Conversation Piece, Ch.I

[Kevin Dahlia]

Conversation Piece

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Chapter.I -- All Alone In An Empty House.[/center]

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Scene. [one].

Assemblage Of Wolves

>>--Distorted and desolate, a sombre mind grows dormant in the wee hours of the night. A time of mystical splendour, when a bloated sun sets itself, and a radiant moon peeks from it's absence. In the hours in which monsters & ghouls supposedly ascend the wretched grip of decay & death, sauntering about, out in the open for all to feast their petrified eyes upon. Though, I'm not one to quite believe in monsters. Not anymore. I'm far too old for such childish nonsense. But that's not too say there is not such a thing. I beg to differ, and would find anyone who opposes the existence of 'monsters', to be quite moronic. Dare I even go as far as too insinuate that they are, irrefutably, desolate of thought.--<<


[/li][li]Feverishly, Cameron ascends his bedding. His eyes dreary, from lack of sleep. Heavily hanging open, and upon the verge of collapsing. An action of which, would be sending him back, spiralling into a state of slumber, in the comforting warmth of his sheets. Nonetheless, Cameron trudges forward, granted, a noted lack of haste between steps. His apartment, a place he knew all too well, felt like a stranger in the hours of the dark. He proceeded forward, an enquiring step taken, every movement. His intentions were unclear, to that of himself even.[/li][li]

Assemblage Of Wolves

>>--I suppose I felt... drawn. Here I am, dead in sleep, my thoughts filled with an overabundance of monsters, and ghost and things. All along I should have been preparing. My debut within APW was inching ever nearer. A three way dance with that. Though my opposition was a bumbling fool, and a relative unknowner, rest was required. I was, and am aware of this. But those monsters in my head scared me. And that's just it, I need clarification. I need to see myself, for reassurance. Just like a stupid teenager, tripping on LSD, I needed a check, to make sure reality remained intact. Because it was monsters that I was fearing. It was monsters I knew were here, in my own apartment. So much for a fortress of solace and solitude.--<<


[/li][li]What felt similar to a substantial journey into ever engulfing nothingness, finally met a closing. A denouement of sorts. With a singular swift flip of the wrist, making collision with a nob, a blurring sensation of light cascades from wall to wall. It was like tossing a blindfold aside, simply to discover you're blind. Grunting with an heir of livid intent, Cameron hastily shielded his eyes from the sudden distortion of vision. Within a few, abrupt intervals, all returns to a state dubbed 'normal'. Cameron peeks from his arm, a diminutive cause for celebration. Standing within the confines of a white bathroom, Cameron turns with grand leisure. Staring into a reflection of himself.[/li][li]


[C]ameron [W]olves: "Oh, thank God... the monsters, they're all still here. *Heh*."


[/li][li]Staring back in the mirror is no more than a reflection of he himself. Suddenly, that state of stupendous desperation; an urgent need for sleep, is depleted. The cold shivers of worry are washed away by a wave of awesome relief. As is apparent, the only monster within that of Cameron's snug little apartment is that of, Cameron Vela Wolves, himself. And from such a discovery, a peculiar little hint of joy is uncovered. In that instance, that period of glorification, a cooing echo from the other room resonates throughout the apartment. His smile hastily dissipates. Exhuming a small breath, however, allows that smear of a smirk to return to his predominately pale-as-cocaine skin. He looks as though he had just seen an apparition of sorts.[/li][li]


[C]ameron [W]olves: "*S I G H* Well, fuck me. It looks as though ALL the monsters are here. I should really learn to watch what I say."


[/li][li]Quickly running his hands through the limited hair atop his head, Cameron gently places a hand upon the nearest wall, propelling himself into rotation, towards the door of his now patronizing washroom. That same voice from moments before radiates once more. Indistinguishable, and barely audible, but irrefutably present. Cameron proceeds to its source, a look of sheer disdain painted atop the canvas of his facial landscaping.


