Post by niamh on Sept 19, 2021 7:27:25 GMT -5
A martyr is someone willing to die for what he believes in. A fanatic is someone willing for you to die for what he believes in.
Rolling green hills and a late morning breeze are what set the scene as Niamh Zeist sits amongst the daisies, her eyes fixed on the camera before her.
”I’d love to give you both the benefit of the doubt. I’d love to have a kind word or two to say to either or both of you, but… But the truth is there is absolutely nothing pleasant or kind I can say about either one of you. Between the try hard hyper-masculine douche-bag with micro dick energy and the female so ashamed of her own existence she hides behind a perverse version of a childhood cartoon character? The only thing I’m feeling is insulted.
Insulted that I am expected to sit here and talk this match up, I’m supposed to build up my opponents so that when I beat them, I can turn around and use it as a stepping stone in my next match. But what the fuck is there to talk up?
Lethe? With the proportions of a sex doll and the self esteem of a put away wet second hand one, isn’t someone I can scream from the rooftops in pride when I beat her. In truth the only thing I’m likely to do after this match with her is get tested.
Twice.”
Niamh let’s put an exaggerated sigh, plucking a dandelion that was hiding within the daisies, she twirls the stem between her fingers.
”Josiah Howard… an unironically biblical name that only serves to add a cymbal clash at the end of your punchline existence. Truly, honestly, I’ve never seen a man so insecure in his masculinity that he has to essentially whip it out and piss on the ground to feel dominant.
It's always the ones who have to bang their fists against their chests that are in reality, a disappointment in every sense of the word. As a matter of fact, this is probably the most physical contact ole Logan Paul of professional wrestling over there has had in his pathetic existence. What is there of you, for me to build up exactly?”
As she continues to speak, Niamh is plucking at the petals of the Dandelion. One by one, she pulls them free and lets them fall into her lap. Still her eyes don’t waiver from the camera.
”Lucky me, right?
What an honor it is to step into the ring with a part of used up before they were anything, curtain jerkers. Best case scenario here is people want to see me beat the fuck out of you both badly enough, that they stick around to watch the match for it.
And please, save the bullshit about me being an unknown, about how I haven’t done anything yet or, how I’m the weaker sex. Lethe is wearing so much ‘armour’ I’m near certain the girl is gonna scream if her hair gets pulled. Josiah is so busy grabbing his own dick and convincing himself that women deserve it[\i] whilst hiding behind some bullshit morals and faith, that I’ll be beyond shocked if he has even a single impressive moment in our match.”
As the final petal falls, Niamh looks away from the camera just long enough to select the prettiest Daisy in the field. Pink tinges on the edges of the petals, make this specific flower stand out from the rest.
”That brings us to the obvious question… What exactly am I bringing to the table?
Well, even discounting the best training this industry has to offer, under the watchful eye and unforgiving gaze of some of the greatest wrestlers ever to Grace a ring with their present. Even discounting the fact that I travelled all across Europe dominating the underground wrestling scene for well over a year… What I bring to this match is skill.
Skill, talent and pure, well earned confidence. You won’t see me hesitate or second guess any move I make in that ring. I won’t pull back because I want to make a NICE first impression. None of that matters to me, I’m not just here to do a job. I’m here to do something that I was born to do, I’m here because wrestling is in my BLOOD. And I don’t need to make some edgy 4Chan comment about how I’ll be spilling yours either.
I don’t have to fall back on the gimmick of a mask or beg for cheap heat and attention as a Meninist. I can simply walk out to that ring and let my skill and precision speak for itself and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
Niamh finally looks back up to the camera with a small, tight smile on her lips. That Daisy is held daintily between her fingertips and she leans, just a fraction of an inch towards the camera for her final words.
”It’s really fucking simple.
Lethe, Josiah, the fans… none of that matters to me. I don’t care if you love me or hate me and I don’t care to make you look better, so beating you will look better. All I care about is Me and My goals. Unfortunately for the both of you? You happen to be the thing standing in the way of me reaching those goals.
Save your witty one liners and your tired rhetoric for the next person who is ready to surpass you. Show up. Do your job and maybe, just maybe, you can walk away with some self respect.”
Niamh slowly closes her hand around the Daisy and squeezes it with a broad smile now.
