Post by dylanblack on Aug 5, 2023 14:31:50 GMT -6
-The scene opens up by showing off a clearly run down motel. Stereotypically the neon on the advertising sign is flickering in various spots, some letters just totally blew out. Soft, yellowed lighting lights up a few of the doors the rest shrouded in near complete darkness. There’s a few people hanging around, even one lady of the evening trying to earn some work. There’s one opened door and the camera operator makes their way over as the woman calls over to them but ultimately ignored.
Inside the rooms single light doesn’t illuminate much and that may be a good thing for squeamish viewers. Several pizza boxes are thrown about, bags of chicken bones soggy from the grease settling at the bottom of the bag, and mountain of two liter soda bottles piled up in one of the corners. On the bed, surrounded by just as much litter is the demon, loudly snoring and drooling. A cup of pudding is tipped over on his chest, a spoon somehow dangling still in his mouth.
The camera person shuffles through the mess and gives the bed a light tap with his foot. That of course does not work and the man tries it again. Still nothing, and as if Dreadvan was subconsciously trying to defy them, scratches his groin and grunts. The spoon that was so perfectly perched falls out and then into his hair. The camera operator fumbles around a bit as evident by the shot temporarily moving towards the floor before readjusting. They hold out a candy bar and attempt to place it in the big man's hand.
Dreadvan’s eyes snap open before the deed is done and as if by reflex snatches the bar right out of their hand and shoves it into his mouth wrapper and all. As the demon munches down on his snack he looks over and notices he’s being filmed. He takes a moment and swallows what remains cleanly. Dreadvan then adjusts himself so his back is against the headboard to sit up. The spoon with pudding dangling about aggravates him a bit and he pulls it free only to throw it near mt. bottle.-
“So finally decided to show up eh? Thank god I cleaned up a little bit. Welcome to the real life of a wrestler on the road. It’s not as glamorous as the diamond lounges of the world, but this is reality for the vast majority of us. It of course isn’t this exact place, but there are many many many like it in the world. Little spots in the middle of the worst parts of the cities we go to, cheap enough to afford on the salaries we get paid.
It’s not easy to live your life from one place to the next either. If you have a family, you hardly ever see them. Have a little sweet heart? Better hope they love you enough not to mess around while you’re out busting your ass between rare phone calls. Hell even doing your taxes is a damn nightmare. Offices open and close whenever they damn well please with no consideration for anyone’s circumstances.
I know there are many super famous stars out there who make it seem like we drive to shows in fancy cars, get first class tickets on all their flights, maybe even a charter on a private one. Maybe they show up to signings in a three thousand dollar suit wearing sunglasses worth more than the average person’s monthly rent. But there’s a harsh truth under that big sham.
You see even if they do that stuff sometimes they do it to keep the appearances. That fancy car? Rented for the day for pennies on the real price, maybe even company provided for a one off shot. That three thousand dollar suit? That’s them taking out a personal loan and reworn time and time again in different towns. Those sunglasses? Most likely obtained through a sponsorship deal, so they can advertise that company’s latest.”
-Dreadvan lightly chuckles to himself.-
“Sorry for peeling away the wizard's curtain but you all know me by now. I tell the truth if you want to hear it or not. People need to understand that this life is not for the faint of heart. People who wrestle usually come from the darkest corners of the alley, who maybe went to jail a few times, who maybe messed up their lives so badly that they have no other choice but to fight for money. No parent dreams their kid will become a professional wrestler and for good reason.
There’s a man who claims this kind of lifestyle saved him. Look around you. Does this look like heaven? Who in the world with another option would even think of living like this? This is a business for the outcasts and the troublemakers, not the successful, overachievers. How could anyone claim it uplifts them, when all it boils down to is a way to survive?
There’s a man who claims that fame keeps him going. And how was that working out for him? All it lead to is speeding up his original problems. Competition didn’t bring out the best in him, it brought out the absolute worst. Yet somehow this time, it’s magically different right? He’s seen the light! Sounds like a crackhead fresh out of rehab. Problem there? Soon as they are back in the old neighborhood they are right back in that alley taking a load for a fix.
