To Get Back and Ride. (987 Words)
Apr 1, 2021 23:28:13 GMT -5
James Nightingale and Harvey Marx like this
Post by Downfall on Apr 1, 2021 23:28:13 GMT -5
It's been a quiet two weeks for him.
Ample time to sit back and sift through the damage. For self-reflection, and, honestly, for reconnecting. Alec had woken up, and Michelle -
They'd had a lovely evening, let's leave it at that.
And then he'd had to go back to work.
Not that he minded it.
He'd been grateful for a break to retool himself, and thankful that the people in his circle were on the mend, he felt a sense of disquiet when they'd departed. It left a lot of questions for himself about the type of man he was... and then, come Timebomb, he had found himself in the uncomfortable position of being one of the last ones standing beside James Nightingale.
And, once again bereft of companions, and riding the road by himself, he felt the nihilistic coldness settle over him.
It's been said that to look in this man's eyes and see the pitless void that looks back, you get a sense of why Downfall does this.
As a way to fill the void of what's missing.
But when that void looks back into you, many have tried, and failed, not to scream.
He enters, coming face to face with a mirror. Staring at his present self, but reflecting on the past... he is quiet, contemplative.
He looks for a moment more before looking back into the camera.
"When you look in the mirror, Mason Jones… what do you see? I know you must gaze longingly at yourself as you flex and pose for your own amusement. You imagine perfection coursing through your veins. Untouchable by anyone or anything… When I look at you, Mason, I see something else."
"I see nothing but an extended version of a sex joke that felt at home in the days of American Pie movies."
"But, see... the sex joke with you isn't that you can fit single entendres together to make workaround to how you're going to thrust your opponent. The sex joke is that your entire career's an exercise in premature ejaculation, that you pumped as hard as you could for precisely one week in your debut before arriving at a finish that left everyone underwhelmed, not keen to give you a second call. The sex joke is that you get finished off, routinely, in about two minutes and then your opponent never comes to call on you again. The sex joke of your existence, dear Mason, is that you're the sloppy second helping of someone who was only a couple chromosomes evolved from you named Andrew Stone, and the simple fact is that I punish-fucked Andrew Stone like he was the nameless whore that birthed you after someone handed her a bag to put on her head."
"You're low-rent, low-effort, and tawdry second-rate. Every single second that I spent digging into your character is time I won't get back from my day... I have so much more to do, I have a life to begin piecing back together, I have to figure out where I stand with all the various parties in my life and everyone's agenda for me... and yet I have to take time out of my day to string together more than five sentences that say Mason Jones, a man with an oh-and-five record, sucks. That's the sex joke, I guess... the effort your partner has to put out is vastly more intensive than you, mister fast but sloppy."
"So I feel like I need to remind you, exactly who I am, Mason. I feel like it's time, formally, to reintroduce myself, because in a small part it feels like I've been gone for a while. At least the part of me that got it's enjoyment out of this was."
"But I do enjoy what I do, when I'm on the top of my game, and I've been getting back to that over the last few weeks, and I can tell you this. I am not going to wallow in the opening act anymore. I don't care if it's Havoc, or somewhere else in the road to Evolution. I was offered, if you can believe it, a chance to enter the Match Madness battle royale - you remember, the one you were dumped from immediately - and I turned it down. Why? Because, I am Downfall, the motherfucking king of anarchy... and I am unfuckwithable. Unbreakable. I've survived more bullshit and still managed to stand right back up, in this past year. That's the sex joke, Mason... a good whore always knows to get back on the stick and ride."
"So you can forgive the quick and dirty, but I've no intention on going BACK to the Mason Joneses and the John Blacks and the Andrew Stones of the world. Not when I've proven that I'm more than capable of being the man. Only one person has ever gotten the better of our illustrious Philidor overlord and World Champion, Mason... I did it twice. Seeing the outcome of the Chamber opened my eyes. I should have been in there. But no matter."
"I told you all, I came to play, and I meant it. I'm coming straight for the Evolution main-event, and right now, you're in the way, kid. So cower in fear, but know that when people talk about you from this point onward it was because of what I did to you in that ring."
"The outcome of this match is going to be over as quick as one of your romantic encounters, Mason... and yet, those two minutes are more relevance than you've ever had in your life, so let's start the clock and let those moments count down. Tick... tick... tick.."
