Post by MasterEvil on May 30, 2012 20:08:33 GMT
Scene One: Microsong
“What could I ever do without you…”
What the…? That voice…I haven’t heard that voice in so long, at least I’m waking up on a bench in my locker room instead of falling off the damn vending machine. I’m still surprised that I have my own locker room, I guess it was because those in charge don’t think I play well with others. But back to that voice…those words…I feel so cold thank to those words, the voice is so familiar yet I can’t currently put my finger on whom that voice may be. I guess I have to thank that voice however, since five minutes from now a cameraman should be entering my room and begin recording me…so I stretched, while yawning, before entering my private bathroom. I sat by the sink and washed my face before staring at the most hideous thing I’ve ever laid eyes on…the mirror on the wall. To others it might be pretty and wonderful but to me its vile and repulsive, shame as well because it was originally a beautiful piece of glass but my nauseating appearance has ruined this possible beauty. Maybe that is why I chose to paint my face on multiple occasions, to save the audience from the pain of looking at this revolting monstrosity.
Now that I’ve finished colouring my face in whatever I feel like colouring it in with, I stood up and slowly wandered back out of the bathroom and to the bench so I could sit on it. Thirty seconds to go and I feel odd…I returned and defeated this Purgatory, thus feeling the slightest hint of relief. Yet I issued a challenge to Sophie Oliveira immediately before the match, what would she get out of facing me? She can easily ignore me as I still wait for my one breakthrough moment. A bit stupid isn’t it? I’ve been part of WEW since November of last year and while I wait for my breakthrough, half the roster passed me by without a single bat of the eyelid…has if I am nothing more than the filler star, someone who is just added on the card to give the crowd an opportunity to “empty their tanks” before the big main event.
But I do admit that I’m completely surprised to hear that I’ve been booked in a number one contendership match at this “Legacy.” While Serenity, Brian James and Purgatory put it all on the line week after week after week…I left for twenty-eight days to find myself and now it seem that I’ve been added to this match on a sympathy basis, no matter how unfair it is to those four. I mean, Brian James has defeated Chance Rugani on two separate occasions and Serenity has been taking no prisoners while Purgatory has been committed to each match and came closer to winning with each match. Yet I, a man who has done nothing worthwhile but stir up hatred within this corporation, is added in this match to see who will be Ryan Carvallari’s next TV Championship contender. I have beaten Vantage on two occasions and did defeat Purgatory but do I have a chance to win? Do I deserve this opportunity? I was almost lost in thought until the door knocked. I simply stated that the door isn’t locked and the cameraman entered this room, with the camera over his left shoulder. He instantly knelt down and after a couple of seconds he signalled to me that I can start my promo…here I go, I guess.
TBS: Last week the return came and began with a victorious conquest of one Purgatory and, within the second match of my comeback, I get to compete at WEW’s planned top event Legacy. I get to compete against the same Purgatory I have beaten has well as Serenity and Brian James for the right to face the Television Champion in the near future. I could possibly begin belittling each of my opponents straight away but instead I got a question…how do I feel? Should I feel glad that my reappearance wasn’t as disastrous as the route leading to my disappearance? Should I happy to have been given a Championship opportunity? Should I feel excited that I get to compete at a pay per view shortly after my reoccurrence? Should I feel ecstatic about the chance to perform in front of my fellow countrymen, and women?
I gave air to these words has my hair managed to hide most of my face paint from the camera lens, with only my chin being clearly shown to it. My eyes were gazing at the floor, almost lost in purpose, as each word departed my blameworthy lips. It was only when I began asking my questions that my voice left its emotionlessly blank tone and after my last question was asked my face rose up, my hands running my hair back so the camera could record my painted face.
TBS: I feel should happy but what does that victory accomplish? I defeated Justin Blade and afterwards I lost my aim in two point three seconds. All I’ve done was beat some guy who hasn’t won a match all month, nothing Championship worthy about it. And in so little days I get to face that same Purgatory again in front of my people, am I impressed by how he fared against me? Yes. Does defeating him mean anything to my future? No it doesn’t, I could easily train a child from the “Make a Wish” Foundation to defeat this Purgatory in just one day. Before we fought I thought he was a somebody but now I’ve beaten him that fool is nothing more than a name I put to shame like a crime to a rhyme. I hold nothing against this so called “Lost Soul” but the truth of the matter is that I can easily nail him down for the count faster than Napalm Death’s “Microsong.”
My words were fluently spoken with a slight edge of confidence, maybe that win has done something for me more than even I’ve expected. Or maybe it’s the fact that I don’t feel like the favourite is what giving me room to speak out in a slightly different way. Who knows the reason for this change in attitude, I don’t mind it…if anything I’m currently welcoming it because I feel almost as lost as I was before those twenty-eight days of minute existence. I sniggered lightly after mentioning the world’s shortest song, a first time I’ve ever done that in a promo, and my right hand continue to run through my hair as I resume talking to whoever might want to watch this promo.
