Post by The Paragon of Hardcore on Dec 5, 2010 15:38:01 GMT -4
*The pirated video feed of The Blackwells’ Personal Cameraman, Emrys statics into life to show The Excellence of Extreme… “The Paragon of Hardcore” Trevor Blackwell… alone for once… There is no “Hardcore Princess” Kristina Blackwell in the background… she’s off getting ready for her own match in her own way… There is no “Hybrid” Damian Dimitri pumping weights beneath him or asking stupid questions about The Career Killer’s motivations… he’s off attending to his would-be-Lucha-Girlfriend, nursing wounds that The Excellence of Extreme himself created. Even his 9 yr old daughter, Skyler is absent from the picture… busy with her tutor in his office so she can have her homework done in time for school tomorrow morning. No… The Paragon is good and truly alone for once… alone with his thoughts… alone with his past deeds and misdeeds… alone with the camera….
Trevor Blackwell laces up his boots… a bit of blood still staining them from some guys that “Supersonic” Branden Harvey tried to hire to take them down… to put a scare in them… as if anyone could scare the Blackwells. He looks down at the envelope laying on the coffee table of the room that serves as The Blackwells’ locker room… the rectangular piece of paper hanging out of it … the last name “Olivetti” being the only writing that’s visible.
The Paragon of Hardcore turns his ice blue eyes… battle worn and almost as scarred as the rest of his body… towards his oldest employee, Emrys.*
Trevor: Y’know… I gotta give Arcadia more credit than I did a week ago… She’s a lot more Hardcore than I thought she was… I figured only a Blackwell would be able to survive the assault that the Red Shield Mafia and I laid into her and still be in ring shape for tonight… and from what I’ve seen of her most recent promo, she’s battered and bruised but she’s still going to compete… still going to give me a hell of a fight… Its almost enough to give me a pang of conscience and consider giving her that rent check back to go towards her hospital bills… I’m not sure if Reggie’s medical insurance covers us for injuries outside the ring… I know Beckett’s didn’t…
*The Career Killer’s ice blue eyes release their hold on the camera as he drops his boot and lifts another onto the coffee table… a wet was cloth runs over the blood stains on the leather of this one too… though these blood stains really do belong to Arcadia… Trevor Blackwell’s lips curl into a slow, sick smile at the memory of her gasps of pain. They send shivers up his spine that harden his crotch much the way the gasps downstairs hardened Damian’s.*
Trevor: I really am a sick fuck sometimes, Emrys… I totally enjoyed… even got off on Arcadia’s pain last week. I’ve watched her little “Private Conversation” with my student over and over again and it was all I could do not to touch myself. Not because of her alluring, nearly naked silhouette like Damian was drooling over… but because I caused her so much pain. Yeah, Arcadia, I’m sure you’ll hear this… I was watching… You should know that in IWC, nothing that happens in this building or outside it is ever TRULY private. Your personal life is no longer your own, Arcadia. You belong to the IWC Faithful now… You’re not a special and unique snowflake… you’re one of the IWC Misfits. You’re a commodity… a character on TV… owned for all intents and purposes by President Jeff. And because of it, there’s certain expectations that come with your name that you just don’t seem to understand quite yet. You have responsibilities to the IWC Faithful that are putting down their hard earned money for tickets to see you put your pain and injuries aside so I can Full Throttle you through the mat for their amusement. You have an obligation to soar through the air with that ungodly grace of yours so that I can use my Singapore Cane to swat you like a mosquito straight back to Arena Mexico where you belong. You’re not jerking the curtain at the beginning of the show against Amber or some other little girl like Jason Royce anymore… You’re in the main event now and that means your round little ass belongs to “The Paragon of Hardcore” Trevor Blackwell.
