Post by Thespian on Nov 25, 2021 7:56:12 GMT -5
November 25th, 2021.
A derelict theater. Years of decay show; from the cracked and decayed walls, to the broken and dusty seats. All that lights the area is the moon's light barely shining through a hole in the ceiling.
An eerie silence takes the theater… before a singular spotlight from above illuminates a spot on the stage.
There, sitting across a prop throne, sits the Thespian. Ever dapper in his attire and demeanor, the ‘actor’ swirls around a crimson liquid within a wine glass. Beside his throne is a small table that holds up a full bottle of red wine… and the Southern States Championship.
The man swirls around the liquid as he gives a light… but audible chuckle to himself. A gloved hand reaches up and pries at the spandex mask… revealing a devilish smirk reminiscent of the one given to his challenger last Ascension.
Another chuckle. Soft, but dry. Nothing a little drink can’t fix. The soft sounds of his throat swallowing down the alcohol bounce off the walls of the theater.
Followed by a gentle “tink” from the glass as it is set down.
“Idrissa’s gone today.”
Those few words echo throughout the hall until there is nothing but silence again. Theo allows that silence to hang for a bit...
... before he begins to speak again. Softly. Slowly.
"Hello, Chris. I hope... I have not kept you waiting... too long. As I'm sure the dirt sheets will tell you... I have lost my Interpreter for the time being. But it's okay. You deserve better than a... translator being the middle man. No... you deserve my best... my words... unfiltered. You deserve me... this match."
He gestures towards the belt briefly before reaching down to grab at his wine glass again.
“They’re trying to write us off as just the mid-card, Sanderson? How do you feel about that? Because me…?”
The Thespian chuckles to himself a little before sipping from his wine glass…
… before slamming it against the floor beneath him. Despite his aggravated body language, his voice remains calm... however it grows louder.
“I’m livid at the notion, really. People have been underestimating me since day one. Writing me off as nothing more than some "actor" who wanted to try his hand at wrestling. I've done this before. Let me tell you, Gunn, and everyone else... just who exactly I am."
The man slips from his throne and begins to march forward towards the camera. Glass breaks under every step. The vitriol burns in his posture as his arms shoot out widely.
The words that follow come directly from the scarred throat... ugly and coarse:
“I am the Drama of Next Level Wrestling. I am the Main Attraction that people tune in to see every week! I AM THE MAIN EVENT! Don’t believe me? Look at the last three shows! The spotlight was MINE!
Twenty-three, pinned Arjen in the tag match!
Twenty-four, pinned Felix for the belt!
Twenty-five… it was you and me, Chris. I counted your pinfall. I gave you this match. I am the only reason you are here today. You’re on MY stage now… sharing in MY spotlight!”
A moment passes. He takes a moment to compose himself a little before laughing to himself again.
“Welcome to the stage, Chris. Damn what anyone else says and thinks. We are the main event of Homecoming. A story that has been burning since the Cruiserfest… hell, longer before that. You say it’s been two years since you’ve held gold in your illustrious nine-year career? It’s been four for me. And you’d better be DAMN sure I’m not ready to give it up so soon. I will not be your transitional champion; I will not be your belt bearer. If you want this championship, you’ll have to pry it from the bloodied and broken fingers I once spoke through to communicate… and still speak through to fight.”
He turns his back to his camera and walks over towards the throne again. The man takes a seat before grabbing for the bottle directly. He begins to swirl the wine around.
"People call me an actor... but what about you, Chris? Against Devin, it was all about your failures and short-comings... how you NEEDED to win to validate your career here. Well, you've won your chance, and now you're more than happy to mouth off. As you so kindly told me the first time around, 'I don't need your luck.'"
The Thespian raises the bottle up to his lips and begins to chug from it... messily. The red of the wine begins to pour from the sides of his mouth and stains the pearly-white shirt he wore.
"I give him shit, but, I've taken a lot from my matches with Felix. He, too, had the audacity to write me off as just an actor. You know what I did to him? I took a knee to his skull and beat him, ALONE, for my original shot at this belt. But something always stuck with me. He wanted the man, the champion, that I used to be before... and I gave him a taste of that."
He swings the bottle down in-front of him and it shatters... against his right knee.
Amid the audio clutter, though... a metallic twang can be heard from the impact.
"I hope you have made peace with your career up to this point, Chris... because this will be your swan song. I will give you the full picture; I will become my own parody. A Perfect Disaster... no. A Perfect Tragedy awaits you. What was that tragedy's old name...?"
He chuckles to himself as the lights go out.
---
“Your name is… Idrissa? I believe that is the first time I’ve heard that name before. It is a pleasure to meet you.”
The man retains the soft-hearted smile across his lips. Idrissa stares into the kind visage for a moment before writing on the palm again:
Y-O-U-R-S-?
