Conversation Piece, Ch.III

[Kevin Dahlia]

Conversation

iece

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C h a p t e r: III -- Regiments of Disconnects Emerge In a Moronic Gentleman's War .

All alone at night. I feel so strange.
I need to find an answer.
All the answers to my dreams.


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June, 11th. 2012
7:44 PM

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[&]Rows of grass, glistening a green aurora, kneel before the presence of footsteps. Condensed smoke bellows in the formation of a pure-white cloud. A momentary lapse of breeze allows it to shaoeshift, in a magical illusion like alteration. Upon the return of the wind, it is wisped into a wallowing catacomb state. Inhalation of the 'fuzzy herb treatment' stimulates he nostrils of Cameron. He egarly saunters forward to the source of the smoke.[&]


[C][/b]hase [W][/b]ashington: “Ahh. Mr.Wolves, tad bit late, aintcha? What, suffering from a broken leg now are we?”


[&]Seemingly subsiding the apparent condescension, Cameron proceeds forward. Before him sits a man decked out with an attire to be dubbed fairly cliche in the 'hipster' fashion concepts. White dress shirt, black vest, black horn-rimmed glasses. Etc etc. The mans dark skin has a radiating glow to it from the setting sun, which battles for supremacy of the sky against the ascending moon in the distance.[&]


[C]ameron [W]olves: “Oh fuck off, Chase.”


[&]Seated upon a playground swingset, Chase gestures for Cameron to descend. Seat himself beside him. Cameron applauds the notion by doing so. Chase raises a tightly rolled joint to his mouth. Lightly touching it to his lips as he inhales the glorious smoke once more. Spewing it out in a relaxing manner.[&]


[C][/b]hase [W][/b]ashington: “Well I suppose you don't want anneh Pot then, huh?”


[C]ameron [W]olves: “Dumbass. Did you not see the fall that imbecile Horrowitz forced me into on the last Meltdown?”


[C][/b]hase [W][/b]ashington: “I did. So wha... No way!”


[&]Cameron's associate Chase suddenly dawns upon realization of what Wolves was subtly implying. A smirk smears across Cameron's face. It's atypical to what is commonly synonymous for Cameron. Genuine happiness radiates from it. Chase reflects this now. Ashing his 'hoot' on the pole nearest him.[&]


[C]ameron [W]olve: “By the doctors orders. Medically prescribed.”


[C][/b]hase [W][/b]ashington: “You dog you! Always findin' a way to get your fix, huh?”


[C]ameron [W]olves: “Jesus Christ, Chase. It's fucking dope, not... well, the other dope. But uh, to be 'blunt', yes. Of course I do. I dare say I'm a genius after-all. An optimistic one at that. Benny Horrowitz wants to send us both crashing off of a stage into extremely dangerous electrical equipment, so be it. I'll just smoke the clouds.”


[C][/b]hase [W][/b]ashington: “In all honesty, how are you feeling after that? It looked a bit gruesome brah. I mean, you even gunna' be able to compete next week?”


[&]Whilst fetching grass as green as the grass beneath their feet, from the confines of his bag, slung neatly over his shoulder, Cameron glances at Washington in an enigmatic manner. An eyebrow cocked as he does so.[&]


[C]ameron [W]olves: “Uh, ya. Of course I fucking am. My legs aren't broken, my skull isn't cracked. I might be in some pain, but, heh. I'm living my dream.”


[C][/b]hase [W][/b]ashington: “If you say so, Cam. Kinda running risky business, all things considering next Meltdown.”


[&]Now drenched with an heir of genuine concern, Cameron hurls a perplexing facial portrait to Chase. Blatantly, Wolves is puzzled at the notion of why the forthcoming Meltdown could be considered 'risky', as Chase so warningly verbalized. Nonetheless, he proceeds in rolling the marijuana.[&]


[C][/b]hase [W][/b]ashington: “What? Have you not heard who you are facin' next week brah?”


[C]ameron [W]olve: “Nah, 'brah' I haven't.”


[&]Cameron is quick to compile this conversation with a seemingly condescendingly sarcastic rebuttal. Chase looks at him with a face that appears to read; “don't do that”. It quickly dissipates as he is reminded that Cameron is, in fact, providing the consumption of medically modified herbal grass.[&]


[C][/b]hase [W][/b]ashington: “Cam buddy. You're facing Borderland. Ya'know, one half of last years “Tag Team of the Year”, with ya' current World Champion, Kash.”