TBS: I know you’re watching this so I’ll stop mentioning you in third person and speak to you straight up Purgatory. If all I’ve said ever harmed you mentally, be it what I’ve just said earlier or even last weeks revelation of the fact your mother is nothing more than a Saturday night hooker, then feel ever so free to hate me. I don’t care if you hate me Purgatory, I don’t care is you revenge on me for your beating last week and I don’t care if your sole agenda in this match is secure my failure. I don’t care about you, the Television Championship or whoever hates me backstage. Let them hate has long as they fear, for its natural for you all to feel xenophobic towards those who are different belong reasoning, understanding and converting. So whatever you do Purgatory, don’t succumb to your xenophobia for I am one to prey on the tiniest of weaknesses…be it fear or be it a minor distraction.
I said sharply and confidently towards the biggest man in this fight. I still find it amusing how his is the largest competitor in the match yet is probably the underdog entering it…Serenity is the hot shot rookie looking impressive, Brian James is the guy who defeated the WEW Champion twice and I’m technically the most experienced person entering this battlefield. I think now is the best time to finish this promo off so that whoever is unlucky enough to watch this doesn’t get bored to death by me wasting their time.
TBS: I’ve defeated you once Purgatory and, just like with Justin Blade, I can easily do it again. Pray for the best and prepare for the worst because I am not a person of three chances. You had your first shot at me last week and lost, soon it will be your second shot and you better beat me Purgatory. For if you lose once again then it just certifies what I’ve said before about you…a joke. Soon it shall be your last chance to prove your worth to me Purgatory because I am more than willing to end this mockery to call a career. I’m The New Las Plagas Broken Saint…Break Me! I Don’t Care.
Once I finished up my words my left hand pressed its palm against the camera lens and pushed it away. Little did I know this would cause the cameraman to fall over and the camera to smash itself against my door…damn, I’m going to be fined for that camera has well…but anyway, the guy was quick to carry what remains of the camera and went off somewhere. So now I’m alone to my thoughts again…can I defeat three others? Can I win at a pay per view? Can I at last win in front of my fellow Englishmen? I hold my doubts now but on that night I shall suspend them long enough to steal the damn show.
Scene Two: Painting Lesson
Here we, me and my cute announcer Yashira Maran, sit in front of three foot by three foot blank canvas. The time was somewhere around noon and the location is in my house of Los Angeles, today is Yashira’s first lesson in painting. “Welcome to your first painting lesson Yashira,” I said softly with a slight smile, finding it quite adorable and amusing to see her wearing something close to a school uniform. She smiled back at me while I continued to speak “instead of lecturing you into hibernation, my method of teaching is just to create a bridge between one’s mind and their paint hand.” Crap, I sound like a hippy teacher already “painting can be done by many things from your bare hands to an inked stick, but for our first lesson together I think it will be best to just use a paintbrush,” while saying those words I handed Yashira a paintbrush and a bucket of black paint. “But for there to be unison between mind and hand you must only paint what you want to paint, not what others expect you to paint. Another essential to this unison is to make complete control of your mind, the slightest change of mood can make dramatic changes to one‘s artwork…yes Yashira?” Okay, I did try to sound like a genuine teacher when I noticed that she shyly raised her hand up to ask a question.
“Well, Mister Agbonlahor,” she said slightly childishly, causing me to chuckle at what she called me. “What you said about ‘control of your mind,’ does that explain how you can be so unresponsive when creating a masterpiece?”
“You can just call me Jericho,” I replied with a smile to my sweet student “and yes…and no…I does help me appear feeling less but a slight dose of joy or grief here and there help create what you call ‘masterpieces.’ And, by the time we finish your first painting, you would have made a masterpiece.”
“But I can’t paint…” she spoke out quite unconfidently.
“Don’t be fooled by what you can’t do before Yashira,” I said with my slight smile remaining “I never started painting until the third day into my six month stay at the hospital designed for those called ‘mental.’ And look at me now, I’m still struggling at times to keep control of my feelings but I create paintings that you call masterpiece with a stroke of a brush.” She nodded to my words, possibly indicating to me that she understood me, and I simply continued to speak “since you should paint only what you want to paint, what do you want to paint has your first masterpiece?”
“What about a Snorlax?” A Snorlax? I expected something girly like butterflies or even unicorns but a Snorlax? What the fuck is a Snorlax!?! I felt like asking her a more polite version of that last question but before I could speak she pulled out a picture of a Snorlax, from one of her pockets, and showed me it. It feels stupid to teach someone how to paint a round thing with cat ears…but in the end I just sighed and nodded before sticking the picture to the top-right of the canvas. “Can I ask you a question Jericho?” she sounded shy but I simply nodded a ‘yes’ answer “why do you prefer to be completely emotionless over showing much emotions?”
That question kind of stung, almost like the first punch your spouse gives you after marriage, and after a few moments I just decided to not answer the question “I think you should start painting now.” I think I accidentally said my words coldly because the expression on her face looked like she might have done something wrong as she dipped the brush in the paint and began trying to paint the Snorlax. I could easily tell that I’ve upset her in one way or the other, since the brush she is holding is going all over the place when all she needs to do is paint a circle. So I chose to sit behind my student and press my chest against her back, my right hand taking hers and helping her paint the so called ‘Snorlax.’
