Post by Leon Roberts on Jul 24, 2013 23:33:23 GMT -4
~Leon's POV~
I lit up a single black candle in the hotel room me and my wife were staying in. It was still very early morning, still dark outside. Though the sun was slowly starting to rise up. I placed the back of my hands over the purple hued flame, and smirked.
The burning sensation of the flame was stronger then the normal candle flame. It burned in a specific pattern that had been imprinted onto my hands before. With that, I sighed for a second, before smirking.
Leon: In the brightest day, the darkest night, nobody will be safe from my plight. Let those who believe they know the truth, feel hell's wrath, my demonic might!
The candle flared up, further burning me, before it went out. I could feel the pain, but it only lasted for a couple minutes. I had put my gloved on, and slipped on a T shirt, before I saw my wife, Demonica, slip on her thong, and put on my shirt from last night.
Demonica: Hey babe? Chanting again?
Leon: Yeah. I figure why not.
Demonica chuckled at that, before wrapping her arms around me, and giving me a kiss. That's when I heard a dig go off. Demonica ceased the kiss, and went to the coffee maker, and got us both a mug of it. Though before I began to drink mine, I added a couple shots of fireball to mine to give it a bit of a kick.
Demonica: Excited?
Leon: Honestly. Not really. I'm facing somebody who's worth not a fucken thing.
Demonica: Huh?
Leon: The guy's name is 'Coldblood' Dirk.
Demonica: And who the fuck is that?
Leon: Exactly. See where I'm coming from.
I quickly finish up my whiskey spiked coffee. It isn't enough to combat my current frustration. So io grabbed the rest of the bottle that I had, and took another swig of it.
Demonica: Well that bites.
Leon: Tell me about it. I mean, what am I supposed to say?
Demonica: I'm sure you'll have something to say.
Leon: Yeah. But at least inspite of facing a bland idiot, I still have my title match at Shockwave, and I plan to do more then what's gonna be allowed. I ain't gonna stop until I bring the house down!
Demonica: Oh yeah. That's what I like to hear. Now...if you'll excuse me, I got some shopping to do. Don't trash the place just yet. We're gonna be doing plenty of that later.
Demonica smirked at me. That teasing tone of hers always drives me wild. I quickly give her a kiss, before she departs for her day. Well at least she's going to be occupied.
But...What the hell can I do now to pass the time. This kind of state of mind, it's not good for my surroundings. Boredom and I don't mix well. Yet that's what I am right now.
However, there is one thing I can do to pass the time. So with that in mind, I set up my camcorder, and begin to record. I take a shot of whiskey, and close all the drapes, and hold the black candle infront of me.
Leon: The time and place has been set, where I, Leon 'The Virus' Roberts, will redefine violence. August twenty fifth, is when Shockwave happens, and when not only A.C Smith loses his title, but his ability to walk. The sheer amount of carnage I will inflict upon him, will be to much for any normal human to handle, which is exactly what Smith is. Nothing more then a normal human. Where as I, am the ultimate demi-god, one that has no weakness, and no remorse.
Indeed it was true. I could have gone on and on about A.C Smith the entire time. But I have to stop and focus on Dirk.
Leon: It even stretches out to the point, where I find that there are many, many copy cats. People who think they can handle my lifestyle, and are equally satanic. People, who try to copy the true harbinger of all chaos. People, like my opponent this week.
Right down to how he grew up, how his outlook, Dirk is nothing more then a cheap imitation of me. A cheap, worthless, useless, boring, knock off of me.
Last week, we merely got a taste of him, and we might as well have been chewing on paper in terms of how bland this guy is. There is nothing about him that I can possibly take seriously. In fact, I'll go on record saying that Stephen Hawking could throw down a better challenge, and has more personality.
I chuckle at that thought. Was it ever true about Dirk. Though I can't help but feel as if a part of me is thinking that this whole thing is a mockery at me, and my shitty referee job last week. I cease my chuckling, and sigh, and pinch the bridge of my nose in frustration. Couldn't they give me somebody that at least can invoke a reaction? Couldn't APW management send me somebody who has the potential to piss me off? I guess not this week.
