Post by Thespian on Jan 28, 2022 23:48:07 GMT -5
“You just don’t know how to take a fucking hint, do you, Sexton? You would think that rearranging your face might make you reconsider stepping up to me again, but here we are; almost a week removed from Ascendancy and rapidly approaching a swift rematch on the network stage.”
The curtains pull back on the scene to reveal a darkened living quarter, with only a lit fireplace to light the room. Where once there would be an illustrious throne, fit for a king, now sits an equally-ornate armchair, facing back towards a crackling fireplace, in the middle of a Victorian-themed living room. A gloved hand swings itself into view from the armchair as it swirls a glass of wine.
“The last time I decided to show my face… well, mask… was during the Cruiserfest match for the XHF Junior-Heavyweight Championship. Bloodied Fox walked in as champion… and Bloodied Fox walked OUT as the champion. Champion of the Year even with a defense like that. Hats off to the Bloodied Fox of then… shame about the fox of now.”
A dejected sigh leaves the man as that glass tips over and begins to pour towards the floor… where a rug made of faux-fox-fur catches the crimson drink. The hand goes slack and the glass falls to the floor with a gentle thud against the fur.
“But enough about that loser, and onto THIS loser!”
Above the fireplace rests a mural of the man known to the world as Sexton Love; twisting his body to show off every inch of those well-sculpted muscles; Theo gestures up towards it with a growl.
“Quite frankly, who the hell do you think you are? You know the risks of getting into that ring. You blame me for your injury, and still have the GALL to push for a rematch for a championship match that YOU ALREADY LOST? Fairly, I might add, in case we need to bring back your shameful performance of Homecoming.”
With a snap of his fingers, another picture drops from the stage rafters: a poster of Sexton pulling the tights of Eli Dresden for the three-count. As Theo begins to speak again, the poster falls gracefully to the floor below.
“But, it’s fine, Sexton, it’s fine. Honestly. You know why? Because I’m a fighting champion. Because I’m not afraid to fight anyone on this roster, from the Heavyweight Champion himself, to… well… you. You are the bottom scum of the barrel and I’m going to prove that to all in attendance when I break both that mask AND your nose again at Supremacy.”
“But, Theo, are you doing okay? A week ago, Fox took you to your absolute limits AND Sexton assaulted you! Do you think you’re up for another contest so soon?” The Thespian mimics in a shrill voice, before letting out a raspy cough.
“I do.”
“But, Theo, the doctors said you had a concuss–”
“But NOTHING, my ADORING fan. I am perfectly fine, I assure you.”
The wrestler pushes himself up from his chair and stands himself up straight. He stays there for a couple of moments… before the effects of Ascendancy begin to show: his stance begins to waver slightly. He shakes it off.
“I will not back down from any challenges, even if it comes from a slimy individual who thinks it’s all fun and games to assault his challenge, TWICE, prior to the match. If the Champion of the Year can bang out two 5-Star matches in one night, you had better bet that I’m not going to stand there and let this man-whore walk over me.”
The man takes a couple steps from his chair and crouches down by the fireplace. An exhausted sigh leaves him.
"You know, you pride yourself on your looks and sex appeal, Mr. Love, yet berate me for hiding my face. You call me various shades of ugly, yet keep scratching against the fabric to see what hides beneath the elastic. You're not missing much, I assure you, but let's show the world what is under your 'mask,' shall we?"
He reaches into the fireplace and pulls out a piece of wood; one end remains in-tact while embers burn against the other. With this, he reaches up... and places it against the mural of his opponent. The fires slowly tickle along the bottom of the picture, and creep their way up.
"You're a demon of lust with absolutely nothing else to show for you. Your charm invites only the absolute worst of people who judge books by their covers and nothing more. People flock to you because of your slogan, "sex sells." I've said it before, and I'll say it again, that is not a wrong statement. Sex does sell, but it's portrayal and use is what is important. With you? It's just so one dimensional. You bang sluts on the regular to boost up your ego as this God of Hedonism. Every title you own is innuendo after innuendo. You've made this persona for yourself, but..."
The fires continue higher and higher along the painting until eventually it all falls to ashes. Underneath...
... nothing. Just a burnt picture frame as the fires continue to spread along the set.
"... There's nothing else under it. No personality. No soul. Certainly no wrestling skill, either. You are a fraud befitting the slums of Hollywood, making sex tapes with washed up actors, rather than putting that OH-SO-GORGEOUS FACE--"
He rolls his head, due to not being able to show his rolling eyes with his back turned.
"-- on the line in the wrestling ring. But, it's okay, Sexton. Let me be the angel that frees you from this fate. No more will you have to worry about Faking-It-Til-You-Make-It around here. You want your final match? I'll give it to you..."
Theo drops the burning stick, but reaches up one more time. He turns around... and shows his visage; a pale, elastic mask... tinted red from the blood spilled by various assaults... with an eye and his mouth exposed from Sexton's various attempts at de-masking him. His eye glares forward.
