Post by Tempestad on Sept 17, 2010 0:01:38 GMT -6
We open on Tempestad sitting in the front pew of a church, his nCw Xtreme Title wrapped in a simple black cloth. He looks over at the belt, mentally cursing himself for thinking it necessary to bring it with him. He sighs, sitting in a way that his body blocks the belt. Temp ignores the feeling of the plate digging into his back, choosing instead to speak with an almost Zen-like calm and patience.
“Greed is a powerful word. Greed has brought the mightiest of empires to its knees. It brings kings to ruin, it can cost everything a people have and more. Greed drives some men to the point of madness. It is an inherently evil motivation and to feel greed is to feel akin to Lucifer when he wished to make his power akin to the Lord Almighty. We should be thankful for what we have, and treasure it always. We never know when it may be taken from us...”
That calm fractures somewhat as he speaks, a muscle near his eye twitching involuntarily due to the anger he feels. Tempestad's left hand finds the arm of the pew, and he rests it there, fingers flexing and releasing their grip on the bench.
“So for Joe Ragnal to insinuate that I wanted James' X-Division Title for myself when I already had the Xtreme Title is baseless slander. I never asked for a title match with him. I never said that I wanted his belt. I just said that I wanted a shot at HIM. I wanted to beat HIM, because he got involved in MY match. I could have cared less about his title, Joe. Now that both of our titles are on the line and whoever wins this match will begin a new title's lineage? You haven't seen me at my worst. You haven't seen me give you all I can. This week? I give you that and more.”
He smirks under his mask, hands returning to a folded neutral position in his lap. He looks around, still somewhat leaned forward. His belt slides free slightly, relieving the pressure on his back.
“Joe, I promise you that I will wrestle like a man possessed to hold onto my status as a title-holder. I agree that you should have had a shot at James and Evan should have had a shot at me. But I never asked for that match to be made. There was no reason you and Evan had to take out your petty vengeance. If you want a title shot, you earn it. I have said this time and time again. Fight your way to the top, the way it is supposed to be done. Don't interrupt a match, chairs swinging. You got your wish, though, so I suppose you think this was a valid strategy.”
He shrugs, unfolding his hands and leaning back. His arms spread over the pew's back, and he breathes a sigh of relief that he's the only one in the hall at the moment. Tempestad doesn't exactly fancy the concept of getting caught lounging in church by one of the priests.
“Ragnal, I don't feel like being particularly praising of you or your skill, no matter how talented you are. I'm tired of having to give lip service to men who proceed to slander me and all that I stand for. I will apologize for jumping to conclusions as far as the Front Office goes. I acknowledge that you never have been and never will be a part of that group, and I can only assume that Fox had your fine paid to sow dissension in the locker room. No matter. I understand that you want to win as badly as any of us, and I will not hold back on you. All I can say is good luck to a fellow competitor.”
He reaches behind himself, grabbing his belt and bringing it out onto his lap, still wrapped. Temp knocks on the plate, grinning at the dull echo of the metal on his knuckles. Temp looks up again, spying the figure of St. Andrew in one of the stained-glass displays about the church. He smirks, mind now coming to his second opponent.
“Evan Andrews...Evan, you too are an interesting figure. I cannot quite decipher you or your intent most of the time. What I can get out of you is that you are a very focused and driven competitor who minces no words and bridges no corruption in his path. I can respect that. What you will have to respect is that this time I will be looking for someone like James to interfere. My mind is clear, and I know what I have to do now. I know what to expect and look for. No more distractions to offer a convenient win. No limits to what we can do and what most definitely will be done. I will finally get to pay you back for that match of ours a few weeks ago.”
Temp slings the belt over his shoulder, still seated. He reaches up and adjusts his mask so it sits more comfortably on his face. He murmurs a quick prayer, thankful that at least in this place a man wearing his attire, including his mask, will not be questioned nearly as much.
