Post by thelegendreturns on Dec 18, 2020 3:23:55 GMT -5
"Fuck I'm getting old."
He hisses as he takes one last drag from his cigarette, the smoldering cherry burning bright and slowly dying down as he exhales. The ember exploded into many tiny cinders as he presses the tip of the cigarette into the ashtray, the filter crushing between his pointer and middle finger. You can easily notice the cracks in his skin, the dryness, shown in the light of the oil lamp beside his ashtray. He sits back, exhaling loudly.
"Here I am, old, tired and broke. Contemplating why I'm still here, living, working, wrestling, you know; all of it. Someone my age has no business in this young man's game, but when you've roamed this earth as long as I have, done this chase as long as I have, given as much of yourself to this as I have, sometimes it just feels like it's all you're meant to do. Besides, I'm good at it."
He stands up, grabbing the lantern and walking off frame. The camera jars a little, then begins to raise. As the view goes from the silhouette of the chair to the barren room barely aglow by the moonlight coming in through drapeless windows. The camera continues to pan before settling onto a kitchen with an island, where the jarring happens once more before it stills. He walks back into picture, setting the lamp down at the other end of the island as he stands there. He turns away, opening what can only be understood as a refrigerator door, though nothing can confirm this as the light does not come on. It closes. He rests his arms on the counter, leaning over, yet somehow still out of the light. A crisp spray can be heard, followed by the flicking of a cap, which does not alert if it landed on anything. He sets the bottle down.
"I don't drink anymore. Now I crack a cap just for the nostalgic smell of that liquid courage in a bottle. The aroma is almost as good as drinking it. I've just learned it's better for me not to consume it or I become a different being. I've lost a lot because of that wonderful amber. We won't talk about that though. Instead we will reminisce over the experiences I've had in this home. We will talk about holding championships and old friends and memories we've created; along with rivals and feuds and everything else in-between.
"Or maybe I'll just talk about how bad I've been fiending to come back to this ring, kick some ass and relive those moments that truly made me feel alive? Maybe I'll return to that squared hell and leave people busted and bloody, or get left behind a mangled mess; I won't pretend I'm invincible. Everybody loses. Even the person with an undefeated record has his David waiting in the wings to throw a stone into his eye. It's all a matter of time before you meet that maker, right? But I miss it all. Even the times where every bone in my body felt shattered from a match that went so far beyond the limits that muscles tore and body parts gave way.
"Maybe I'll talk about how I've seen the best come and go, the worst come and fade and the middle get so frustrated with being stuck in limbo they've chosen to move on. That's okay too, suffering from mediocrity. I know who you are, Cypher. You're not exactly new to this game. You aren't new to the bloodshed, though, I don't remember you missing an arm. Then again, I never really paid attention to your aesthetic. In fact, I don't think we've ever seen eye to eye. If I did, I guess you just aren't memorable. Who knows?"
He takes his hand to his shirt and pulls a square from his pocket. Not much more than a second later, another cigarette is lit, the flame lighting up his bland silhouette, further accentuating him than the lantern. The cherry burns brightly for a second, before he exhales loudly. The cherry nearly touches the counter as he rests against it again.
"Yeah. I know who you are. I know who Twilight is, who Emerson is, even Saint fuckin' Jude. Names that have stayed through every incarnation of this fucking hellhole no matter how bad it got. Men who held the roof up as it caved in from decay and underuse. Men better than you or I who have ever left for any reason whatsoever. If we can move, if we can breathe, we should have stayed, right?
"Fuck that."
A long drag and another exhale.
"I fucking dodged out. I didn't appreciate this fucking job because I knew I wasn't appreciated. I remember my match against Malenko where he took the victory. I remember team matches with my old friend and getting our shit kicked in repeatedly. We were rookies. We didn't deserve respect. We didn't earn anything. I dodged out because I had an ego bigger than my miniscule thought process. If my feelings got hurt, people knew it. Not because I beat them down, though there have been times that it may have happened, but because I threw tantrums and bitch fests.
"Not this time."