[C]ameron [W]olves: “N-no... he quit. The guy hasn't wrestled in almost a year.”


[C][/b]hase [W][/b]ashington: “Well, I don't know what to tell ya'.”


[C]ameron [W]olves: “How the hell did you even know who I was facing, BEFORE I knew?”


[C][/b]hase [W][/b]ashington: “Internet.”


[&]Instantaneously, Cameron drops the matter. For, whilst comical value was hidden beneath the context of what Chase spoke, he fully comprehended the veracity behind it.[&]


[C][/b]hase [W][/b]ashington: “So, you still so sure you have what it takes man? All beat up from last week, coming off two weeks of no momentum by tying, twice. Facing one of the most recognizable faces of APW from last year, in HIS return, so you know he'll be gunnin'?”


[C]ameron [W]olves: “... Well, not now! Fuck me with a rusty spoon.”


[C][/b]hase [W][/b]ashington: “Odd.”


[C]ameron [W]olves: “This is some substantial bullshit, mind you. I come off an blatant street assault like this, and they throw one of the companies biggest “kings without a crown” at me? Ughh. I'm not one to doubt myself, but...”


[C][/b]hase [W][/b]ashington: “Naaaah man. You shouldn't fret over it like this. You beat Mr.Dangerous after-all. Took some stereotypical street thug to his limit, twice in a row. You really going to let a guy with a years worth of rust tarnish you before you even get started?”


[C]ameron [W]olves: “Touche I suppose. Touche.”


[C][/b]hase [W][/b]ashington: “You've seen how fast they fire athletes who can't hold their weight, Cam. You're coming off of two draws. If you allow yourself to fall victim to Borderland, you know where your ass is gunna' be brah. Besides, this is a guy that could never acchomplish anything in his singles career. Always teamin' up. And when he didn't? He flunked out of the Test For the Best.”


[C]ameron [W]olves: “Every-time I see you, I mistake you as painstakingly stupid. Then we talk. Heh. Suppose I just need some smoke in me. Wanna spark this for me? No light.”


[C][/b]hase [W][/b]ashington: “Ye' man. Don't even worry about it.”


[&]Chase retrives a lighter from his pocket, and 'sparks' the joint, as Cameron tokes off of it. A fluctuating stream of smokes infiltrates his lungs. Breathing it out, Cameron turns to Chase, handing him the joint. As Chase mirrors the actions of Wolves, Cameron verbalizes once more.[&]


[C]ameron [W]olves: “This is still going to be a monolithic struggle...”

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June, 13th. 2012
11:08 PM

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[&]Conversing particles articulate themselves in a vivid fashion. Bursting arrays of transitioning colours fluctuate, progressing in intervals so hastily that full vision is attained within an exponentially abrupt manner. Instantaneous. Emerging from the briefly distorted vision is a blurred figure. The egotistically alluring presence, even when transmitted through video, is all too familiar. If any doubt, or lack of clarity was afoot, it quickly dissipated at the white and self-indulging smirk, smeared across the beings face. Cameron stood there, a black suit, neatly draped across his corpse. Fashionably accompanied by a soft-scarlet tie. An odd concoction of pretentious & self-reserved glory was the stew that swelled into Cameron's ego. Be it just an act, or he really was this much of a megalomaniac, was unknown. But an 'ass' was something he was quickly becoming recognized as.[&]

A S S E M B L A G E . o f . W O L V E S
“Heh, well, it's now or never. Time to shine, regardless of that bullshit with Horrowitz last week.

[C]ameron [W]olves: “Salutations inferior simpletons. It's been about two week since my face was last shot by my own camera. And what a... well, ahaha. What a “peculiar” two weeks it's been, to say the least. Before I begin delving into anything of substantial significance, allow me to address the minor, albeit, existent quandary that was more than persistent last week.”


