Post by Victor Hades on Sept 30, 2009 21:09:02 GMT -4
[ooc: fucking network keeps going down...whatever.]
Hades Journal :
Tuesday-September 29, 2009
"There's a lot of people you'll meet in this business who tend you judge you based on work, what you've done, and how you've handled it. These types of people watch your every move, your every word, and they don't so much as blink for a fucking second. These people are critics, assholes with no life or purpose, just a job to simply stick their fat fucking noses where it doesn't belong! The critics are right though, I’m fresh blood...I’m new...I am a nobody. I’m nobody they fucking wanna be because they’re all fucking scared of me! Scared of who I am, what I've done, and what I can do, scared of what I’m not afraid to do…or how far I’ll go to get it.
Two weeks ago I simply did the one thing I set out to do, and I did it with no help, no payment under the table, no ass-kissing, and no cheating tactics of any kind. I simply walked out there, kicked John Green's ass to the near point of death-and walked out without a fucking scratch. Then last week I did the same thing again, I put a "King" as he called himself in his final resting place. I put him out of a job, and quite simply out of his career and out of my god damn way. Do these people-these critics give me so much as any credit, hell no! They'd rather sit and babble on about this thick-headed, squinty-eyed, carbon-copy Jesse fucking Nunez. They'd rather rant on about his record deals, his t-shirts, and all of his filthy shit no one ever pays to see. Maybe tonight, I'll go out there and get these critics’s attention. Maybe tonight, I send them back a message of criticism of my own.
I'm done trying to get approval from my boss, my peers, and the whole fucking world that sits and watches this shit. I'm done waiting for my 'push' in the company, or another weekly match with that cock-sucking, thick-headed, piss-ant John Green. No. Fucking. More! It's time I start making some rules of my own, and if it means crippling anyone who steps in my way...then let the fucking dishing of hospital visits begin.
Three and a half hours of sitting on a flight that was utterly boring and nauseating, fifteen minutes of being crammed in a cab, and two minutes of arguing with his road agent over the phone seemed like an eternity. An energy drink or two, a bag of chips, and a Snickers bar were the only thing his body was running on, not quite the meal for a big athlete. Climbing the stairs of yet another hotel reservation after several hours of traveling, his body was beginning to lose control. Focus wearing thin, which came quite obvious when he tried the key to the wrong hotel room several times over. Finally getting into his own room and dropping the luggage, he wobbles towards the single-queen size bed and collapses on the covers. Without so much as even getting a breath to feel a sigh of relief, those weary eyes grow heavy before his body falls asleep.
Hours pass, yet he remains motionless on top of the covers of his hotel suite "human-pillow" in quite a state of sleep. Fingertips twitch every few minutes, and his body tends to roll. A small stream of sweat slowly runs down his forehead, as a audible groan escapes his cold trembling lips.
"Look at you...running the same cycle of your life every day, doing the same old habits, hating the same old people. You remind me of someone who has no direction in their life, someone without a future. Yet still here you are living every single day on through as if it didn't matter, you know that's bad for your health. Especially those cigarettes, you know those things will eventually kill you one day right? Shit just look at yourself, you're like a drone programmed to move about, torturing and punishing everything it touches. You're like the barbarian thirsty for blood and set on only one thing, total world-wide annihilation. Though, I can't really argue with the fact I do enjoy the sound of that idea-it just feels like there is something missing in your life. Hmm...what could it be, perhaps a wife, kids, a big home, a mansion full of money, no...that doesn't quite suit you. Oh, that's right now I remember...you need yourself the APW World Heavyweight Championship, don't you?
Well you and I both know that is certainly no easy task, I mean look at the stiff line of competition you have? Don't you think it would be much easier just to find Lester, and stab him in the dark? Nah, after all where would the fun in that be, no bloodbath fist-fight, no meeting of the minds, no chaos at all what so ever. That just sounds plain dull and boring if you ask me, but what if we were to work our way up to him. Get his attention, no we'll have to wait on that joyous occasion after all we're in it for the long haul. No first we'll have to slaughter our way up the food chain, and work our way to the pick of the litter. First, we can have ourselves some fun and start making someone's life...a living fucking hell."
Suddenly snapping upright out of his bed he gasps, face covered in sweat clear down to his grizzly-beard covered chin. Looking a little shook-up he glances around his dark hotel room, wondering as if someone had been talking to him in his sleep. Appearing to have found no one he brushes the palms of his hands down his face, trying to snap himself out of it as he breathes a sigh of relief.
Victor Hades-"C'mon Victor get your fucking head together man.."
