Post by Jessie Lee on Feb 10, 2024 19:48:22 GMT -5
The "Champion's Showcase".
Let's be honest for a minute, yeah?
This "showcase' that Bolt set up ain't a fuckin' showcase. It's ME, the hottest fuckin' commodity in Action Wrestling, givin' the remnants of Cruiserclash a fuckin' last ditch shot of adrenaline before the divisions FINALLY die the fuck out. Unless it's Evolution season, the Cruiserweight Tag Team don't mean shit an' have essentially become the championship straps ya want if all you're after is a free paycheck. Hell, what was SUPPOSED to be the top strap on that show hasn't been relevant in the last year unless the champion was named has either been Holmes or Hope.
The Cruiserweight straps are dead; this is just the LAST hurrah.
Silence.
It was a rare luxury that had only gotten rarer for the young Aussie since she had joined hands with Thaddeus King and an impossibility once she had won the World Television Championship from DRAUGR. Now? Now Jessie sat at the granite counter staring into the alluring faceplate of the championship as it reflected back her imperfections. Tattooed skin mottled with bruises and lingering phantom pains from the second battle with Vespertine aching with every breath she took; only dulled by the half empty bottle that lingered nearby.
"Ya look like shit, kid." she murmured to herself as her reflection stared back; taunting her.
It had started so simple at first. Join the group King had created, rise to prominence alongside Doc, and claim the respect that should have been given to them ages ago. However, things had gone so sideways that it was laughable and now she sat staring at the Television strap silently wondering if her end would be met during one of the many brutally savage defenses. Not just the end of her reign, but her own end as well. Would she die in the center of that ring? Would she get to see Andy again if she did?
She didn't know.
She DIDN'T want to know.
And yet, she couldn't help but wonder whenever the rare haunting silence fell upon her in all its rareness.
"It doesn't matter," she said in answer to a question nobody asked. "None of it matters."
Pouring herself another shot, Jessie raised it up towards her phantom reflection in a mock toast.
"To another victory as Television champ; to another pair of names gettin' scratched off an' to the names that will soon follow." she drunkenly declared aloud before drowning the hollowness she felt with the liquid fire.
It sucks to hear, but that just the reality ya live in.
The "Dark Place" that means so much to the team of Baba Yaga'd Hotaka an' Zmac means about as much as Jorwarski FINALLY winnin' the Cruiserweight strap; absolutely nothin'. The fans ain't clamorin' for the two of you to get more screen time an' there ain't CHALLENGERS comin' outta the woodwork for a shot at the gold.
You're BORING.
OUTDATED.
Ain't worth payin' attention too regardless of what tribulations ya end up goin' through in order to larp as an Action Wrestlin' champion.
This ain't a "showcase".
It's a sacrifice.
See, unlike the two of you spiderfuckers, I ain't here tor free money or to show my Mama I ain't an irresponsible dope. I'm here to fuckin' WIN; to be the BEST bloody cunt to EVER BLEED this sport. If I gotta build divisions from the ground up to accomplish that then I sure as fuckin' WILL. If I gotta DOMINATE every motherfucker like never before than you can BET I'm gonna do it. Fuck, if I gotta drag your two corpses across that proverbial finish line that makes our little three way a certified BANGER in front of the near eight thousand strong of the Bert Ogden Arena then you can bet your ass that the people of Edinberg Texas are gonna GET that fuckin' BANGER.
'Cause the WORLD TELEVISION CHAMPIONSSHIP is SYNONYMOUS with EXCELLENCE.
It SHINES brightly with HARDWORK an' DETERMINATION.
Fuck it.
The Television strap is ME an' I am the Television strap.
So, Monday Night ain't goin' to be a "showcase" like advertised.
It's gonna be the DEATH of the cruiserweights.
An’ I’m the killer.
The "Dark Place" that means so much to the team of Baba Yaga'd Hotaka an' Zmac means about as much as Jorwarski FINALLY winnin' the Cruiserweight strap; absolutely nothin'. The fans ain't clamorin' for the two of you to get more screen time an' there ain't CHALLENGERS comin' outta the woodwork for a shot at the gold.
You're BORING.
OUTDATED.
Ain't worth payin' attention too regardless of what tribulations ya end up goin' through in order to larp as an Action Wrestlin' champion.
This ain't a "showcase".
It's a sacrifice.
See, unlike the two of you spiderfuckers, I ain't here tor free money or to show my Mama I ain't an irresponsible dope. I'm here to fuckin' WIN; to be the BEST bloody cunt to EVER BLEED this sport. If I gotta build divisions from the ground up to accomplish that then I sure as fuckin' WILL. If I gotta DOMINATE every motherfucker like never before than you can BET I'm gonna do it. Fuck, if I gotta drag your two corpses across that proverbial finish line that makes our little three way a certified BANGER in front of the near eight thousand strong of the Bert Ogden Arena then you can bet your ass that the people of Edinberg Texas are gonna GET that fuckin' BANGER.
'Cause the WORLD TELEVISION CHAMPIONSSHIP is SYNONYMOUS with EXCELLENCE.
It SHINES brightly with HARDWORK an' DETERMINATION.
Fuck it.
The Television strap is ME an' I am the Television strap.
So, Monday Night ain't goin' to be a "showcase" like advertised.
It's gonna be the DEATH of the cruiserweights.
An’ I’m the killer.