The cherry grows red as he must be done with half the cigarette by the range of the cherry from the silhouette of his face. Three drags. You can tell he has smoked for a while.
"This time I need to settle my differences the manly way. I need to face any man woman and whatever gender-specific pronoun having being and make them know damn well how I feel. No longer will I duck out when things feel too tough, because lord knows I've done that. No longer will I walk out a door after a match without a single fucking word because I just didn't have the upper hand that night. I've done that too. I've grown since that time. I've learned and adapted. Can I say that much for you though?"
One last drag, that cherry must have burned forever being the rest of the cigarette was done. A long exhale, a large cloud of smoke and a cherry being crushed on the counter. That was the end of it.
"You think I give a shit that I may or may not have been thrown into a Hardcore Title fight without earning it. I don't give a fuck about your strap, Louis. I don't care about a piece of leather with some metal attached to it. I didn't come here to take your newly acquired precious. That was never my intention. But apparently you pissed someone upstairs off, because they sure as fuck don't care about your health.
"See, they know who I am and what I am capable of. They know that when it comes to Hardcore Matches, I'm not one to really shy away from the damaging nature of a table or a chair. Barbed wire? Yes please. Let the blood shed and the teeth fly. Broken bones? Fuck yes. I don't mind splintered fragments later to be ripped from my body or tacks that dig so deep they feel like little swords in my body. Ripping off that prosthetic and beating you unconscious with it? That isn't below me. Hell, I don't care if we have a straight up match, I'm just excited for the return.
"But don't think for a second that I am rusty. It may have been years since I stepped into a ring, but there hasn't been a day where I haven't been in a battle. So I urge you to bring your best, Cypher. I urge you to be something completely different than that mortal man you are. Bring a demon, cause Lord knows you'll need another one to make a deal with to win this match."
He grabs the open bottle and holds it up, both their silhouettes now clear in the light.
"Here's to Louis Cypher."
He takes the bottle to his lips and takes one big gulp before turning the bottle, fluid bits flying everywhere, just before smashing it against his head. He leans in, his face not completely visible.
"Cause X Gon' Give It To Ya."
Fade.
He hisses as he takes one last drag from his cigarette, the smoldering cherry burning bright and slowly dying down as he exhales. The ember exploded into many tiny cinders as he presses the tip of the cigarette into the ashtray, the filter crushing between his pointer and middle finger. You can easily notice the cracks in his skin, the dryness, shown in the light of the oil lamp beside his ashtray. He sits back, exhaling loudly.
"Here I am, old, tired and broke. Contemplating why I'm still here, living, working, wrestling, you know; all of it. Someone my age has no business in this young man's game, but when you've roamed this earth as long as I have, done this chase as long as I have, given as much of yourself to this as I have, sometimes it just feels like it's all you're meant to do. Besides, I'm good at it."
He stands up, grabbing the lantern and walking off frame. The camera jars a little, then begins to raise. As the view goes from the silhouette of the chair to the barren room barely aglow by the moonlight coming in through drapeless windows. The camera continues to pan before settling onto a kitchen with an island, where the jarring happens once more before it stills. He walks back into picture, setting the lamp down at the other end of the island as he stands there. He turns away, opening what can only be understood as a refrigerator door, though nothing can confirm this as the light does not come on. It closes. He rests his arms on the counter, leaning over, yet somehow still out of the light. A crisp spray can be heard, followed by the flicking of a cap, which does not alert if it landed on anything. He sets the bottle down.
"I don't drink anymore. Now I crack a cap just for the nostalgic smell of that liquid courage in a bottle. The aroma is almost as good as drinking it. I've just learned it's better for me not to consume it or I become a different being. I've lost a lot because of that wonderful amber. We won't talk about that though. Instead we will reminisce over the experiences I've had in this home. We will talk about holding championships and old friends and memories we've created; along with rivals and feuds and everything else in-between.