Moving towards the bathroom he flips the light switch and turns the hot water fosset on, splashing some water in his face to wake himself up. Dapping a small hand towel against his face he exits the bathroom and moves to the door, stepping out into the hallway of the large, luxurious hotel. Looking around it almost appeared a little quiet for such a hotel to be so desolate, moving towards the lobby sporting an "APW" t-shirt. Moving around the corner he glances to the front desk, seeing no staff or desk service attendants available. Shrugging slightly to himself perking a brow he moves on towards the bar lounge, a fancy decorated and well-lit bar near the nightclub area.
The bar area too seemed to be unoccupied until Victor caught sight of a man seated at the bar, a slim man with fairly pale skin, short black colored hair slicked back, and a crimson and black suit. Carefully moving towards the bar while cautiously watching the man from the corner of his eye, Victor casually steps up to the bar. Gently bouncing his right hand along the edge of the bar, Victor glances around as if waiting for service from a bartender. The man seated at the very far end of the bar sat under a dim light that tended to flicker, keeping his focus on a glass of red champagne in front of him. Holding the glass in his right hand firmly between his thumb, index finger, and pinky with a smirk, while humming a unclear melody to himself. The clean shaven appearance of his face gave off the "business" type vibe but more of a "personal" business than public. Making no notion or acknowledgement of Victor's presence the man continued about his business, while Victor stood impatiently.
Victor Hades-"Yo! You got any service back there?"
Victor shouts over the counter behind the bar hoping a tender may have been busy, busting dishes in the back perhaps. Yet he didn't seem to get an answer until finally, someone decided to speak up...
Man seated at the bar-"I can assure you can stand there and shout all you want, no one will be serving anything behind there tonight."
The man seated at the far end of the bar mutters in a rough, quiet tone, a slight delicate accent stemming from his voice. As he continues to stir the ice cubes in his glass around with a straw, having not even turned his attention towards Victor yet.
Victor Hades-"Yeah, and that little glass you got there came from where, exactly?"
Victor glances at the glass with a nod, appearing to have somewhat of a smart tone in his voice. A little irritated he's going through all of this just to get himself a drink, rather than simply place an order and have one ready in seconds.
Man seated at the bar-"Why this is simply something I cooked up myself dear boy, I can assure you..."
Victor perks a brow somewhat puzzled, and leans on his elbow against the edge of the bar.
Victor Hades-"Really, and who might you be exactly-the head of the bartender academy or something?"
The man smiles and slowly raises his glass sipping a little champagne to himself, before flicking his snake-like tongue against his lips. Turning carefully towards Victor now revealing a light-blue, cold piercing gaze from his eyes he sends a nod. Fixed upon Victor who glares back at him in silence, as the man raises his glass.
Lucas-"My name is Lucas-abbreviated of course...I never had much taste for my full name anyway, and you are?"
The man's voice echoes around the room as he suddenly appears inches in front of Victor now to Victor's surprise, extending a hand for a formal handshake.
Victor Hades-"Victor Hades...you might have seen me on television before, I don't know...you don't look like much of a tv guy."
Victor extends his tattooed-sleeved arm to shake the man's hand, firmly gripping the man's hand to a cold shock. The fingertips were smooth, yet his grip was cold as ice itself just to touch. Victor freezes in place for a moment in reaction to the handshake, glancing down at the man's hand as he let's go. The man simply flashes a dark smirk and sips his glass of champagne once more, leaning back in his stool carefully with ease.
Lucas-"Hades huh..."
The man chuckles audibly to himself.
Lucas-"Well Mr. Hades, what would you say if I were to tell you I know who you are and I know everything there is to know about your life. Your job, your past, your old "friends", even your own parents...?"
Victor slightly squints his eyes a little and smirks for a moment remaining quiet, then smirks a little once more.
Victor Hades-"I'd tell you to stay on your meds and check yourself into the psych ward before that champagne there does any more damage to your head. Here, the drink is on me-you have yourself a good night mister uh...Lucas."
Victor grumbles, pulling a wadded ten-dollar bill from his jean pocket and setting it along the bar, giving the man a polite nod turning away. The man known as "Lucas" chuckles and sips his glass of champagne once more, watching Victor turn away.
Lucas-"I can make all that pain you feel every morning go away, Victor. I can make every dream you've ever had come true, and just maybe I can answer that question you ask yourself every morning."
Victor pauses in his footsteps and slowly turns, peering over his shoulder back at Lucas who remains still at the bar sipping his glass.
Victor Hades-"I'm listening..."
Victor mutters across the room while remaining still.
Lucas-"How does becoming the Action Packed Wrestling World Heavyweight Champion, sound?"
Lucas grumbles leaning against the bar with a somewhat of a convincing grin, as Victor turns his head looking down in thought. Nodding slowly for a moment as he thinks on it and looks back to Lucas, who sits patiently placing an ice cube in his hand that seems to freeze almost instantly.