“I must say, seeing you and Joe in this match was a welcome surprise. You are two very good challenges, and proving myself against both of you as well as James will allow me to solidify my position as a top-level contender in nCw. Evan, you are perhaps the best high-flying wrestler in nCw. Maybe even better than myself. I personally do not believe this, but I am willing to accept the theory. Prove it to me, Evan. Prove to the whole world that you are the greatest WRESTLER in nCw. I want you to give that your effort. Can you do that? If you can't say that you're going in on this match one hundred percent, then I don't want to even see you walk down that ramp. I'd rather have no fight than fight a man who's only got one foot in the water.”
He smirks, finally deciding to pull the cloth off the title. It shines in the light coming from above and from the windows, a gleaming beacon in the dimly lit church. Temp looks over, patting the main plate with a satisfied grin on his face.
“And then we come to the other champion in this match, and the man I would least like to see win if I am to be unsuccessful. James, you got LUCKY. It was only Evan and Joe interfering that saved you from losing your title to me. You can make all the excuses you want. The fact is, you tried everything and I was still able to find a way out of it. You planted me with my own Martinete on a steel chair and I still refused to stay down. What makes you think that you can beat me in a match where it's all about going high and flying above the crowd?”
Tempestad stands up, walking to the altar and laying the Xtreme Title on it. He drops to one knee, looking up at the large crucifix that hangs behind the pulpit where the priest would normally be speaking if services were being held. As it is, it stands empty, showing only the image of Christ upon the cross, dying for humanity's sins. He closes his eyes, solemn.
“This is my environment, James. This is my land, and I reign supreme here. You walk upon my hallowed ground, and dare to challenge my claim to dominance. If you think you can dethrone me, then try. I fear you will be sorely mistaken in your assessment. I am the last Xtreme Champion. I will be the FIRST X Champion. Nothing you do or say will be able to stop me from achieving that. None of you will be able to prevent me from reaching that goal. Come and try, if you must. But I am tired of falsely calling the storm. This will be a hurricane the likes of which you have never seen. You will not be able to shelter yourselves from my wrath. Vaya con Dios, gentlemen.”
Tempestad clasps his hands in supplication and looks back down to his feet. He begins to pray as the video fades out.
“Greed is a powerful word. Greed has brought the mightiest of empires to its knees. It brings kings to ruin, it can cost everything a people have and more. Greed drives some men to the point of madness. It is an inherently evil motivation and to feel greed is to feel akin to Lucifer when he wished to make his power akin to the Lord Almighty. We should be thankful for what we have, and treasure it always. We never know when it may be taken from us...”
That calm fractures somewhat as he speaks, a muscle near his eye twitching involuntarily due to the anger he feels. Tempestad's left hand finds the arm of the pew, and he rests it there, fingers flexing and releasing their grip on the bench.
“So for Joe Ragnal to insinuate that I wanted James' X-Division Title for myself when I already had the Xtreme Title is baseless slander. I never asked for a title match with him. I never said that I wanted his belt. I just said that I wanted a shot at HIM. I wanted to beat HIM, because he got involved in MY match. I could have cared less about his title, Joe. Now that both of our titles are on the line and whoever wins this match will begin a new title's lineage? You haven't seen me at my worst. You haven't seen me give you all I can. This week? I give you that and more.”
He smirks under his mask, hands returning to a folded neutral position in his lap. He looks around, still somewhat leaned forward. His belt slides free slightly, relieving the pressure on his back.
“Joe, I promise you that I will wrestle like a man possessed to hold onto my status as a title-holder. I agree that you should have had a shot at James and Evan should have had a shot at me. But I never asked for that match to be made. There was no reason you and Evan had to take out your petty vengeance. If you want a title shot, you earn it. I have said this time and time again. Fight your way to the top, the way it is supposed to be done. Don't interrupt a match, chairs swinging. You got your wish, though, so I suppose you think this was a valid strategy.”