“Oh, I’m sorry. My name is Max.”
A derelict theater. Years of decay show; from the cracked and decayed walls, to the broken and dusty seats. All that lights the area is the moon's light barely shining through a hole in the ceiling.
An eerie silence takes the theater… before a singular spotlight from above illuminates a spot on the stage.
There, sitting across a prop throne, sits the Thespian. Ever dapper in his attire and demeanor, the ‘actor’ swirls around a crimson liquid within a wine glass. Beside his throne is a small table that holds up a full bottle of red wine… and the Southern States Championship.
The man swirls around the liquid as he gives a light… but audible chuckle to himself. A gloved hand reaches up and pries at the spandex mask… revealing a devilish smirk reminiscent of the one given to his challenger last Ascension.
Another chuckle. Soft, but dry. Nothing a little drink can’t fix. The soft sounds of his throat swallowing down the alcohol bounce off the walls of the theater.
Followed by a gentle “tink” from the glass as it is set down.
“Idrissa’s gone today.”
Those few words echo throughout the hall until there is nothing but silence again. Theo allows that silence to hang for a bit...
... before he begins to speak again. Softly. Slowly.
"Hello, Chris. I hope... I have not kept you waiting... too long. As I'm sure the dirt sheets will tell you... I have lost my Interpreter for the time being. But it's okay. You deserve better than a... translator being the middle man. No... you deserve my best... my words... unfiltered. You deserve me... this match."
He gestures towards the belt briefly before reaching down to grab at his wine glass again.
“They’re trying to write us off as just the mid-card, Sanderson? How do you feel about that? Because me…?”
The Thespian chuckles to himself a little before sipping from his wine glass…
… before slamming it against the floor beneath him. Despite his aggravated body language, his voice remains calm... however it grows louder.
“I’m livid at the notion, really. People have been underestimating me since day one. Writing me off as nothing more than some "actor" who wanted to try his hand at wrestling. I've done this before. Let me tell you, Gunn, and everyone else... just who exactly I am."
The man slips from his throne and begins to march forward towards the camera. Glass breaks under every step. The vitriol burns in his posture as his arms shoot out widely.
The words that follow come directly from the scarred throat... ugly and coarse:
“I am the Drama of Next Level Wrestling. I am the Main Attraction that people tune in to see every week! I AM THE MAIN EVENT! Don’t believe me? Look at the last three shows! The spotlight was MINE!
Twenty-three, pinned Arjen in the tag match!
Twenty-four, pinned Felix for the belt!
Twenty-five… it was you and me, Chris. I counted your pinfall. I gave you this match. I am the only reason you are here today. You’re on MY stage now… sharing in MY spotlight!”
A moment passes. He takes a moment to compose himself a little before laughing to himself again.
“Welcome to the stage, Chris. Damn what anyone else says and thinks. We are the main event of Homecoming. A story that has been burning since the Cruiserfest… hell, longer before that. You say it’s been two years since you’ve held gold in your illustrious nine-year career? It’s been four for me. And you’d better be DAMN sure I’m not ready to give it up so soon. I will not be your transitional champion; I will not be your belt bearer. If you want this championship, you’ll have to pry it from the bloodied and broken fingers I once spoke through to communicate… and still speak through to fight.”
He turns his back to his camera and walks over towards the throne again. The man takes a seat before grabbing for the bottle directly. He begins to swirl the wine around.
"People call me an actor... but what about you, Chris? Against Devin, it was all about your failures and short-comings... how you NEEDED to win to validate your career here. Well, you've won your chance, and now you're more than happy to mouth off. As you so kindly told me the first time around, 'I don't need your luck.'"
The Thespian raises the bottle up to his lips and begins to chug from it... messily. The red of the wine begins to pour from the sides of his mouth and stains the pearly-white shirt he wore.
"I give him shit, but, I've taken a lot from my matches with Felix. He, too, had the audacity to write me off as just an actor. You know what I did to him? I took a knee to his skull and beat him, ALONE, for my original shot at this belt. But something always stuck with me. He wanted the man, the champion, that I used to be before... and I gave him a taste of that."
He swings the bottle down in-front of him and it shatters... against his right knee.
Amid the audio clutter, though... a metallic twang can be heard from the impact.
"I hope you have made peace with your career up to this point, Chris... because this will be your swan song. I will give you the full picture; I will become my own parody. A Perfect Disaster... no. A Perfect Tragedy awaits you. What was that tragedy's old name...?"
He chuckles to himself as the lights go out.
---
“Your name is… Idrissa? I believe that is the first time I’ve heard that name before. It is a pleasure to meet you.”
The man retains the soft-hearted smile across his lips. Idrissa stares into the kind visage for a moment before writing on the palm again:
Y-O-U-R-S-?
“Oh, I’m sorry. My name is Max.”