Victor Hades-"What's the catch?"
Victor answers.
Lucas-"You just sign the dotted line on this little piece of paper here, we call it a day fair and square and seal the deal…savvy?"
Lucas grumbles sliding the piece of paper which suddenly appears moving out from under his hand, holding out a small black ink pen towards Victor. Victor remains still for a matter of moments before turning around, slowly moving back towards the bar as he takes the pen.
Victor Hades-"Who are you...really..."
Victor pauses perking a brow as he glances to Lucas, who chuckles quietly in a deep tone and smiles.
Lucas-"I think you know..."
Victor clicks the pen to open the ink pointed-edge and 'accidently' cuts the tip of his thumb open, firmly pressing against the cap as a small drop of blood spills on the paper.
Victor Hades-"Ah shit, the damn thing cut me..."
Victor grumbles tending his thumb after signing his name along the dotted line, as Lucas rolls the paper up and places it inside his coat pocket.
Lucas-"That's quite alright I assure you, Mr. Hades-no need to worry...everything will suite your needs soon enough. You'll most certainly be hearing from me again soon."
Lucas grins.
Victor Hades-"So does this make you like my travel agent now or something?"
Victor asks, holding his split open thumb while looking back to Lucas who walks slowly towards the door. Turning back to Victor with the same dark, convincing grin...
Lucas-"You might say that, a pleasure doing business with you...'Mr. Hades'."
Lucas gives a slight wink before exiting the bar area, as Victor stands still in the silent bar wondering about the state of his future.
"Don't walk in here thinking you've got all the angles figured out, all the questions answered, and every possible outcome in this competition figured out. Because if you do I can promise you-you'll be more than terribly sorry, you'll be wishing you never set foot in that ring. Things aren't the way they used to be in case you didn't notice, and neither am I dipshit. I'm a new kind of problem you're facing, but the fact is-I’m the bigger dog now with the meaner bark and the killer bite."
"If there's one mind-numbing, ear-bleeding, mouth-flapping, ass-kissing, cock-sucking, back-stabbing, high-roading, credit-stealing piece of shit on the face of this earth-it's name is Pence Weatherlight. Pence Weatherlight is a man who just shy of his debut was approved, no HANDED something men three to five times his level were never given. He didn't fight for it nor did he work for it, he didn't compete for it, and he sure as hell didn't DESERVE it. You haven't done a damn THING to earn the spot you currently stand in, especially after the ignorant bullshit you displayed towards the man who GAVE you his title when you had it, and your lack of acceptance for an ass-kicking you took. Pence you never seemed to get it, you never had what it takes since day ONE. Back in those EWC days you were still a nobody around those parts, you never once ran the EWC...ever. Sure maybe once everyone jumped ship and Goth was the only competition you had left, I can believe that. Yet in that time you fought in that shit-can the "EWC" you held possibly the worst record out of anyone to walk the halls of that company. I know it, Jesus knows it, John Green knows it, they know it, and YOU know it..."
"You see just to prove to you and everyone else how desperate our beloved leader was when he started this company, he had to turn to YOU for the Main-Event picture. YOU, who accomplished so very little in the EWC, blabbering on to the point where nobody noticed you said the EXACT same shit you had the prior week and every week before that in your promos. Jeff had given you all the free main-event slots week after week; before you were even near classified championship material. There has NEVER been ANYONE who has signed with ANY company in the history of this business who was simply HANDED the main-event in their first match. You can go on about your reign with that championship you tainted all you want Pence, because the fact stands weren't SHIT before even "winning" it; therefore your little..."Main-Event" status can't even be acceptable. But no you couldn't just take the honor of such a gift and compete, no not you Pence Weatherlight-you couldn't do that. INSTEAD, you decided to blow it WAY out of proportion take all the credit for what was simply HANDED to you on a silver fucking platter."
"Level-One HIMSELF admitted it to giving you that championship, and YOU proved him right the second you dropped that ball like a sack of potatoes. You really are a self-centered, conceited, back-stabbing, spineless, ungrateful, and low-life son of a bitch. Then once you failed that one simple task it wasn’t much longer until everyone saw just how a big of a fraud you truly are. You signed that big-figure contract thinking it was your ticket to the top, didn't you? You thought not only could it boost your ego, but you'd just simply waltz to the top and declare yourself the best? Pence, you truly are a fucking worthless sack of meat...truly. It's no wonder though, with that wrinkled nose of yours so far up Jeff's ass. I'm not surprised you were handed over so much in such little time, and good ol' Level-One just had to expose you, didn't he? Feeling guilt yet, Pence...'cause I'm just getting warmed up."
