Post by Claire Hawkins on Jan 24, 2021 20:15:33 GMT -5
The camera fades in to reveal the now-familiar and decrepit windowless warehouse room; walls marred by the nihilistic-like words. Even so, it was the now rust ridden cage that drew the attention of the viewers to the raven-haired woman that stood within its imposing confines. Pale-skinned and clad in a raggedy black dress, the woman stood defiant as her crimson gaze became fixated upon the camera; as if daring the very person watching to challenge her.
"Beginnings and endings; these are things that are the only certainties in a world of uncertainties. For every beginning, there must be an ending that corresponds so that existence may continue to progress without hindrance. For, if a hindrance should occur, the fragile balance of life would fall to ruin; sinister machinations taking root.
However, that is for then and not now; now is for endings and beginnings.
Right, Jayson?"
Stepping forward, the woman grabbed ahold of the rusted bars and leaned her head against them; eyes fixated still.
"Jayson Price, the South Street Nightmare of the Wrestling Championship Federation; I would bid you welcome to this little corner of foolish madness deemed to Action Wrestling, but you've already made it clear that you couldn't give less of a shit. Though I doubt any could blame you for being so uncaring when you played such a large part in placing one of the final stakes in the heart of the federation that allowed your asinine alcoholic antics to fester and thrive. There you managed to acquire such marvelous accolades and praise that it could easily make the average person vomit through sheer nervousness. It was in those hallowed halls that you became a certified legend in both wrestling and liquor.
Yet, this is not YOUR Wrestling Championship Federation; it's MY Action Wrestling."
Leaning back, the crimson-eyed porcelain doll shifted her gaze upwards to the top of the cage; an eerie calm about her demeanor despite her confined situation.
"I see you Jayson; I see that you're also searching for a new beginning here; that you are once more seeking to create such a profound legacy. However, the truth you deny is that you're not searching for a new life within new boundaries. No, despite your alcohol-fueled candor, you seek not a beginning in Action Wrestling.
You seek an ending.
You see guys like Carter Shaw, Odin Balfore, Corey Black, and Walter in this new era of W=wrestling and you believe that it is this new cocktail of the old and new blood that can grant you the peace in which you so desperately chase. That this mixture of old acquaintances and new enemies can finally put to the South Street Nightmare; YOUR nightmare.
How fucking foolish."
With a thunderous echo, the woman abruptly slammed her forehead into the bars; a look that could boil lead upon her pale features.
"You don't get to make that FUCKING choice!
Not here!
Listen up, you arrogant STD sucking shithead; this is Action FUCKING Wrestling! This is the federation that I have come to love and adore despite the constant mocking that I receive at the hands of their chosen stars. I will not, and I fuckin' repeat, I will NOT allow such a miserable piece of shit such as you sully the reputation of the realm that I helped build; that I poured my blood, sweat, and tears into. I didn't pour nearly three years of my life into something so that a shill like you could waltz in thinking that you had ANY claim to ANYTHING.
Do you hear me, Jayson?
I'm going to make your undeserving search for an ending be the sacrifice for MY beginning; my NEW LIFE.
YOUR foolishness shall become fuel for MY madness.
So get used to it, the feeling of impending defeat at MY hands. Cause, no matter how much you crow and preen, Monday Night Clash will not end the way you hope it will. No, it's going to end with a victory where MY hand is raised and I can finally move forward from this wretched cage that I have been so trapped within.
That THEY have trapped me in...."
Rearing back, the woman let loose the scream that the Action Wrestling faithful found that they could only contribute to her; fierce and powerful, but also sad and sorrowful. The cry of the Battlefield Banshee. Once her cry had become exhausted, the woman pushed herself away from the front of the cage; leaning against and sliding to the floor by way of the bars behind her. The fire within her crimson eyes burning brightly.
"Go ahead, Jayson, mock and take your stabs as you will; like every will. However, just know that will not keep me from freeing myself from this cage of metal and blood. When we step into the ring on Clash this Monday Night, you will see what makes ME the best fucking Television Champion this company has had and you will see just why everyone is so damn desperate to keep locked away; to keep me chained to mediocrity. Make no mistake, you're undoubtedly good between the ropes of a wrestling ring and you have the pedigree to match. However, there is always someone better waiting; on Monday I am that person who is undeniably better than you.
So drink deeply, Jayson, of the cold and bitter wine of defeat while I build my throne of flesh and bone.
Quoth the Witch Forevermore."
Closing her eyes, the raven-haired woman turned her head to the side so that her chin was resting upon her bare and pale shoulder. Then, almost as if it were a wraith, a hooded figure clad in long and flowing black robes seemed to fade in from nothingness. Slowly, the figure circled around the slowly decaying cage until they were what one might consider face-to-face; the mysterious figure's back to the camera. Maintaining the same unhurried pace, the person knelt down and reached in as the camera faded.
"You petulant womanchild."