Kill me, JD (rp for CULT Wrestling "SNUFF" Championship)
Jul 20, 2022 12:30:06 GMT -5
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Post by Holden Ross on Jul 20, 2022 12:30:06 GMT -5
Wednesday July thirteenth....
"I really wish you wouldn't do this match... You realize just how badly this could go, right?" Serenity searches his eyes for something, anything in his eyes that shows what she is saying is connecting with him. Maybe he understands her fear. But then he gives her his "I got this." smile and her heart drops a little. He takes a hit from their Crystal bong and she returns his smile with a dead one of her own.
He exhales and reaches out to cup her cheek in his palm. She closes her eyes and nuzzles her cheek into his mitt. "I know you're worried, my love, but I'm going to be okay. You can't kill Holden Ross." She sits back, scoffing, and rolls her eyes.
"What the fuck?" She throws her head back laughing which causes Him to laugh as well. Her voice drops a couple octaves as she imitates him, poorly. "'You can't kill Holden Ross!'" Another fit of laughter which Holden attempts to stifle by covering her mouth with his hand. She squirms away and is still laughing. "When did you start speaking in the third person?"
"I'm just quoting what I heard on the 'Canvas Crawler' podcast..." he narrows his eyes into an exaggerated glare at his Muse.
"There's a reliable source!" she scoffs. "I swear you got that guy on your payroll."
Now it's Holden's turn to scoff. {color=red]"I don't have to pay him for anything! The guy is grateful that I used to call in all the time. Back when I was all pilled out..."[/color] his voice drifts off as he falls into a memory. She shakes her head and he snaps back to now and gives her a shrug. "I promise, I'm going to be fine. Even if I lose, it will be no worse than when Joey set me on fire a few weeks ago. Couple of burns, a few blisters..."
She lets out a sigh she has held in for what feels like forever and wraps her arms around him. She wishes she could hold him like this forever....
Friday July fifteenth...
Holden has just pulled on a baggy pair of jeans and is wearing a black "wife-beater" while sitting on a bench in the Champions Advantage Performance Center. He reaches down and pulls on a pair of all black Chuck's and just as he finishes tying them, his friend and fellow trainer, Buster Gloves, approaches. Holden looks up and gives him a nod when he sees who it is. "What's up?"
"Not much." he says while taking a seat on a bench diagonally across from the Bastard. Holden pulls on a Born Scum "Coffin Skull" t-shirt and eyes Buster with suspicion. "Serenity talked to you, didn't she?" he asks with an eyebrow cocked. Buster grins and gives a small shake of his head.
"She's just worried about you, is all. But, no, she didn't talk to me about it. I called Her. It's hard for us to stand back and watch you waltz into these train wrecks and car crashes and saunter out the other side, banged up, bleeding, and burnt like nothin happened. You know what I mean?"[/color]
Holden slowly lets out a breath he had been holding in, in a long sigh while rubbing his face with both hands. When he looks over at Buster with that smirk on his lips, Buster knows his words are falling on deaf ears. They floated in one ear and sailed out the other unimpeded. "Okay, I get it." He holds his hands up, palms facing Holden, to show he means no harm. "Just know, if you want to talk, I'm always here for ya, brother. Give 'em Hell and be careful out there. We will never be able to find a coach as ugly as you." he says with a chuckle and fist bumps with Holden.
"I appreciate it, I really do, but I am doin fine." he says with his usual smirk. "I love this shit, man. Maybe I'm a Sadist and a Masochist.... I dunno but I can't get enough of these matches. The fans, they eat it up! They want and hope to see me bleed. They want to see me get the shit kicked outta me and they flip out even more when I flip the script and fuck my opponent up. It's addicting..." he says matter-of-factly with a quick nod of his head.
"I know it's pointless to say so, but, please be careful out there. All of us who give a damn about you, we are all dreading this dumpster match." he says as he stands, about to head home for the night.
"I got this, brotha. J.D. is the one getting set on fire, not me. I'm walkin out with that SNUFF Championship. I would have won it during my first match there had me and David not got sidetracked. We hadn't seen each other in over a year and had unfinished business. Now, it's just me and J.D."
"And a dumpster full of fire...." Buster points out to which Holden dismisses him with the wave of his hand. "I know, I know.... Take care, brother!" Holden watches as Buster leaves the locker room, leaving him alone with his thoughts...
Tuesday, July twentieth...
Holden is sitting on the beach, alone, with a small campfire casting the only light, aside from the lights strung along the boardwalk about a football fields length away. There is a half finished bottle of Mezcal propped in the sand next to him. The fire pops and crackles and the breeze, thankfully, is blowing away from Him and, thus, carrying the smoke out into the ocean. His bloodshot eyes are focused on a light bobbing out in the distance on the ocean's surface. His thoughts are elsewhere, though, as a memory plays on the screen in his mind.