"You take all this "CREDIT" you claimed was yours and try to cover up your past, which is what fucking amuses me. Because while I was facing Level-One long before you were, whooping Shadow-Man's bitching and moaning ass, bleeding from beatings with Crazyman, and winning championships-where were you? Oh that's right, bleeding to death for no one watching, winning when nobody gave a shit, and piling up some cash that disappeared most likely thanks to Mac. Then when you asked him about it, he told you it was going to some charity fund-when really he was paying for plastic surgery to remove the dimples off his ass. You aren't SHIT Pence Weatherlight, and you damn sure haven't earned a fucking thing in this business."[/b]
Pauses.
"You know what your problem is, you don't have it-you don't even CARRY a TENTH of what it takes to be champion. You don't have the focus, strength, pride, motivation, presence, endurance, skill or the PASSION to be champion. Instead you've ran around with your hand-outs and your ass-kissing, leading nothing but a simple semi-short, fairly green, spineless, half-hearted, brown-nosing career. Con-gratu-fucking-lations buddy, give yourself a good ol kick in the ass. Lose one step in this business and everything you’ve fought for, everyone you’ve ever known...leaves you. But you wouldn't know anything about that would you, watching your own ass by kissing Jeff's. Just to ensure you wouldn't have to defend that belt when you had it."
Chuckles.
"Pence, you don’t understand what it MEANS to work hard and EARN your shots and pay your dues. You don’t know what it feels like to support, build, and protect your own foundation of a career by being handed over scraps from the CAREER you’ve chosen. These people don't pay their HARD EARNED money to sit and watch someone waltz around with a title, and simply brag about shit they sure as hell haven't done. They pay their money to see guys paying their dues, kicking ass every night, bleeding their hearts out, breaking their bodies and earning their shots just to put on a memorable show. I could give a flying shit less about those "fans" every night, they pay to come see me-I don't pay to put on a fucking show for them."
"Sure I wouldn't be here today if it weren't for them-but those people didn't MAKE Victor Hades Pence, I made Victor Hades by stepping out there every night through that curtain. I made Victor Hades by doing everything in my body, just to see to it the other guy couldn't stand by the time the match was over. I made Victor Hades by looking out for nobody but my fucking self, and carving a fucking path into the history books doing it that way. The difference between people like you and I is; you've been running on handouts and a small fire thats already started to die out; I’m living off of everything I've EARNED, and fighting with a cold-fucking heart that refuses to quit and die out. You wanna sit there and talk some shit, go ahead—take me to hell and back and I'll smile and call it home. The hell I'll bring you to will be nothing like the hell you can imagine, a place where I hold no limits, no boundaries, an endless amount of pain I can endure."
Smirks.
"The only guarantee these people have watching you is they are to be guaranteed to have you simply sit down in-front of the camera and break any if all format of your little written transcript, as soon as people with a quarter of a fucking brain cell realize it your grammar is completly fucked up. You’re nothing more than an shit-eating, fake little opportunist. You’ve climbed to the top by scheming, lying and manipulating EVERYTHING before you. Taking people’s HARD-EARNED work, their devoted time and patience, and twisting it all around until you were satisfied you could play it off. Taking credit for what was never yours, you god damn sneaky little coward. I'm surprised Level-One even let you live..."
"So we'll walk into that ring tomorrow night on Overdrive, and we'll see who's really EARNED their spot to be here. We'll dance, we'll bruise, we'll bleed, and we'll fucking tear each other apart as long as it takes. But don't worry, I'm sure these fans are still looking forward to your boring, long-winded, nonsensical promos that make Jesse Nunez’s line of merchandise look like SHIT. John Green nearly fucking DIED in the ring with me last time, and now he's facing Level-One where I probably should. So I tell you what Pence, tomorrow night I'm going to tear my fucking way right through you, I'm going to rip through the ranks, and I'm going to EARN that championship. One way, or another...sleep well asshole, cause after tomorrow night you just might be in for a fucking dirt-nap."
Life is Cruel:
"Deal with it."
"Deal with it."
Go!!
This ain't a test, Fuck the rest
Time to set the record strait
Talk your shit, Behind my back
Let's hear you say it to my face
I've heard the words fall out your lips
You little trendy fucking bitch
The time has come to get you some
Cause i do not give a shit
Do you take me for a fool?
How's it feel to be a tool?
See to me your just a cancer
Motherfucker war is the answer
This ain't a test, Fuck the rest
Time to set the record strait
Talk your shit, Behind my back
Let's hear you say it to my face
I've heard the words fall out your lips
You little trendy fucking bitch
The time has come to get you some
Cause i do not give a shit
Do you take me for a fool?
How's it feel to be a tool?