Briskly sauntering, an heir of urgency claiming his every step, Cameron enters that of his kitchen corridors. His presence in the room is brief however. His hand glides across the counter top, firmly clasping a reassuring grip on a pot of coffee. An abrupt lapse of intervals onward, and a fresh pot of coffee, - radiating rippling warmth - is conceived. Grabbing two cups, Cameron pours the liquid content in. With a facial landscaping mimicking that of mortar, he marches towards his living room, gently exhaling a substantial quantity of air for composure as he does so. Upon entering the living room, a warming voice verbalizes, it's intentions towards him.[/li][li]


[D]ahlia [R]osewood: "Aww, sweaty. You got me coffee. You really didn't have too. And should you really be drinking a stimulant at this hour? You should be sleeping, mister! Especially with your 'big day' looming around the corner.|


[C]ameron [W]olves: "...Oh, you heard about my signing to APW huh? Spectacular. Just spectacular."


[D]ahlia [R]osewood: "Heard about it? Oh lover, sweaty, darling. You know I'm just a figment of your imagination; an appendage of your brain. We both know I'm just a coping mechanism, to help you deal with the fact that I'm gone. So the coffee, while a warming gesture..."


[C]ameron [W]olves: "Thanks for that awkward exposition. What the fuck is this, a movie?"


[/li][li]A glaring ascension erupts from Cameron as he says such. His composure presently lacking itself. There he sat, all alone in an empty house, having a cup of coffee with the girl he once loved. 'Once' being operative. Fatalities have a substantial tendency to mismatch the wiring in the brains of those close to the ones lost. Regardless of whatever intellectual prows Cameron possessed, this remained an accurate assertion. With this, in and of itself, he wearily grew livid.[/li][li]


[D]ahlia [R]osewood: "I'm sorry darling. But do you honestly thinking wrestling is going to help me come back?"


[C]ameron [W]olves: "Yes. Well, no. But finally going through with my 'dream' should at-least get you off my mind. Or, if anything, make you stop visiting me."


[D]ahlia [R]osewood: "Perhaps, but...."


[C]ameron [W]olves: "But?"


[D]ahlia [R]osewood: "That's only to assume you actually pick up the victory. I mean, I just can't see you screwing up having all to positive an effect dear. I know you have a bit of an ego complex, but should you really be underestimating your competition so much? You've never even competed before."


[C]ameron [W]olves: "I studied in, Japan for four years. Are you fucking kidding me? I disclosed my entire social life to study this damn sport. I studied the in's and out's of the ring to the point that I do this match blindfolded."


[D]ahlia [R]osewood: "Ouu. Now that would be interesting."


[/li][li]Upon hearing such utterances, Cameron can't help but to surrender a smile. Even if only a momentary lapse, it was present.[/li][li]


[D]ahlia [R]osewood: "Thats what I like to see. Now honestly, you need rest. You've been up a lot. Besides, I don't want to see you flunk your first match ever just because you were up talking to me."


[C]ameron [W]olves: "Aha! Have you actually looked into who I'm facing on... Meltdown I believe it's called. Trust me, I've done my research. One is a blundering maroon. He goes by the handle, Mr.Dangerous; the most cliched name conceivable. The man posses the most laughably putrid inring techniques and capabilities. That's not even a hyperbole, quite sadly."


[D]ahlia [R]osewood: "Really? Not even a tiny wittle bit?"


[C]ameron [W]olves: "*H E H* Not by any means. He someway acquired the alias of 'The Least Dangerous Man In Wrestling'. Sends quivers down the spine, eh?"


[D]ahlia [R]osewood: "Well, ya'know. Figment. No spine."


[C]ameron [W]olves: "Oh, well, yes. Ahaha..."


[D]ahlia [R]osewood: "And the other opponent? What of him?[/i]"


[C]ameron [W]olves: "What of him indeed. No standing record of ever professionally competing. No record of prior wrestling training. No grasp on the basic English language. Then again, the simian is American, so that grasp may be a but further down then he needs it to be. What I did find, however, was one of two things. First, he composes a blog over-saturated with pretentious political ideals, backed by nothing, and supported only by a child's grasp of our language. And, on a supremely more hilarious note, the guy is a fucking druggie. And I don't mean in the sense that he smokes too much grass. No no. This man has been charged with cocaine, and heroine. Whats funny is all the pride he takes in it, haha. "


[D]ahlia [R]osewood[/color]: "Ahaha. What a dumbass. Haha. What else love?"

