Post by adm on Oct 6, 2011 20:52:54 GMT -6
Finger deep within the borderline.
Show me that you love me and that we belong together.
Relax, turn around and take my hand.
"All right. Let's try this again. One more time. With feeling."
The hospital-like glare burns for a moment before a figure obscures the light and we have time to adjust. Kristoff Liam Bates is staring at the camera. Again he is wearing the mask, but it has been smeared with blood and none of the names are even visible. The mask looks like that of a man who has just taken a beating, interesting given the things Xander said in his video released earlier today.
"So, Xander, I didn't quite realize I was talking to a child. I mean, I had a feeling by your age that you were immature compared to me, but to sink so low as to basically copy word for word what Jimmy Zane would have said were he coming into this match, now that's low. I thought your father raised you better, but I guess I was wrong, wasn't I?"
Bates is moving from machine to machine, tearing off the white sheets and revealing the smeared lipstick he has used to write Xander's name over and over again on each machine before crossing it out with what appears to be a nail or other sharp object. A twisted smile crosses Bates' face from behind the mask with the long flowing hair.
"Now I face an existential dilemma, Mr. Famularo. I face the dilemma of attacking you in the same kind of hate-filled language full of low-caliber slurs or I could go above your intelligence pattern and use something far more noble to insult you. Perhaps you would realize by now, which one I've chosen to employ, because I have yet to call you any slur besides that of Jimmy Zane, premiere pile of **** in nCw."
A couple chuckles escape the lips of Kristoff before he shuts off his humor and looks the camera dead-on, his eyes piercing and on fire. There is anger and hatred in them, hatred gained by the onslaught of slurs.
"You think I came out to ask for you to insult me? You think my goal was to be called a million and one things I cannot even begin to find a way to justify you saying? You are dead wrong, Xander. What I did, was free myself from my own personal demons, put them on the table, expose myself for the whole world to see. I am naked, pardon the pun, for you to see, Xander. Naked and stripped down to my barest of essence. I am raw, I am visceral, I am back to the man I should be. I no longer have to hide for fear of someone saying the wrong thing. Hell, I INVITE you to say the wrong thing. Go on, continue to say those things. Just see if I won't try to make the man who "refuses to submit" do so and end his streak on Sunday. Just keep testing me, BOY. Your father was a better man, we both know that, and it's obvious your trainers know that too. And I guess it's because I was right when I said that you NEEDED this victory and I don't. You NEED to keep your streak going, or you burn up, you ignite yourself with a barrel of kerosene and..."
As if on cue, he pulls out a book of matches, and a pack of cigarettes, which he has never before smoked in his tenure here in nCw. He pulls out a cigarette and sticks it between his lips, making sure to play with it a little, subtly being seductive underneath the blood-covered mask that only shows his lips and eyes. He pulls off a match and prepares to strike as he says the words.
"Light up like a funeral pyre, only to burn out and try to rise again like a phoenix. You aren't Alex Jones, Xander, so I'd like for you to quit trying to be a Phoenix. You haven't even spent five hundred years, or even five months, in victory so you shouldn't be so quick to resume the funeral pyre, not at your age, your career might not be able to handle that kind of fall. I mean, you're only a rookie, what could you KNOW about facing challenges, you only know from watching, you haven't really faced too many PURE opponents. The true tests of mettle have to come someday, BOY, and it's about time you started to realize what you are dealing with."
Bates takes long, intense drags from the cigarette, letting his eyes focus on the cherry as it reflects in the sea blue eyes exposed through the mask. He turns and rips off the mask, taking care to have the cigarette in his fingers before pulling it off and thrusting it to the ground. He turns around and we see that his own face is covered in small cuts and blood is running down mixed with the sweat of his earlier exercise, stinging the skin of the crazed wrestler.