See to me your just a cancer
Motherfucker war is the answer
Hades Journal :
Tuesday-September 29, 2009
"There's a lot of people you'll meet in this business who tend you judge you based on work, what you've done, and how you've handled it. These types of people watch your every move, your every word, and they don't so much as blink for a fucking second. These people are critics, assholes with no life or purpose, just a job to simply stick their fat fucking noses where it doesn't belong! The critics are right though, I’m fresh blood...I’m new...I am a nobody. I’m nobody they fucking wanna be because they’re all fucking scared of me! Scared of who I am, what I've done, and what I can do, scared of what I’m not afraid to do…or how far I’ll go to get it.
Two weeks ago I simply did the one thing I set out to do, and I did it with no help, no payment under the table, no ass-kissing, and no cheating tactics of any kind. I simply walked out there, kicked John Green's ass to the near point of death-and walked out without a fucking scratch. Then last week I did the same thing again, I put a "King" as he called himself in his final resting place. I put him out of a job, and quite simply out of his career and out of my god damn way. Do these people-these critics give me so much as any credit, hell no! They'd rather sit and babble on about this thick-headed, squinty-eyed, carbon-copy Jesse fucking Nunez. They'd rather rant on about his record deals, his t-shirts, and all of his filthy shit no one ever pays to see. Maybe tonight, I'll go out there and get these critics’s attention. Maybe tonight, I send them back a message of criticism of my own.
I'm done trying to get approval from my boss, my peers, and the whole fucking world that sits and watches this shit. I'm done waiting for my 'push' in the company, or another weekly match with that cock-sucking, thick-headed, piss-ant John Green. No. Fucking. More! It's time I start making some rules of my own, and if it means crippling anyone who steps in my way...then let the fucking dishing of hospital visits begin.
I just hope the whole world is ready for this..."
Three and a half hours of sitting on a flight that was utterly boring and nauseating, fifteen minutes of being crammed in a cab, and two minutes of arguing with his road agent over the phone seemed like an eternity. An energy drink or two, a bag of chips, and a Snickers bar were the only thing his body was running on, not quite the meal for a big athlete. Climbing the stairs of yet another hotel reservation after several hours of traveling, his body was beginning to lose control. Focus wearing thin, which came quite obvious when he tried the key to the wrong hotel room several times over. Finally getting into his own room and dropping the luggage, he wobbles towards the single-queen size bed and collapses on the covers. Without so much as even getting a breath to feel a sigh of relief, those weary eyes grow heavy before his body falls asleep.
Hours pass, yet he remains motionless on top of the covers of his hotel suite "human-pillow" in quite a state of sleep. Fingertips twitch every few minutes, and his body tends to roll. A small stream of sweat slowly runs down his forehead, as a audible groan escapes his cold trembling lips.
"Look at you...running the same cycle of your life every day, doing the same old habits, hating the same old people. You remind me of someone who has no direction in their life, someone without a future. Yet still here you are living every single day on through as if it didn't matter, you know that's bad for your health. Especially those cigarettes, you know those things will eventually kill you one day right? Shit just look at yourself, you're like a drone programmed to move about, torturing and punishing everything it touches. You're like the barbarian thirsty for blood and set on only one thing, total world-wide annihilation. Though, I can't really argue with the fact I do enjoy the sound of that idea-it just feels like there is something missing in your life. Hmm...what could it be, perhaps a wife, kids, a big home, a mansion full of money, no...that doesn't quite suit you. Oh, that's right now I remember...you need yourself the APW World Heavyweight Championship, don't you?
Well you and I both know that is certainly no easy task, I mean look at the stiff line of competition you have? Don't you think it would be much easier just to find Lester, and stab him in the dark? Nah, after all where would the fun in that be, no bloodbath fist-fight, no meeting of the minds, no chaos at all what so ever. That just sounds plain dull and boring if you ask me, but what if we were to work our way up to him. Get his attention, no we'll have to wait on that joyous occasion after all we're in it for the long haul. No first we'll have to slaughter our way up the food chain, and work our way to the pick of the litter. First, we can have ourselves some fun and start making someone's life...a living fucking hell."
Suddenly snapping upright out of his bed he gasps, face covered in sweat clear down to his grizzly-beard covered chin. Looking a little shook-up he glances around his dark hotel room, wondering as if someone had been talking to him in his sleep. Appearing to have found no one he brushes the palms of his hands down his face, trying to snap himself out of it as he breathes a sigh of relief.
Victor Hades-"C'mon Victor get your fucking head together man.."
