Fire melts Ice
Nov 24, 2017 19:47:48 GMT -5
𝓓𝓾𝓴𝓮 𝓚𝓸𝓼𝓵𝓸𝓯𝓯 likes this
Post by Dackle on Nov 24, 2017 19:47:48 GMT -5
The camera focuses in on a roaring fire. The crackling of the wood burning is the only sound to be heard. The camera pans back to see Dackle, facing the camera in his chair. The man is not in his usual robe. Instead a pair of Levi’s and a simple black hanes t-shirt is his attire. He looks at the fire a few seconds before addressing the camera.
“Normally, I speak to you people with distain. I speak to you people with a level of disgust and hatred that has been bred into my very existence from my hellish life here on Earth. I speak to you as who I am.”
He turns his head and looks at the fire. His shoulder hangs a little lower from the battle with Lethe. After more pregnant pauses, he begins speaking, not looking at the camera, but still at the fire.
“Ya see, I am here now, a different being than what I was the last time I spoke into that garbage of a camera. I used to be proud of the things I could do. I used to be proud of the pain I can inflict on someone. I used to be proud of how much I can make my opponent hurt. Now the only one hurting is me.”
Another pause. The flames flicker light over the cavernous room. The camera focuses in on Dackle’s face as it seems the fire in his eyes is gone, and only replaced with eptiness.
“I couldn’t even defeat some little girl. Some five foot nothing wanna be who ran from me the entire show. The worst thing is, she was not better than me. She was not stronger, or tougher, or smarter, or anything. She just ran. She feared what I could do, and she ran. And what really stings the most, she didn’t beat me, I beat myself. She got lucky I ran into that ringpost. She got lucky I let my guard down and locked me into a submission. She didn’t win, she merely survived.”
Dackle’s focus has not left the fire. His head remains turned toward the fireplace. As the fire roars, the camera picks up on the scars on the side of his head.
“So now, now I gotta go up against this Kentucky backwoods, inbred, piece of garbage. Some blue grass hillbilly wants to step into the ring and face me. I’m sure the commie who runs that place will put some kind of stipulation or some kind of future title shot on the match.
Normally, I would sit here and tell you how I will make him feel pain and dismember him or whatever. Normally, I would make myself a drink and banter about how he will never be the same…yatta yatta yatta.”
He gives a snort of derision. He goes to open his mouth to speak again, but stops. After stareing into the fire again for a few seconds, he speaks oncemore.
“It is obvious that this is in no way going to be allowed to happen. While this is my therapy, while wrestling is my outlet to keep me from throwing you and that piece of shit camera into the fireplace, I am not free to be myself. Just like those days ot so long ago when I had to shove myself in a uniform, I have to be something I’m not.”
He turns away from the fire and looks directly into the camera. The deadness in his eyes is apparent now.
“So listen here Rayburn. Go ahead, wave your flag and come out to a terrible song from a bad movie and placate to a bunch of simple minded racist baffoons. Get your pomp and circumstance in and make yourself up real nice. I want you flying high and I want you to really believe you can win this. Hell, you may.
But let me tell you this. I fucked up when I faced that sawed off midget. She caught me and got lucky. It won’t happen again. You are going to go down like your sister/mother does to your dad/brother. I am not going to claim to hurt you. I am not going to claim to make your life a living hell.
But I am going to make you regret ever signing this match. I am going to make you a promise, right here, right now. I am going to prolongue this. I am going to hit you, not once, not twice, but with as many Chevrons as I can until I feel I have done enough. I am going to lock you into the GTFO. I am going to hit you with everything I got. My days of taking it easy on someone just because I have been told to are over.”
He turns back towards the fire and the camera begins to pan toward it as well.
“Hey, I ain’t finished yet. I got one more person I need to speak to.
Hey Kozloff. Listen to me you little commie prick. You said me and Black deserve the Tag Titles. You said since we are a team now, we now must carry your banner all over the XHF and defend these things.
Let me let you know something. That ain’t how this works. I have never been handed a god damned thing in my life. I have earned every single award, ribbon, medal, and achievement I have ever gotten. So you can give us the titles, and me and Mr. Black will defend them. But I want a title defense on the next show. I wanna face two jackasses, I don’t care who, but I wanna prove these things are earned. While my vow to spread the darkness everywhere is still in place, and my resolve is still strong, I got something to prove. And I am not proving this to you, the fans, the inmates at that fucking prison. I ain’t even trying to prove this to Mr. Black. I need to prove this to myself. So in January, at Cold War 5, I want you to put me and Mr. Black in a match against two of your very best. I wanna prove we deserve this!”
Dackle gets up from his chair and walks over to a table off camera. The video follows him. He picks up the Fire and Ice belt. He walks over to the fireplace.
