Post by Max f'n Daemon on Dec 13, 2022 10:19:30 GMT -5
Max Daemon stumbles into his office.
Office is a pretty languished word for it given it’s more of a shrine really.
A shrine for his accomplishments (Pure Title, Pure Cup, Tokyo Cup).
A shrine for his histories (Trudy, among others).
But mostly a shrine for his past. The posters of his representation litter the walls as the bottle of whiskey in his hand falls to the floor.
He ignores the Jack Daniels staining the carpet even as Max falls back into a glass cabinet. It moves back an inch even as he slides down. He sits against the cabinet, expression fairly neutral despite the lack of cognizance in his eyes.
“I’m tired.
I’m tired of givin my all ta' a place that doesn’t care.
I’m tired of prostratin myself out there for a crowd that doesn’t give a shit about me.
I’m tired of puttin an effort in when the only answer I ever receive from this place is ‘no.’”
With a sigh, Max slams the back of his head against the cabinet.
“I formed The Dirge with the intention of destruction.
We have yet ta' destroy anythin.
And yet, despite my wariness. Despite my anger. Despite my own annoyance at everythin dealt ta’ me, I’m still findin enough give-a-fuck ta’ actually join up for this clusterfuck rumble.
Again.
My first year I was seventh place.
Last year I was sixth.
Despite my track record clearly improvin inch-by-inch, I still find myself lookin at the field ahead of me.
I know I can win.
I’d be a fuckin idiot if I didn’t believe in what I know can happen.
And yet…”
Again, Max slams the back of his head against the glass cabinet. A crack begins to form as he ignores the blood that trickles down his nape.
“Nobody believes I can do it.
Don’t fuckin lie ta’ me, nobody sees Max Daemon now-a-days and thinks he stands a fuckin chance.
If I can’t beat Dorian in as many times as I fuckin tried, what makes ya’ think people think I can win this?
Well, that’s the best part about this…
I don’t need your fuckin validation. I don’t need you ta' believe in me.
I don’t need anybody else ta’ believe in me.
Because I’ve said it from day one, but any group of people who're beholden and limit themselves based on their weight aren’t people I give a shit about.
I don’t know how long I've got left on CruiserClash. Dependin on how things go here, I could flip ya’ all off as I raise any title up high, or I could flip ya’ all off as I backstep my way off this fucked brand.
Cause it’s safe to say that there’s nothin much left for me here. I’m a lone gunslinger facin off against dukes and kings with armies at their beck and call.
And quite frankly, despite my own army behind me, it’s becomin impossible ta' care.
And yet…”
Max slams the back of his head against the glass cabinet.
It shatters, sending its contents aside and to the floor in a series of clangs and thuds.
All but one…
The FWA World Heavyweight Title.
As it falls on his chest, Max narrows his eyes.
He sits up, the blood dripping down from the back of his head to stain the carpet even further.
He grips the title as he stumbles to his feet.
The same title he won in his debut.
The same title he won in a battle royal…
“I’m not weak.
Cause despite my failures. Despite what everyone might think. Despite my own problems with CruiserClash, with The Dirge, with AW, I continue to show up and put on the best performance of any night.
And I’m tired of bein weak.
So I’m gonna go out there and prove ta’ the world once again why I’m so goddamn arrogant.
It’s cause I’m Max fuckin Daemon.
And maybe it’s time people fuckin remember who I am.”
Max lets the title drop to the floor.
“I will not be the weak link.
And if things don’t pan out my way again, well…then maybe it’s time ta' reevaluate things.
Maybe it’s time ta’ reevaluate who is.”
Office is a pretty languished word for it given it’s more of a shrine really.
A shrine for his accomplishments (Pure Title, Pure Cup, Tokyo Cup).
A shrine for his histories (Trudy, among others).
But mostly a shrine for his past. The posters of his representation litter the walls as the bottle of whiskey in his hand falls to the floor.
He ignores the Jack Daniels staining the carpet even as Max falls back into a glass cabinet. It moves back an inch even as he slides down. He sits against the cabinet, expression fairly neutral despite the lack of cognizance in his eyes.
“I’m tired.
I’m tired of givin my all ta' a place that doesn’t care.
I’m tired of prostratin myself out there for a crowd that doesn’t give a shit about me.
I’m tired of puttin an effort in when the only answer I ever receive from this place is ‘no.’”
With a sigh, Max slams the back of his head against the cabinet.
“I formed The Dirge with the intention of destruction.
We have yet ta' destroy anythin.
And yet, despite my wariness. Despite my anger. Despite my own annoyance at everythin dealt ta’ me, I’m still findin enough give-a-fuck ta’ actually join up for this clusterfuck rumble.
Again.
My first year I was seventh place.
Last year I was sixth.
Despite my track record clearly improvin inch-by-inch, I still find myself lookin at the field ahead of me.
I know I can win.
I’d be a fuckin idiot if I didn’t believe in what I know can happen.
And yet…”
Again, Max slams the back of his head against the glass cabinet. A crack begins to form as he ignores the blood that trickles down his nape.
“Nobody believes I can do it.
Don’t fuckin lie ta’ me, nobody sees Max Daemon now-a-days and thinks he stands a fuckin chance.
If I can’t beat Dorian in as many times as I fuckin tried, what makes ya’ think people think I can win this?
Well, that’s the best part about this…
I don’t need your fuckin validation. I don’t need you ta' believe in me.
I don’t need anybody else ta’ believe in me.
Because I’ve said it from day one, but any group of people who're beholden and limit themselves based on their weight aren’t people I give a shit about.
I don’t know how long I've got left on CruiserClash. Dependin on how things go here, I could flip ya’ all off as I raise any title up high, or I could flip ya’ all off as I backstep my way off this fucked brand.
Cause it’s safe to say that there’s nothin much left for me here. I’m a lone gunslinger facin off against dukes and kings with armies at their beck and call.
And quite frankly, despite my own army behind me, it’s becomin impossible ta' care.
And yet…”
Max slams the back of his head against the glass cabinet.
It shatters, sending its contents aside and to the floor in a series of clangs and thuds.
All but one…
The FWA World Heavyweight Title.
As it falls on his chest, Max narrows his eyes.
He sits up, the blood dripping down from the back of his head to stain the carpet even further.
He grips the title as he stumbles to his feet.
The same title he won in his debut.
The same title he won in a battle royal…
“I’m not weak.
Cause despite my failures. Despite what everyone might think. Despite my own problems with CruiserClash, with The Dirge, with AW, I continue to show up and put on the best performance of any night.
And I’m tired of bein weak.
So I’m gonna go out there and prove ta’ the world once again why I’m so goddamn arrogant.
It’s cause I’m Max fuckin Daemon.
And maybe it’s time people fuckin remember who I am.”
Max lets the title drop to the floor.
“I will not be the weak link.
And if things don’t pan out my way again, well…then maybe it’s time ta' reevaluate things.
Maybe it’s time ta’ reevaluate who is.”