Moving towards the bathroom he flips the light switch and turns the hot water fosset on, splashing some water in his face to wake himself up. Dapping a small hand towel against his face he exits the bathroom and moves to the door, stepping out into the hallway of the large, luxurious hotel. Looking around it almost appeared a little quiet for such a hotel to be so desolate, moving towards the lobby sporting an "APW" t-shirt. Moving around the corner he glances to the front desk, seeing no staff or desk service attendants available. Shrugging slightly to himself perking a brow he moves on towards the bar lounge, a fancy decorated and well-lit bar near the nightclub area.
The bar area too seemed to be unoccupied until Victor caught sight of a man seated at the bar, a slim man with fairly pale skin, short black colored hair slicked back, and a crimson and black suit. Carefully moving towards the bar while cautiously watching the man from the corner of his eye, Victor casually steps up to the bar. Gently bouncing his right hand along the edge of the bar, Victor glances around as if waiting for service from a bartender. The man seated at the very far end of the bar sat under a dim light that tended to flicker, keeping his focus on a glass of red champagne in front of him. Holding the glass in his right hand firmly between his thumb, index finger, and pinky with a smirk, while humming a unclear melody to himself. The clean shaven appearance of his face gave off the "business" type vibe but more of a "personal" business than public. Making no notion or acknowledgement of Victor's presence the man continued about his business, while Victor stood impatiently.
Victor Hades-"Yo! You got any service back there?"
Victor shouts over the counter behind the bar hoping a tender may have been busy, busting dishes in the back perhaps. Yet he didn't seem to get an answer until finally, someone decided to speak up...
Man seated at the bar-"I can assure you can stand there and shout all you want, no one will be serving anything behind there tonight."
The man seated at the far end of the bar mutters in a rough, quiet tone, a slight delicate accent stemming from his voice. As he continues to stir the ice cubes in his glass around with a straw, having not even turned his attention towards Victor yet.
Victor Hades-"Yeah, and that little glass you got there came from where, exactly?"
Victor glances at the glass with a nod, appearing to have somewhat of a smart tone in his voice. A little irritated he's going through all of this just to get himself a drink, rather than simply place an order and have one ready in seconds.
Man seated at the bar-"Why this is simply something I cooked up myself dear boy, I can assure you..."
Victor perks a brow somewhat puzzled, and leans on his elbow against the edge of the bar.
Victor Hades-"Really, and who might you be exactly-the head of the bartender academy or something?"
The man smiles and slowly raises his glass sipping a little champagne to himself, before flicking his snake-like tongue against his lips. Turning carefully towards Victor now revealing a light-blue, cold piercing gaze from his eyes he sends a nod. Fixed upon Victor who glares back at him in silence, as the man raises his glass.
Lucas-"My name is Lucas-abbreviated of course...I never had much taste for my full name anyway, and you are?"
The man's voice echoes around the room as he suddenly appears inches in front of Victor now to Victor's surprise, extending a hand for a formal handshake.
Victor Hades-"Victor Hades...you might have seen me on television before, I don't know...you don't look like much of a tv guy."
Victor extends his tattooed-sleeved arm to shake the man's hand, firmly gripping the man's hand to a cold shock. The fingertips were smooth, yet his grip was cold as ice itself just to touch. Victor freezes in place for a moment in reaction to the handshake, glancing down at the man's hand as he let's go. The man simply flashes a dark smirk and sips his glass of champagne once more, leaning back in his stool carefully with ease.
Lucas-"Hades huh..."
The man chuckles audibly to himself.
Lucas-"Well Mr. Hades, what would you say if I were to tell you I know who you are and I know everything there is to know about your life. Your job, your past, your old "friends", even your own parents...?"
Victor slightly squints his eyes a little and smirks for a moment remaining quiet, then smirks a little once more.
Victor Hades-"I'd tell you to stay on your meds and check yourself into the psych ward before that champagne there does any more damage to your head. Here, the drink is on me-you have yourself a good night mister uh...Lucas."
Victor grumbles, pulling a wadded ten-dollar bill from his jean pocket and setting it along the bar, giving the man a polite nod turning away. The man known as "Lucas" chuckles and sips his glass of champagne once more, watching Victor turn away.
Lucas-"I can make all that pain you feel every morning go away, Victor. I can make every dream you've ever had come true, and just maybe I can answer that question you ask yourself every morning."
Victor pauses in his footsteps and slowly turns, peering over his shoulder back at Lucas who remains still at the bar sipping his glass.
Victor Hades-"I'm listening..."
Victor mutters across the room while remaining still.
Lucas-"How does becoming the Action Packed Wrestling World Heavyweight Champion, sound?"
Lucas grumbles leaning against the bar with a somewhat of a convincing grin, as Victor turns his head looking down in thought. Nodding slowly for a moment as he thinks on it and looks back to Lucas, who sits patiently placing an ice cube in his hand that seems to freeze almost instantly.