"You see my face, Xander? This is the face of a man dedicated to self-torture. I am dedicated to elevating my pain threshold, for ignoring pain as I work out. Salt, sweat, alcohol; these things don't bother my cuts as much as they used to. I can keep going through pain, much like you, as I train day in and day out for the next match. This is one I have LOOKED FORWARD TO, much like Trent Helms. You are a foe I would not care whether I won or lost against, like Helms, I simply want to FACE you. I'm not looking to win Road to the Gold, I am only looking to do my best, to train my ass off, to go out every week that I am in this tournament and face the best of the best in this company and try to win in hopes of facing the OTHER BATES in this company."
Bates lowers his head, finishes the cigarette before putting it out with his shoe and smirks on his way up, brushing the hair out of his face a little.
"Hi Steve...miss me?"
The subtle hints of flirtatiousness with the World Champion are there, but it could just be a way to get into the mind of the Champion long before he faces him one-on-one.
"You see, I've been friends with Ace before, I was in INfamous back in the day. I also WAS friends with the closeted Zane and even more closeted Diamond...I mean, look at his name, it almost SCREAMS hellbent for leather, which, might I add, is very fetching on my chiseled physique."
Only now do we actually notice that he is wearing a leather biker jacket instead of a suit coat with the shirt and tie. He begins to pull at the tie and speak again.
"You know, this TIE IS TOO TIGHT, but then again, it might work better as a noose, don't you think, Xander? I mean, you aren't AFRAID of me are you? I would never hurt the son of one of my greatest frienemies here in Gib, no...I would NEVER hurt you..."
Bates turns around and begins to walk toward the door, before turning and running at the camera, stopping just shy of bashing his head into the lens. He holds up his fingers in a "tiny" gesture.
"Well...maybe just a LITTLE. I mean, it comes with the territory, doesn't it? You can't be an Atheist Homosexual Wrestler and not expect to give and get a little pain now and then, right? You understand, Xander, I'm sure the itch for violence is in your blood as it is your father's, why else would you be the X Champion? You NEED to be violent, to know how to make people hurt. I've been there, I really have, and I still am there. I NEED to make you hurt, to see what has been building up inside me over all these years. I need to let it OUT. I need a RELEASE, Xander Famularo, and perhaps facing you will allow me to get it. Just like when I stabbed your father. Just like when I took that dive from the very top of the stage to execute a Swingline Stapler Press. Just like the times I made him choke, and gag, and bleed, and vice versa. It's a trait we TRUE monsters have. I may not have your massive size, or the size of your father, but I can still do damage, Xander. I can STILL cause you to hurt."
Bates backs away from the camera and smirks. He pulls out another cigarette and lights it, only to take a single drag and extinguish it on his arm. A look of ecstasy crosses his face and he smiles as the ember burns into his flesh.
"Aaah, you see, it doesn't hurt. It's all fine. I get a bit of blood-borne nicotine this way, you see. It works better than a patch. And the adrenaline is to DIE for. But you know, Xander, you still haven't quite come to grips with the fact that Homeless Harold is dead and buried, have you?"
Bates uses this cue to pick up the mask and hold it up for the camera to see.
"This is all that's left of him, Xander, a memory. He is just a mask, a mask that comes with Steve Bates' hair and the faceless notoriety your father gave it. But now it's time for the memories to die, to fade and the real challenge to begin. You've made quite a name for yourself, little Famularo, but will you be able to do in one match what took your father five tries to accomplish? Will you be able to beat me in the first shot, or...like you said, will I end your streak."
Bates begins to cackle as he saunters his way toward the door. He takes off the leather jacket and flings it over his shoulder, almost dancing toward the steel of the back exit.
"But you know, no matter what happens, Xander, I'll always be your friend. You can count on it. If you ever need me, just call. Your father can attest, I make a DAMN good ally. So all joking aside, I'll give you respect when you can put me down for the one...two...three, until then, I'll be dreaming of you on your back, waiting for the long kiss goodbye of the Suffocating Cubicle. Ta-ta, Xander. Sweet dreams."
Bates exits the gym and laughs, thoroughly amused at his play on the history between himself and Xander's father he has just completed.
Something kinda sad about
the way that things have come to be.