Repeating these ominous words to himself, he walks off, but you can still hear him faintly repeating "tick... tick... tick..." to himself, and you can't see it, but you know that smile never leaves his face.
Ample time to sit back and sift through the damage. For self-reflection, and, honestly, for reconnecting. Alec had woken up, and Michelle -
They'd had a lovely evening, let's leave it at that.
And then he'd had to go back to work.
Not that he minded it.
He'd been grateful for a break to retool himself, and thankful that the people in his circle were on the mend, he felt a sense of disquiet when they'd departed. It left a lot of questions for himself about the type of man he was... and then, come Timebomb, he had found himself in the uncomfortable position of being one of the last ones standing beside James Nightingale.
And, once again bereft of companions, and riding the road by himself, he felt the nihilistic coldness settle over him.
It's been said that to look in this man's eyes and see the pitless void that looks back, you get a sense of why Downfall does this.
As a way to fill the void of what's missing.
But when that void looks back into you, many have tried, and failed, not to scream.
He enters, coming face to face with a mirror. Staring at his present self, but reflecting on the past... he is quiet, contemplative.
He looks for a moment more before looking back into the camera.
"When you look in the mirror, Mason Jones… what do you see? I know you must gaze longingly at yourself as you flex and pose for your own amusement. You imagine perfection coursing through your veins. Untouchable by anyone or anything… When I look at you, Mason, I see something else."
"I see nothing but an extended version of a sex joke that felt at home in the days of American Pie movies."
"But, see... the sex joke with you isn't that you can fit single entendres together to make workaround to how you're going to thrust your opponent. The sex joke is that your entire career's an exercise in premature ejaculation, that you pumped as hard as you could for precisely one week in your debut before arriving at a finish that left everyone underwhelmed, not keen to give you a second call. The sex joke is that you get finished off, routinely, in about two minutes and then your opponent never comes to call on you again. The sex joke of your existence, dear Mason, is that you're the sloppy second helping of someone who was only a couple chromosomes evolved from you named Andrew Stone, and the simple fact is that I punish-fucked Andrew Stone like he was the nameless whore that birthed you after someone handed her a bag to put on her head."
"You're low-rent, low-effort, and tawdry second-rate. Every single second that I spent digging into your character is time I won't get back from my day... I have so much more to do, I have a life to begin piecing back together, I have to figure out where I stand with all the various parties in my life and everyone's agenda for me... and yet I have to take time out of my day to string together more than five sentences that say Mason Jones, a man with an oh-and-five record, sucks. That's the sex joke, I guess... the effort your partner has to put out is vastly more intensive than you, mister fast but sloppy."
"So I feel like I need to remind you, exactly who I am, Mason. I feel like it's time, formally, to reintroduce myself, because in a small part it feels like I've been gone for a while. At least the part of me that got it's enjoyment out of this was."
"But I do enjoy what I do, when I'm on the top of my game, and I've been getting back to that over the last few weeks, and I can tell you this. I am not going to wallow in the opening act anymore. I don't care if it's Havoc, or somewhere else in the road to Evolution. I was offered, if you can believe it, a chance to enter the Match Madness battle royale - you remember, the one you were dumped from immediately - and I turned it down. Why? Because, I am Downfall, the motherfucking king of anarchy... and I am unfuckwithable. Unbreakable. I've survived more bullshit and still managed to stand right back up, in this past year. That's the sex joke, Mason... a good whore always knows to get back on the stick and ride."
"So you can forgive the quick and dirty, but I've no intention on going BACK to the Mason Joneses and the John Blacks and the Andrew Stones of the world. Not when I've proven that I'm more than capable of being the man. Only one person has ever gotten the better of our illustrious Philidor overlord and World Champion, Mason... I did it twice. Seeing the outcome of the Chamber opened my eyes. I should have been in there. But no matter."
"I told you all, I came to play, and I meant it. I'm coming straight for the Evolution main-event, and right now, you're in the way, kid. So cower in fear, but know that when people talk about you from this point onward it was because of what I did to you in that ring."
"The outcome of this match is going to be over as quick as one of your romantic encounters, Mason... and yet, those two minutes are more relevance than you've ever had in your life, so let's start the clock and let those moments count down. Tick... tick... tick.."
Repeating these ominous words to himself, he walks off, but you can still hear him faintly repeating "tick... tick... tick..." to himself, and you can't see it, but you know that smile never leaves his face.