Victor Hades-"What's the catch?"
Victor answers.
Lucas-"You just sign the dotted line on this little piece of paper here, we call it a day fair and square and seal the deal…savvy?"
Lucas grumbles sliding the piece of paper which suddenly appears moving out from under his hand, holding out a small black ink pen towards Victor. Victor remains still for a matter of moments before turning around, slowly moving back towards the bar as he takes the pen.
Victor Hades-"Who are you...really..."
Victor pauses perking a brow as he glances to Lucas, who chuckles quietly in a deep tone and smiles.
Lucas-"I think you know..."
Victor clicks the pen to open the ink pointed-edge and 'accidently' cuts the tip of his thumb open, firmly pressing against the cap as a small drop of blood spills on the paper.
Victor Hades-"Ah shit, the damn thing cut me..."
Victor grumbles tending his thumb after signing his name along the dotted line, as Lucas rolls the paper up and places it inside his coat pocket.
Lucas-"That's quite alright I assure you, Mr. Hades-no need to worry...everything will suite your needs soon enough. You'll most certainly be hearing from me again soon."
Lucas grins.
Victor Hades-"So does this make you like my travel agent now or something?"
Victor asks, holding his split open thumb while looking back to Lucas who walks slowly towards the door. Turning back to Victor with the same dark, convincing grin...
Lucas-"You might say that, a pleasure doing business with you...'Mr. Hades'."
Lucas gives a slight wink before exiting the bar area, as Victor stands still in the silent bar wondering about the state of his future.
[ To be continued... ]
Wednesday Night Overdrive Promo
"Don't walk in here thinking you've got all the angles figured out, all the questions answered, and every possible outcome in this competition figured out. Because if you do I can promise you-you'll be more than terribly sorry, you'll be wishing you never set foot in that ring. Things aren't the way they used to be in case you didn't notice, and neither am I dipshit. I'm a new kind of problem you're facing, but the fact is-I’m the bigger dog now with the meaner bark and the killer bite."
"If there's one mind-numbing, ear-bleeding, mouth-flapping, ass-kissing, cock-sucking, back-stabbing, high-roading, credit-stealing piece of shit on the face of this earth-it's name is Pence Weatherlight. Pence Weatherlight is a man who just shy of his debut was approved, no HANDED something men three to five times his level were never given. He didn't fight for it nor did he work for it, he didn't compete for it, and he sure as hell didn't DESERVE it. You haven't done a damn THING to earn the spot you currently stand in, especially after the ignorant bullshit you displayed towards the man who GAVE you his title when you had it, and your lack of acceptance for an ass-kicking you took. Pence you never seemed to get it, you never had what it takes since day ONE. Back in those EWC days you were still a nobody around those parts, you never once ran the EWC...ever. Sure maybe once everyone jumped ship and Goth was the only competition you had left, I can believe that. Yet in that time you fought in that shit-can the "EWC" you held possibly the worst record out of anyone to walk the halls of that company. I know it, Jesus knows it, John Green knows it, they know it, and YOU know it..."
"You see just to prove to you and everyone else how desperate our beloved leader was when he started this company, he had to turn to YOU for the Main-Event picture. YOU, who accomplished so very little in the EWC, blabbering on to the point where nobody noticed you said the EXACT same shit you had the prior week and every week before that in your promos. Jeff had given you all the free main-event slots week after week; before you were even near classified championship material. There has NEVER been ANYONE who has signed with ANY company in the history of this business who was simply HANDED the main-event in their first match. You can go on about your reign with that championship you tainted all you want Pence, because the fact stands weren't SHIT before even "winning" it; therefore your little..."Main-Event" status can't even be acceptable. But no you couldn't just take the honor of such a gift and compete, no not you Pence Weatherlight-you couldn't do that. INSTEAD, you decided to blow it WAY out of proportion take all the credit for what was simply HANDED to you on a silver fucking platter."
"Level-One HIMSELF admitted it to giving you that championship, and YOU proved him right the second you dropped that ball like a sack of potatoes. You really are a self-centered, conceited, back-stabbing, spineless, ungrateful, and low-life son of a bitch. Then once you failed that one simple task it wasn’t much longer until everyone saw just how a big of a fraud you truly are. You signed that big-figure contract thinking it was your ticket to the top, didn't you? You thought not only could it boost your ego, but you'd just simply waltz to the top and declare yourself the best? Pence, you truly are a fucking worthless sack of meat...truly. It's no wonder though, with that wrinkled nose of yours so far up Jeff's ass. I'm not surprised you were handed over so much in such little time, and good ol' Level-One just had to expose you, didn't he? Feeling guilt yet, Pence...'cause I'm just getting warmed up."