Leon: Jeez, is this what I get for doing a half ass job of being a ref? Man I am just so...disappointed in what have. Nobody wants this useless piece of this around, not even Lucifer. But...that could change if he got a real taste of a cold blooded lifestyle. Not like he'll be getting the opportunity to.
I take a giant swig of the whiskey in hand, letting some of the contents pour down my throat and chest. Man is he frustrating. But this could be the guy's tactic. Frustration through blandness. Doubt it though. Doubt he would actually survive what I've had to live through. Certainly doesn't look like he has had a hard life.
Leon: Dirk. You can claim yourself to be cold blood all you want, but it doesn't change that it's just a generic title you slapped on to make yourself look good. The equivalent of your average white man slapping on some black paint on his pencil dick, just to make it look bigger. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if the motherfucker did that.
But that's beside the point. Point is Dirk, you can never amount to anything. You're pathetic, weak. Hell look at what you're making me do. You're making me sound like a fucken broken record.
Seriously. I'm trying to wrap my mind around what can you do to me. You claim to be cold blooded and street smart, but nobody who's street smart looks like they graduated from Harvard University.
So here's what I'm going to do. I'm gong to watch you're twiggy ass break into pieces after I hit you with the Diablo's claw. I am then going to rake you up, raise you above, and send you to the incinerator that is Hell, and 'm going to watch you burn into ash faster then a sheet of paper in a bonfire.
The only thing you'll amount to in APW, is being a whipping boy. And come Overdrive, The Great Canadian Devil, is going to make an example out of you. Needless to say Dirk, I am going to give you, exactly what you want. With the unholy beatdown you're about to receive, I am, going to make you famous!
That's it for what needs to be said. It's all I ant to talk about that bland pile of crap. I look at the remaining whiskey and smirk. Just enough for one more whiskey spiked coffee. I pour my mug up, and mix in the whiskey.
Man, this is some good stuff.
I lit up a single black candle in the hotel room me and my wife were staying in. It was still very early morning, still dark outside. Though the sun was slowly starting to rise up. I placed the back of my hands over the purple hued flame, and smirked.
The burning sensation of the flame was stronger then the normal candle flame. It burned in a specific pattern that had been imprinted onto my hands before. With that, I sighed for a second, before smirking.
Leon: In the brightest day, the darkest night, nobody will be safe from my plight. Let those who believe they know the truth, feel hell's wrath, my demonic might!
The candle flared up, further burning me, before it went out. I could feel the pain, but it only lasted for a couple minutes. I had put my gloved on, and slipped on a T shirt, before I saw my wife, Demonica, slip on her thong, and put on my shirt from last night.
Demonica: Hey babe? Chanting again?
Leon: Yeah. I figure why not.
Demonica chuckled at that, before wrapping her arms around me, and giving me a kiss. That's when I heard a dig go off. Demonica ceased the kiss, and went to the coffee maker, and got us both a mug of it. Though before I began to drink mine, I added a couple shots of fireball to mine to give it a bit of a kick.
Demonica: Excited?
Leon: Honestly. Not really. I'm facing somebody who's worth not a fucken thing.
Demonica: Huh?
Leon: The guy's name is 'Coldblood' Dirk.
Demonica: And who the fuck is that?
Leon: Exactly. See where I'm coming from.
I quickly finish up my whiskey spiked coffee. It isn't enough to combat my current frustration. So io grabbed the rest of the bottle that I had, and took another swig of it.
Demonica: Well that bites.
Leon: Tell me about it. I mean, what am I supposed to say?
Demonica: I'm sure you'll have something to say.
Leon: Yeah. But at least inspite of facing a bland idiot, I still have my title match at Shockwave, and I plan to do more then what's gonna be allowed. I ain't gonna stop until I bring the house down!
