posture.
“But, that’s the only match you’ve won around here, isn’t it? You couldn’t win your AWF Debut. You couldn’t win your FIRESIDE Debut. You surely didn’t win the X*Crown Championship either. And now, we stand before you. We stand in your way of not only another shot at the belt, but simply making a good impression on the XHF Network stage. I wonder if that fact scares you, Sam. The fact that you could fail your third debut.”
Theo’s eyes focus a little bit more as he leans in towards the camera.
“We have nothing to lose in that regard. We shot our shot at Cruiserfest, and Dylan Black gave us a humbling Black eye. And don’t worry, Dylan, we won’t forget that; you are one of two people we hope to see at the end of the bracket. But back to you, Sam. Should we lose here, then that’s a shame. But I suppose the stakes are higher for you.”
“Now, we’ll admit, we had some reservations about this match; we were not comfortable putting our hands on someone who is barely legal in half of the United States. But, you signed up for the abuse, especially when you decided to damn-near tear the ankle off of a rookie! That incident is slowly becoming somewhat viral from an onlooker recording in the crowd. You took a poor newcomer who showed you an ounce of empathy, and tormented them without mercy. We will not forgive such cruelty, Sam. We are not good role models. We are ex-convicts who got out of our sentences earlier this year. However, we will both promise you, win or lose, that the Thespian is going to slap you around that ring until you learn a couple more manners about what you do with the people who offer to help you.”
Theo brings himself back from the camera and relaxes his posture… and his glare. His eyes melt from serious to soft as the muscle in his lips melt into a frown.
“We told you at the very start that the gift of speech is a privilege given to you at birth. Clearly, you know how to speak based on the limited number of appearances you’ve made to the general public. Why you choose not to speak is your business, but we wish to give you a warning.”
Theo reaches up for his turtleneck and begins to tug the collar of it down.
“It is your right to use your voice, Sam Sawyer. However, know this. If you choose to sit in silence and let others speak on behalf instead, your message may be corrupted. Someone will speak wrongly on your behalf, or worse yet?”
The hands of the Thespian drag the collar down to show off the exposed neck. What would be seen in the front is a long, precise scar crossing over the length of his throat… with a much uglier and uneven mark in the dead center.
“Someone will take it away from you.”
Theo hands drop into his lap again as he takes a relaxed posture. His gaze stays soft as silence takes the stage once more. Seconds would pass, but the Interpreter would not speak again. Theo continues to sit there quietly. His gaze degrades further. What started strong and focused melts into something more sorrowful… depressed. He reaches up with one hand and feels over the scar before letting out a heavy sigh.
The camera feed fades out from there.
God… what do you want, now? Is… Is that a shiv? W-wait, hold on a second!
Get… GET OFF ME! STOP!!
“STOP!!!!”
A ugly screech rouses a man from his slumber. His body snaps to an upright as his head twists around to see the bare visage of the Thespian.
A rather young looking man sits up in his own bed with his arms out in-front of him in a panic. His eyes, as dark as his rather long hair, were wide in terror. It takes a couple moments for the man to catch his breathing before his hands clutch at his own throat. Gasping raspily for air, he slowly begins to calm himself down.
The first man, a tan-skinned gentleman with a matching hairstyle to the Thespian, leans over from his own bed and calmly asks, “Was it the same nightmare again?” This voice would match the one speaking during the Thespian’s Cruiserfest promo; it would be his Interpreter.
Theo nods in response to the question.
“Are you okay?”
Theo nods again before gulping down his fear. The wrestler takes in a deep breath before exhaling it out with the same raspy tone from before. His hands fall from his throat to reveal a light set of bandages wrapping around his entire neck.
It has been a couple of days since the Cruiserfest event as the two men lay in their hotel room, and now, Theo is booked for another busy weekend. On one hand, he has a championship opportunity in Next Level Wrestling. On the other…
… He had End of Days to worry about. The young wrestler had thrown in a make-shift text promo to the organizers, offering to be a filler participant for the tournament should no one else throw their hat into the mix.
And no one did.
Theo raises up his hands and begins to make hand-sign at his Interpreter:
“Who is my opponent for End of Days?”
“Your opponent is Sam Sawyer. Relatively new to the XHF Network, much like yourself. Sixteen-years-old. Doesn’t really talk much… to anyone, it seems.”
“Just a kid? Is it someone I should be concerned about?”
“Most likely. Not the best track record, but they’ve managed to earn themselves an X*Crown Championship match within their first couple of matches. What they lack in social skills they make up for in raw athletic ability and ring presence.”