“J-Jericho?” She said, her voice flooded in surprise, while her facial cheeks going a bit rosy…I don’t know why, since I’m just trying to help her paint. It was only moments later that I finally decided to speak about her question…well whisper about it to her ear.
“Do you want to know why I choose to be emotionless and cold?” Instead of getting a vocal answer Yashira simply nodded her head softly as we worked together to paint the outline of Snorlax’s belly. “Four odd years ago I was just some overexcited kid who thought he had everything in life…friends…a stable job…loving parents…a family to call my own. But on one drunken night my wife, Serena, asked me to drive the car back to our caravan and I said okay…but then we crashed into some truck. I was on the verge of dying yet lived while my Serena passed away right in front of me. My friends called me an idiot and abandoned me…my parent were embarrassed and pretended that I was never their child in the first place…I got fired…and my sister-in-law somehow bribed the judge into legally giving all the rights of my daughter, Sabrina, to her…so from everything to nothing in one bad turn of the wheel, I was on the verge of losing my mind…hell, I was even sent to that mental hospital after three weeks of drowning my sorrows with whatever alcoholic beverage available. It was in that hospital that I learnt to be emotionless, because it still hurts too much to let it control me.” While I spoke we coloured the belly in, painted the arms and feet on and then, when I was near the end of my reason, we were about to finish the outline of the head.
“There is nothing wrong with having feelings though Jericho,” she softly spoke after giving her ear to every word I spoke. “I always found you to be so cool in how you could be in so much control at times…yet now I see that you’re just afraid of the memories and what could happen if your emotions consume you,” I felt the heat build from her face with each word she said and, while she spoke, I moved my hand away from hers and she masterfully painted the face and coloured in the Snorlax’s head. When she saw the finished result of our tiny coalition Yashira smiled brightly “look what we made Jericho,” she said with a brighter smile.
“A beautiful painting indeed,” I admitted “but you’re the only who deserves the credit Yashira, all I did was keep your hand steady, the rest you did by yourself. So you are quite talented Yashira…and thank you for listening to my tale…the tale of ninety-nine percent of the reason why I prefer to in complete control of my emotions…”
“Ninety-nine?”
“The one percent left is because of the anger I have stored from these four year of self-loathing, I choose to be in complete control because if that rage is unleashed then something horrible is going to happen…” I admitted softly to this Japanese beauty I’m leaning slightly against “well, that was your first painting lesson…tomorrow’s lesson is going to judge the unison between mind and arm by having you wear a blindfold of some kind…maybe something from that S & M shop I brought a while ago might do…” I grinned at my last line, especially when it made her face almost as red as a strawberry.
“I don’t think I would make a good sub…” she tried to joke back but fail miserably when she blushed even more. Yet me laughing has lightened her mood and she laughed along with me before we both agreed to go out for our last takeaway before travelling off to my homeland.
Scene Three: Take My Hand
With a press of a button the camera began recording. We are currently in room zero-four-six of a hotel quite close to Heathrow airport but the camera couldn’t tell much of the room for the low key lighting has rendered the room in almost complete darkness, so dark in fact that my darkish face paint almost blends in with the room. For this promo Yashira has agreed to be either outside or waiting in the nearest café, for I prefer to be alone for this darkly themed promo. After a few seconds of idling in the dark the camera finally got to see my face in this dark atmosphere has I began to speak.
TBS: I hear that THE Fatal Four Way Match at THE Legacy would steal THE show because of THE addition of THE Brian James…why do I not sound impressed? Could it be that I never actually noticed what THE Brian James has ever done in THE ring? He has defeated THE WEW Champion Chance Rugani twice yet he has decided to use social networking to possibly get a shot instead of trying to earn a Title shot. Maybe I should feel jealous about THE fact that, unlike me, he’s been handed opportunity after opportunity on a silver platter…but I don’t, why could that ever be? Because I feel so damn comfortable right now. No expectations, no goals, no aimless chasing…just proving day after day that I deserve to be who I am.
Okay, that was weird, I have a dark environment to my aid and I start by mocking Brian James’ “THE” title. A bit bizarre I admit but it never kills to be different to what people expect…the cold tone of my voice added a tiny sense of horror with each word I spoke and once I finished all those words I looked down, my dark hair covering my face and blending me in with this dark room.
TBS: Exit the light, enter the night and what occurs is what will ensure my victory over you Brian. And I don’t mean the fact that you still sleep with a teddy bear…no. Exit the Light, enter the night and with a grain of sand I feel the enticement and the excitement with the enlightenment of the eternal epilogue between the lines of time and space. Do I sound strange? Do I sound weird? Do I sound bizarre? Do I sound like I’ve lost my mind Brian James? Tell me the truth Brian James, do I sound mad? What am I doing? You can’t speak through a screen…I’ll just wait for the Fatal Four Way to gain my answer from you, the so called “Last Mohegan Superstar.” But back to what I’ve said earlier…exit the light, enter the night and what occurs is what will ensure my victory over you. What could ensure my victory over you Brian James? The answer is within the mirror on the wall; your biggest fault is…yourself.