*The Excellence of Extreme finishes lacing his boots and unzips his ever present red and black duffel bag. He removes a roll of black masking tape and starts taping his wrists and hands up…. Wrapping his palms and fingers as well…*
Trevor: I have to admit it… Arcadia earned a modicum of respect from me these last few weeks… she’s still here to face me… though I’m really not sure if that’s worthy of respect or pity… There’s a fine line between bravery and stupidity… Its admirable that you’re wrapping and treating your wounds and getting in the ring with me tonight. You’re a fine competitor… you’re fulfilling your obligations… but you’re honestly taking years off your life tonight. If you think being dragged from a motorcycle and nearly blown up was bad…
*The Paragon of Hardcore reaches into that duffel bag with his tape wrapped hands and produces first a length of barbed wire… then a small, tinkling bag filled with steel thumbtacks… then a rusted metal spike with a handle that his hand fits into rather comfortably.*
Trevor: You can consider the ordeal that you just survived as a prerequisite. Consider it training. Now, unlike many that I have sent home in stretchers… you can say that you honestly DESERVE to stand across the ring from the true living legend that is “The Paragon of Hardcore” Trevor Blackwell. But tonight is what you should really fear… the pain and nausea and burns that you suffered through in the hospital to make it to tonight’s Asylum… it’ll feel like a nice, pleasant vacation compared to the true violence that you will be a part of tonight. I can’t stress enough that this is nothing like anything you’ve ever experienced before, Arcadia… This is nothing that any of your previous training could’ve hoped to prepare you for… This is the night that you will feel your flesh rip and your muscles snap and your flesh rend and your bones break. You will bleed tonight like you’ve never bled before. You will be pushed to your absolute limits… and you very well may thank me. You may end up thanking me for upping your game and helping you transcend to the next level of IWC… But I don’t think so… I don’t think you will…
*The Excellence of Extreme smiles as he puts his toys back into the duffel bag… he produces a brand new Singapore Cane and smiles down at it… the twisted bastard caressing it like a well known lover… his fingertips tracing every groove in it’s bamboo surface.*
Trevor: I don’t think you will thank me… I don’t think you’ve reached that stage of maturity in your life or in your career yet… I don’t think you’ve gained enough experience to be able to look past your own pride and win/loss record and see how being obliterated by The Excellence of Extreme is an honor that will make you a true star in the eyes of the IWC Faithful… To put it in terms you’ll understand, Arcadia… I don’t think you’ve leveled up far enough for this boss battle yet. Maybe you should go back and endlessly fight lesser enemies like Jason Royce and Chris Cyrus and Amber and Branden Harvey… then come back and try again… Gods know you wouldn’t want to have to go all the way back to that last save point…
*He sighs and focuses his ice blue eyes on Emrys’s camera.*
Trevor: But I’m going off on a tangent… the point I’m trying to make is that I don’t think you’ll take this as a valuable learning experience… I think when you wake up in the hospital and are actually capable of moving again, you’ll use the voice you rediscovered to beg Reggie for more Thanksgiving Day Matches. You’ll revel in the small amount of Hardcore you found there and be happy in your niche… happy wearing pilgrim outfits… happy putting General Managers through tables… Anything it takes to keep you as far away from The Blackwells as possible…
*The Paragon of Hardcore straightens up and cracks his back, shouldering his duffel bag and cocking his Singapore Cane on his shoulder like a soldier with a rifle.*
Trevor: Who knows… maybe you’ll surprise me… maybe you’ll actually do something with this. Maybe you’ll pay attention and actually learn something. Maybe the Hell I’m about to put you through will open your eyes and give you a new perspective on your career… maybe surviving tonight will give you a new lease on life. Maybe you’ll cherish those close to you and see who your true supporters and loved ones are. Maybe what doesn’t kill you ACTUALLY WILL make you stronger…
*The Career Killer turns and smiles as Emrys gets a closeup on that sick grin… those ice blue eyes… the pirated video feed of The Blackwells’ Personal Cameraman fading out on Trevor Blackwell’s words once again.*
Trevor: And if not… I’m sure Reggie is setting up a Christmas Chocolate Pudding Bowl Match…
*His sick laughter is all that’s heard as the feed cuts.*
