Baker drones on and on and... down
Jan 23, 2020 23:17:26 GMT -5
Karlie Nash, Lissie Hope, and 1 more like this
Post by Quixote Della Torre on Jan 23, 2020 23:17:26 GMT -5
A UAV hovers upon milky horizons with spectral menace; trajectory ominously close. I survey with undaunted gusto from my watchtower.
Not only am I The Fortress… but now I OWN one! My disgustingly plentiful wealth from QDTClash… err, CruiserClash, allowed me to procure “Château du Cruise”. Behold its magnificence.
As the drone continues nearer, I peer down walls at murder holes and arrow slits.
Fortresses could appear defensive structures... but let me kill that misconception by drawing a parallel. I am the reigning, defending Cruiserweight Champion, protector of my division and my show... but do I wait taut and tense for the likes of you, Graham Baker, to pounce? No, I fucking maul ya relentlessly to the point you basically begged to revoke your number 1 contendership last week.
Not that I neglect my rampart responsibilities. I’ve a duty of care, Graham, to build you up, buttercup. Kudos for the ONE time you had me scouted after your match with Adares. Moreover, I’m proud of your second place Rumble finish behind yours truly, the Honcho of Havoc. Nevermind IBW FNC and SINISTER titles or your plethora of accolades; Havoc was your zenith, undoubtedly Aviator’s highest altitude. Our peers insinuate you’re such a dullard you went unnoticed until the final 2… but QDT would never be so rude. A decorated career indeed. Emperor’s New Clothes absolutely sparkle on you!
But my kindness terminates there. How dare you treat MY show like a booty call? Last week, as on your debut; black rings wallowed under red eyes, stinging from transpacific flights or car rides to Eerie, Indiana or wherever your freakshows roll in. Apathy don’t FLY here. You gotta show up; your mind's so divided I already conquered you.
My Cruiserweight Title sways proudly from a flagpole atop an adjacent turret.
That MUST be your one and only. Regardless, long as it’s on my arm, it’ll always be the one that got away. Unlike Kanye, I am saying you’re a gold digger but you’re messing with the one who broke you, ni… bigger. By all means, play the numbers game like a tedious mathematician. Crave bounteous gold. You and Keeton already setting sights on Cruiserweight Tag belts? A noble, pragmatic aim. Because, trust me, the closest you ever get to my gold was when I wrecked your gormless face with it.
Venturing down long winding steps, I crouch above a floor grill. Meanwhile, the drone dins alarmingly.
The oubliette. A small, nightmarish Medieval dungeon. Prisoners condemned; hope snuffed out, sanity extinguished, all conceptions of goodness in this world claustrophobically ceased, left not only to die horribly but to be forgotten pitifully.
Graham, your course is set for Revolution 3. Defeat is certain but your demise can remain tentative, in my mercy. As your QDTClash leader, I demand you abort your flight after Sunday. Stand down, draw up a new manifest, dig for gold on safer isles. There’s one treasure you’d best not retrieve because this dragon’s unslayable; not just waiting but devouring you, proactively. There’s a place at my banqueting table for you; a good solid QDTClash hand... but keep soaring in my orbit, this oubliette is where you land.
I cross outside over the drawbridge, unflinching as the UAV hurtles closer.
You made a heckuva legacy with aerial endeavours, riding the high road… but you’re so one dimensional. I learnt to keep my feet on the ground, pillage the land. The Caesar-weight MORE than hangs with you, but I’m the Savant of going low… just ask your balls!
The drone descends towards me frenetically.
Like Howard Hughes, your head’s in the clouds, Aviator. Naively, you consider our GM and guest referee your wingman but D-Day conforms to his namesake too. Operation Overlord might appear to be battling the Champ, but could it be he baits a false target? He knows my worth; each meal on his table a reminder he NEEDS me. Glorious Allies! You really think you can count on Deruty to count for you? As on that historic day 76 years ago, at Revolution 3, D-Day marks the end of the war.