Holden is chopping wood, on his third cord of it, under the stoned but watchful eye of his Father, "The Monster" Frank Merritt. Frank looked nothing like his ring days having grown both his beard as well as his hair out and long gone was the physique of a bodybuilder, now built like a regular male, albeit slightly bigger. After breaking his neck during a match in twenty-fifteen in South Carolina, Frank retired, and invested even more into his legal Cannabis grows in Washington State. It was the beginning of twenty-sixteen when he began training Holden for the squared circle at Frank's home in Bakersfield, California. Holden started out chopping wood, running a minimum of ten miles every morning and evening, along with a few hundred sits-up's, jumping jack's, push up's, and burpee's.
And that's how it went for the first few months of "training," with sessions of working the heavy bag or throwing punches at mitt's secured to his Father's hands. After months of frustration, Holden finally mouthed off and got what he thought he wanted: five minutes in the ring with his Father. Holden assumed his youth and size would help him get the best of his Father. He learned quickly, the hard way, that despite his age and size advantage, Frank was easily capable of taking his Son down. Holden was humbled, quickly, and nearly had his eye taken out as well. "It'd pop back in and you wouldn't even know it'd happened. Trust me, I've done it and had it done to me before. Use your thumb to apply pressure to just the right spot and Pop! it comes out like a pimple." he had assured his boy.
For the next year, almost year and a half, Holden was put through the wringer by his Father before being shipped to Thunder Bay, Ontario, Canada to train with a friend of his Father's, Ethan Andrews. While his Father taught him the basics of brawler and power wrestling, Ethan sharpened those skills as well as taught him some new, more technical moves. Young Ross absorbed the lessons like a sponge and when he returned to California, he was put into a match in a small promotion out in the California desert. Holden won the match but not without getting busted open "the hard way." That's when Frank made a call to South Carolina and Holden's career began in earnest. He quickly entered the "Underground" Division in Pure Class Wrestling, which was their "Hardcore" Division. Frank told him then "Don't do this garbage wrestling forever! Only idiots and has-beens make a career outta that shit..."
Serenity brings him back to now with a kiss on the cheek. "How ya doin, baby?" He turns his watery, bloodshot eyes to her and gives her his smirk. "I'm good, babe. I'm good..."
Sometime recent....unsure as to when....
Holden is shown sitting on his Throne in the scrapyard where it resides. He's in his "Cannabis Cup" t-shirt, a lit blunt, and a baggy pair of Dickies. Flood lights illuminate the scene.
"JD, I'm not gonna lie, this match with you has a lot of my friends and family really worried. Worried that I'm going to be crippled, or worse, in a bid to take that belt off of your waist. And I'm no fool, I full well what you're capable of and what I'm walking into. You and I, two of the most brutal assholes in the business and when we both joined the roster it was inevitable; the Hardcore Demigod against the Bastard Juggernaut. We are going to steal the show, JD."
He takes a pull from the blunt and stops to examine the cherry before putting out on his tongue. Twin jets of smoke jet out from his nostrils and he grins. "This is going to be the biggest, hardest fight of my life and everyone in my life is worried about it. Except me." Holden rises from his seat and takes a step towards the camera as it tightens on his face. There's his smirk again. "I'm not worried about getting hurt, or even worse, killed. Hell, you wouldn't do me that favor, would ya, JD? I know you have no qualms breaking my bones, cutting my flesh, spilling my blood....even setting me on fire." He grins, a true smile of happiness. "I want you to try, JD. Try to kill me. End my career. If you can....."
The cameras switch and this angle is above and to his right. He looks up, his arms spread wide above his head, and cackles. "I am ready. The time is right and fear has taken a back seat to me and Death. JD Driftwood, Fate has put us on a collision course and the prize is that Belt you have defended with such fervor and cutthroat ruthlessness. I am unlike anyone you have defended it against in the past. Let's put on a show of such brutality that it makes those in attendance worried and uneasy. Let's steal this fucking show and hospitalize each other in the process.
'Do unto others as they do unto you.' It's not just a quote from Anton LaVey but, also, a creed which I live by. I truly am excited for this opportunity; not only do I get to challenge the mighty JD Driftwood BUT I also get to face Death. I will come out the victor against the both of you and I will watch you burn. Just as you would watch me roast like a marshmallow. The SNUFF Championship will be coming back to Florida with me. Like it or not, it's gonna happen. Let's both tear the house down as well as horrify everyone watching....don't let me down, JD."