”Or maybe… you won’t walk away at all.”
Rolling green hills and a late morning breeze are what set the scene as Niamh Zeist sits amongst the daisies, her eyes fixed on the camera before her.
”I’d love to give you both the benefit of the doubt. I’d love to have a kind word or two to say to either or both of you, but… But the truth is there is absolutely nothing pleasant or kind I can say about either one of you. Between the try hard hyper-masculine douche-bag with micro dick energy and the female so ashamed of her own existence she hides behind a perverse version of a childhood cartoon character? The only thing I’m feeling is insulted.
Insulted that I am expected to sit here and talk this match up, I’m supposed to build up my opponents so that when I beat them, I can turn around and use it as a stepping stone in my next match. But what the fuck is there to talk up?
Lethe? With the proportions of a sex doll and the self esteem of a put away wet second hand one, isn’t someone I can scream from the rooftops in pride when I beat her. In truth the only thing I’m likely to do after this match with her is get tested.
Twice.”
Niamh let’s put an exaggerated sigh, plucking a dandelion that was hiding within the daisies, she twirls the stem between her fingers.
”Josiah Howard… an unironically biblical name that only serves to add a cymbal clash at the end of your punchline existence. Truly, honestly, I’ve never seen a man so insecure in his masculinity that he has to essentially whip it out and piss on the ground to feel dominant.
It's always the ones who have to bang their fists against their chests that are in reality, a disappointment in every sense of the word. As a matter of fact, this is probably the most physical contact ole Logan Paul of professional wrestling over there has had in his pathetic existence. What is there of you, for me to build up exactly?”
As she continues to speak, Niamh is plucking at the petals of the Dandelion. One by one, she pulls them free and lets them fall into her lap. Still her eyes don’t waiver from the camera.
”Lucky me, right?
What an honor it is to step into the ring with a part of used up before they were anything, curtain jerkers. Best case scenario here is people want to see me beat the fuck out of you both badly enough, that they stick around to watch the match for it.
And please, save the bullshit about me being an unknown, about how I haven’t done anything yet or, how I’m the weaker sex. Lethe is wearing so much ‘armour’ I’m near certain the girl is gonna scream if her hair gets pulled. Josiah is so busy grabbing his own dick and convincing himself that women deserve it[\i] whilst hiding behind some bullshit morals and faith, that I’ll be beyond shocked if he has even a single impressive moment in our match.”
As the final petal falls, Niamh looks away from the camera just long enough to select the prettiest Daisy in the field. Pink tinges on the edges of the petals, make this specific flower stand out from the rest.
”That brings us to the obvious question… What exactly am I bringing to the table?
Well, even discounting the best training this industry has to offer, under the watchful eye and unforgiving gaze of some of the greatest wrestlers ever to Grace a ring with their present. Even discounting the fact that I travelled all across Europe dominating the underground wrestling scene for well over a year… What I bring to this match is skill.
Skill, talent and pure, well earned confidence. You won’t see me hesitate or second guess any move I make in that ring. I won’t pull back because I want to make a NICE first impression. None of that matters to me, I’m not just here to do a job. I’m here to do something that I was born to do, I’m here because wrestling is in my BLOOD. And I don’t need to make some edgy 4Chan comment about how I’ll be spilling yours either.
I don’t have to fall back on the gimmick of a mask or beg for cheap heat and attention as a Meninist. I can simply walk out to that ring and let my skill and precision speak for itself and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
Niamh finally looks back up to the camera with a small, tight smile on her lips. That Daisy is held daintily between her fingertips and she leans, just a fraction of an inch towards the camera for her final words.
”It’s really fucking simple.
Lethe, Josiah, the fans… none of that matters to me. I don’t care if you love me or hate me and I don’t care to make you look better, so beating you will look better. All I care about is Me and My goals. Unfortunately for the both of you? You happen to be the thing standing in the way of me reaching those goals.
Save your witty one liners and your tired rhetoric for the next person who is ready to surpass you. Show up. Do your job and maybe, just maybe, you can walk away with some self respect.”
Niamh slowly closes her hand around the Daisy and squeezes it with a broad smile now.
”Or maybe… you won’t walk away at all.”