I kept to my cold tone yet managed to sound immovably calm at the exact same time. Since the camera can’t see me, with my hair covering my face, in the dark I chose to walk slowly has I spoke out every single word. Amusingly the floor creaked with each step my unseen feet make within this currently lonely hotel room. When I was near the end of my words I found somewhere to sit upon and once I finished my last word I rose my head up, revealing not only my face again but also now that I am on some kind of bed.
TBS: Your ego was decently sized back at Retribution but it seem to have gone fourfold ever seem claiming a pair of victories over one Chance Rugani…its now so big that you not only claim that your, suppose to be partner, won’t be good enough to defeat Rugani but also demand a shot at the WEW Championship. I don’t know if I should commend you on your courage or pity your foolishness. I seek no hatred in saying this but I don’t see how a few blind sheep signing a petition on some social network get people Title shots. But back to the subject, your ego is possibly distracting you Brian James…why underestimate any of us three when you want a WEW Title shot? I know you want the TV Title to possibly get a future World Title shot but I don’t care if I wreck your hopes for I shall win this match because I need a reason to go on and on and on. So tonight you might need to sleep with one eye open James and you might also need to grip your pillow very tightly…
Talking about egos now…this dark environment has basically been ignored by me, it doesn’t matter I guess. It doesn’t change the fact that I’m probably only in this match as a filler just to increase its purpose. Maybe I should have walked away permanently but part of me could have possibly hated myself even more for giving up, no matter how obvious it is that I’m falling down the card faster than Kevin Kilbourne did before changing his name from “Twin K.” Moments after I said my last few words a knocking noise could be heard…yet I know for a fact that nobody would be wanting to enter this room at the moment.
TBS: Hush little Brian, don’t say a word and never mind that noise you heard. It’s just the beast under your bed…in your closet…in your head. Exit light…enter night…grain of sand. Exit light…enter night…take my hand for we’re off to never never land. And it shall be there that find out the truth, the meaning behind the epilogue and what will ensure my victory over you. Take my hand and find out why…why you’ll never beat me, why the light exit and night enters wherever I go and why I shall out of Legacy has the new number one contender to the World Elite Wrestling Television Championship. Take my hand…the reason is there, so simple to see…
I spoke almost like a father in my first sentence…shit…I miss my little Sabrina…I wonder how is my little one doing? She probably don’t even know I exist, or at least think of me as a cold-blooded murderer since her aunt despises me so very much. I really wish I could hold her in my hands, even if it was in my dying moments I would give up everything just for that one moment. Can’t…cry…the camera is recording me, I can’t let my voice crack to the memories of my daughter being stolen from me…I must end this this promo now before I burst to tears.
TBS: I am the beast under your bed, I am the beast inside your closet. I am the one glaring at you through the corner of the mirror. I am he who gaze upon you through the windows as you look away. I am the beast inside your head…you can feel my breathing when you close your eyes, you can hear me take my steps towards you every time you sleep. My voice is in your head and from today it shall break you down from the inside until you crumble away in front of me at Legacy. I’m The Las Plagas Broken Saint…Break Me! I Don’t Care.
While I spoke each of my words I got off the bed and took short, yet precise, steps toward the camera. Once I spoke out my catchphrase I lifted the camera up, so it could see my face, before switching it off. After I’ve done that my legs collapsed and I feel down onto my knees…oh god, why did I have to accept those keys? I killed my wife…she was wonderful to me…and I was the cause of her death…and my little Sabrina. She’ll probably never know what her daddy was like…I’ll never be called “dada” ever again…I deserve death but instead I’m being tortured…is this god’s cruel joke? Is fate spitting into my eyes? Why? Oh god tell me why? I’ve had it…within moments I slowly pulled out a small blade from my right pocket and pressed it against my wrist. Am I ready to do this? Can I do this? Its only one simple slip and every liquid of life will leave, thus finishing this infinite torment.
But what about Yashira? How would she feel if she knew her friend committed suicide? Would she feel lonely and isolated? Would my self-mutilation remove that sweet and innocent smile from her dearly soft lips? Would my death bring dejection to this this young beauty? How could I be so selfish? I’ve suffered much but while killing myself will put it all to an end, she could possibly end up alone with no one to see these amazing sights with…no one to comfort her whenever something is bothering her…no one for her to bake cookies for. Why did I become so fucking selfish? My grip on the blade loosened with a shiver before dropping the sharp object altogether, afterwards I went to the bathroom and washed this paint off my face. Once I did this I made my quick departure from my hotel room, remembering to lock the door behind me, before making my way to the café that my announcer could be at.
Scene Four: Sad But True...