Demonica: Oh yeah. That's what I like to hear. Now...if you'll excuse me, I got some shopping to do. Don't trash the place just yet. We're gonna be doing plenty of that later.
Demonica smirked at me. That teasing tone of hers always drives me wild. I quickly give her a kiss, before she departs for her day. Well at least she's going to be occupied.
But...What the hell can I do now to pass the time. This kind of state of mind, it's not good for my surroundings. Boredom and I don't mix well. Yet that's what I am right now.
However, there is one thing I can do to pass the time. So with that in mind, I set up my camcorder, and begin to record. I take a shot of whiskey, and close all the drapes, and hold the black candle infront of me.
Leon: The time and place has been set, where I, Leon 'The Virus' Roberts, will redefine violence. August twenty fifth, is when Shockwave happens, and when not only A.C Smith loses his title, but his ability to walk. The sheer amount of carnage I will inflict upon him, will be to much for any normal human to handle, which is exactly what Smith is. Nothing more then a normal human. Where as I, am the ultimate demi-god, one that has no weakness, and no remorse.
Indeed it was true. I could have gone on and on about A.C Smith the entire time. But I have to stop and focus on Dirk.
Leon: It even stretches out to the point, where I find that there are many, many copy cats. People who think they can handle my lifestyle, and are equally satanic. People, who try to copy the true harbinger of all chaos. People, like my opponent this week.
Right down to how he grew up, how his outlook, Dirk is nothing more then a cheap imitation of me. A cheap, worthless, useless, boring, knock off of me.
Last week, we merely got a taste of him, and we might as well have been chewing on paper in terms of how bland this guy is. There is nothing about him that I can possibly take seriously. In fact, I'll go on record saying that Stephen Hawking could throw down a better challenge, and has more personality.
I chuckle at that thought. Was it ever true about Dirk. Though I can't help but feel as if a part of me is thinking that this whole thing is a mockery at me, and my shitty referee job last week. I cease my chuckling, and sigh, and pinch the bridge of my nose in frustration. Couldn't they give me somebody that at least can invoke a reaction? Couldn't APW management send me somebody who has the potential to piss me off? I guess not this week.
Leon: Jeez, is this what I get for doing a half ass job of being a ref? Man I am just so...disappointed in what have. Nobody wants this useless piece of this around, not even Lucifer. But...that could change if he got a real taste of a cold blooded lifestyle. Not like he'll be getting the opportunity to.
I take a giant swig of the whiskey in hand, letting some of the contents pour down my throat and chest. Man is he frustrating. But this could be the guy's tactic. Frustration through blandness. Doubt it though. Doubt he would actually survive what I've had to live through. Certainly doesn't look like he has had a hard life.
Leon: Dirk. You can claim yourself to be cold blood all you want, but it doesn't change that it's just a generic title you slapped on to make yourself look good. The equivalent of your average white man slapping on some black paint on his pencil dick, just to make it look bigger. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if the motherfucker did that.
But that's beside the point. Point is Dirk, you can never amount to anything. You're pathetic, weak. Hell look at what you're making me do. You're making me sound like a fucken broken record.
Seriously. I'm trying to wrap my mind around what can you do to me. You claim to be cold blooded and street smart, but nobody who's street smart looks like they graduated from Harvard University.
So here's what I'm going to do. I'm gong to watch you're twiggy ass break into pieces after I hit you with the Diablo's claw. I am then going to rake you up, raise you above, and send you to the incinerator that is Hell, and 'm going to watch you burn into ash faster then a sheet of paper in a bonfire.
The only thing you'll amount to in APW, is being a whipping boy. And come Overdrive, The Great Canadian Devil, is going to make an example out of you. Needless to say Dirk, I am going to give you, exactly what you want. With the unholy beatdown you're about to receive, I am, going to make you famous!
That's it for what needs to be said. It's all I ant to talk about that bland pile of crap. I look at the remaining whiskey and smirk. Just enough for one more whiskey spiked coffee. I pour my mug up, and mix in the whiskey.
Man, this is some good stuff.
