Post by Drag on Sept 15, 2018 10:41:30 GMT -5
THUD
THUD THUD
THUD
THUD THUD
We fade in to the red raw knuckles of Scott Fargo, his fists bouncing repetitiously off a weathered looking punching bag but his stride and form never breaks. Fargo’s face remains stoic and composed despite the bag beginning to leave faint imprints of blood from his hands.
We begin to pan away from Fargo though the sound of his strikes still permeate throughout the area as we get a better look at the location, a worn down looking gym no doubt violating several health code violations, the majority of machinery either obsolete or in desperate need of repair. A boxing ring stands triumphant in the centre of the gym, though it is caked in dust and the mat is unwashed it is still the only feature of the gym that seems vaguely salvageable.
The doors swing open, disturbing the rundown scene and sending up a few clouds of dust as the sunlight from outside bleeds into the room, we see James Dragon dressed in a slightly more casual affair than normal, wearing a pair of gray gym shorts and a black shirt with “JAMES DRAGON IS MY FAVOURITE WRESTLER” written boldly on it. Most notable however is the XHF Phoenix Championship slung over his shoulder, like a hunter carrying his kill.
Dragon: “She may not look like much but I like a challenge personally.”
Dragon flashes an arrogant smirk as he places his free hand in his pocket and begins walking towards the camera.
Dragon: “When I was last on AWF Programming I unseated Frank Fetcher at Prestige twenty-one. It’s been a little while since then and despite the assumption that I of all people would be bragging from the rooftops, I haven’t had much to say honestly. Not because of some sudden realization about who I am, not because I’ve been basking in my accomplishment and certainly not because I’ve had my sights set on the Fired Up tournament.”
Dragon’s smile dips as he shrugs nonchalantly.
Dragon: “But because it wasn’t anything special.”
Dragon turns the title around so it faces the camera, he holds it up next to his face.
Dragon: “The only reason I’ve brought this championship belt with me here today is to illustrate a point. That on my second match in my second week with a company who seemed to know next to nothing about me, I came in and unseated their champion, now I’m sure that in and of itself isn’t impressive to everyone and hell I understand that. Seth Dillinger made a very poignant point in his last promo where he wondered why despite his list of successes people continued to disrespect and belittle him. I have my own theory and it’s quite simple. Wrestling is a competitive sport and no matter how pure of heart a person may be if they are not looking out for themselves first and foremost they will drown, that’s just a harsh reality.”
Dragon lowers the belt.
Dragon: “The Phoenix Championship meant something to Frank, however insane his thoughts may have been, he very obviously so value in it. Likewise Natashi took a more simplistic view as many in this industry do and saw this belt as validation, it’s probably why she didn’t hold on to it for very long. Me personally I see this belt in a different light.”
Dragon opens his hand and let’s the belt slip out, the metal creating an audible thud off the wooden flooring.
Dragon: “Let me be clear this isn’t because I see the Phoenix Championship as below me, rather it’s because I see all championships as below me.”
James’ smirk returns as he places his hands in his pockets.
Dragon: “What was interesting to me about the Fired Up Tournament was all this fanfare for a chance at facing Bobby Barratt, now hey Barratt’s a great wrestler, despite himself he may even be considered a great champion. But all this circumstance, for a guy who was beaten by the lights turning off, felt a little gratuitous. In Bobby’s arrogance he’ll say it’s because he’s the champ and he’s an Icon, in my arrogance I’ll tell him to go fuck himself. If I want a shot at Bob’s title I won’t jump through several hoops to get it, I’ll harass, belittle, besmirch and spit in the face of Bob every chance I get.”
Dragon: “Then when he cracks and demands a match I’ll say no, he’s got to work for it a little too y’know?”
James crouches and picks the Phoenix Championship back up, he slings it over his shoulder once more.
Dragon: “I took this title and now I disrespect it, like I said I would and guess what when I get my hands on any and all other accolades, trophies, titles available in this company and the greater XHF I’ll treat ‘em the exact same goddamn way, not to show how badass or cool I am, but to prove a point. James Fucking Dragon is a title all on his own baby.”
Dragon: “To all the Fired Up competitors, to all the competitors in the AWF in general really, I wanna extend my support to each and every one of you, good luck with the tournament and with Bob or your Championships or the Icons in general; and continue to fight for whatever it is you believe in. Just know that what I believe in is destroying those things, but I won’t rush it, no, I won’t jump through your hoops and I won’t play along to your little games or show off my stupid cars or my casino or hide in the dark or make my little sitcom jokes.”
Dragon: “I’ll just be taking all the things you hold dear, all your history, all your legacies. And spitting on ‘em.”
In the background we see Fargo deliver a final blow, enough to completely knock the bag off of it’s rusted apparatus and crashing onto the floor. Fargo shakes his hands slightly as Dragon once more enters the foreground, flashing an evil grin.
Dragon: “Your brush with greatness is over.”
We cut to black.