Here I sit, inside one of the carriages of the London Eye, with Yashira Maran sitting next to me and the camera at the other side of this carriage. There isn’t much to say about the London Eye except for the fact that it is a giant fucking Ferris Wheel that, when at the very top, lets you see all of London…be it Buckingham Palace or the Fulham football club ground, you can easily see them from up here. I admit that this is a very odd place for a promo, but this is my last promo planned for my Four Way match at Legacy…so why care about the oddness of such a location, like the Monaco GP, the substance in the scene is better than the location itself. Without me even saying anything Yashira reached over to the camera and pressed the record button before leaning gently against my side, I replied by having my left arm embrace this Japanese woman gently.
TBS: Both Purgatory and Brian James have been dealt with, which leads to the question of why am I broadcasting yet another promo towards this match…the answer is simple; this is a Fatal Four Way match and you need four people for it, who may the last individual in this match be? A young girl with floods of potential called “Serenity.” Could this girl have the potential to be the next big thing? To be the next breakthrough star? To be the next Television Champion? Maybe she does, maybe she doesn’t but why should I care? In the end, I’ll walk in as the youngest and exit has the number one contender to the Television Championship. What, didn’t anyone know? I’ve been part of WEW the longest while being the youngest by at least six years and, just like post WWF Attitude era, the quality of television has changed within those six years.
I could feel Sapphire’s head resting gently against my shoulder has I spoke my words, I’m use to this feeling since I’ve embraced her in a comforting way many times before. I kept my voice, and tone, at a calm yet impassive manner…I prefer to be in complete control of all my emotions, maybe those electric shock treatments have helped me confine how I feel and hide it away for as long as I saw fit. One thing that interested me a lot about what I just said was the fact that I enter this match as possibly the most experienced yet the most youthful. But I refuse to let my thoughts about this fact distract me from producing my promo.
TBS: Some of the changes have been good and some have been bad but I think it would best if I depart from the subject of television, even if all we’re fighting for is just some Television Title shot…hell, I doubt the TV Champ himself would bother tasking notice of this match since everyone knows what is going to happen. Either they admit it or not, the truth is so obvious…naked if you like…you have a freak, an egomaniac and Little Miss “Shameless” going against The Broken Saint. I’ve beaten Chance Rugani, Randy Orton and Vantage in a span of two months…I don’t think that any of them can claim such qualification. Just like he ground below, I am miles above all of those soon to be failures. Serenity might have defeat two fellow scarlet that people claim to have “potential” but she is entering a war against two morons and man with everything to prove. So the “Shameless Rookie” has got a seventy-five percent chance of failing to be as good as most people thought she could be. Do I care about the aftermath of her failure? No, I don’t fucking care.
Okay, maybe I took into a more cruel sense here but I guess it’s the cruellest of people that truly succeed since I’ve been buried for my first three months here because I was trying to play the good guy. Even though my tone sounded quite malicious my announcer, whom I’m struggling to believe has actually wrestle a match, stayed relaxed in my embracement has my left arm felt more of her wonderfully soft skin. Instead of continuing to speak, after saying those words, I looked away to stare at the Wembley stadium from our high height…it was only a few seconds into this stare that I resume talking.
TBS: Can you dream? Can you see between the lines of time and space? Can you really feel the pain of a thousand arrows? Can you? Can’t you? No you can’t and here I’m going to tell you why little Serenity, for the answer of that question is also the reason why you’ll yield to me in front of my people. Its sad but true…hate…I’m your hate, I’m your hate when you want love. I’m your life, I’m the one who took you there…I’m your life and I no longer care. I’m your dream, makes you real. I’m your eyes when you must steal. I’m your pain when you can’t feel…sad but true…I’m your dream, mind astray. I’m your eyes while you’re away. I’m you’re pain while you repay…you know it’s sad but true…I’m your truth, telling lies. I’m your reasoned alibi. I’m inside, open your eyes…I’m you and at Legacy, at Wembley, I’ll break free so that you will know what pain really feels like. I’ll breakthrough your binding body so you can actually have your own dream. And I will beat you in that Fatal Four Way match just to reveal the obviousness of that, while you call yourself “Shameless,” you’re actually the one who’s shamed.
Halfway through my words I slowly turned my face back to look directly at the camera lens, my left hand moved to softly rub Yashira’s back in slow circles while I did so. We both felt the mechanism of the London Eye beginning to pull our carriage back down to the ground but it was during this descend that I’ve decided to speak up for a final time in this promo.
TBS: Sad but true…I’m The New Las Plagas Broken Saint…Break Me! I Don’t Care…
Moments after saying those simple few words Miss Maran reached over and switched off the camera, ending the recording of my last promo in the build-up to this match at Legacy. When the carriage managed to return to the floor we both made our swift exit from the London Eye and headed off to the park.
TBS: What do you think of the City of Cockneys?
I asked her softly while we walked. It only took less than a moment for the question to have elected a sweet giggle from her delicate looking lips, a short while ago I told Yashira about some names us Englanders give each other…like Scousers are people who live in Liverpool and Geordies are from Newcastle.
Sapphire: Its alright Jericho…
TBS: I don’t mind if you dislike this place.
Sapphire: Its not that I don’t like it here…its just…I don’t feel much of positive vibe here…is that makes any sense.