That’s exactly what’s going to happen eventually to this man too. He’s singing the song everyone wants to hear. That delicate tune that whispers sweet nothings into the hearts of people who overtrust. The gullible and the stupid. I’m not about to sit here and pretend his past doesn’t matter just because he’s dancing different.
Don’t mistake this either as the usual rant he’s used to getting. No, instead it’s just a dose of reality. How much longer will he keep this act up? I really wonder. You think he’s going to carry the title to AA meetings? You know what, I bet they do, to prop up the image this time is different. Then as soon as the camera turns off he’ll scour the streets, find the youngest looking person on the block, sniff coke off their genitals and maybe even release on the title.”
-Dreadvan takes a second to let those words sink in for a bit. He reaches over to the side of a bed and grabs an open bag of chips and shovels some into his mouth.-
“That’s the reality and ultimately what that mans championship runs will be about. A double life, a double standard, a total refusal of truth. Usually I wouldn’t come down so hard on a man who gives into their vices. That’s not fair since I’m known to have a bad quirk or ten. But the difference is I own it. I didn’t pretend to stop being a sick and twisted son of a bitch. With Dreadvan, you always know what you’re going to get. With him? Whatever sounds nicest to his new masters.
How else do you get two singles title shots in the same week, in different companies? In fact I’m a bit pissed off he’s even returning to AXW. That the management were too dense to see what’s really going on here. This isn’t about paying respect back to the company that basically made him a star, this is about stealing what isn’t pegged down to the floor as the shop closes.
Something inside tells me AXW actually knows what’s up but they only see the dollar signs at the end of the tunnel. One final cash grab. All the talk about celebrating legacy just a way to get butts in seats. To line their pockets one final time before kicking the people who stuck it out in the ass on the way out. To me it seems they couldn’t care less who even wins. The championship that I pushed into legend just another prop that is expendable.”
-Dreadvan tosses the empty back away after forming it into a ball. It also lands on top of the large pile of bottles. The force disturbs it’s delicate balance and causes a domino effect, forcing them to spread out as if it melted.-
“I resent the notion outright. A champion is a leader. A champion is a fighter. A championship is a tool to spread a message. Only people with real conviction deserve to be honored as the rulers of the slums. The slums being the world of professional wrestlers. That’s me, a demon who makes no qualms to tell people what’s really up. I am the best of the worst. Nothing in this world is ever going to change that fact.“
-Dreadvan starts moving around and swings his massive legs off the side of the bed. He sits straight up now and look dead center at the camera.-
“Thankfully, I’m going to be there to stop the madness. I’m going to be there to shine a dark light onto the real issue. When you get in that ring with me you piece of trash you’re going to finally feel the weight of the world coming down on you once again. I’m going to take you to your very limits, like the countless others who dared oppose me. No little poems or songs will ever be enough to recount just how badly you’re going to be exposed.
I can even make a bet right now. As soon as the match is over there’s definitely going to be a needle in your arm shortly after. And not because you’re doing some black tar, but because you’ll be in the back of an ambulance. EMTs and security personnel screaming over each other in attempts to keep your very bloated and abused heart pumping. Instead of huffing paint, you’ll have a mask on for oxygen, struggling to breath with your blackened lungs.
As you get carted off to the hospital, as you lay there watching it all unfold but unable to do anything about it. When you’re eyelids get heavy, and you drift off into unconsciousness. Remember I saw through you. Remember there’s people like me just plain better than you. And finally, remember, I told you to be cautious of demons.
Now get the fuck out of here. If there’s one thing that dumb fuck ever did right was to put out some quality videos.”
