King of the Past [RP #1 vs. Goth]
May 27, 2023 17:18:59 GMT -5
"The High Roller" Wesley Crane likes this
Post by Preston Reese on May 27, 2023 17:18:59 GMT -5
Reese:
So there I was flying out of this shithole city that smells like stale piss and fish when my phone rings. And they are like you are signed up to appear in some Prestige Cup Tournament. And I am like, "What now”?
Reese frowned, leaning back in the plush leather seat of what appeared to be a private jet. He rolled his eyes, and stared at the glass of amber liquid in his hand. A shrug, and then he took a swig with a lick of his lips. Then he shook his head, fingers loosening his tie.
Reese:
Okay so whatever, I guess I am going toe to toe with these other so called superstars for a shot at the WUK World Heavyweight Title. Fine, whatever. You see I know there are like fifteen former world champions or some happy shit in this thing! And you know what? I don’t care.
He swirled the ice and liquor, taking another drink before he slammed the cup down. He leaned forward, shrugging his shoulders.
Reese:
As far as I am concerned, you see at Dominion as I pinned the shoulders of that broken down old man who called himself a draw. As I pinned the first ever WUK World Champion! The Bastards finally looked around the place and they realized time was up. You see they looked around and they said…
Reese smirked as he rose.
Reese:
This shit is over. We are irrelevant, we are old product, we are yesterday’s goddamned news. The future is here, and that future is the High Roller’s Club! That future is me, baby. And so they packed up their shitty little Cortina and all their emotional baggage, and their little shoots?
Reese clapped his hands together.
Reese:
And they fucked off to parts unknown, and good riddance.
A smile, and he raked a hand through his pale blonde hair before he reclaimed his glass. He took a drink, pacing before he sat back down.
Reese:
Of course, I wasn’t the only one to defeat a former irrelevant WUK World Champion at Dominion. Because the big scary Goth man buried the old broken down British Biker alive.
Slow clap.
Reese:
Good fucking job. I am glad someone buried another one of those old irrelevant relics. But you see Goth, here’s the thing. All of that just means? You’re a problem. You’re a threat to the High Roller’s Club. You’re a problem for Wesley Crane.
Reese shrugged, and he leaned forward after he picked up his glass again.
Reese:
I don’t like problems. So at Legacy? I am going to take out some more old, broken down, irrelevant trash. And then maybe you can fuck off back to Australia? Or go dig up Havok, and roar in ancient dialects of people who used to matter in this business to each other. Because I am the future, Goth.
Reese took a swallow.
Reese:
And you? You’re just the past. So you can sit over there, make proclamations, and act all scary with your vampire bitch? But facts are? I am younger than you, I am better than you, and I am everything you will never be.
I am a second generation superstar, I am the future of this business, and you’re just some guy who happens to have once been someone. I have more respect for you than the Big Emo Daddy, but just barely. I am going to walk into Dominion, and I am going to expose you.
The glass was sat aside, and Reese rolled up his sleeves as he laughed.
Reese:
I don’t think in a wrestling match, I mean an actual wrestling match. You have what it takes to beat me, old man. I think without your mystic mambo jumbo, your scary entrance, and without weapons? You can’t get the job done, Goth.
Point blank.
I am going to pin you just like I did Old Man Fowler. And there ain’t jack you can do about it.
Reese smirked, a hand lifting to sweep through his hair again as he looked out the window.
Reese:
You see my man? I am the future, and you? You don’t fucking matter anymore. You’re old, you’re tired, you’re irrelevant! And I am going to hold up that Prestige Cup, and protect Wesley Crane covered in the blood of another legend.
And I know you’re not going to lay down and take it like the Bastards did.
Oh, no. You’re Psychotic Goth, the Serpent of SWAT, the Dragon of WUK! The King of All Goths! And you’re going to put up a fight.
But that doesn’t matter.
Because it ends the same way.
Reese lifted a hand, and his fingers slowly dropped one by one as he smirked.
Reese:
One.
Two.
Three.
The future is here.
And you?