Desensitized to everything.
What became of subtlety?
Show me that you love me and that we belong together.
Relax, turn around and take my hand.
"All right. Let's try this again. One more time. With feeling."
The hospital-like glare burns for a moment before a figure obscures the light and we have time to adjust. Kristoff Liam Bates is staring at the camera. Again he is wearing the mask, but it has been smeared with blood and none of the names are even visible. The mask looks like that of a man who has just taken a beating, interesting given the things Xander said in his video released earlier today.
"So, Xander, I didn't quite realize I was talking to a child. I mean, I had a feeling by your age that you were immature compared to me, but to sink so low as to basically copy word for word what Jimmy Zane would have said were he coming into this match, now that's low. I thought your father raised you better, but I guess I was wrong, wasn't I?"
Bates is moving from machine to machine, tearing off the white sheets and revealing the smeared lipstick he has used to write Xander's name over and over again on each machine before crossing it out with what appears to be a nail or other sharp object. A twisted smile crosses Bates' face from behind the mask with the long flowing hair.
"Now I face an existential dilemma, Mr. Famularo. I face the dilemma of attacking you in the same kind of hate-filled language full of low-caliber slurs or I could go above your intelligence pattern and use something far more noble to insult you. Perhaps you would realize by now, which one I've chosen to employ, because I have yet to call you any slur besides that of Jimmy Zane, premiere pile of **** in nCw."
A couple chuckles escape the lips of Kristoff before he shuts off his humor and looks the camera dead-on, his eyes piercing and on fire. There is anger and hatred in them, hatred gained by the onslaught of slurs.
"You think I came out to ask for you to insult me? You think my goal was to be called a million and one things I cannot even begin to find a way to justify you saying? You are dead wrong, Xander. What I did, was free myself from my own personal demons, put them on the table, expose myself for the whole world to see. I am naked, pardon the pun, for you to see, Xander. Naked and stripped down to my barest of essence. I am raw, I am visceral, I am back to the man I should be. I no longer have to hide for fear of someone saying the wrong thing. Hell, I INVITE you to say the wrong thing. Go on, continue to say those things. Just see if I won't try to make the man who "refuses to submit" do so and end his streak on Sunday. Just keep testing me, BOY. Your father was a better man, we both know that, and it's obvious your trainers know that too. And I guess it's because I was right when I said that you NEEDED this victory and I don't. You NEED to keep your streak going, or you burn up, you ignite yourself with a barrel of kerosene and..."
As if on cue, he pulls out a book of matches, and a pack of cigarettes, which he has never before smoked in his tenure here in nCw. He pulls out a cigarette and sticks it between his lips, making sure to play with it a little, subtly being seductive underneath the blood-covered mask that only shows his lips and eyes. He pulls off a match and prepares to strike as he says the words.
"Light up like a funeral pyre, only to burn out and try to rise again like a phoenix. You aren't Alex Jones, Xander, so I'd like for you to quit trying to be a Phoenix. You haven't even spent five hundred years, or even five months, in victory so you shouldn't be so quick to resume the funeral pyre, not at your age, your career might not be able to handle that kind of fall. I mean, you're only a rookie, what could you KNOW about facing challenges, you only know from watching, you haven't really faced too many PURE opponents. The true tests of mettle have to come someday, BOY, and it's about time you started to realize what you are dealing with."
Bates takes long, intense drags from the cigarette, letting his eyes focus on the cherry as it reflects in the sea blue eyes exposed through the mask. He turns and rips off the mask, taking care to have the cigarette in his fingers before pulling it off and thrusting it to the ground. He turns around and we see that his own face is covered in small cuts and blood is running down mixed with the sweat of his earlier exercise, stinging the skin of the crazed wrestler.
