#Broken Bones and Broken Dreams
Dec 10, 2017 16:57:33 GMT -6
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Bonnie Blue, L Verez {L-7}, and 1 more like this
Post by payasoloco on Dec 10, 2017 16:57:33 GMT -6
Civil War. After the Main Event. Various UCI stars are seen packing up and leaving the arena. As we make our way through the backstage area, we find L Verez leaving the Guardians locker room. She makes her way to the parking lot, stopping part of the way up the hall. She turns, cracking open one of the doors. Within, El Payaso Loco seems overly frustrated as he throws random objects around the room; screaming expletives in his native Hispanic tongue.
{Can't get the fucking job done!! So close, so GODDAMN close!! Fuck!!}
L Verez cautiously slides into Loco's locker room, putting up a hand in peace. Loco looks over, a 20 pound weight in hand; but he drops it as he notices his friend. A deep breath, Loco surveys the room.
Everything good in here?
{Yeah. No, I... I just... Didn't like the way the room looked. Not... Not very... Feng shui...}
Verez starts over as Loco reaches into his now damaged locker, pulling a black wife beater over his head.
Has anyone ever told you what a horrible liar you are?
L places a hand on Payaso's shoulder, wincing a bit from her back pain as his head hangs, breathing deeply. He looks up, defeated.
{I wasn't good enough. Again. I just couldn't get the job done, AGAIN. I went out there, I threw down, I took every fucking body to the limit... And I failed.}
How so, mi amigo?
Payaso raises an eyebrow.
¿Que?
Verez takes a second, both sitting down on the remains of a bench. Loco seems confused as L responds.
Team L Verez picked up the win tonight. The team you were on. And yes, you were eliminated before we polished Team Bull. But if I'm going to be honest? You dominated the majority of that match. You had the most in-ring time for our team, and you took it to EVERY member of Team Bull. You put on a show, and in many ways, led our team to a win. So I really don't see how you failed.
Loco shakes his head.
{Of course, you don't. YOU got your title shot.}
Verez scoffs, it's her turn to shake her head.
That's what this is about? Not getting an opportunity for the World Title? I thought you were better than that, Loco. Think about it. Corey is virtually a giant. Harry is rather large himself. And yet, the one looking like a beast in that match was YOU. Little Payaso Loco. Showing the world that it truly IS the fight in the dog; and you were a big freaking dog.
You channeled all your anger, all your frustration, all the rage from your recent string of losses and you took it to another level tonight.
Payaso sighs, looking at the ceiling.
{But not World Title Contendership level.}
Verez punches Loco's knee, shaking her head again. Loco looks up, Verez sighs.
It took everything of Zombie McMorris to stop you from ending his title reign- and he just BARELY did at that. It took four men and a pair of brass knuckles to keep you from being Television Champion- and you sent a couple of them to the hospital. Tonight, you went one-on-three for most of the match just to prove your worth. And thanks to your efforts, we won. Loco, you are due for a World Title shot- as long as you keep this up. Who knows; perhaps when your time DOES come, you and I will be in that ring, doing the title justice with the best match in UCI history. In WRESTLING history.
A slight grin cracks under Payaso's cowl; a nod. Loco stands, as does Verez.
{As usual, you are right. I need to focus. I need to stay on track and earn my place on top.
Thank you, L. You're a great friend.}
Loco stands, offering a hand. Verez stands, shaking his hand and pulling Payaso in for a friendly embrace. L exits the room, Loco taking a moment to gather his thoughts before gathering his things and following after.
The scene opens on a graveyard, later in the night. Almost cliché a scene, there is a light mist over the area. As we pan the area, a voice permeates through the scene.
{Victory cannot be fully recognized without the foul stench of defeat. One can win time, and time, and time again and they will never truly appreciate what their victories mean. On the other hand, one who has clawed and fought his way through loss will understand just how important his success is.
Every war consists of smaller battles. For every battle won, there are losses that make a victory bittersweet.
At Civil War, I won my tag match almost single-handedly. I put my body and indeed my career on the line to cement my place as a top competitor in our business. And whilst Team Verez walked away victorious, it was a bittersweet moment when I realized that I had sacrificed my opportunity at a World Championship for the sake of making a statement.}
The camera pans out, catching a shadow stalking through the mist. He stops, turning towards the camera. His hair and the mist cover his face, but his voice is unmistakable.
{This week, I have gained something of a consolation prize. My efforts at Civil War place me in a position to fight for the Television Championship once again. A prize that has eluded me on several occassions; yet stands testament to the lebgths I am willing to stretch to make a name for myself.
And the opposition this week... Well, let's just say I'm going to war all over again. Hippo Harry Diderot; my former ally and once again adversary. Zombie McMorris, the former World Champion who took TWO matches to definitively defeat me. And Corey Bull, the monster of a man who was felled at the behest of myself and my comrades. And in a Barebones Match.
Just when I think Señor Adams is stacking the deck against me, he turns them in my favor.}
Payaso chuckles, pacing through the tombstones. He takes a moment to compose himself, a slight smirk as he looks back.
{Let's just start by talking about what a Barebones Match entails.
There are no protections. The turnbuckle pads are gone. The coverings on the guardrails are removed. Any form of protectioj one would normally have from certain elements of the match are erased from existence.
This means that every time you hit a surface, it now hits three times as hard. Every time you take damage, it stings at an exponentially higher level. Every time you take a spill, it could potentially mean serious, threatening, career-ending damage.