-Dreadvan shoos away the camera person and gets up to close the door. The blinds are still wide open though and we can see Dreadvan waddling through the mess himself. He leans over and slaps a tape into an old VHS player. He goes over to the mini fridge, it’s covered in black mold and pulls out a stick of butter. He turns on the television and of course one of those infamous movies start playing. Dreadvan lathers his hand with the creamy bar and goes to pull off his pants. However, out of the corner of his eye he sees that he’s still being watched. He grabs the lone chair in the room and tosses it at the window cracking it.-
Inside the rooms single light doesn’t illuminate much and that may be a good thing for squeamish viewers. Several pizza boxes are thrown about, bags of chicken bones soggy from the grease settling at the bottom of the bag, and mountain of two liter soda bottles piled up in one of the corners. On the bed, surrounded by just as much litter is the demon, loudly snoring and drooling. A cup of pudding is tipped over on his chest, a spoon somehow dangling still in his mouth.
The camera person shuffles through the mess and gives the bed a light tap with his foot. That of course does not work and the man tries it again. Still nothing, and as if Dreadvan was subconsciously trying to defy them, scratches his groin and grunts. The spoon that was so perfectly perched falls out and then into his hair. The camera operator fumbles around a bit as evident by the shot temporarily moving towards the floor before readjusting. They hold out a candy bar and attempt to place it in the big man's hand.
Dreadvan’s eyes snap open before the deed is done and as if by reflex snatches the bar right out of their hand and shoves it into his mouth wrapper and all. As the demon munches down on his snack he looks over and notices he’s being filmed. He takes a moment and swallows what remains cleanly. Dreadvan then adjusts himself so his back is against the headboard to sit up. The spoon with pudding dangling about aggravates him a bit and he pulls it free only to throw it near mt. bottle.-
“So finally decided to show up eh? Thank god I cleaned up a little bit. Welcome to the real life of a wrestler on the road. It’s not as glamorous as the diamond lounges of the world, but this is reality for the vast majority of us. It of course isn’t this exact place, but there are many many many like it in the world. Little spots in the middle of the worst parts of the cities we go to, cheap enough to afford on the salaries we get paid.
It’s not easy to live your life from one place to the next either. If you have a family, you hardly ever see them. Have a little sweet heart? Better hope they love you enough not to mess around while you’re out busting your ass between rare phone calls. Hell even doing your taxes is a damn nightmare. Offices open and close whenever they damn well please with no consideration for anyone’s circumstances.
I know there are many super famous stars out there who make it seem like we drive to shows in fancy cars, get first class tickets on all their flights, maybe even a charter on a private one. Maybe they show up to signings in a three thousand dollar suit wearing sunglasses worth more than the average person’s monthly rent. But there’s a harsh truth under that big sham.
You see even if they do that stuff sometimes they do it to keep the appearances. That fancy car? Rented for the day for pennies on the real price, maybe even company provided for a one off shot. That three thousand dollar suit? That’s them taking out a personal loan and reworn time and time again in different towns. Those sunglasses? Most likely obtained through a sponsorship deal, so they can advertise that company’s latest.”
-Dreadvan lightly chuckles to himself.-
“Sorry for peeling away the wizard's curtain but you all know me by now. I tell the truth if you want to hear it or not. People need to understand that this life is not for the faint of heart. People who wrestle usually come from the darkest corners of the alley, who maybe went to jail a few times, who maybe messed up their lives so badly that they have no other choice but to fight for money. No parent dreams their kid will become a professional wrestler and for good reason.
There’s a man who claims this kind of lifestyle saved him. Look around you. Does this look like heaven? Who in the world with another option would even think of living like this? This is a business for the outcasts and the troublemakers, not the successful, overachievers. How could anyone claim it uplifts them, when all it boils down to is a way to survive?
There’s a man who claims that fame keeps him going. And how was that working out for him? All it lead to is speeding up his original problems. Competition didn’t bring out the best in him, it brought out the absolute worst. Yet somehow this time, it’s magically different right? He’s seen the light! Sounds like a crackhead fresh out of rehab. Problem there? Soon as they are back in the old neighborhood they are right back in that alley taking a load for a fix.
