Post by Damon Graves on Apr 29, 2018 11:12:09 GMT -5
Wednesday, April 25th, 2018
Las Vegas, Nevada
Scene opens with Damon Graves in the middle of a training session in the ring with his trainer, Jason Perry. Damon looks like he's being a bit too overzealous. Jason calls for a time out.
Jason: Damon, slow down! You're going to hurt yourself if you keep that up…
Damon says nothing.
Jason: What's bothering you?
Damon: Nothing.
Jason: Bullshit. You've been a step off all day, and that usually happens when you're distracted. So, as your trainer, I need to know what's going on, so that our training time isn't wasted.
Jason sits down and leans against the ropes. He motions for Damon to do the same. Damon takes his time doing so.
Damon: If you must know, it's about being the Young Lions Champion…
Jason: We've been over this before… if you didn't think you were ready…
Damon: No, no, no…. That's not the point I'm trying to make. It's just that I have yet to actually DEFEND my title. Fact is, I was supposed to have my first defense this Sunday, but that little fucking pansy Scotty Latimer ran off on some quest to find his balls…
Jason: So I heard…
Damon: That was going to be the thing I needed to erase that question mark in the record books as far as whether or not I earned this title.
Jason: It's not as if you've never held a championship before…
Damon: This is the first singles title I've held in a long time, especially at this level.
Jason: You're concerned about the critics, aren't you? The ones that are trying to shit in what you've accomplished? You know what? Fuck ‘em….
Damon: No thanks. I wouldn't fuck any of them with a stolen dick…
Both men burst out laughing.
Jason: You know, Donovan Basch said the same thing not that long ago… he DID leave out the part about the stolen dick, though.
Damon: He would….
This causes both men to crack up with fresh peals of laughter. Eventually, the laughter subsides.
Jason: But seriously, Damon, there's no need to let this shit get to you. You didn't just get that title handed to you, so use your new opponent to set an example of what happens when you're underestimated…
Damon mulls that over in his head for a moment.
Damon: Yeah, you're right. I've got better things to think about than something this trivial…
Jason: Especially if you don't want this replacement to get one over on you….
Damon: Damn right I don't…
Jason: Ok, then. We'll pick up where we left off, and this time, mind your pacing….
The scene fades out as both men stand up and go to lock up.
Saturday, April 28th
Arlington National Cemetery
Scene fades back in with Damon walking amongst the tombstones and statuary decorating the hallowed grounds. Occasionally, he stops to admire a particularly interesting piece.
Damon: Well, isn't this just fucking rich?
Here I am, ready and willing to let Scotty Latimer earn a little bit of his manhood back by facing him one more time for the Young Lions Championship….
Not that he stood a chance in hell of regaining it, but at least he'd get his rematch…
But no, he went and proved me right by running away like a dog that's been frightened by thunder during a storm.
Hey, bitch boy, if you can hear the sound of my voice, I've got two words for ya:
Good fucking riddance.
Technically, that's three words, but ask me if I give a shit.
Damon finds himself next to a statue depicting a weeping angel. He runs his hand over it briefly.
Damon: Latimer obviously lacked the gear to make it in a place like NGW, so he took a walk. Hell, I was in that Strange Bedfellows clusterfuck too. I was saddled with a waste of space in Alicia Hixx and the Queen of the shrieking hell-bitches herself, the least talented of the Richards sisters, Kayla Richards. Honestly, I would rather have done something useful, like pick lint outta my belly button.
Needless to say, things didn't work out well.
Whatever…
He resumes walking.
Damon: But back to the case at hand.
Instead of finally getting an opportunity to show that I earned the Young Lions Championship with a successful defense, I get to play Welcoming Committee to a returning “superstar” in Tee Voland.
In case you haven't caught on by now, I'm not a happy camper right now.
I was looking forward to putting the final nail in the coffin of Latimer’s career, not nurse-maiding some scrawny, pale yinzer whose sole purpose in life is to remind everyone that she's a former Five Lakes Champion…
You know who else is a former Five Lakes Champion?
John Blade.
John Fucking Blade.
Damon holds his hand up to his mouth, as if to hold back laughter.
Damon: Kinda steals the wind outta your sails, doesn't it? Just like you, he held that belt for a short time and lost it in their first defense. The only difference is that you held the title for 28 days, while he held it for 14.
You held a title two weeks longer than the walking punchline of the wrestling industry.
Let that sink in for a moment, Voland.
But don't dwell on it too much, because instead of harping on the past, you need to concern yourself with the future. Your little history lesson didn't impress me and it sure as fuck doesn't intimidate me. “Age and trickery can beat youth and strength any day.” Spoken like someone whose thimbleful of talent has long since been spent. Tricks are for people like you, that don't have what it takes to get by on their own skills.
Damon notices a tombstone with a pentacle carved into it. He kneels down to take a closer look.
Damon: I couldn't care less about what your sagging, decrepit ass wants. If you want to work your way into contention for the Five Lakes title or the NGW title, find yourself another huckleberry, because I am NOBODY'S stepping stone. I worked my ass off helping to make NGW the hottest company in the business while you were off avoiding both sunlight and relevance.
I'm no king, Casper the Bitchy Ghost. You want someone that thinks they're royalty? Go find Matthew Shields in the dumpster closest to whatever venue NGW is working at, and I'm sure he'll be thrilled to talk about how he's “King of the Heavyweights” until your goddamned ears bleed. Me? I'll be busy representing this company as the Young Lions Champion.
Champion, not king, ya senile twat.
Damon stands back up, brushing the grass from the knees of his jeans before straightening up completely.
Damon: At Dissension, your credentials won't mean Jack shit to me. Your want to measure whether your still have what it takes? How about you measure the size of my boot when they extract it from your fossilized ass. You may not be involved in a championship match, but you're still in store for a championship-caliber beatdown. And when it's over, you can take your drive and drive yourself back to the old folks home with the rest of the geezers.
The camera pulls in tight on Damon's face, capturing the full intensity of the sneer plastered on it.
Damon: Welcome back…
Scene fades to black.