Post by adm on Oct 5, 2011 16:30:40 GMT -6
I'm not in this world to live up to your expectations and you're not in this world to live up to mine.
Bruce Lee
"Good Evening, Xander."
The unfamiliar location and over luminescent glow is harsh at first, but after a few moments, the fluorescence becomes bearable and the outline of the back of Kristoff Liam Bates is seen. He is wearing something on his head, with long, flowing gold locks behind him. His hands are crossed behind his back and you can almost tell that he is smiling.
"It's been SOO long since I last saw a Famuralo across from me in a ring, one on one. Well over a year, if I recall. You see, we didn't get to see much of each other when we were cast together in that massive tag match where both Doc and Bob Pooler kicked my teeth in. It's alright, neither of them are here anymore, so I guess i had the last laugh. HA HA HA!"
Bates doesn't turn around, but his body jumps up and down a little with his laughter. Something is different about him, and where he is looks like a gym, but there are no people, and the machines all have white tarps over them. He walks over to the Lat Pull Down machine and caresses the sheet with his hands, still keeping his back turned to the camera.
"You're a bit of a loud mouth these days, aren't you, Xander. A big man like your father, trying to fit in those gigantic shoes. A legend in the making. You have the skills, the talent, and the genetics. But so far, you've botched your only shot at the World Title so far. You were the Gladiator, and bombed. Much like Will Washington last year. Some people think that being the Gladiator gives you the title...but it seems that the Coliseum is more of a hindrance than anything, wouldn't you think?"
Kristoff takes his hands off the sheet and moves around the machine, still paying close attention to how he moves in order to obscure his face, keeping the back end of the mask he wears to the camera, long hair flowing down past his shoulders. He is wearing his usual suit once again, but there is something ominous about the charcoal gray Joseph A. Banks in contrast with the white walls, white floors, and white sheets all being reflected off by white harsh lighting.
"You probably don't think much of me, and I don't care, really. I'm not here to impress you, Xander. I'm here to prove a point, of what you used to be, what your father USED to be. You remember when I helped make your father the monster that won the World Championship, by beating him when no one else could. By showing him that one man, no matter who else I won or lost to, could just about ALWAYS beat him. But you don't need me to quote history to you, you know that because of those matches, Gib and I have a thing called Respect. I respect his choice to leave and become one of the desk jockeys, he deserves it after years of bloody and painful service. He probably still could take half of us, but you and I both know that if he does, it may shorten his time on this earth. He is a madman in the ring, between the ropes, something you have yet to acquire. You have yet to meet his reckless abandon, you are well on your way, but just last week you took the advice of an idiot, Adam Knite, to "tone it down". Limiting yourself is something very...VERY harmful. So is lying."
Bates begins to turn, showing the side of the mask, which is almost completely featureless. He stops, and turns around again, only to begin laughing.
"You probably are curious, why I won't face you, or the camera. You probably wonder what is with this mask, but it is simply a REMINDER, Xander. A reminder of Homeless Harold. A...memento, if you will. You see, I beat Trent Helms, I got into his head with my speech about his little career being almost over due to being a "future Hall of Famer" and how all of those kind, typically have short and uneventful careers after being announced. Look at Angel, he got broken in HALF the night he accepted by Lex Sense...who I beat a week later via Disqualification. It all...connects, but it doesn't. You see, Sartre was right when he said the world is purely subjective. You have your view, I have mine. And together, we CREATE objectivity. Democrats, Republicans, rich, poor...combine all the heroes and villains of the world and you get the cumulative objective view of humanity. If you took that view to nCw, you'd get quite an interesting amalgam of a wrestler. And I KNOW, deep down, you want to be that amalgam. You want to be EVERYTHING, because to be that, would make you unstoppable."
Bates turns, facing the camera. On the mask are the names of "legends" he has beaten, written in what appears to be red paint. Gib, Angel, Trent Helms, Spike Kane, Dave Holland, Brad Kane. All are there, written small enough to fit on the cheeks of the featureless mask with long flowing hair. On the forehead are two names, underlined and crossed out. Xander Famularo and Steve Bates. Funny that he chose to use Steve's real last name, considering the hair looks much like Steve's very own.
"You see, I've been down that road too. Trying to use my accomplishments as a crutch to get to the top. I failed to beat Adam Knite two years ago, and have NEVER touched a World Title shot since. I was cast down from the mountain, trying to climb it again. I kept slipping, kept falling, kept picking the wrong friends to hang around, the wrong people to support. I'm alone now, by myself. I've come out of the darkness and into the light. I am my OWN man. I can BE MYSELF again. Being myself got me there, Xander, and being your father will get you NOWHERE.
Hey, Daddy...won't you come play?
Daddy, why don't you come home?
Why are you out on the road all the time, Daddy?"