That’s exactly what’s going to happen eventually to this man too. He’s singing the song everyone wants to hear. That delicate tune that whispers sweet nothings into the hearts of people who overtrust. The gullible and the stupid. I’m not about to sit here and pretend his past doesn’t matter just because he’s dancing different.
Don’t mistake this either as the usual rant he’s used to getting. No, instead it’s just a dose of reality. How much longer will he keep this act up? I really wonder. You think he’s going to carry the title to AA meetings? You know what, I bet they do, to prop up the image this time is different. Then as soon as the camera turns off he’ll scour the streets, find the youngest looking person on the block, sniff coke off their genitals and maybe even release on the title.”
-Dreadvan takes a second to let those words sink in for a bit. He reaches over to the side of a bed and grabs an open bag of chips and shovels some into his mouth.-
“That’s the reality and ultimately what that mans championship runs will be about. A double life, a double standard, a total refusal of truth. Usually I wouldn’t come down so hard on a man who gives into their vices. That’s not fair since I’m known to have a bad quirk or ten. But the difference is I own it. I didn’t pretend to stop being a sick and twisted son of a bitch. With Dreadvan, you always know what you’re going to get. With him? Whatever sounds nicest to his new masters.
How else do you get two singles title shots in the same week, in different companies? In fact I’m a bit pissed off he’s even returning to AXW. That the management were too dense to see what’s really going on here. This isn’t about paying respect back to the company that basically made him a star, this is about stealing what isn’t pegged down to the floor as the shop closes.
Something inside tells me AXW actually knows what’s up but they only see the dollar signs at the end of the tunnel. One final cash grab. All the talk about celebrating legacy just a way to get butts in seats. To line their pockets one final time before kicking the people who stuck it out in the ass on the way out. To me it seems they couldn’t care less who even wins. The championship that I pushed into legend just another prop that is expendable.”
-Dreadvan tosses the empty back away after forming it into a ball. It also lands on top of the large pile of bottles. The force disturbs it’s delicate balance and causes a domino effect, forcing them to spread out as if it melted.-
“I resent the notion outright. A champion is a leader. A champion is a fighter. A championship is a tool to spread a message. Only people with real conviction deserve to be honored as the rulers of the slums. The slums being the world of professional wrestlers. That’s me, a demon who makes no qualms to tell people what’s really up. I am the best of the worst. Nothing in this world is ever going to change that fact.“
-Dreadvan starts moving around and swings his massive legs off the side of the bed. He sits straight up now and look dead center at the camera.-
“Thankfully, I’m going to be there to stop the madness. I’m going to be there to shine a dark light onto the real issue. When you get in that ring with me you piece of trash you’re going to finally feel the weight of the world coming down on you once again. I’m going to take you to your very limits, like the countless others who dared oppose me. No little poems or songs will ever be enough to recount just how badly you’re going to be exposed.
I can even make a bet right now. As soon as the match is over there’s definitely going to be a needle in your arm shortly after. And not because you’re doing some black tar, but because you’ll be in the back of an ambulance. EMTs and security personnel screaming over each other in attempts to keep your very bloated and abused heart pumping. Instead of huffing paint, you’ll have a mask on for oxygen, struggling to breath with your blackened lungs.
As you get carted off to the hospital, as you lay there watching it all unfold but unable to do anything about it. When you’re eyelids get heavy, and you drift off into unconsciousness. Remember I saw through you. Remember there’s people like me just plain better than you. And finally, remember, I told you to be cautious of demons.
Now get the fuck out of here. If there’s one thing that dumb fuck ever did right was to put out some quality videos.”
-Dreadvan shoos away the camera person and gets up to close the door. The blinds are still wide open though and we can see Dreadvan waddling through the mess himself. He leans over and slaps a tape into an old VHS player. He goes over to the mini fridge, it’s covered in black mold and pulls out a stick of butter. He turns on the television and of course one of those infamous movies start playing. Dreadvan lathers his hand with the creamy bar and goes to pull off his pants. However, out of the corner of his eye he sees that he’s still being watched. He grabs the lone chair in the room and tosses it at the window cracking it.-