Suddenly the drone unexpectedly nosedives, halting before me, shattered, in flames.
Gonna crash and burn Baker, BURN.
Not only am I The Fortress… but now I OWN one! My disgustingly plentiful wealth from QDTClash… err, CruiserClash, allowed me to procure “Château du Cruise”. Behold its magnificence.
As the drone continues nearer, I peer down walls at murder holes and arrow slits.
Fortresses could appear defensive structures... but let me kill that misconception by drawing a parallel. I am the reigning, defending Cruiserweight Champion, protector of my division and my show... but do I wait taut and tense for the likes of you, Graham Baker, to pounce? No, I fucking maul ya relentlessly to the point you basically begged to revoke your number 1 contendership last week.
Not that I neglect my rampart responsibilities. I’ve a duty of care, Graham, to build you up, buttercup. Kudos for the ONE time you had me scouted after your match with Adares. Moreover, I’m proud of your second place Rumble finish behind yours truly, the Honcho of Havoc. Nevermind IBW FNC and SINISTER titles or your plethora of accolades; Havoc was your zenith, undoubtedly Aviator’s highest altitude. Our peers insinuate you’re such a dullard you went unnoticed until the final 2… but QDT would never be so rude. A decorated career indeed. Emperor’s New Clothes absolutely sparkle on you!
But my kindness terminates there. How dare you treat MY show like a booty call? Last week, as on your debut; black rings wallowed under red eyes, stinging from transpacific flights or car rides to Eerie, Indiana or wherever your freakshows roll in. Apathy don’t FLY here. You gotta show up; your mind's so divided I already conquered you.
My Cruiserweight Title sways proudly from a flagpole atop an adjacent turret.
That MUST be your one and only. Regardless, long as it’s on my arm, it’ll always be the one that got away. Unlike Kanye, I am saying you’re a gold digger but you’re messing with the one who broke you, ni… bigger. By all means, play the numbers game like a tedious mathematician. Crave bounteous gold. You and Keeton already setting sights on Cruiserweight Tag belts? A noble, pragmatic aim. Because, trust me, the closest you ever get to my gold was when I wrecked your gormless face with it.
Venturing down long winding steps, I crouch above a floor grill. Meanwhile, the drone dins alarmingly.
The oubliette. A small, nightmarish Medieval dungeon. Prisoners condemned; hope snuffed out, sanity extinguished, all conceptions of goodness in this world claustrophobically ceased, left not only to die horribly but to be forgotten pitifully.
Graham, your course is set for Revolution 3. Defeat is certain but your demise can remain tentative, in my mercy. As your QDTClash leader, I demand you abort your flight after Sunday. Stand down, draw up a new manifest, dig for gold on safer isles. There’s one treasure you’d best not retrieve because this dragon’s unslayable; not just waiting but devouring you, proactively. There’s a place at my banqueting table for you; a good solid QDTClash hand... but keep soaring in my orbit, this oubliette is where you land.
I cross outside over the drawbridge, unflinching as the UAV hurtles closer.
You made a heckuva legacy with aerial endeavours, riding the high road… but you’re so one dimensional. I learnt to keep my feet on the ground, pillage the land. The Caesar-weight MORE than hangs with you, but I’m the Savant of going low… just ask your balls!
The drone descends towards me frenetically.
Like Howard Hughes, your head’s in the clouds, Aviator. Naively, you consider our GM and guest referee your wingman but D-Day conforms to his namesake too. Operation Overlord might appear to be battling the Champ, but could it be he baits a false target? He knows my worth; each meal on his table a reminder he NEEDS me. Glorious Allies! You really think you can count on Deruty to count for you? As on that historic day 76 years ago, at Revolution 3, D-Day marks the end of the war.
Suddenly the drone unexpectedly nosedives, halting before me, shattered, in flames.
Gonna crash and burn Baker, BURN.