Bates is mocking Xander's childhood. Putting all his rage and frustration into his words. He wants to illicit a reaction from Xander, he wants the BEST and WORST of him at the same time. He wants to beckon a monster.
"Daddy, who stabbed you with a letter opener?"
Bates rears back and begins to cackle, throwing the mask off. He stomps on it like he is stomping on the history of Homeless Harold, a persona Xander had assumed during his original run as X Champion.
"You see, your title doesn't impress me, Xander. Nor does your reputation. I'm not afraid of you. I wasn't afraid of Lex. I'm not afraid anymore. I don't HAVE to be. So what if I lose to you this week, if I do, I can ALWAYS start again. I can ALWAYS work my way back. It might take another two years, but I'll get to the top, Xander. And so will you, I know you will. But you...well, you seem to be in a bit of a hurry after failing to capture it after winning the Coliseum. You feel the burn, the sting of failure. You feel the remediation you are in being the X Champion AGAIN when you actually wanted more. You went easy on Jimmy simply because you aren't your father. You don't desire to ruin careers, you can't handle the guilt."
Bates picks up the steel chair, the same dented one he used in the demonstration against Trent Helms last week. He holds it up almost as if offering it to Xander.
"Here, use this. It shall destroy the things in your way to being Champion, Xander. It will destroy your enemies. You can..."
He flips it over in his two hands and slams it to the ground.
"Use it to smash them. Use it to destroy them. To get them out of your way. But then again, maybe you don't have the guts to prove a point, Xander. I mean, you let Adam talk you down from going full-tilt at someone who deserved a beating, someone who needs a foot shoved up his ass so far he's talking in toes. But instead, you're letting him off easy, just laying him on his back and getting the win. Unfortunately for you, I won't be a pushover. I'm not cut from the failure of a cloth that Zane was. I'm not even cut from a wrestler cloth to begin with, I'm no second generation whatever, I'm just...simply...Bates. Kristoff Liam Bates, and if you don't mind. It's time for you to do your little dance and sing Goodbye Horses now. Not because you want to, or because you HAVE to, but simply, because that's what you're going to do. Because one of us has to wind up on the bottom. And it won't be me."
Bates laughs and walks off, dropping the steel chair behind him. There is a certain creepiness in the way he is talking that seems to echo the abandoned workout room. Bates turns around, winks, and blows a kiss before walking out the back door, laughing.
"Till we meet again, Xander."
I want a little bit I want a piece of it I think he's losing it
I want to watch it come down
don't like the look of it don't like the taste of it don't like the smell of it
I want to watch it come down
Bruce Lee
"Good Evening, Xander."
The unfamiliar location and over luminescent glow is harsh at first, but after a few moments, the fluorescence becomes bearable and the outline of the back of Kristoff Liam Bates is seen. He is wearing something on his head, with long, flowing gold locks behind him. His hands are crossed behind his back and you can almost tell that he is smiling.
"It's been SOO long since I last saw a Famuralo across from me in a ring, one on one. Well over a year, if I recall. You see, we didn't get to see much of each other when we were cast together in that massive tag match where both Doc and Bob Pooler kicked my teeth in. It's alright, neither of them are here anymore, so I guess i had the last laugh. HA HA HA!"
Bates doesn't turn around, but his body jumps up and down a little with his laughter. Something is different about him, and where he is looks like a gym, but there are no people, and the machines all have white tarps over them. He walks over to the Lat Pull Down machine and caresses the sheet with his hands, still keeping his back turned to the camera.
"You're a bit of a loud mouth these days, aren't you, Xander. A big man like your father, trying to fit in those gigantic shoes. A legend in the making. You have the skills, the talent, and the genetics. But so far, you've botched your only shot at the World Title so far. You were the Gladiator, and bombed. Much like Will Washington last year. Some people think that being the Gladiator gives you the title...but it seems that the Coliseum is more of a hindrance than anything, wouldn't you think?"
Kristoff takes his hands off the sheet and moves around the machine, still paying close attention to how he moves in order to obscure his face, keeping the back end of the mask he wears to the camera, long hair flowing down past his shoulders. He is wearing his usual suit once again, but there is something ominous about the charcoal gray Joseph A. Banks in contrast with the white walls, white floors, and white sheets all being reflected off by white harsh lighting.
"You probably don't think much of me, and I don't care, really. I'm not here to impress you, Xander. I'm here to prove a point, of what you used to be, what your father USED to be. You remember when I helped make your father the monster that won the World Championship, by beating him when no one else could. By showing him that one man, no matter who else I won or lost to, could just about ALWAYS beat him. But you don't need me to quote history to you, you know that because of those matches, Gib and I have a thing called Respect. I respect his choice to leave and become one of the desk jockeys, he deserves it after years of bloody and painful service. He probably still could take half of us, but you and I both know that if he does, it may shorten his time on this earth. He is a madman in the ring, between the ropes, something you have yet to acquire. You have yet to meet his reckless abandon, you are well on your way, but just last week you took the advice of an idiot, Adam Knite, to "tone it down". Limiting yourself is something very...VERY harmful. So is lying."
