Post by Dackle on Feb 1, 2018 20:53:31 GMT -5
The camera opens to Dackle standing in front of his fire place in his ring gear. On the mantle where he is leaning is the XHF Awards he won for the most interesting character and for the best tag team and the Fire and Ice Tag Team belt. He is staring into the fire. The crackling of the wood in the fire place is beset against the soft glow of the light as it bounces off the cavernous room. After five seconds, Dackle begins.
“Six years. I spent six years in a cave. Six miserable, pain filled years. I sat there as my body was torn apart. I was tortured. I was beaten. I was brutalized. When I came home, I was given a pat on the back, and told thanks but no thanks and sent home.”
Dackle continues to stare into the fire, not moving, and other than his voice, it was not noticeable if he was even breathing.
“I come home and see the love of my life with someone else. I guess as some kind of consolation prize, life gave me all of this. I went insane. I went bat-shit crazy. That was until I found wrestling. Hell, even then, it was not until I embraced the Darkness and found my brother, Mr. Black, that I felt some kind of…something.”
Dackle now straightens up. He cocks his neck to one side and then the other. The sound of his neck cracking is audiable, even over the roar of the fire. He picks up one of the awards he won.
“I came here and started to take this seriously. And lookie what they gave me. I won some awards. Yay for me right?”
Dackle hurls the award into the fire. The award shatters on the brick back of the fire, the pieces fall into the flames.
“These mean nothing to me. All these mean is that people like me. Well here’s a newsflash, I don’t give a damn if people like me. I don’t care if people tune in to watch these shows, to see me wrestle, or buy a damned t-shirt. I don’t give a rat’s ass what people think.”
He picks up the second award and does the same as he did to the first.
“I don’t do this for any award. I do this for me. I do this to make sure I don’t become another statistic. I do this to make sure I am alive, and to make sure I stay that way.”
Dackle takes a deep breath. His eyes close as his head rocks back. A smile creeps over his face.
“I have embraced the Darkness. It has saved my life. Mr. Black and myself have made it our mission to help people. We help people by showing them the calmness, the peacefulness, the power in the blackness. Some, resist. They have to be shown physically. Some, refuse. They have to be dealt with personally.”
Dackle walks over and sits in his chair. He leans over and gets right next to the camera lens.
“Kosloff, I have no idea what your playing. You screwed Mr. Black. You are resisting the Darkness. So now, you must be shown personally. Before I come after you, we have some business. I won a match not too long ago, where I signed a contract. I am due a title shot. I want that title shot. Except Mr. Kosloff, I want to make sure I don’t screwed over. I want it in a Moscow Mayhem match. 20 foot cage, barbed wire around the top. No one in. No one out. We each have one weapon.”
Dackle bends down and from underneath his chair, he pulls out Bertha and Crimson. He has one in each hand.
“Mr. Black has lent me a trusted assistant of his. Which one I bring with me is a choice I will make later. The one I leave behind won’t be forgotten about, as Mr. Black, Mr. Kosloff and I will be having a discussion about Mr. Black’s situation, and I am sure I will not be empty handed.
Mr. Kosloff will experience the Darkness, either professionally, personally, or physically. And that you can take to the bank.”
The fire is snuffed out in the blink of an eye. A creepy laugh is all that can be heard before a sharp cry out in agony and the camera cuts to static.
“Six years. I spent six years in a cave. Six miserable, pain filled years. I sat there as my body was torn apart. I was tortured. I was beaten. I was brutalized. When I came home, I was given a pat on the back, and told thanks but no thanks and sent home.”
Dackle continues to stare into the fire, not moving, and other than his voice, it was not noticeable if he was even breathing.
“I come home and see the love of my life with someone else. I guess as some kind of consolation prize, life gave me all of this. I went insane. I went bat-shit crazy. That was until I found wrestling. Hell, even then, it was not until I embraced the Darkness and found my brother, Mr. Black, that I felt some kind of…something.”
Dackle now straightens up. He cocks his neck to one side and then the other. The sound of his neck cracking is audiable, even over the roar of the fire. He picks up one of the awards he won.
“I came here and started to take this seriously. And lookie what they gave me. I won some awards. Yay for me right?”
Dackle hurls the award into the fire. The award shatters on the brick back of the fire, the pieces fall into the flames.
“These mean nothing to me. All these mean is that people like me. Well here’s a newsflash, I don’t give a damn if people like me. I don’t care if people tune in to watch these shows, to see me wrestle, or buy a damned t-shirt. I don’t give a rat’s ass what people think.”
He picks up the second award and does the same as he did to the first.
“I don’t do this for any award. I do this for me. I do this to make sure I don’t become another statistic. I do this to make sure I am alive, and to make sure I stay that way.”
Dackle takes a deep breath. His eyes close as his head rocks back. A smile creeps over his face.
“I have embraced the Darkness. It has saved my life. Mr. Black and myself have made it our mission to help people. We help people by showing them the calmness, the peacefulness, the power in the blackness. Some, resist. They have to be shown physically. Some, refuse. They have to be dealt with personally.”
Dackle walks over and sits in his chair. He leans over and gets right next to the camera lens.
“Kosloff, I have no idea what your playing. You screwed Mr. Black. You are resisting the Darkness. So now, you must be shown personally. Before I come after you, we have some business. I won a match not too long ago, where I signed a contract. I am due a title shot. I want that title shot. Except Mr. Kosloff, I want to make sure I don’t screwed over. I want it in a Moscow Mayhem match. 20 foot cage, barbed wire around the top. No one in. No one out. We each have one weapon.”
Dackle bends down and from underneath his chair, he pulls out Bertha and Crimson. He has one in each hand.
“Mr. Black has lent me a trusted assistant of his. Which one I bring with me is a choice I will make later. The one I leave behind won’t be forgotten about, as Mr. Black, Mr. Kosloff and I will be having a discussion about Mr. Black’s situation, and I am sure I will not be empty handed.
Mr. Kosloff will experience the Darkness, either professionally, personally, or physically. And that you can take to the bank.”
The fire is snuffed out in the blink of an eye. A creepy laugh is all that can be heard before a sharp cry out in agony and the camera cuts to static.