[/li][li]This pattern of conversation proceeds steadily onward for about fifteen more minutes. Unbeknownst to Cameron himself, his eyes leisurely flutter. A weightily tendency lazily crawls upon him. With every verbalized utterance, he slowly descends from reality tiny bit more, by a tiny bit more. Suddenly, he awakens in an abundantly perplexed manner. The daylight pouring through his curtain. His coffee half-full. Dahlia's full. Once again he is all alone in his apartment.[/li][li]

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Scene. [two].

[<<]An obscurely vivid overlay of transitioning colors quickly dissipates into a momentary lapse of desolate visual distortion. An overbearing abundance of static like noise agitates, before turning picturesque. This state was clear, regardless of the peculiar content shown. A dimmer room. Not to the point of being unable to see, just dim by nature. Predominantly lacking furniture, the room appears barren. This last only a brief interval however, as a figure, arguably from behind the camera itself, emerges into peripheral view. Ripe and fit, and snugly within the confines of a black t-shirt, with a barely readable emblem across the torso, crisp & white, reading "Emperor". A quick assumption could be drawn that it is that of a band, of some sort. The t-shirt isn't garnering much attention however, as Cameron's substantially pretentious, and megalomania inspired grin, wiped supremely confident across his face, is much more drawing. Hastily relinquishing a yawn, undoubtedly brought on by lack of sleep, Cameron begins to spin the quill of his tongue to the paper of our ears.[>>]


[ C ]ameron [ W ]olves: "I was initially thinking I'd start my first introduction to APW with some fancy, and condescending wordplay. "Salutations, simpletons", or something to that heir. But, I decided against that. I'm new here, I can't go around making such bold and broad assumptions as to the intellectual properties of my fellow employes and competitors. No. That'd just be plain rude, and hey, we don't want that, now do we? No no no, perish the thought!"


[<<]Tongue in cheek, and an exponentially, overbearing overtone of sarcastic worth, violate the words he so smugly spews out. Condescension is riddled through his purposely ironic vocal tone. As though reassurance was required to tell that this man, in Cameron Wolves, was a megalomaniac, or better put, a plain out ass; his deep sea-blue eyes, glazed with self-worth and gilded arrogance, pierce through the camera in an attention grabbing manner.[>>]


[ C ]ameron [ W ]olves: "For all I know, my own intellectual worth could be diminutive compared to those of my opposition... But THEN, I heard whom it was I needed to compete with. Lets just say, intelligence based condescension is fully justified. So, please, allow me to formally introduce myself; *A H E M*, Salutation simpletons. My name is Cameron Wolves, and I know you don't know who I am, and while understandable, that ends this very instance."


"This company is quite barren. While it has three shows, and an abundance of 'Megastars', the actual talent is dangerously lacking. Let me emphasize that better. SUPREMELY lacking. Carmen Rivera. Evan Envi. There, I just named off every talent on 'Meltdown'. And that's not saying all too much. But after Meltdown, I will have my hands tied in fame. See, I have affairs that need to be dealt with. Such being my debut contest, which is looming. What will be a hasty and hilariously out-contested bout. This is no thanks to my, APPARENT, opposition. One, a man dubbed "The Least Dangerous Man In Wrestling", in Mr.Dangerous. Ouu. Mind bogglingly petrifying, eh? And the other, a man who probably becomes confounded at the mere notion of the word 'wrestling' having the letter 'W' in it. I am of course referring to the always stunningly intelligent, Young Kiz. And yes folks, yes. His name REALLY is, "Young, Kiz". Why? Who thought that sounded good? Why did no one tell him that it sounds like whitest attempt at sounding G? Hell if I Know."


[<<]Perpetually insensitive, with condescension being Wolves desired result, a murky slithering like smirk coils upon his lips. For a moment, his poison like words halt from being spewed. As though its replacement radiates anything that's less of a piss off. In place of his pretentious verbalization’s comes his tedious smirk. His megalomania in full tilt. Almost to a sickening degree.[>>]


[C ]ameron [ W ]olves: "Many of you must be enquiring; 'Oh, Cameron, aren't you afraid of pissing both them off?' and to that, I offer you a scathing retort -- aha(!), no. But funny. Now, between these two individuals, I hold a more substantial gripe with, Kiz, if only because this blundering plague on the English language is a walking contradiction of his own pretentious blather, that already lacks any sensibility. And that's without me making a hyperbole of his sheer stupidity. And because of that, Mr.Dangerous, you get it easy this week. Because too be frank, I don't give a single flying fuck about you."