[&]For all the exponential indulgence of self that typically proliferates, steaming from Wolves' over-bloated, and dangerously teetering egotistical desires, an obscure sense of sincerity is cast from his verbalization. The pleasant tendency in his voice is rather peculiar, all things considered.[&]


[C]ameron [W]olves: “Where was this gorgeous mug last week? Obviously I am not referring to where my location was ring wise. It was rather blatant what articulated itself. And I have some qualms with that bullshit. But no, in terms of updating you illiterate jazzcats, week by week, there was a profound absence in me. Nothing spectacular arises as a reason. I simply had my camera broken, and thus, I needed to acquire a new, more vivid and definitioned camera. Hence this piece of, expensive, work. This however, begs the question of why not simply play a promo within the APW's own corridors. Free of cost. And to that, another tediously logical and simplistic answer dwells. I simply despise the notion of being censored because my intellectualized, sophisticated mind bares a minor tendency to verbalize profanities. So what, I like to say things akin to 'FUCK' and 'CUNT' on a scale that is a tad more than typical. Whatever. It leads me to my own creative control. Until it is legitimately required of me to come into the company and do the aforementioned, I wouldn't plan on seeing me do so. So shut the fuck up with the questions on the matter. Jesus.”


[&]The aforementioned sense of a calm and collected mind, drenched within kindness, is quickly forlorn. Perhaps simply an illusion of charismatic intent. Perhaps Cameron truly isn't such a condescending manic. Whatever the case rest upon, his demeanour altered in a fashion that was blatantly hasty. All along, the only consistently constant statue was his smeared smirk. Mortar.[&]


[C]ameron [W]olves: “This all seems a tad irrelevant though. More pressing matters rest upon my weary mind. Things such as my forthcoming bout on Meltdown. Things such as the atrocities that was my “rematch” against Horrowitz last week. I will leave the immediate aforesaid brief however. It is abundantly undoubted that I shant meet him within the ring again. In fact, I guarantee it. I wont let it not be. The utter bollocks that exist in this are substantially unjust. Irrefutably so. In my second go-around on Meltdown, I was set to clash with one Benny Horrowitz. The goal, attain victory. I had that within the firm clasp of my deadly little hand. I humiliated that street urchin, the exact same way I did Mr.Dangerous. It was the disastrous fallacy of a moronic simian-ref that forced my bout into a tie. So with a rematch last week, I was in both shock and livid intent when that utter buffoon(!) Horrowitz sent us both off of the stage last week. Yes, I was absurdly battered. My body felt like it had underwent advanced corpse decay. I was turning to mortar. That imbecile not ONLY prolonged a victory that was mine to begin with, but he risked my entire future. Whats wrong Benben? Fully comprehended that my technical and intellectualized capabilities within a ring were unmatched, so you threw the contest? Heh. Clever, I will give you that. But don't think you have unhinged yourself from the proverbial hook. I will get my reconcile with you utter incompetence!


In all actuality, if I had it my way, this forthcoming Meltdown would see the just and fair prevail. Prevail in the consistently typical glimmering fashion that I always gushingly do. Denounce the concept if you please, but I would eradicate you, entirely, this week given the opportunity. But alas, my conquest is halted like the harp string of a breathtaking artist.


You see my darling little jazzcats, I am perplexingly slated to engage myself with a former APW power-of-popularity. It seems to be becoming a rather fitting portrait of myself. Always competing with the far-superiorly recognized competitors of the promotion. I hold no qualms with such though. It's simply an exponential gap of opportunity. In this particular case, my soon to be quenched victory shall be a hypothesis-irreconcilability. Most of you insects are probably well informed on the matter at which I speak. My contest against the returning megastar, Shane... Borderland? Ahaha! Yes. That is correct children. I am set to compete with an arrogant individual who is named after a fucking videogame. Hilarious. Original...”


[&]Within his palms clasp, a piece of paper is quenched. It had been retrieved from his black-suit pocket, mere moments beforehand. Fixating his sternum like gaze upon the enigmatic sheet, Cameron appears temporarily baffled. In a diminutive manner, he exhumes a snort of derision. His eyes now cast back upon the camera, the sheet still within grasp.[&]


[C]ameron [W]olves: “...aha, as it would seem, I improperly spook. In accordance to this substantailly accurate sheet of data I have compiled on “Borderland”, that is, mind-boggelingly enough, his birth name. The Borderlands. Yaa. Uh, ok. Heh. I wont dwell on the utterly hysterical fact of what his name is, though, I do feel bad for you Shane. But I digress. More relevant matters are pressing on my cranium at this moment in time. Relevant matters akin to the ill spoken words you idiotically spewed about me. Something of a little regret, shall we say?”