"You take all this "CREDIT" you claimed was yours and try to cover up your past, which is what fucking amuses me. Because while I was facing Level-One long before you were, whooping Shadow-Man's bitching and moaning ass, bleeding from beatings with Crazyman, and winning championships-where were you? Oh that's right, bleeding to death for no one watching, winning when nobody gave a shit, and piling up some cash that disappeared most likely thanks to Mac. Then when you asked him about it, he told you it was going to some charity fund-when really he was paying for plastic surgery to remove the dimples off his ass. You aren't SHIT Pence Weatherlight, and you damn sure haven't earned a fucking thing in this business."[/b]
Pauses.
"You know what your problem is, you don't have it-you don't even CARRY a TENTH of what it takes to be champion. You don't have the focus, strength, pride, motivation, presence, endurance, skill or the PASSION to be champion. Instead you've ran around with your hand-outs and your ass-kissing, leading nothing but a simple semi-short, fairly green, spineless, half-hearted, brown-nosing career. Con-gratu-fucking-lations buddy, give yourself a good ol kick in the ass. Lose one step in this business and everything you’ve fought for, everyone you’ve ever known...leaves you. But you wouldn't know anything about that would you, watching your own ass by kissing Jeff's. Just to ensure you wouldn't have to defend that belt when you had it."
Chuckles.
"Pence, you don’t understand what it MEANS to work hard and EARN your shots and pay your dues. You don’t know what it feels like to support, build, and protect your own foundation of a career by being handed over scraps from the CAREER you’ve chosen. These people don't pay their HARD EARNED money to sit and watch someone waltz around with a title, and simply brag about shit they sure as hell haven't done. They pay their money to see guys paying their dues, kicking ass every night, bleeding their hearts out, breaking their bodies and earning their shots just to put on a memorable show. I could give a flying shit less about those "fans" every night, they pay to come see me-I don't pay to put on a fucking show for them."
"Sure I wouldn't be here today if it weren't for them-but those people didn't MAKE Victor Hades Pence, I made Victor Hades by stepping out there every night through that curtain. I made Victor Hades by doing everything in my body, just to see to it the other guy couldn't stand by the time the match was over. I made Victor Hades by looking out for nobody but my fucking self, and carving a fucking path into the history books doing it that way. The difference between people like you and I is; you've been running on handouts and a small fire thats already started to die out; I’m living off of everything I've EARNED, and fighting with a cold-fucking heart that refuses to quit and die out. You wanna sit there and talk some shit, go ahead—take me to hell and back and I'll smile and call it home. The hell I'll bring you to will be nothing like the hell you can imagine, a place where I hold no limits, no boundaries, an endless amount of pain I can endure."
Smirks.
"The only guarantee these people have watching you is they are to be guaranteed to have you simply sit down in-front of the camera and break any if all format of your little written transcript, as soon as people with a quarter of a fucking brain cell realize it your grammar is completly fucked up. You’re nothing more than an shit-eating, fake little opportunist. You’ve climbed to the top by scheming, lying and manipulating EVERYTHING before you. Taking people’s HARD-EARNED work, their devoted time and patience, and twisting it all around until you were satisfied you could play it off. Taking credit for what was never yours, you god damn sneaky little coward. I'm surprised Level-One even let you live..."
"So we'll walk into that ring tomorrow night on Overdrive, and we'll see who's really EARNED their spot to be here. We'll dance, we'll bruise, we'll bleed, and we'll fucking tear each other apart as long as it takes. But don't worry, I'm sure these fans are still looking forward to your boring, long-winded, nonsensical promos that make Jesse Nunez’s line of merchandise look like SHIT. John Green nearly fucking DIED in the ring with me last time, and now he's facing Level-One where I probably should. So I tell you what Pence, tomorrow night I'm going to tear my fucking way right through you, I'm going to rip through the ranks, and I'm going to EARN that championship. One way, or another...sleep well asshole, cause after tomorrow night you just might be in for a fucking dirt-nap."
[ Fade. ]
Get some
You want to disrespect me
you little fucking punk?
Everything I've done
To be who I am
As far as I've come
I'll slap you so fucking hard
It'll feel like you kissed a freight train
Fuck you
Do you take me for a fool?
How's it feel to be a tool?
Talk your shit behind my back
See to me your just a cancer
The time has come to you some
Motherfucker war is the answer
You want to disrespect me
you little fucking punk?
Everything I've done
To be who I am
As far as I've come
I'll slap you so fucking hard
It'll feel like you kissed a freight train
Fuck you
Do you take me for a fool?
How's it feel to be a tool?
Talk your shit behind my back
See to me your just a cancer
The time has come to you some
Motherfucker war is the answer