He shrugs, unfolding his hands and leaning back. His arms spread over the pew's back, and he breathes a sigh of relief that he's the only one in the hall at the moment. Tempestad doesn't exactly fancy the concept of getting caught lounging in church by one of the priests.
“Ragnal, I don't feel like being particularly praising of you or your skill, no matter how talented you are. I'm tired of having to give lip service to men who proceed to slander me and all that I stand for. I will apologize for jumping to conclusions as far as the Front Office goes. I acknowledge that you never have been and never will be a part of that group, and I can only assume that Fox had your fine paid to sow dissension in the locker room. No matter. I understand that you want to win as badly as any of us, and I will not hold back on you. All I can say is good luck to a fellow competitor.”
He reaches behind himself, grabbing his belt and bringing it out onto his lap, still wrapped. Temp knocks on the plate, grinning at the dull echo of the metal on his knuckles. Temp looks up again, spying the figure of St. Andrew in one of the stained-glass displays about the church. He smirks, mind now coming to his second opponent.
“Evan Andrews...Evan, you too are an interesting figure. I cannot quite decipher you or your intent most of the time. What I can get out of you is that you are a very focused and driven competitor who minces no words and bridges no corruption in his path. I can respect that. What you will have to respect is that this time I will be looking for someone like James to interfere. My mind is clear, and I know what I have to do now. I know what to expect and look for. No more distractions to offer a convenient win. No limits to what we can do and what most definitely will be done. I will finally get to pay you back for that match of ours a few weeks ago.”
Temp slings the belt over his shoulder, still seated. He reaches up and adjusts his mask so it sits more comfortably on his face. He murmurs a quick prayer, thankful that at least in this place a man wearing his attire, including his mask, will not be questioned nearly as much.
“I must say, seeing you and Joe in this match was a welcome surprise. You are two very good challenges, and proving myself against both of you as well as James will allow me to solidify my position as a top-level contender in nCw. Evan, you are perhaps the best high-flying wrestler in nCw. Maybe even better than myself. I personally do not believe this, but I am willing to accept the theory. Prove it to me, Evan. Prove to the whole world that you are the greatest WRESTLER in nCw. I want you to give that your effort. Can you do that? If you can't say that you're going in on this match one hundred percent, then I don't want to even see you walk down that ramp. I'd rather have no fight than fight a man who's only got one foot in the water.”
He smirks, finally deciding to pull the cloth off the title. It shines in the light coming from above and from the windows, a gleaming beacon in the dimly lit church. Temp looks over, patting the main plate with a satisfied grin on his face.
“And then we come to the other champion in this match, and the man I would least like to see win if I am to be unsuccessful. James, you got LUCKY. It was only Evan and Joe interfering that saved you from losing your title to me. You can make all the excuses you want. The fact is, you tried everything and I was still able to find a way out of it. You planted me with my own Martinete on a steel chair and I still refused to stay down. What makes you think that you can beat me in a match where it's all about going high and flying above the crowd?”
Tempestad stands up, walking to the altar and laying the Xtreme Title on it. He drops to one knee, looking up at the large crucifix that hangs behind the pulpit where the priest would normally be speaking if services were being held. As it is, it stands empty, showing only the image of Christ upon the cross, dying for humanity's sins. He closes his eyes, solemn.
“This is my environment, James. This is my land, and I reign supreme here. You walk upon my hallowed ground, and dare to challenge my claim to dominance. If you think you can dethrone me, then try. I fear you will be sorely mistaken in your assessment. I am the last Xtreme Champion. I will be the FIRST X Champion. Nothing you do or say will be able to stop me from achieving that. None of you will be able to prevent me from reaching that goal. Come and try, if you must. But I am tired of falsely calling the storm. This will be a hurricane the likes of which you have never seen. You will not be able to shelter yourselves from my wrath. Vaya con Dios, gentlemen.”
Tempestad clasps his hands in supplication and looks back down to his feet. He begins to pray as the video fades out.