"You see my face, Xander? This is the face of a man dedicated to self-torture. I am dedicated to elevating my pain threshold, for ignoring pain as I work out. Salt, sweat, alcohol; these things don't bother my cuts as much as they used to. I can keep going through pain, much like you, as I train day in and day out for the next match. This is one I have LOOKED FORWARD TO, much like Trent Helms. You are a foe I would not care whether I won or lost against, like Helms, I simply want to FACE you. I'm not looking to win Road to the Gold, I am only looking to do my best, to train my ass off, to go out every week that I am in this tournament and face the best of the best in this company and try to win in hopes of facing the OTHER BATES in this company."
Bates lowers his head, finishes the cigarette before putting it out with his shoe and smirks on his way up, brushing the hair out of his face a little.
"Hi Steve...miss me?"
The subtle hints of flirtatiousness with the World Champion are there, but it could just be a way to get into the mind of the Champion long before he faces him one-on-one.
"You see, I've been friends with Ace before, I was in INfamous back in the day. I also WAS friends with the closeted Zane and even more closeted Diamond...I mean, look at his name, it almost SCREAMS hellbent for leather, which, might I add, is very fetching on my chiseled physique."
Only now do we actually notice that he is wearing a leather biker jacket instead of a suit coat with the shirt and tie. He begins to pull at the tie and speak again.
"You know, this TIE IS TOO TIGHT, but then again, it might work better as a noose, don't you think, Xander? I mean, you aren't AFRAID of me are you? I would never hurt the son of one of my greatest frienemies here in Gib, no...I would NEVER hurt you..."
Bates turns around and begins to walk toward the door, before turning and running at the camera, stopping just shy of bashing his head into the lens. He holds up his fingers in a "tiny" gesture.
"Well...maybe just a LITTLE. I mean, it comes with the territory, doesn't it? You can't be an Atheist Homosexual Wrestler and not expect to give and get a little pain now and then, right? You understand, Xander, I'm sure the itch for violence is in your blood as it is your father's, why else would you be the X Champion? You NEED to be violent, to know how to make people hurt. I've been there, I really have, and I still am there. I NEED to make you hurt, to see what has been building up inside me over all these years. I need to let it OUT. I need a RELEASE, Xander Famularo, and perhaps facing you will allow me to get it. Just like when I stabbed your father. Just like when I took that dive from the very top of the stage to execute a Swingline Stapler Press. Just like the times I made him choke, and gag, and bleed, and vice versa. It's a trait we TRUE monsters have. I may not have your massive size, or the size of your father, but I can still do damage, Xander. I can STILL cause you to hurt."
Bates backs away from the camera and smirks. He pulls out another cigarette and lights it, only to take a single drag and extinguish it on his arm. A look of ecstasy crosses his face and he smiles as the ember burns into his flesh.
"Aaah, you see, it doesn't hurt. It's all fine. I get a bit of blood-borne nicotine this way, you see. It works better than a patch. And the adrenaline is to DIE for. But you know, Xander, you still haven't quite come to grips with the fact that Homeless Harold is dead and buried, have you?"
Bates uses this cue to pick up the mask and hold it up for the camera to see.
"This is all that's left of him, Xander, a memory. He is just a mask, a mask that comes with Steve Bates' hair and the faceless notoriety your father gave it. But now it's time for the memories to die, to fade and the real challenge to begin. You've made quite a name for yourself, little Famularo, but will you be able to do in one match what took your father five tries to accomplish? Will you be able to beat me in the first shot, or...like you said, will I end your streak."
Bates begins to cackle as he saunters his way toward the door. He takes off the leather jacket and flings it over his shoulder, almost dancing toward the steel of the back exit.
"But you know, no matter what happens, Xander, I'll always be your friend. You can count on it. If you ever need me, just call. Your father can attest, I make a DAMN good ally. So all joking aside, I'll give you respect when you can put me down for the one...two...three, until then, I'll be dreaming of you on your back, waiting for the long kiss goodbye of the Suffocating Cubicle. Ta-ta, Xander. Sweet dreams."
Bates exits the gym and laughs, thoroughly amused at his play on the history between himself and Xander's father he has just completed.
Something kinda sad about
the way that things have come to be.
Desensitized to everything.
What became of subtlety?