Bates begins to turn, showing the side of the mask, which is almost completely featureless. He stops, and turns around again, only to begin laughing.
"You probably are curious, why I won't face you, or the camera. You probably wonder what is with this mask, but it is simply a REMINDER, Xander. A reminder of Homeless Harold. A...memento, if you will. You see, I beat Trent Helms, I got into his head with my speech about his little career being almost over due to being a "future Hall of Famer" and how all of those kind, typically have short and uneventful careers after being announced. Look at Angel, he got broken in HALF the night he accepted by Lex Sense...who I beat a week later via Disqualification. It all...connects, but it doesn't. You see, Sartre was right when he said the world is purely subjective. You have your view, I have mine. And together, we CREATE objectivity. Democrats, Republicans, rich, poor...combine all the heroes and villains of the world and you get the cumulative objective view of humanity. If you took that view to nCw, you'd get quite an interesting amalgam of a wrestler. And I KNOW, deep down, you want to be that amalgam. You want to be EVERYTHING, because to be that, would make you unstoppable."
Bates turns, facing the camera. On the mask are the names of "legends" he has beaten, written in what appears to be red paint. Gib, Angel, Trent Helms, Spike Kane, Dave Holland, Brad Kane. All are there, written small enough to fit on the cheeks of the featureless mask with long flowing hair. On the forehead are two names, underlined and crossed out. Xander Famularo and Steve Bates. Funny that he chose to use Steve's real last name, considering the hair looks much like Steve's very own.
"You see, I've been down that road too. Trying to use my accomplishments as a crutch to get to the top. I failed to beat Adam Knite two years ago, and have NEVER touched a World Title shot since. I was cast down from the mountain, trying to climb it again. I kept slipping, kept falling, kept picking the wrong friends to hang around, the wrong people to support. I'm alone now, by myself. I've come out of the darkness and into the light. I am my OWN man. I can BE MYSELF again. Being myself got me there, Xander, and being your father will get you NOWHERE.
Hey, Daddy...won't you come play?
Daddy, why don't you come home?
Why are you out on the road all the time, Daddy?"
Bates is mocking Xander's childhood. Putting all his rage and frustration into his words. He wants to illicit a reaction from Xander, he wants the BEST and WORST of him at the same time. He wants to beckon a monster.
"Daddy, who stabbed you with a letter opener?"
Bates rears back and begins to cackle, throwing the mask off. He stomps on it like he is stomping on the history of Homeless Harold, a persona Xander had assumed during his original run as X Champion.
"You see, your title doesn't impress me, Xander. Nor does your reputation. I'm not afraid of you. I wasn't afraid of Lex. I'm not afraid anymore. I don't HAVE to be. So what if I lose to you this week, if I do, I can ALWAYS start again. I can ALWAYS work my way back. It might take another two years, but I'll get to the top, Xander. And so will you, I know you will. But you...well, you seem to be in a bit of a hurry after failing to capture it after winning the Coliseum. You feel the burn, the sting of failure. You feel the remediation you are in being the X Champion AGAIN when you actually wanted more. You went easy on Jimmy simply because you aren't your father. You don't desire to ruin careers, you can't handle the guilt."
Bates picks up the steel chair, the same dented one he used in the demonstration against Trent Helms last week. He holds it up almost as if offering it to Xander.
"Here, use this. It shall destroy the things in your way to being Champion, Xander. It will destroy your enemies. You can..."
He flips it over in his two hands and slams it to the ground.
"Use it to smash them. Use it to destroy them. To get them out of your way. But then again, maybe you don't have the guts to prove a point, Xander. I mean, you let Adam talk you down from going full-tilt at someone who deserved a beating, someone who needs a foot shoved up his ass so far he's talking in toes. But instead, you're letting him off easy, just laying him on his back and getting the win. Unfortunately for you, I won't be a pushover. I'm not cut from the failure of a cloth that Zane was. I'm not even cut from a wrestler cloth to begin with, I'm no second generation whatever, I'm just...simply...Bates. Kristoff Liam Bates, and if you don't mind. It's time for you to do your little dance and sing Goodbye Horses now. Not because you want to, or because you HAVE to, but simply, because that's what you're going to do. Because one of us has to wind up on the bottom. And it won't be me."
Bates laughs and walks off, dropping the steel chair behind him. There is a certain creepiness in the way he is talking that seems to echo the abandoned workout room. Bates turns around, winks, and blows a kiss before walking out the back door, laughing.
"Till we meet again, Xander."
I want a little bit I want a piece of it I think he's losing it
I want to watch it come down
don't like the look of it don't like the taste of it don't like the smell of it
I want to watch it come down