“Understood. Maybe this match is fitting for the first round. Which mute nobody is stronger?”
Theo mimics a laugh to himself before stretching out in his bed.
“Well. We’ve got to greet our opponent soon, don’t we? Let’s get started.”
The Thespian flings the blanket from his bed and rolls right out. A good distraction from the horrific nightmare is necessary, anyway. He opens the laptop at the hotel’s desk and begins his research...
--
“The gift of Speech is a privilege that is given to man upon their birth. Most are blessed to have the ability with some applied learning. Some, on the other hand, may not be so lucky.”
The voice of the Interpreter serenades the viewers as the Thespian himself sits before the lens; however, instead of the usual suit-and-tie look, Theo wore a different attire. The wrestler sits himself in pitch-black clothing; a long sleeve turtleneck shirt, cargo pants, leather gloves and casual shoes.
The most jarring thing about Theo, however, is the lack of a skinsuit to hide his identity. That is not to say he isn’t making the effort, for over his face instead was a black Luchadore mask that covers all but his dark-colored eyes and lips.
Those eyes, cold and unwavering, stare deep into the lens of the camera as Theo sits still on a steel chair. The world behind and around him is simply that of an empty theater stage. The man’s hands, usually signing to address the audience, stay folded in his lap. The Interpreter continues to talk, despite this fact, while the Thespian holds his position.
“Sam Sawyer. I know you have been wrestling for a couple of months already, but welcome to the world of Professional Wrestling all the same. You’ve had a pretty eventful career so far in the XHF Network, even if it wasn’t filled with victories. That being said, you’ve still managed to score a one-on-one shot against the then-X*Crown champion, Evan Valentine Jr., at Fireside! For that, we commend you!”
Clapping is heard, but it does not come from the Thespian’s hands as he keeps his statue-esque posture.
“But, that’s the only match you’ve won around here, isn’t it? You couldn’t win your AWF Debut. You couldn’t win your FIRESIDE Debut. You surely didn’t win the X*Crown Championship either. And now, we stand before you. We stand in your way of not only another shot at the belt, but simply making a good impression on the XHF Network stage. I wonder if that fact scares you, Sam. The fact that you could fail your third debut.”
Theo’s eyes focus a little bit more as he leans in towards the camera.
“We have nothing to lose in that regard. We shot our shot at Cruiserfest, and Dylan Black gave us a humbling Black eye. And don’t worry, Dylan, we won’t forget that; you are one of two people we hope to see at the end of the bracket. But back to you, Sam. Should we lose here, then that’s a shame. But I suppose the stakes are higher for you.”
“Now, we’ll admit, we had some reservations about this match; we were not comfortable putting our hands on someone who is barely legal in half of the United States. But, you signed up for the abuse, especially when you decided to damn-near tear the ankle off of a rookie! That incident is slowly becoming somewhat viral from an onlooker recording in the crowd. You took a poor newcomer who showed you an ounce of empathy, and tormented them without mercy. We will not forgive such cruelty, Sam. We are not good role models. We are ex-convicts who got out of our sentences earlier this year. However, we will both promise you, win or lose, that the Thespian is going to slap you around that ring until you learn a couple more manners about what you do with the people who offer to help you.”
Theo brings himself back from the camera and relaxes his posture… and his glare. His eyes melt from serious to soft as the muscle in his lips melt into a frown.
“We told you at the very start that the gift of speech is a privilege given to you at birth. Clearly, you know how to speak based on the limited number of appearances you’ve made to the general public. Why you choose not to speak is your business, but we wish to give you a warning.”
Theo reaches up for his turtleneck and begins to tug the collar of it down.
“It is your right to use your voice, Sam Sawyer. However, know this. If you choose to sit in silence and let others speak on behalf instead, your message may be corrupted. Someone will speak wrongly on your behalf, or worse yet?”
The hands of the Thespian drag the collar down to show off the exposed neck. What would be seen in the front is a long, precise scar crossing over the length of his throat… with a much uglier and uneven mark in the dead center.
“Someone will take it away from you.”
Theo hands drop into his lap again as he takes a relaxed posture. His gaze stays soft as silence takes the stage once more. Seconds would pass, but the Interpreter would not speak again. Theo continues to sit there quietly. His gaze degrades further. What started strong and focused melts into something more sorrowful… depressed. He reaches up with one hand and feels over the scar before letting out a heavy sigh.
The camera feed fades out from there.