"... because this time around, I'm going to make sure you stay down. It's curtain call for a sexual deviant, Sexton. Time to take your final bow."
The curtains pull back on the scene to reveal a darkened living quarter, with only a lit fireplace to light the room. Where once there would be an illustrious throne, fit for a king, now sits an equally-ornate armchair, facing back towards a crackling fireplace, in the middle of a Victorian-themed living room. A gloved hand swings itself into view from the armchair as it swirls a glass of wine.
“The last time I decided to show my face… well, mask… was during the Cruiserfest match for the XHF Junior-Heavyweight Championship. Bloodied Fox walked in as champion… and Bloodied Fox walked OUT as the champion. Champion of the Year even with a defense like that. Hats off to the Bloodied Fox of then… shame about the fox of now.”
A dejected sigh leaves the man as that glass tips over and begins to pour towards the floor… where a rug made of faux-fox-fur catches the crimson drink. The hand goes slack and the glass falls to the floor with a gentle thud against the fur.
“But enough about that loser, and onto THIS loser!”
Above the fireplace rests a mural of the man known to the world as Sexton Love; twisting his body to show off every inch of those well-sculpted muscles; Theo gestures up towards it with a growl.
“Quite frankly, who the hell do you think you are? You know the risks of getting into that ring. You blame me for your injury, and still have the GALL to push for a rematch for a championship match that YOU ALREADY LOST? Fairly, I might add, in case we need to bring back your shameful performance of Homecoming.”
With a snap of his fingers, another picture drops from the stage rafters: a poster of Sexton pulling the tights of Eli Dresden for the three-count. As Theo begins to speak again, the poster falls gracefully to the floor below.
“But, it’s fine, Sexton, it’s fine. Honestly. You know why? Because I’m a fighting champion. Because I’m not afraid to fight anyone on this roster, from the Heavyweight Champion himself, to… well… you. You are the bottom scum of the barrel and I’m going to prove that to all in attendance when I break both that mask AND your nose again at Supremacy.”
“But, Theo, are you doing okay? A week ago, Fox took you to your absolute limits AND Sexton assaulted you! Do you think you’re up for another contest so soon?” The Thespian mimics in a shrill voice, before letting out a raspy cough.
“I do.”
“But, Theo, the doctors said you had a concuss–”
“But NOTHING, my ADORING fan. I am perfectly fine, I assure you.”
The wrestler pushes himself up from his chair and stands himself up straight. He stays there for a couple of moments… before the effects of Ascendancy begin to show: his stance begins to waver slightly. He shakes it off.
“I will not back down from any challenges, even if it comes from a slimy individual who thinks it’s all fun and games to assault his challenge, TWICE, prior to the match. If the Champion of the Year can bang out two 5-Star matches in one night, you had better bet that I’m not going to stand there and let this man-whore walk over me.”
The man takes a couple steps from his chair and crouches down by the fireplace. An exhausted sigh leaves him.
"You know, you pride yourself on your looks and sex appeal, Mr. Love, yet berate me for hiding my face. You call me various shades of ugly, yet keep scratching against the fabric to see what hides beneath the elastic. You're not missing much, I assure you, but let's show the world what is under your 'mask,' shall we?"
He reaches into the fireplace and pulls out a piece of wood; one end remains in-tact while embers burn against the other. With this, he reaches up... and places it against the mural of his opponent. The fires slowly tickle along the bottom of the picture, and creep their way up.
"You're a demon of lust with absolutely nothing else to show for you. Your charm invites only the absolute worst of people who judge books by their covers and nothing more. People flock to you because of your slogan, "sex sells." I've said it before, and I'll say it again, that is not a wrong statement. Sex does sell, but it's portrayal and use is what is important. With you? It's just so one dimensional. You bang sluts on the regular to boost up your ego as this God of Hedonism. Every title you own is innuendo after innuendo. You've made this persona for yourself, but..."
The fires continue higher and higher along the painting until eventually it all falls to ashes. Underneath...
... nothing. Just a burnt picture frame as the fires continue to spread along the set.
"... There's nothing else under it. No personality. No soul. Certainly no wrestling skill, either. You are a fraud befitting the slums of Hollywood, making sex tapes with washed up actors, rather than putting that OH-SO-GORGEOUS FACE--"
He rolls his head, due to not being able to show his rolling eyes with his back turned.
"-- on the line in the wrestling ring. But, it's okay, Sexton. Let me be the angel that frees you from this fate. No more will you have to worry about Faking-It-Til-You-Make-It around here. You want your final match? I'll give it to you..."
Theo drops the burning stick, but reaches up one more time. He turns around... and shows his visage; a pale, elastic mask... tinted red from the blood spilled by various assaults... with an eye and his mouth exposed from Sexton's various attempts at de-masking him. His eye glares forward.
"... because this time around, I'm going to make sure you stay down. It's curtain call for a sexual deviant, Sexton. Time to take your final bow."