I understood well, even though I didn’t voice my understanding, and we quickly began a conversation about Legacy. About my match, my chances and who going to win what match. By the time we were nearly finished speaking about those three simple things we were at the park, sitting on a wooden bench but after a few words more Yashira went silent…is something troubling her?
TBS: You know has your boss, and caring friend, I think I should know whatever it may be that is bothering you…don’t you think so?
Sapphire: Yes, I guess you should.
TBS: Okay then…care to tell me what is up with you Yashira?
While I said my words my right arm moved over and hugged her close to me, trying to give her some kind of reassuring comfort. She remained silent however and I felt like trying a slight different approached but before I could speak she finally began to talk.
Sapphire: Last Adrenaline I watched has an old friend of mine defeated the Titans Champion. For the past few weeks I’ve seen an old nemesis of mine stand tall no matter whatever happens. And each week I get to see you compete first hand…I know you still don’t believe that I was a wrestler…I guess I’m missing the thrill of competing against the best, but I’m too nervous about my long-term health to train fulltime. I would love to wrestle again but I guess I’m too much of a coward to do what I love…
I felt quite sorry for this Japanese girl, almost sorry enough to believe that she was a professional wrestler…living a life of fearing what you love is like living an obvious lie. I wish I know what to say but, truth be told, I have no clear clue on what action should I take…that was until I felt a tear on my right shoulder. At the moment I felt its lonesome touched my over arm shot over and held my personal announcer extremely close to me. I felt a few tears go down my chest, wetting one of my favourite shirts, but I refused to let go of this sorrowful beauty…she isn’t much of a vocal crier but at she never needed to be, its obvious when she’s either upset or about to cry. I decided to lean my head down and whisper softly into her ear while my arms refuse to let go like they’re holding on for dear life.
TBS: You’re not a coward Yashira, you’re a bright young lady who knows her life has got many years to live. You have a very bright future Yashira, don’t waste it avoiding what you want to do…if you’re too worried about your health then let me train you, after so long together I know how much your knee can take. But for now feel free to cry it all out, you’re too adorably pretty to be cry all the time.
My comforting, yet extremely firm, hug never lessen. My hands didn’t move to rub her back for, this time going, I think a close hug is a lot more beneficial than a rubdown or even a rockaby. Luckily for my top, my words and my hug seem to have calmed this beautiful woman down and it wasn’t much long until she stopped crying altogether and rested gently against me. I kept this embrace on for a good minute or two before loosening my grip on her.
TBS: I don’t know about you but I’m quite parched…I know a pub not too faraway.
It was nice to see Yashira smile again after I said those words. She rubbed the tears off her face, nodding lightly while doing so, and we both got up before heading off to the pub…wait a second…did I just left the camera on the London Eye? Crap…
Scene Five: ...Shit...
Ugh…what a fucking night…I feel so smashed…maybe having multiple pints is not a smart move. Oh now I remembered, I was thirsty and both me and Yashira went off to have a drink. She was completely pissed after just a sip…seriously, how weak is she to alcohol? I guess it was her slow drinking that convinced me to have more and more and more until…well…I can’t seem to remember what actually fucking happened. I doubt much happened…oh god please tell me I didn’t pose naked with a couple of Chinese lads again, it took me forever to finally move on from that.
My right hand groggily reached up towards the ceiling has my mind computed that I’m in my bed, in this hotel. I raised the blanket off me and sat up…man…did I masturbated naked throughout my drunk night or something? My dick is has solid has a fricking pole and there is some weird liquid near it…how come I can’t remember any of this? Was I really that damn drunk? Anyway, I moved off the bed to see that my tear stained shirt is laying slightly ripped on the floor…maybe this shirt has lived its life expectancy, note to self, definitely get a new shirt. I slowly walked myself towards the kitchen to make myself some breakfast. Wait, where is Yashira? Maybe she’s out for a jog, yeah she does like to exercise…but why didn’t she leave any cookies like she normally does before she leaves?
Anyway, now I’m in the kitchen and damn…everything in the kitchen, discounting the toaster, appeared to have been in a war. The fridge door is slightly dented in the handle, the two chairs seem to have been broken to pieces and the glass of the oven door is completely shattered. Goddamn, did I have a hardcore match against a ninja or something last night? I guess toast is my only option for breakfast, since the cereal and milk are stained across the floor, but this is a good thing since tonight is my big match at Legacy and the last thing I want is to be too stuffed to compete at a hundred percent for my biggest fan base.
So I put the bread in the toaster and whistled to myself lightly, how cool would it be to win a shot at Ryan Car…Cav…crud, his name is murder to say while having a hangover. Well, anyway, he’s not only the TV Champ but also the World Heavyweight Champ, meaning that if I won the TV Title off him I should be more than worthy of being WEW Champion…maybe offering a shot to Sophie could be my greatest chance to finally get my hands on her. Damn, I that sounded so fucking wrong. Oh! The toast has popped up, better butter it up now. Where is the knife again? Darn, this one is too sharp…it’ll do though, only idiot cut themselves while spreading butter…ow…maybe I shouldn’t have used this knife while drunk. There we go, a better knife, now I can butter my toast properly. Everyday I’m buttering, buttering, buttering, everyday I’m buttering, yum, yum yummy.
