Post by Damon Graves on Dec 10, 2017 21:16:00 GMT -5
Scene fades in with the camera panning on what appears to be an empty room, lit only by a single hanging bulb, with little more than a bare table and a plain wooden chair.
Voice: Travis.. Travis… Travis….
The familiar voice of Damon Graves echoes from the back of the seemingly-empty room, shortly before the man himself emerges, his usual smirk plastered on his face.
Damon: You know something, Travis? Listening to that extended wet fart that came outta your piehole, it sounded to me like you were preparing for a match with Avery Miles III…
He pulls out the chair, spins it around and straddles it, resting his arms on the chair back.
Damon: Problem is, you seem to be forgetting that you’re not facing Avery…. You’re facing ME!
Now, I know that you might be thinking that this match at Warfare is gonna be a breeze, right?
He slams both hands down on the table.
Damon: WRONG, MOTHERFUCKER!!!
He runs his fingers through his hair, calming himself down a bit.
Damon: Ya see, this isn’t about how you went about responding to to Avery’s invitation to join his team at Warfare. Frankly, that’s between the two of you, although I think it’s pretty fair say Avery woulda preferred a simple “no, thank you”....
He pauses, shaking his head as his expression sours a bit.
Damon: Nah, this is about Aurora.
When my wife first faced you, and lost to you, she was a bit dejected, but she had no reason to feel bad. She stepped in the ring with a world-class athlete and gave it her all, just like she always does. She walked away with her head held high, confident that the next time you two faced off, things would be different.
Damon smirks.
Damon: Yeah, yeah… I gave you a compliment. Don’t jizz in your pants over it…
And then came Round 2. Now, that was going to be epic. A 2-out-of-3-falls match… First fall, you pinned Aurora. Good for you. Second fall, my Harley made you tap out. THAT put a smile on my face like you wouldn’t believe. But then, there was the deciding fall...
He sneers, then spits onto the ground.
Damon: THAT’S when your true colors came out.
A handful of tights, your feet on the ropes, and every single shred of credibility you had went straight down the shitter in the span of three seconds.
But even that wasn’t the worst part…
He stands up abruptly and kicks the chair over.
Damon: You rubbed salt in the wound by bragging about beating my wife TWICE, like you had just won the fucking lottery.
And for what?
Because you felt disrespected?
He scoffs, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he shakes his head. He then pouts his bottom lip, making a mock sad face.
Damon: Aww… poor widdle Twavis got all butthurt, so now he’s gonna hold his breath until he gets his way!
He rolls his eyes.
Damon: What, do you actually think that acting like a complete cockthistle is going to make people respect you? If anything, it’s gonna do the exact opposite. Me, I don’t necessarily cater to the fans. They can boo me or cheer me, it really makes no difference. But I win or lose on my own merits.
Don’t make the mistake of thinking that I’m doing this to serve as some sort of a white knight where my wife is concerned; Aurora can fight her own battles. But I’ll be damned if I won’t get some amount of pleasure from knocking the piss right out of your worthless ass! Part of it’ll be from wiping that shit-eating grin off of your face, but most of it'll be from giving all the haters a big ol’ “fuck you” by kicking your fucking ass all the way back to whatever sewer you crawled out of!.
It's not some huge secret, Blake; my career as of late has been the drizzling shits. Losses are piling up and frankly, it's annoying as hell. I'm at the end of my rope here, but instead of giving up, I'm gonna tie a noose on that motherfucker, slip it over your head, and choke your bitch ass out with it…. Not literally, of course, it's not that kind of a match, but you catch my drift.
His eyes narrow, as a dark chuckle rumbles in his throat.
Damon: Look at the name of the event, man: Warfare. You don’t expect me to approach our match like it was a friendly game of checkers, do you? No, Blake, I’m looking at our little brouhaha as if I AM going to war. I’m fighting against stagnation and an ocean of bad opinion, and it’s a battle that I WILL NOT LOSE.
He pauses to pick up the chair that he tossed aside a moment ago, inspecting it for damage before sitting back down on it.
Damon: Now, you can take this match and, more importantly, take ME seriously… but if your actions and words of late are any indication, you probably won’t. Hey, it’s your career… yours to fuck up however you choose to. I’m not saying that your career is gonna crash and burn overnight… but the way I’m feeling now is the same way an animal would feel when it’s backed into a corner. It’s gonna come charging outta that corner fangs and claws first, and I’m going to do the exact same thing. It just so happens that the first thing I get to rip to shreds is someone that most DEFINITELY has it coming….
Damon stands up, his eyes burning into the camera. He arches his eyebrow, then raises his fists.
Damon: At Warfare, I get to let my fists do the talking. But for now, I’ll leave you with two words:
He holds his fists out in front of him, so that the tattoos on his knuckles are visible. As the scene slowly starts to fade out and the camera zooms in, the message he’s sending is abundantly clear.