The camera fades to black while Holden strolls back towards the Throne.
"I really wish you wouldn't do this match... You realize just how badly this could go, right?" Serenity searches his eyes for something, anything in his eyes that shows what she is saying is connecting with him. Maybe he understands her fear. But then he gives her his "I got this." smile and her heart drops a little. He takes a hit from their Crystal bong and she returns his smile with a dead one of her own.
He exhales and reaches out to cup her cheek in his palm. She closes her eyes and nuzzles her cheek into his mitt. "I know you're worried, my love, but I'm going to be okay. You can't kill Holden Ross." She sits back, scoffing, and rolls her eyes.
"What the fuck?" She throws her head back laughing which causes Him to laugh as well. Her voice drops a couple octaves as she imitates him, poorly. "'You can't kill Holden Ross!'" Another fit of laughter which Holden attempts to stifle by covering her mouth with his hand. She squirms away and is still laughing. "When did you start speaking in the third person?"
"I'm just quoting what I heard on the 'Canvas Crawler' podcast..." he narrows his eyes into an exaggerated glare at his Muse.
"There's a reliable source!" she scoffs. "I swear you got that guy on your payroll."
Now it's Holden's turn to scoff. {color=red]"I don't have to pay him for anything! The guy is grateful that I used to call in all the time. Back when I was all pilled out..."[/color] his voice drifts off as he falls into a memory. She shakes her head and he snaps back to now and gives her a shrug. "I promise, I'm going to be fine. Even if I lose, it will be no worse than when Joey set me on fire a few weeks ago. Couple of burns, a few blisters..."
She lets out a sigh she has held in for what feels like forever and wraps her arms around him. She wishes she could hold him like this forever....
Friday July fifteenth...
Holden has just pulled on a baggy pair of jeans and is wearing a black "wife-beater" while sitting on a bench in the Champions Advantage Performance Center. He reaches down and pulls on a pair of all black Chuck's and just as he finishes tying them, his friend and fellow trainer, Buster Gloves, approaches. Holden looks up and gives him a nod when he sees who it is. "What's up?"
"Not much." he says while taking a seat on a bench diagonally across from the Bastard. Holden pulls on a Born Scum "Coffin Skull" t-shirt and eyes Buster with suspicion. "Serenity talked to you, didn't she?" he asks with an eyebrow cocked. Buster grins and gives a small shake of his head.
"She's just worried about you, is all. But, no, she didn't talk to me about it. I called Her. It's hard for us to stand back and watch you waltz into these train wrecks and car crashes and saunter out the other side, banged up, bleeding, and burnt like nothin happened. You know what I mean?"[/color]
Holden slowly lets out a breath he had been holding in, in a long sigh while rubbing his face with both hands. When he looks over at Buster with that smirk on his lips, Buster knows his words are falling on deaf ears. They floated in one ear and sailed out the other unimpeded. "Okay, I get it." He holds his hands up, palms facing Holden, to show he means no harm. "Just know, if you want to talk, I'm always here for ya, brother. Give 'em Hell and be careful out there. We will never be able to find a coach as ugly as you." he says with a chuckle and fist bumps with Holden.
"I appreciate it, I really do, but I am doin fine." he says with his usual smirk. "I love this shit, man. Maybe I'm a Sadist and a Masochist.... I dunno but I can't get enough of these matches. The fans, they eat it up! They want and hope to see me bleed. They want to see me get the shit kicked outta me and they flip out even more when I flip the script and fuck my opponent up. It's addicting..." he says matter-of-factly with a quick nod of his head.
"I know it's pointless to say so, but, please be careful out there. All of us who give a damn about you, we are all dreading this dumpster match." he says as he stands, about to head home for the night.
"I got this, brotha. J.D. is the one getting set on fire, not me. I'm walkin out with that SNUFF Championship. I would have won it during my first match there had me and David not got sidetracked. We hadn't seen each other in over a year and had unfinished business. Now, it's just me and J.D."
"And a dumpster full of fire...." Buster points out to which Holden dismisses him with the wave of his hand. "I know, I know.... Take care, brother!" Holden watches as Buster leaves the locker room, leaving him alone with his thoughts...
Tuesday, July twentieth...
Holden is sitting on the beach, alone, with a small campfire casting the only light, aside from the lights strung along the boardwalk about a football fields length away. There is a half finished bottle of Mezcal propped in the sand next to him. The fire pops and crackles and the breeze, thankfully, is blowing away from Him and, thus, carrying the smoke out into the ocean. His bloodshot eyes are focused on a light bobbing out in the distance on the ocean's surface. His thoughts are elsewhere, though, as a memory plays on the screen in his mind.