Now I’ve finished my buttering and dropped the knife in the sink…I think that’s the one with the black bag…ah, some of my spilt blood has been spread on the toast. Whatever, oh knows, blood on toast might be quite tasty. But before I take my first bite I found an upside down clock and righted it back up…half eleven…three hours off my all-time record, but more than enough time to gather my lost wit and get ready for kicking those three asses. Who were they again? Lady Gaga’s distant relative Purgatory, the Brian Kendrick wannabe Brian James and some bimbo called Serenity…man, I loved that Serenity film…don’t know who the main actress was but I swear I got a boner from watching her. But back to the important matter, where is Yashira? Has she really gone out for a walk? Has she left me for some mafia guy? Or have she been kidnapped, meaning that I would have to a real life version of John Cena’s “Marine?” Ah, I’m thinking to damn much…it hurts so fucking back…when was the last time I was so damn drunk?
Maybe the blood on toast would be wonderful now so I let my teeth work in union with my tongue to demolish the first slice down my neck and into my stomach. So now I have only one slice of this weirdly delicious breakfast to eat, would be quite interesting to write in an autobiography: “Once, during a hangover, I accidentally cut myself above my toast and found out that toast taste very good with a hint of blood on it.” Why do I have the sudden feeling that something is on my neck? Hey, why is there a pink bra around my neck? Did I dress like a woman when I was drunk? Damn, haven’t done anything like that since the second day of training under Chris Middley…somehow I could still remember his unexplainable expression when he saw me.
I guess now is the best time to actually go and get dressed so, with the last slice of toast in my mouth, I began to wander out of the kitchen. How come I can’t seem to recall hardly any event that happened last night? And how the fuck is my dick feeling like it has been through ten rounds of the Pussycat Dolls? How goddamn wasted was I? this got to be, by far, the second worst hangover I ever had behind that…something has moved in my bed? What could it be? The moves are too infrequent to be a vibrator and its too big to be a teddy bear. With the toast hanging from my mouth I slowly approached the bed, whatever it is I must be prepared for the worst…if its an ambush then I should be ready to kick ass. I cloud hear my heart beating loudly let alone feel its heavy beats. With each step my heart beats ever so harder, almost like its going to have a cardiac arrest at any moment, until I reached the bed. I slowly and quietly placed my hand on the blanket and, like a flash of lightening, I threw the blanket off and what I saw was frozen me to the spot in complete fear.
There laying in the bed, fast asleep, is Yashira Maran completely naked…how…did we “…shit…”
“What could I ever do without you…”
What the…? That voice…I haven’t heard that voice in so long, at least I’m waking up on a bench in my locker room instead of falling off the damn vending machine. I’m still surprised that I have my own locker room, I guess it was because those in charge don’t think I play well with others. But back to that voice…those words…I feel so cold thank to those words, the voice is so familiar yet I can’t currently put my finger on whom that voice may be. I guess I have to thank that voice however, since five minutes from now a cameraman should be entering my room and begin recording me…so I stretched, while yawning, before entering my private bathroom. I sat by the sink and washed my face before staring at the most hideous thing I’ve ever laid eyes on…the mirror on the wall. To others it might be pretty and wonderful but to me its vile and repulsive, shame as well because it was originally a beautiful piece of glass but my nauseating appearance has ruined this possible beauty. Maybe that is why I chose to paint my face on multiple occasions, to save the audience from the pain of looking at this revolting monstrosity.
Now that I’ve finished colouring my face in whatever I feel like colouring it in with, I stood up and slowly wandered back out of the bathroom and to the bench so I could sit on it. Thirty seconds to go and I feel odd…I returned and defeated this Purgatory, thus feeling the slightest hint of relief. Yet I issued a challenge to Sophie Oliveira immediately before the match, what would she get out of facing me? She can easily ignore me as I still wait for my one breakthrough moment. A bit stupid isn’t it? I’ve been part of WEW since November of last year and while I wait for my breakthrough, half the roster passed me by without a single bat of the eyelid…has if I am nothing more than the filler star, someone who is just added on the card to give the crowd an opportunity to “empty their tanks” before the big main event.
But I do admit that I’m completely surprised to hear that I’ve been booked in a number one contendership match at this “Legacy.” While Serenity, Brian James and Purgatory put it all on the line week after week after week…I left for twenty-eight days to find myself and now it seem that I’ve been added to this match on a sympathy basis, no matter how unfair it is to those four. I mean, Brian James has defeated Chance Rugani on two separate occasions and Serenity has been taking no prisoners while Purgatory has been committed to each match and came closer to winning with each match. Yet I, a man who has done nothing worthwhile but stir up hatred within this corporation, is added in this match to see who will be Ryan Carvallari’s next TV Championship contender. I have beaten Vantage on two occasions and did defeat Purgatory but do I have a chance to win? Do I deserve this opportunity? I was almost lost in thought until the door knocked. I simply stated that the door isn’t locked and the cameraman entered this room, with the camera over his left shoulder. He instantly knelt down and after a couple of seconds he signalled to me that I can start my promo…here I go, I guess.