"Akin to Kiz, minor things are known about this backwards country hick, besides the fact that... well, he's a backwards country hick. I have taken the liberty of viewing some of his match tapes and, to be honest, I have a singular question; which member of the APW board was smoking crack rocks when they thought to hire him!? That's a literal question. I haven't seen this simian throw a SINGLE manoeuvre out of his repertoire. And like my statements on Kiz' utter lack of intelligence, this is no hyperbole. He wins by mistakes, he putters around the ring like a spastic maroon, and he bumbles about like a god damn fish out of water. I have been lucky enough NOT to hear him speak, and for that, I pray every evening. I'm well acquainted with Kiz' moronic tendencies, I don't think I could handle anymore in a single week. I'm actually looking forward to what he has to say about me though. The fact that he has troubles walking should make his attempts at condescending me exponentially humorous."

"But enough about the hick. His own nickname speaks volumes about him as is. No, instead lets focus on a man who I'm SURE will piss me off to know ends for his entire duration within the company. Kiz. Or, should I call you Young? Regardless, you make me sound like a blathering imbecile everytime I have to utter you ridiculous name. I checked your little blog sweety, and I must ask, how don't you comprehend the putridity of how illogical your every word is? Let me clarify, I am indeed, 'mad bro'. I mean, half your blog doesn't even make a lick of common sense. Do you know what chivalry is? It has nothing to do with a political system, you goon. But that's irrelevant. Everyone who read that idiocy is well aware that you are the most politically uninformed person there is. Hell, you make Newt Gingrich & Ron Paul look good. But hey, you like them, don't you, you hypocritical, extreme right wing insect?"


[<<]Ever so briefly, Cameron takes a second to compose himself, trying to devour the expanding rage he was abruptly spilling out onto the camera, in a charasmatic manner. Running his pale hands across his rigid face, he exhumes. Deeply taking a breath to counter the air he relinquished, Cameron seems a tad more pleasant.[>>]


[ C ]ameron [ W ]olves: "Ladies & Gentlemen, let me reveal some fun facts about mister Kiz. This painfully idiotic right wing pundit spent some time in the ol' slammer. And that's the main difference between he and I. While I was over in Japan, training and studying the most talented stars in the world, for years and years, Kiz was smoking crack, shooting up heroine, and railing lines. Party! Whew! And where did that land him? Surprise surprise, jail. Allow me to reiterate, and make something abundantly clear; if you want to do drugs? Go for it! It's no skin off my back. But don't be like Kiz children. Shut the FUCK up about all the opioid you're injecting. And like hell you blame politics for your fuckups."

"See, that IS the main difference between us Kiz. While you struggle to survive in the desolate position you put yourself in, I worked my ass off to get where I am. And I do it with a well deserved, egotistical stride. The government didn't "fuck you over, maaaan". Your blundering, neanderthal of a brain doesn't even have the capacity to understand the first thing about our political system. No. Your own lack of try, and lack of ability is what put you in the shithole. You're nothing but a walking conspiracy theory, blaming everything above you for your own faults. And you know what? It sickens me to the marrow of my bone. And that's the mistake you made. You pissed me off Kiz. You aren't just going into battle against a well equipped, intellectually masterful, and intricate soldier. You're going into battle with one that wants to tear you limb from limb, and bash your face in to the point that you can't open your mouth, and plauge my ears with anymore tedious rambling. Maybe I'll snap a few of your fingers too. Make sure you can't make the internet anymore of farm of stupidity, eh?"

"It will be no shock to anyone in attendance when I squash Kiz, and Dangerous, as the insects they are. 'I' spent my life in preparation for Monday night. My opposition? One can't execute a single move, and the other spent his life either injecting his arm with, hopefully, dirty needles, or behind bars for being a complete fuckwad. Yes. A fuckwad. You boys shant ascend to victory with an intellectual giant like me in the way. So for now, I bid you adieu. Enjoy your time spent waiting for failure."

--the following roleplay was an, Odd Cloud Production

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Word Count 2,974 RP# I Vs[/color] Young Kiz & Mr.Dangerous Notes[/color] 'Assemblage of Wolves' is a soliloquy style. Best of luck to Kiz & Dangerous[/center]
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