Holden is chopping wood, on his third cord of it, under the stoned but watchful eye of his Father, "The Monster" Frank Merritt. Frank looked nothing like his ring days having grown both his beard as well as his hair out and long gone was the physique of a bodybuilder, now built like a regular male, albeit slightly bigger. After breaking his neck during a match in twenty-fifteen in South Carolina, Frank retired, and invested even more into his legal Cannabis grows in Washington State. It was the beginning of twenty-sixteen when he began training Holden for the squared circle at Frank's home in Bakersfield, California. Holden started out chopping wood, running a minimum of ten miles every morning and evening, along with a few hundred sits-up's, jumping jack's, push up's, and burpee's.
And that's how it went for the first few months of "training," with sessions of working the heavy bag or throwing punches at mitt's secured to his Father's hands. After months of frustration, Holden finally mouthed off and got what he thought he wanted: five minutes in the ring with his Father. Holden assumed his youth and size would help him get the best of his Father. He learned quickly, the hard way, that despite his age and size advantage, Frank was easily capable of taking his Son down. Holden was humbled, quickly, and nearly had his eye taken out as well. "It'd pop back in and you wouldn't even know it'd happened. Trust me, I've done it and had it done to me before. Use your thumb to apply pressure to just the right spot and Pop! it comes out like a pimple." he had assured his boy.
For the next year, almost year and a half, Holden was put through the wringer by his Father before being shipped to Thunder Bay, Ontario, Canada to train with a friend of his Father's, Ethan Andrews. While his Father taught him the basics of brawler and power wrestling, Ethan sharpened those skills as well as taught him some new, more technical moves. Young Ross absorbed the lessons like a sponge and when he returned to California, he was put into a match in a small promotion out in the California desert. Holden won the match but not without getting busted open "the hard way." That's when Frank made a call to South Carolina and Holden's career began in earnest. He quickly entered the "Underground" Division in Pure Class Wrestling, which was their "Hardcore" Division. Frank told him then "Don't do this garbage wrestling forever! Only idiots and has-beens make a career outta that shit..."
Serenity brings him back to now with a kiss on the cheek. "How ya doin, baby?" He turns his watery, bloodshot eyes to her and gives her his smirk. "I'm good, babe. I'm good..."
Sometime recent....unsure as to when....
Holden is shown sitting on his Throne in the scrapyard where it resides. He's in his "Cannabis Cup" t-shirt, a lit blunt, and a baggy pair of Dickies. Flood lights illuminate the scene.
"JD, I'm not gonna lie, this match with you has a lot of my friends and family really worried. Worried that I'm going to be crippled, or worse, in a bid to take that belt off of your waist. And I'm no fool, I full well what you're capable of and what I'm walking into. You and I, two of the most brutal assholes in the business and when we both joined the roster it was inevitable; the Hardcore Demigod against the Bastard Juggernaut. We are going to steal the show, JD."
He takes a pull from the blunt and stops to examine the cherry before putting out on his tongue. Twin jets of smoke jet out from his nostrils and he grins. "This is going to be the biggest, hardest fight of my life and everyone in my life is worried about it. Except me." Holden rises from his seat and takes a step towards the camera as it tightens on his face. There's his smirk again. "I'm not worried about getting hurt, or even worse, killed. Hell, you wouldn't do me that favor, would ya, JD? I know you have no qualms breaking my bones, cutting my flesh, spilling my blood....even setting me on fire." He grins, a true smile of happiness. "I want you to try, JD. Try to kill me. End my career. If you can....."
The cameras switch and this angle is above and to his right. He looks up, his arms spread wide above his head, and cackles. "I am ready. The time is right and fear has taken a back seat to me and Death. JD Driftwood, Fate has put us on a collision course and the prize is that Belt you have defended with such fervor and cutthroat ruthlessness. I am unlike anyone you have defended it against in the past. Let's put on a show of such brutality that it makes those in attendance worried and uneasy. Let's steal this fucking show and hospitalize each other in the process.
'Do unto others as they do unto you.' It's not just a quote from Anton LaVey but, also, a creed which I live by. I truly am excited for this opportunity; not only do I get to challenge the mighty JD Driftwood BUT I also get to face Death. I will come out the victor against the both of you and I will watch you burn. Just as you would watch me roast like a marshmallow. The SNUFF Championship will be coming back to Florida with me. Like it or not, it's gonna happen. Let's both tear the house down as well as horrify everyone watching....don't let me down, JD."
The camera fades to black while Holden strolls back towards the Throne.