Post by Vodka Fizz on Jan 21, 2022 14:17:36 GMT -5
The camera comes into focus on a mirror, showing the reflection of the camera, and the familiar figure of the FIRESIDE SPARK champion fiddling with it, before he steps into frame with the camera filming over his shoulder.
Vodka: Caveat Emptor. Let the buyer beware. Be careful what you wish for.
The eccentric wrestler snorts, taking off a pair of rhinestone-studded shutter shades and setting them aside.
Vodka: Natalie Burrows did something I wasn’t able to. I could say it was because she got the benefit of facing MAJESTY one-on-one while I had the added twist of having to deal with Mistress Discipline, but I think we all know that when I took on Majesty for the FIRESIDE World championship, I didn’t win because I wasn’t ready.
Vodka sniffs, leaning into the mirror.
Vodka: But the thing is, I’ve changed a lot since then. End of Days. The Dragon’s Den. I came within inches of winning the X*Crown. I think I’m on the books right now as the longest reigning SPARK Champion. Anthony Caffrey recently referred to me as the Heart of Fireside. I kinda like that, you know?
Vodka takes off his hat, setting it aside with his shades, and he looks into the mirror.
Vodka: Imagine my surprise when Natalie texts me out of nowhere and asks if I want a match at Caveat Emptor. Innocuous little thing, right? Even though it’s not for the title, the implications of such a match filled me with excitement. Sorta like facing Spike Kane did, but in a completely different context.
Vodka chuckles to himself, looking down into the empty sink.
Vodka: I’m not going to pretend that there’s not other things coming to my mind when I think about throwing down with our illustrious world champion. Who could blame me, right? Even Natalis herself gave me shit about it. ‘Are you gonna be focused on our match, or what you hope is going to happen afterward?’ was it?
Vodka chuckles ruefully, continuing to look down into the empty sink.
Vodka: Do you understand how disheartening it is to be treated like a joke? I am not a joke. This is not a joke. I might not have the benefit of a legacy, or the benefit of a storied career, or even the benefit of my old man's old partner teaching me how to kick a man's head off, but the audacity, Natalie. How dare you presume to treat me like a joke because I might have a little bit of a crush?
Vodka finally looks back up at the mirror, and the eyes that are reflected back are cold and cruel.
Vodka: You brought this on yourself. You wanted a match with me, and you wanted to turn around and treat it like some kinda blowoff meet-cute. But you’ve made a critical error. You might be the Lioness. You might be the person that vanquished MAJESTY. You’re the world champion, right? You have every right to be proud of what you’ve achieved. But that’s all gonna come crumbling down around your ears. Fitting that Caveat Emptor means ‘be careful what you wish for.’
A shadow of a smile appears on Vodka’s face, but there is no trace of the warm, goofy rogue behind it.
Vodka: I’m not a lion. I’m the guy they threw to the lions that fought them off and came back. No matter how many times they threw me to the lions, I kept coming back. There is no nobility. There is no pride in what I’ve achieved. I am not some majestic creature to be weary of; I’m worse. I thought about using the analogy of a hyena. You know how Hyenas imitate the sound of a lion cub so they can coax out lions and kill them? Pretty fucked up, right? Course that doesn’t even come close to some dickhead dentist paying a wildlife sanctuary twenty-five thousand dollars to shoot a lion they rescued as a cub and raised just so someone could eventually kill it for a trophy, does it?
Vodka sneers and spits in the sink.
Vodka: Nobody taught me how to do what I do. You had a legacy to fall back on, you had a mentor to take interest in you and mold you into the person you are. I got exactly none of that. I learned to fight in back yards and bingo halls. Nobody would book me, so I booked myself. I was too small, I wasn't charismatic enough, I was a novelty act. And I fought past that and established myself as one of the hottest up-and coming wrestlers in the world. And you can still take it all away from me with a fucking text message.
Vodka snorts.
Vodka: Let me reiterate; I don’t denigrate you for being proud of who you are or what you achieve, but I'm not going to give you power over me just because you have a more prestigious title, or because your career played out differently than mine. The only difference between you and I is that I don’t pretend that there's some veneer of nobility to do what I’m going to do. And what I am going to do is prove to you, to Anthony Caffrey, to MAJESTY if they’re watching from whatever ding dong corner of the universe they’re chilling out in, and to every person hanging out at home that you’re just keeping that title warm until I’m ready to come take it from you. And you had better believe I’m coming.
Vodka grins at the mirror, then lunges forward, smashing his forehead into the glass, leaving the mirror cracked and a trickle of blood oozing down his forehead.
Vodka: You wanted this. You brought this on yourself, and now you get to deal with the consequences. I honestly hope you’re prepared for what you’ve brought upon yourself, because that’s going to make it that much more satisfying when you scramble and struggle and fight and you still end up on your back, looking at lights.
Vodka grins, and in the broken mirror it looks particularly unsettling.
Vodka: See you there, champ.