"Or maybe I'll just talk about how bad I've been fiending to come back to this ring, kick some ass and relive those moments that truly made me feel alive? Maybe I'll return to that squared hell and leave people busted and bloody, or get left behind a mangled mess; I won't pretend I'm invincible. Everybody loses. Even the person with an undefeated record has his David waiting in the wings to throw a stone into his eye. It's all a matter of time before you meet that maker, right? But I miss it all. Even the times where every bone in my body felt shattered from a match that went so far beyond the limits that muscles tore and body parts gave way.
"Maybe I'll talk about how I've seen the best come and go, the worst come and fade and the middle get so frustrated with being stuck in limbo they've chosen to move on. That's okay too, suffering from mediocrity. I know who you are, Cypher. You're not exactly new to this game. You aren't new to the bloodshed, though, I don't remember you missing an arm. Then again, I never really paid attention to your aesthetic. In fact, I don't think we've ever seen eye to eye. If I did, I guess you just aren't memorable. Who knows?"
He takes his hand to his shirt and pulls a square from his pocket. Not much more than a second later, another cigarette is lit, the flame lighting up his bland silhouette, further accentuating him than the lantern. The cherry burns brightly for a second, before he exhales loudly. The cherry nearly touches the counter as he rests against it again.
"Yeah. I know who you are. I know who Twilight is, who Emerson is, even Saint fuckin' Jude. Names that have stayed through every incarnation of this fucking hellhole no matter how bad it got. Men who held the roof up as it caved in from decay and underuse. Men better than you or I who have ever left for any reason whatsoever. If we can move, if we can breathe, we should have stayed, right?
"Fuck that."
A long drag and another exhale.
"I fucking dodged out. I didn't appreciate this fucking job because I knew I wasn't appreciated. I remember my match against Malenko where he took the victory. I remember team matches with my old friend and getting our shit kicked in repeatedly. We were rookies. We didn't deserve respect. We didn't earn anything. I dodged out because I had an ego bigger than my miniscule thought process. If my feelings got hurt, people knew it. Not because I beat them down, though there have been times that it may have happened, but because I threw tantrums and bitch fests.
"Not this time."
The cherry grows red as he must be done with half the cigarette by the range of the cherry from the silhouette of his face. Three drags. You can tell he has smoked for a while.
"This time I need to settle my differences the manly way. I need to face any man woman and whatever gender-specific pronoun having being and make them know damn well how I feel. No longer will I duck out when things feel too tough, because lord knows I've done that. No longer will I walk out a door after a match without a single fucking word because I just didn't have the upper hand that night. I've done that too. I've grown since that time. I've learned and adapted. Can I say that much for you though?"
One last drag, that cherry must have burned forever being the rest of the cigarette was done. A long exhale, a large cloud of smoke and a cherry being crushed on the counter. That was the end of it.
"You think I give a shit that I may or may not have been thrown into a Hardcore Title fight without earning it. I don't give a fuck about your strap, Louis. I don't care about a piece of leather with some metal attached to it. I didn't come here to take your newly acquired precious. That was never my intention. But apparently you pissed someone upstairs off, because they sure as fuck don't care about your health.
"See, they know who I am and what I am capable of. They know that when it comes to Hardcore Matches, I'm not one to really shy away from the damaging nature of a table or a chair. Barbed wire? Yes please. Let the blood shed and the teeth fly. Broken bones? Fuck yes. I don't mind splintered fragments later to be ripped from my body or tacks that dig so deep they feel like little swords in my body. Ripping off that prosthetic and beating you unconscious with it? That isn't below me. Hell, I don't care if we have a straight up match, I'm just excited for the return.
"But don't think for a second that I am rusty. It may have been years since I stepped into a ring, but there hasn't been a day where I haven't been in a battle. So I urge you to bring your best, Cypher. I urge you to be something completely different than that mortal man you are. Bring a demon, cause Lord knows you'll need another one to make a deal with to win this match."
He grabs the open bottle and holds it up, both their silhouettes now clear in the light.
"Here's to Louis Cypher."
He takes the bottle to his lips and takes one big gulp before turning the bottle, fluid bits flying everywhere, just before smashing it against his head. He leans in, his face not completely visible.
"Cause X Gon' Give It To Ya."
Fade.
