Post by veronicaaaahhhh on Aug 3, 2006 23:45:00 GMT -5
The show ended early much to Wayne's surprise. It's roughly around twenty-nine past the twenty-third hour; considerably early. Wayne stands in familiar ground; The Dive. A former mourge Wayne and Vanessa had once called home. They left the place a year and half ago, and opted for a more "conventional" dwelling; a unanimous decision from both parties. Since then, Wayne and Vanessa had rented out the building as a venue hall of wrestling shows and concerts. Wayne continues to stay on his seat as fans slowly vacate the building. Waiting. Waiting to exhale; waiting to be paid.
The building has eventually returned to it's original state; brick walls and a concrete floor. But deep down, it still looks like what Wayne called an "Ikea Showroom; only difference is that Vanessa lined the concrete with rows of Persian carpets. One giant room with everything everywhere. There wasn't any other way to describe it.
There were a lot of things rushing to him. He never faced it, but he's damned well accepted it; he's scared. Everything's coming back, but it's a little too overwhelming. Sometimes, he just wants to slow things down and let them happen. But when Wayne magnifies it on the scale, it really isn't much. It's something; a loaf of bread compared to field. But it's something. He's proven his mark. It's good to be back; the world isn't rushing him, so he ought to stop rushing the world. God, who knew that chuging a bottle of burbon and curling up next to Vanessa would grant you an ephiphany. He feels like a child.
Wayne light's a cigarillo and feels it; the burn graveling down deeper than it really should. It feels good. Wayne draws the cigarillo away from his lips and exhales a cloud of smoke; glancing deeper and deeper at the ring.
The ring. It's almost like a second home, but yet I can't help but fear it right now. The ring, squared circle; call it whatever you want. It is, by it's very nature, a three dimentional entity; thus, pro wrestling is a very three dimentional sport. Anything can be done within it's confines. There are no restrictions what so ever. But yet, on Odium, I could not see past the ropes. Just like then, I'm running on a one track mind. I've studied Odium many times since, and if anything, it's the best match I've had since I got here. It got me over. But what consumes me is the fact that I was so close to the victory. In my grasp, and all I had to do was to covett it, but I failed; pathetically. I played safe and I made my move, and for that I suffer. Because if I was any good, I'dve seen past the situation and made the better of it. I'm avalable to defeat; had to happen sooner or later. But once you fall, it's a struggle to get back up. It's a cliche, but it's a fact.
Now, Obo, I'll be frank when I say that you couldn't have caught me at a worse time. Now, I'm even more determined to kick your ass. Obo, I'm tired, I'm stressed and I've got a lot more than a wrestling match ahead of me. The latter isn't the least bit of your concern, so I'm going to make this quick.
Be it as it may, I actually do have a lot of respect for you. If there is any other character in this opera I can identify with the most, it's you. I am not going to say that we're alike, because that would probably strike you as an insult. Although, there are subtle similarities between the both of us. That you can not deny. Now, Odium will be just the begining. What I await about SuperBrawl is that, by then I will truly know my opponents, placing me on familiar ground. Now, instead of a wrestling match, we should definatley look at this as an informal greeting. Because, by the looks of things, I'm not expecting a win come Odium.
I shouldn't take what you said into consideration. But there is no man on this Earth, regardless of their status, who can be counted as invinsible; a superior force above the rest of us. Among everyone else, you're the farthest thing from invinsible. From what I've heard from you, you struck me as a coward. A
ing coward to proud to admit that to himself; forver using your monkier, "The King Of Gore", as a safe place. The one place you can tread to without a second thought.
McGurk takes another shot from the cigarillo. He's too damn tired. Wayne rises from his seat; a man slowly approaches him. The man appears to be in his mid-fifties; a stock figure hidden under a tan suit. He hands Wayne an envelope.
Here you are Wayne. What did you think of the show?
It was good. Congradulations.
Thanks. We'll keep in touch. Send our regards to Vanessa.
Will do.
Now all that's left is a drive back up to Canada. Time to move on to bigger things.
The building has eventually returned to it's original state; brick walls and a concrete floor. But deep down, it still looks like what Wayne called an "Ikea Showroom; only difference is that Vanessa lined the concrete with rows of Persian carpets. One giant room with everything everywhere. There wasn't any other way to describe it.
There were a lot of things rushing to him. He never faced it, but he's damned well accepted it; he's scared. Everything's coming back, but it's a little too overwhelming. Sometimes, he just wants to slow things down and let them happen. But when Wayne magnifies it on the scale, it really isn't much. It's something; a loaf of bread compared to field. But it's something. He's proven his mark. It's good to be back; the world isn't rushing him, so he ought to stop rushing the world. God, who knew that chuging a bottle of burbon and curling up next to Vanessa would grant you an ephiphany. He feels like a child.
Wayne light's a cigarillo and feels it; the burn graveling down deeper than it really should. It feels good. Wayne draws the cigarillo away from his lips and exhales a cloud of smoke; glancing deeper and deeper at the ring.
The ring. It's almost like a second home, but yet I can't help but fear it right now. The ring, squared circle; call it whatever you want. It is, by it's very nature, a three dimentional entity; thus, pro wrestling is a very three dimentional sport. Anything can be done within it's confines. There are no restrictions what so ever. But yet, on Odium, I could not see past the ropes. Just like then, I'm running on a one track mind. I've studied Odium many times since, and if anything, it's the best match I've had since I got here. It got me over. But what consumes me is the fact that I was so close to the victory. In my grasp, and all I had to do was to covett it, but I failed; pathetically. I played safe and I made my move, and for that I suffer. Because if I was any good, I'dve seen past the situation and made the better of it. I'm avalable to defeat; had to happen sooner or later. But once you fall, it's a struggle to get back up. It's a cliche, but it's a fact.
Now, Obo, I'll be frank when I say that you couldn't have caught me at a worse time. Now, I'm even more determined to kick your ass. Obo, I'm tired, I'm stressed and I've got a lot more than a wrestling match ahead of me. The latter isn't the least bit of your concern, so I'm going to make this quick.
Be it as it may, I actually do have a lot of respect for you. If there is any other character in this opera I can identify with the most, it's you. I am not going to say that we're alike, because that would probably strike you as an insult. Although, there are subtle similarities between the both of us. That you can not deny. Now, Odium will be just the begining. What I await about SuperBrawl is that, by then I will truly know my opponents, placing me on familiar ground. Now, instead of a wrestling match, we should definatley look at this as an informal greeting. Because, by the looks of things, I'm not expecting a win come Odium.
I shouldn't take what you said into consideration. But there is no man on this Earth, regardless of their status, who can be counted as invinsible; a superior force above the rest of us. Among everyone else, you're the farthest thing from invinsible. From what I've heard from you, you struck me as a coward. A
ing coward to proud to admit that to himself; forver using your monkier, "The King Of Gore", as a safe place. The one place you can tread to without a second thought. McGurk takes another shot from the cigarillo. He's too damn tired. Wayne rises from his seat; a man slowly approaches him. The man appears to be in his mid-fifties; a stock figure hidden under a tan suit. He hands Wayne an envelope.
Here you are Wayne. What did you think of the show?
It was good. Congradulations.
Thanks. We'll keep in touch. Send our regards to Vanessa.
Will do.
Now all that's left is a drive back up to Canada. Time to move on to bigger things.
OC- Decent; a dissapointment. A rushed piece, which I will more than make up for come SuperBrawl.