“Fire and Ice belt eh? Well, when I earn it, I’ll take it out of the fire.”
Dackle throws the belt into the fireplace. The camera pans back to him. He waves his hand, motioning for the man behind it to leave. It pans back to the belt, sitting in the fire as the scene ends.
“Normally, I speak to you people with distain. I speak to you people with a level of disgust and hatred that has been bred into my very existence from my hellish life here on Earth. I speak to you as who I am.”
He turns his head and looks at the fire. His shoulder hangs a little lower from the battle with Lethe. After more pregnant pauses, he begins speaking, not looking at the camera, but still at the fire.
“Ya see, I am here now, a different being than what I was the last time I spoke into that garbage of a camera. I used to be proud of the things I could do. I used to be proud of the pain I can inflict on someone. I used to be proud of how much I can make my opponent hurt. Now the only one hurting is me.”
Another pause. The flames flicker light over the cavernous room. The camera focuses in on Dackle’s face as it seems the fire in his eyes is gone, and only replaced with eptiness.
“I couldn’t even defeat some little girl. Some five foot nothing wanna be who ran from me the entire show. The worst thing is, she was not better than me. She was not stronger, or tougher, or smarter, or anything. She just ran. She feared what I could do, and she ran. And what really stings the most, she didn’t beat me, I beat myself. She got lucky I ran into that ringpost. She got lucky I let my guard down and locked me into a submission. She didn’t win, she merely survived.”
Dackle’s focus has not left the fire. His head remains turned toward the fireplace. As the fire roars, the camera picks up on the scars on the side of his head.
“So now, now I gotta go up against this Kentucky backwoods, inbred, piece of garbage. Some blue grass hillbilly wants to step into the ring and face me. I’m sure the commie who runs that place will put some kind of stipulation or some kind of future title shot on the match.
Normally, I would sit here and tell you how I will make him feel pain and dismember him or whatever. Normally, I would make myself a drink and banter about how he will never be the same…yatta yatta yatta.”
He gives a snort of derision. He goes to open his mouth to speak again, but stops. After stareing into the fire again for a few seconds, he speaks oncemore.
“It is obvious that this is in no way going to be allowed to happen. While this is my therapy, while wrestling is my outlet to keep me from throwing you and that piece of shit camera into the fireplace, I am not free to be myself. Just like those days ot so long ago when I had to shove myself in a uniform, I have to be something I’m not.”
He turns away from the fire and looks directly into the camera. The deadness in his eyes is apparent now.
“So listen here Rayburn. Go ahead, wave your flag and come out to a terrible song from a bad movie and placate to a bunch of simple minded racist baffoons. Get your pomp and circumstance in and make yourself up real nice. I want you flying high and I want you to really believe you can win this. Hell, you may.
But let me tell you this. I fucked up when I faced that sawed off midget. She caught me and got lucky. It won’t happen again. You are going to go down like your sister/mother does to your dad/brother. I am not going to claim to hurt you. I am not going to claim to make your life a living hell.
But I am going to make you regret ever signing this match. I am going to make you a promise, right here, right now. I am going to prolongue this. I am going to hit you, not once, not twice, but with as many Chevrons as I can until I feel I have done enough. I am going to lock you into the GTFO. I am going to hit you with everything I got. My days of taking it easy on someone just because I have been told to are over.”
He turns back towards the fire and the camera begins to pan toward it as well.
“Hey, I ain’t finished yet. I got one more person I need to speak to.
Hey Kozloff. Listen to me you little commie prick. You said me and Black deserve the Tag Titles. You said since we are a team now, we now must carry your banner all over the XHF and defend these things.
Let me let you know something. That ain’t how this works. I have never been handed a god damned thing in my life. I have earned every single award, ribbon, medal, and achievement I have ever gotten. So you can give us the titles, and me and Mr. Black will defend them. But I want a title defense on the next show. I wanna face two jackasses, I don’t care who, but I wanna prove these things are earned. While my vow to spread the darkness everywhere is still in place, and my resolve is still strong, I got something to prove. And I am not proving this to you, the fans, the inmates at that fucking prison. I ain’t even trying to prove this to Mr. Black. I need to prove this to myself. So in January, at Cold War 5, I want you to put me and Mr. Black in a match against two of your very best. I wanna prove we deserve this!”
Dackle gets up from his chair and walks over to a table off camera. The video follows him. He picks up the Fire and Ice belt. He walks over to the fireplace.
“Fire and Ice belt eh? Well, when I earn it, I’ll take it out of the fire.”
Dackle throws the belt into the fireplace. The camera pans back to him. He waves his hand, motioning for the man behind it to leave. It pans back to the belt, sitting in the fire as the scene ends.