Anyone who has been in the ring with me knows that this is the hellish environment I LIVE for. Anyone who has seen me compete understands that this is the sadomasochistic land I THRIVE in. At this point, it doesn't matter who is across the ring from me; the underdog has just become the odds-on favorite. And just to prove a point, let's look at the competition.}
Loco stalks through the graveyard, eyeing various stones. After a moment, he stops and jumps atop one. He grins as he sits, the stone reading "Bull". A breath.
{Corey Bull. I told everyone exactly what you were. And I proved it. The massive cleaning crew for Kevin Bishop got his ass beat by a masked midget. And although you snuck in that pin on me, the beating you took at my hands kept you from doing a whole lot afterwards. So congratulations on your hollow victory.
You got a sample, Corey, of exactly what it is I can do at Civil War. There were no weapons, no barbaric vacancies of protection in that match. Just a crazed, obsessed luchador looking to dominate the opposition. And I laid waste to the massive disappointment that is the "Hatebringer". How sad it must be, Bull, that you had to hang your head after that match. Knowing that, despite your best efforts, you were grossly overshadowed by a man half your size. Knowing that, when you got home, your meal ticket would look at you in shame. And knowing now, Corey, that your one shot at redemption in Kevin's eyes is going to be ripped from you by the same man responsible for exposing you as the waste of space that you are.
For all the bravado you bring to the table, for all the size you flaunt over some of us, you were brought down to size in a match that should have FAVORED you. But this week, Bullshit, you have the unfortunate luck to be dragged into MY domain, into MY territory. To once again be slaughtered and destroyed by a man with nothing to lose. I sincerely hope Bishop is providing a decent healthcare plan; because after Overload... You may not be able to work for a while.}
Loco hops down from the stone, pacing the graveyard. He seems to enjoy his little waltz, an air of confidence in his step. He finds the next gravestone, again leaping up into a seated position. He looks down to the name- "Diderot"- and then back to the camera.
{We've come full circle, Harold. Adversaries for the title you hold so dear. Becoming partners at Civil War- you're welcome, by the way- and now back to opponents.
I stated before Civil War that I had underestimated you. And I stand behind my words, Harry. However, I know that anyone with a brain understands the importance of sizing up his competition. So I must ask you, Diderot. Were you paying attention? Did you watch me at Civil War, racking up time on our side, essentially dominating the opposition in a 3-on-1 situation? I must ask, Harry, as I must question if you truly understand the force you are up against. Yes, I underestimated your abilities in our last confrontation. But for good reason; I have the skillset and the stamina to back up my occasional spurts of egomania.
This week will be NOTHING like our last meeting. I have had the time to survey your abilities, scout your limitations. I have watched you up close and know your strengths and weaknesses, and understand how to use BOTH against you. And with this match being something of a home court advantage, I have every opportunity to throw myself into full throttle and obliterate everything standing between myself and the Television Championship you currently hold.
I lost my shot at a World Title. I won't do the same with the championship this week.}
Loco hops off the stone, scratching his chin. He paces about the stones again, staring into the sky. After a moment, he stops, lowering himself by an empty grave. He sits on the edge of a hole, the camera panning up to the stone. "McMorris". Loco takes a deep breath, continuing.
{And then, we have my nemesis. The only man in this match who understands it and thrives in it the way I do. The only other man who can call these conditions a playground of sorts.
ZMac. It's always fun to tangle with you. No, you didn't mishear me; I said fun. I told you last time that I had exposed your greatest fear- you aren't some god or demon; just a man. But I also know that you are a dangerous man. You used that to your advantage last time, winning the buffer match after our draw. But that was then. We're both very different people now. You're a former World Champion and I have become an animal unhinged.
The twisted, sadistic minds of madmen like us are a rare thing to behold. And indeed, we are willing to do things that others would fear. Not because we inherently house a deathwish; but because you and I embrace our mortality and challenge death at every turn. We understand that mortals have limitations; yet challenge that mortality in an attempt to expand and eliminate those barriers within ourselves.
McMorris, I have the utmost respect for you. Don't ever doubt that fact. But respect is earned in this business. And whilst I took you to your limits and ended your little winning streak- even if only by technicality- I feel like you don't hold me in the same regards.
So while I'm certain you will unleash hell on Overload, I offer this tidbit: either I will earn your respect this week- along with the title you kept from me- or I will do what no other has and BEAT respect into you. If that means sacrificing everything of myself to end you, to end your path back to a title reign...
So be it.}
Loco stands, kicking some dirt into the hole. He paces about the graveyard a bit more, stopping by the entrance.
{There are a hundred reasons why I shouldn't win this match. My failure in the past, my size disadvantage, the presence of two Television Champions in this match.
But I am a man with nothing to lose. I have everything to gain. I have climbed, scratched and clawed my way to the top. And I have shown the world that I will stop at nothing to PROVE that I am the best of the best.
I will enter this match with the home field advantage. I will wage war once again with some of the best UCI has to offer- and Corey Bull. And when all is said and done, the demons that I set free upon the UCI landscape will forever wreak havoc on the foundations of our business.
Zombie McMorris. Harry Diderot. Kevin's Fleshlight. The four of us will step into the ring this week, put everything on the line to be called the best. Only one will rise. Only one can truly survive. Only one can leave this week with the ability to raise the Television Title and claim superiority. Only one will come back next week with the right to say they were...
Loco. Enough.}
Payaso lets out a chuckle as he leaves, the mist swirling about the area. The camera pans around, taking in the scene as we fade to static.