The glass was slowly filled once more, and he lifted it in a mocking toast.
Reese:
The past.
And former champs are dropping like flies, man.
So there I was flying out of this shithole city that smells like stale piss and fish when my phone rings. And they are like you are signed up to appear in some Prestige Cup Tournament. And I am like, "What now”?
Reese frowned, leaning back in the plush leather seat of what appeared to be a private jet. He rolled his eyes, and stared at the glass of amber liquid in his hand. A shrug, and then he took a swig with a lick of his lips. Then he shook his head, fingers loosening his tie.
Reese:
Okay so whatever, I guess I am going toe to toe with these other so called superstars for a shot at the WUK World Heavyweight Title. Fine, whatever. You see I know there are like fifteen former world champions or some happy shit in this thing! And you know what? I don’t care.
He swirled the ice and liquor, taking another drink before he slammed the cup down. He leaned forward, shrugging his shoulders.
Reese:
As far as I am concerned, you see at Dominion as I pinned the shoulders of that broken down old man who called himself a draw. As I pinned the first ever WUK World Champion! The Bastards finally looked around the place and they realized time was up. You see they looked around and they said…
Reese smirked as he rose.
Reese:
This shit is over. We are irrelevant, we are old product, we are yesterday’s goddamned news. The future is here, and that future is the High Roller’s Club! That future is me, baby. And so they packed up their shitty little Cortina and all their emotional baggage, and their little shoots?
Reese clapped his hands together.
Reese:
And they fucked off to parts unknown, and good riddance.
A smile, and he raked a hand through his pale blonde hair before he reclaimed his glass. He took a drink, pacing before he sat back down.
Reese:
Of course, I wasn’t the only one to defeat a former irrelevant WUK World Champion at Dominion. Because the big scary Goth man buried the old broken down British Biker alive.
Slow clap.
Reese:
Good fucking job. I am glad someone buried another one of those old irrelevant relics. But you see Goth, here’s the thing. All of that just means? You’re a problem. You’re a threat to the High Roller’s Club. You’re a problem for Wesley Crane.
Reese shrugged, and he leaned forward after he picked up his glass again.
Reese:
I don’t like problems. So at Legacy? I am going to take out some more old, broken down, irrelevant trash. And then maybe you can fuck off back to Australia? Or go dig up Havok, and roar in ancient dialects of people who used to matter in this business to each other. Because I am the future, Goth.
Reese took a swallow.
Reese:
And you? You’re just the past. So you can sit over there, make proclamations, and act all scary with your vampire bitch? But facts are? I am younger than you, I am better than you, and I am everything you will never be.
I am a second generation superstar, I am the future of this business, and you’re just some guy who happens to have once been someone. I have more respect for you than the Big Emo Daddy, but just barely. I am going to walk into Dominion, and I am going to expose you.
The glass was sat aside, and Reese rolled up his sleeves as he laughed.
Reese:
I don’t think in a wrestling match, I mean an actual wrestling match. You have what it takes to beat me, old man. I think without your mystic mambo jumbo, your scary entrance, and without weapons? You can’t get the job done, Goth.
Point blank.
I am going to pin you just like I did Old Man Fowler. And there ain’t jack you can do about it.
Reese smirked, a hand lifting to sweep through his hair again as he looked out the window.
Reese:
You see my man? I am the future, and you? You don’t fucking matter anymore. You’re old, you’re tired, you’re irrelevant! And I am going to hold up that Prestige Cup, and protect Wesley Crane covered in the blood of another legend.
And I know you’re not going to lay down and take it like the Bastards did.
Oh, no. You’re Psychotic Goth, the Serpent of SWAT, the Dragon of WUK! The King of All Goths! And you’re going to put up a fight.
But that doesn’t matter.
Because it ends the same way.
Reese lifted a hand, and his fingers slowly dropped one by one as he smirked.
Reese:
One.
Two.
Three.
The future is here.
And you?
The glass was slowly filled once more, and he lifted it in a mocking toast.
Reese:
The past.
And former champs are dropping like flies, man.
