Who am I Talking to? Who Cares?!
Nov 21, 2019 23:54:31 GMT -5
Shadowlove, Alex Richards, and 4 more like this
Post by Derrick Vayden on Nov 21, 2019 23:54:31 GMT -5
Derrick Vayden stands in a dark room, only illuminated by the orange, flickering glow of a fire. He is facing away from the camera, only the right side of his face visible.
“Hi! My name is Derrick Vayden! It’s nice to meet you!”
He then turns around so now only the left side of his face is visible. This side is covered in red face paint, a black streak runs down his cheek beginning at his eye. He wears an evil smirk and speaks with a raspy voice
“My name is Derrick Van Wyk, and I am evil! Muahahaha! I’m gonna rip someone’s leg off and then eat it! Muahaha!”
Vayden turns again.
“Oh golly! What happened?! Who injured this poor man??”
Another turn
“‘Twas us!”
“B-but that’s impossible! I’m just a humble, boring family man!”
“Oh but I! I am the darkness you don’t like to acknowledge! I do the things you are too much of a coward to do!”
“But-but… my beautiful wife-”
“That woman means nothing! I am the only one that matters! She cannot stop us!”
“Nooooooooooooo!”
Vayden turns to face the camera. He grabs a nearby rag and uses it to wipe away the facepaint.
“Listen, man. We have a lot in common. We’re both from the great state of Wisconsin, we’re both dominant champions of divisions nobody gives enough credit to. The only difference is that I don’t waste my time with this Jekyll and Hyde, the left hand doesn’t know what the right is doing bullshit, aight?
“I don’t need to split my personality in two because I’m not afraid of who I am. I like to have fun, I consider myself a family man, to an extent. But on the flip side, I’m not opposed to getting my hands dirty and kicking someone’s ass if need be. And trust me, Mr. Dead, I’m going to kick your ass.”
“See, Angy Deadboi, while you were busy pretending to be a zombie and fighting with your fucked-up family, I’ve been here. Grinding it out, being the best I can be. You’re in the big leagues now, bud. You claim to have won dozens of championships. Good for you, so have I. But I don’t go around bragging about any of them. Wanna know why? Because they don’t matter. The only belt I’ve won that matters is this one.”
Vayden holds his Cruiserweight title up.
“You can win all the titles in any rinky-dink indy fed you want. But none of that matters when you get to the bright lights of Action Wrestling. The best of the best all gather here. So it actually means something when you win a title. Because you’ve earned it by beating some of the very best. That’s exactly what you’ll have to do to win at Turmoil: beat Cruiserweight’s Finest, yours truly.
“But… do you want to know the saddest part of this whole thing, Angwyboi? Your piss ant championship won’t even be the first that I’ve absorbed into my being. Take a look.”
Vayden gestures to something out of frame. The camera turns to the fireplace. Above, hanging on the mantle is another Cruiserweight belt. Under the belt is a gold plaque with “Kyle Cameron” engraved on it. Above the belt is another plaque that reads “Raging Dead” with an empty space above that.
“So please, Mr. Dead. Allow me to be the first man to formally welcome you to Action Wrestling. I’m sure you’ll find what you’re looking for… just not at my expense.
“But be aware… I’m not a murderous clown. I’m not going to try and silently twerk you to death. I’m a real fucking athlete. And I’m going to be sure to bury your ass harder than your niece did at your own fucking show.
“And so, in closing, my fellow Wisconsinite, I’ll put this in a way even a motherfucker who hasn’t slept in two years can understand. I am going to kick Raging Dead’s ass. I’m going to kick Nathan Gust’s ass. I’m going to kick my ass! Wait, no. Not my own ass… You get what I mean!”
The scene fades to black.
“Hi! My name is Derrick Vayden! It’s nice to meet you!”
He then turns around so now only the left side of his face is visible. This side is covered in red face paint, a black streak runs down his cheek beginning at his eye. He wears an evil smirk and speaks with a raspy voice
“My name is Derrick Van Wyk, and I am evil! Muahahaha! I’m gonna rip someone’s leg off and then eat it! Muahaha!”
Vayden turns again.
“Oh golly! What happened?! Who injured this poor man??”
Another turn
“‘Twas us!”
“B-but that’s impossible! I’m just a humble, boring family man!”
“Oh but I! I am the darkness you don’t like to acknowledge! I do the things you are too much of a coward to do!”
“But-but… my beautiful wife-”
“That woman means nothing! I am the only one that matters! She cannot stop us!”
“Nooooooooooooo!”
Vayden turns to face the camera. He grabs a nearby rag and uses it to wipe away the facepaint.
“Listen, man. We have a lot in common. We’re both from the great state of Wisconsin, we’re both dominant champions of divisions nobody gives enough credit to. The only difference is that I don’t waste my time with this Jekyll and Hyde, the left hand doesn’t know what the right is doing bullshit, aight?
“I don’t need to split my personality in two because I’m not afraid of who I am. I like to have fun, I consider myself a family man, to an extent. But on the flip side, I’m not opposed to getting my hands dirty and kicking someone’s ass if need be. And trust me, Mr. Dead, I’m going to kick your ass.”
“See, Angy Deadboi, while you were busy pretending to be a zombie and fighting with your fucked-up family, I’ve been here. Grinding it out, being the best I can be. You’re in the big leagues now, bud. You claim to have won dozens of championships. Good for you, so have I. But I don’t go around bragging about any of them. Wanna know why? Because they don’t matter. The only belt I’ve won that matters is this one.”
Vayden holds his Cruiserweight title up.
“You can win all the titles in any rinky-dink indy fed you want. But none of that matters when you get to the bright lights of Action Wrestling. The best of the best all gather here. So it actually means something when you win a title. Because you’ve earned it by beating some of the very best. That’s exactly what you’ll have to do to win at Turmoil: beat Cruiserweight’s Finest, yours truly.
“But… do you want to know the saddest part of this whole thing, Angwyboi? Your piss ant championship won’t even be the first that I’ve absorbed into my being. Take a look.”
Vayden gestures to something out of frame. The camera turns to the fireplace. Above, hanging on the mantle is another Cruiserweight belt. Under the belt is a gold plaque with “Kyle Cameron” engraved on it. Above the belt is another plaque that reads “Raging Dead” with an empty space above that.
“So please, Mr. Dead. Allow me to be the first man to formally welcome you to Action Wrestling. I’m sure you’ll find what you’re looking for… just not at my expense.
“But be aware… I’m not a murderous clown. I’m not going to try and silently twerk you to death. I’m a real fucking athlete. And I’m going to be sure to bury your ass harder than your niece did at your own fucking show.
“And so, in closing, my fellow Wisconsinite, I’ll put this in a way even a motherfucker who hasn’t slept in two years can understand. I am going to kick Raging Dead’s ass. I’m going to kick Nathan Gust’s ass. I’m going to kick my ass! Wait, no. Not my own ass… You get what I mean!”
The scene fades to black.