[&]Decisively glancing back to the sheet for an abrupt interval, Cameron hurriedly skewers the content of a few sections. His lips motioning slight fractions of words every so often. Briskly running a hand through his short, though tussled hair, Wolves forfeits a genuine chuckle. That laugh bridges into a condescending re-ascension of his sea-blue eyes, once again. A seemingly embarrassed look sketched atop his facial landscaping. His eyes weary, with child like apathy.[&]


[C]ameron [W]olves: “Increasing tyraids of coursing apathy pulsate through me. It feels unpleasant Shane. Subsiding the fact that the homework you've done is condescendingly miniscule, the actual things you uttered are hilariously miscalculated. Inferring that I should retrieve a step-ladder, so to meet him at eye level. Aha! Get it? Because... I'm short, and he's tall. Haha. The joke is, we have a difference in height. Comical gold! His hilarity-genius rivals that of Dane Cook. It's saddens me to know that I'll have to burst him into something more rational. Like how I plan on snapping his knees until he is at MY eye level. A tad bit harsh, but a far more sufficient casing of a realistic realm, as opposed to his hollow, holographic dreamland.


Throughout the entire duration of Shane's generic, carbon-copy, tedious dribble, I couldn't help but pick up on the inherit traces of unintentional comedy. It was almost divine. Aha, see, that's a logical and subtle joke. Something your simianesque cranium fails to compute, comprehend, or even calculate. What I'm talking about is the constant reign of pretentious “self glorification”. Hell, this guy makes me seem like a humbled knight in the kings court. Prime exemplification of this notion can be found where he feverishly muttered such nonthreatening nonsense as, “I am going to show you why i am the Bad Boy of the APW. Why I was successful in my reign as Tag Team Champion and one of the best damn pieces of talent that has ever walked through the doors of the APW company,” blah blah blah blah blah.”


“Allow me to articulate the intellectualized fallacy of your gaping galaxy of a 'threat'. The ONLY scientific, or proven merit behind your words was your tandem with Jason Kash. Together you two individuals ruled a mid-section level of talent within this company. You even garnered tag team of the year. I can't refute the accolade of that. But that's just it Borderland. That is all you've ever accomplished. Being the background, white noised lackey of the current World Heavyweight Champion. Your most grand achievement was co-tailing an actual talent, before he himself even developed talent. Whew! Am I petrified to be facing you. Even so, any neanderthal can blatantly insinuate that the past is the past. If you think an accolade you only half earned, from more than a year ago is any concrete evidence to boost your own pretentiously egotistical desires, than you sir, are full of decaying shit. And please, everyone, recall that this is me speaking here.”


“Lest we all forget another great conquest you conquered Shane. Test For the Best, 2011. Oh, wait. That's right. Rather than flourish, you stumbled at that summit. What was it you attained there, second in finals? Semi-finals? Ehh. It lacks ANY sort of relevance, seeing as you didn't win. Ohh, I'm sure you could argue of how you came “close” and how that must amount to some demeanour of relevance. Too such, I say horseshoes. For this is professional wrestling. horseshoes it is not.”


[&]Angling himself to a slight rotational alteration, Cameron lazily descends his head. Back and forth, he shakes leisurely shakes it, implementing a sense of supreme disappointment, arguably in-regards to Borderland. Momentarily lapsing his speech, he snaps his neck in a casual manner. Once again following suit in glancing upon the notes he had gathered on his forthcoming opposition. Hastily skimming it again, Wovles crumbles the sheet, tossing it back over his shoulder. It becomes entirely obscured in the darkness of the apartment.[&]


“This isn't just another engagement for me, Borderland. You so crudely imply such. As though insinuating my lack of care. Between the two of us, you just took a year off to be a part of a failed marriage, if I heard correctly. I on the other-hand spent the preceding years training to be where I am now. I see nothing megalomania-esque about me inferring that I am THE best damn talent on Meltdown, and one of the best in this company. So... ahaha, no. I shant be looking at this as nothing more than a random bout. Quite the contrary. I am looking at this as the future, eradicating a broken and decaying past. Venture an assumption as to whom is whom in this metaphor. I don't expect you to be able to process this insult, so, i'll let my boot say it to your face on Monday. See you then sweety.”


[&]An enticingly smug and childish smile, blatantly lacking sincerity, is painted upon his face. Eyes closed, white teeth fully glistening, and a hand waving, the video dissolves into nothingness.[&]

-- the following roleplay was an, Odd Cloud Production .

Word Count

[/b] 2,982 RP#[/b] 4 Vs Shane Borderland Notes Quite excited to get to be the guy facing Borderland upon his return. I hope I do justice.[/font][/center]
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