Vodka wipes off his forehead, picks up his hat and glasses, and exits frame with his usual cheerful grin in place. The camera abruptly cuts to black.
Vodka: Caveat Emptor. Let the buyer beware. Be careful what you wish for.
The eccentric wrestler snorts, taking off a pair of rhinestone-studded shutter shades and setting them aside.
Vodka: Natalie Burrows did something I wasn’t able to. I could say it was because she got the benefit of facing MAJESTY one-on-one while I had the added twist of having to deal with Mistress Discipline, but I think we all know that when I took on Majesty for the FIRESIDE World championship, I didn’t win because I wasn’t ready.
Vodka sniffs, leaning into the mirror.
Vodka: But the thing is, I’ve changed a lot since then. End of Days. The Dragon’s Den. I came within inches of winning the X*Crown. I think I’m on the books right now as the longest reigning SPARK Champion. Anthony Caffrey recently referred to me as the Heart of Fireside. I kinda like that, you know?
Vodka takes off his hat, setting it aside with his shades, and he looks into the mirror.
Vodka: Imagine my surprise when Natalie texts me out of nowhere and asks if I want a match at Caveat Emptor. Innocuous little thing, right? Even though it’s not for the title, the implications of such a match filled me with excitement. Sorta like facing Spike Kane did, but in a completely different context.
Vodka chuckles to himself, looking down into the empty sink.
Vodka: I’m not going to pretend that there’s not other things coming to my mind when I think about throwing down with our illustrious world champion. Who could blame me, right? Even Natalis herself gave me shit about it. ‘Are you gonna be focused on our match, or what you hope is going to happen afterward?’ was it?
Vodka chuckles ruefully, continuing to look down into the empty sink.
Vodka: Do you understand how disheartening it is to be treated like a joke? I am not a joke. This is not a joke. I might not have the benefit of a legacy, or the benefit of a storied career, or even the benefit of my old man's old partner teaching me how to kick a man's head off, but the audacity, Natalie. How dare you presume to treat me like a joke because I might have a little bit of a crush?
Vodka finally looks back up at the mirror, and the eyes that are reflected back are cold and cruel.
Vodka: You brought this on yourself. You wanted a match with me, and you wanted to turn around and treat it like some kinda blowoff meet-cute. But you’ve made a critical error. You might be the Lioness. You might be the person that vanquished MAJESTY. You’re the world champion, right? You have every right to be proud of what you’ve achieved. But that’s all gonna come crumbling down around your ears. Fitting that Caveat Emptor means ‘be careful what you wish for.’
A shadow of a smile appears on Vodka’s face, but there is no trace of the warm, goofy rogue behind it.
Vodka: I’m not a lion. I’m the guy they threw to the lions that fought them off and came back. No matter how many times they threw me to the lions, I kept coming back. There is no nobility. There is no pride in what I’ve achieved. I am not some majestic creature to be weary of; I’m worse. I thought about using the analogy of a hyena. You know how Hyenas imitate the sound of a lion cub so they can coax out lions and kill them? Pretty fucked up, right? Course that doesn’t even come close to some dickhead dentist paying a wildlife sanctuary twenty-five thousand dollars to shoot a lion they rescued as a cub and raised just so someone could eventually kill it for a trophy, does it?
Vodka sneers and spits in the sink.
Vodka: Nobody taught me how to do what I do. You had a legacy to fall back on, you had a mentor to take interest in you and mold you into the person you are. I got exactly none of that. I learned to fight in back yards and bingo halls. Nobody would book me, so I booked myself. I was too small, I wasn't charismatic enough, I was a novelty act. And I fought past that and established myself as one of the hottest up-and coming wrestlers in the world. And you can still take it all away from me with a fucking text message.
Vodka snorts.
Vodka: Let me reiterate; I don’t denigrate you for being proud of who you are or what you achieve, but I'm not going to give you power over me just because you have a more prestigious title, or because your career played out differently than mine. The only difference between you and I is that I don’t pretend that there's some veneer of nobility to do what I’m going to do. And what I am going to do is prove to you, to Anthony Caffrey, to MAJESTY if they’re watching from whatever ding dong corner of the universe they’re chilling out in, and to every person hanging out at home that you’re just keeping that title warm until I’m ready to come take it from you. And you had better believe I’m coming.
Vodka grins at the mirror, then lunges forward, smashing his forehead into the glass, leaving the mirror cracked and a trickle of blood oozing down his forehead.
Vodka: You wanted this. You brought this on yourself, and now you get to deal with the consequences. I honestly hope you’re prepared for what you’ve brought upon yourself, because that’s going to make it that much more satisfying when you scramble and struggle and fight and you still end up on your back, looking at lights.
Vodka grins, and in the broken mirror it looks particularly unsettling.
Vodka: See you there, champ.
Vodka wipes off his forehead, picks up his hat and glasses, and exits frame with his usual cheerful grin in place. The camera abruptly cuts to black.