TBS: Last week the return came and began with a victorious conquest of one Purgatory and, within the second match of my comeback, I get to compete at WEW’s planned top event Legacy. I get to compete against the same Purgatory I have beaten has well as Serenity and Brian James for the right to face the Television Champion in the near future. I could possibly begin belittling each of my opponents straight away but instead I got a question…how do I feel? Should I feel glad that my reappearance wasn’t as disastrous as the route leading to my disappearance? Should I happy to have been given a Championship opportunity? Should I feel excited that I get to compete at a pay per view shortly after my reoccurrence? Should I feel ecstatic about the chance to perform in front of my fellow countrymen, and women?
I gave air to these words has my hair managed to hide most of my face paint from the camera lens, with only my chin being clearly shown to it. My eyes were gazing at the floor, almost lost in purpose, as each word departed my blameworthy lips. It was only when I began asking my questions that my voice left its emotionlessly blank tone and after my last question was asked my face rose up, my hands running my hair back so the camera could record my painted face.
TBS: I feel should happy but what does that victory accomplish? I defeated Justin Blade and afterwards I lost my aim in two point three seconds. All I’ve done was beat some guy who hasn’t won a match all month, nothing Championship worthy about it. And in so little days I get to face that same Purgatory again in front of my people, am I impressed by how he fared against me? Yes. Does defeating him mean anything to my future? No it doesn’t, I could easily train a child from the “Make a Wish” Foundation to defeat this Purgatory in just one day. Before we fought I thought he was a somebody but now I’ve beaten him that fool is nothing more than a name I put to shame like a crime to a rhyme. I hold nothing against this so called “Lost Soul” but the truth of the matter is that I can easily nail him down for the count faster than Napalm Death’s “Microsong.”
My words were fluently spoken with a slight edge of confidence, maybe that win has done something for me more than even I’ve expected. Or maybe it’s the fact that I don’t feel like the favourite is what giving me room to speak out in a slightly different way. Who knows the reason for this change in attitude, I don’t mind it…if anything I’m currently welcoming it because I feel almost as lost as I was before those twenty-eight days of minute existence. I sniggered lightly after mentioning the world’s shortest song, a first time I’ve ever done that in a promo, and my right hand continue to run through my hair as I resume talking to whoever might want to watch this promo.
TBS: I know you’re watching this so I’ll stop mentioning you in third person and speak to you straight up Purgatory. If all I’ve said ever harmed you mentally, be it what I’ve just said earlier or even last weeks revelation of the fact your mother is nothing more than a Saturday night hooker, then feel ever so free to hate me. I don’t care if you hate me Purgatory, I don’t care is you revenge on me for your beating last week and I don’t care if your sole agenda in this match is secure my failure. I don’t care about you, the Television Championship or whoever hates me backstage. Let them hate has long as they fear, for its natural for you all to feel xenophobic towards those who are different belong reasoning, understanding and converting. So whatever you do Purgatory, don’t succumb to your xenophobia for I am one to prey on the tiniest of weaknesses…be it fear or be it a minor distraction.
I said sharply and confidently towards the biggest man in this fight. I still find it amusing how his is the largest competitor in the match yet is probably the underdog entering it…Serenity is the hot shot rookie looking impressive, Brian James is the guy who defeated the WEW Champion twice and I’m technically the most experienced person entering this battlefield. I think now is the best time to finish this promo off so that whoever is unlucky enough to watch this doesn’t get bored to death by me wasting their time.
TBS: I’ve defeated you once Purgatory and, just like with Justin Blade, I can easily do it again. Pray for the best and prepare for the worst because I am not a person of three chances. You had your first shot at me last week and lost, soon it will be your second shot and you better beat me Purgatory. For if you lose once again then it just certifies what I’ve said before about you…a joke. Soon it shall be your last chance to prove your worth to me Purgatory because I am more than willing to end this mockery to call a career. I’m The New Las Plagas Broken Saint…Break Me! I Don’t Care.
Once I finished up my words my left hand pressed its palm against the camera lens and pushed it away. Little did I know this would cause the cameraman to fall over and the camera to smash itself against my door…damn, I’m going to be fined for that camera has well…but anyway, the guy was quick to carry what remains of the camera and went off somewhere. So now I’m alone to my thoughts again…can I defeat three others? Can I win at a pay per view? Can I at last win in front of my fellow Englishmen? I hold my doubts now but on that night I shall suspend them long enough to steal the damn show.
Scene Two: Painting Lesson
Here we, me and my cute announcer Yashira Maran, sit in front of three foot by three foot blank canvas. The time was somewhere around noon and the location is in my house of Los Angeles, today is Yashira’s first lesson in painting. “Welcome to your first painting lesson Yashira,” I said softly with a slight smile, finding it quite adorable and amusing to see her wearing something close to a school uniform. She smiled back at me while I continued to speak “instead of lecturing you into hibernation, my method of teaching is just to create a bridge between one’s mind and their paint hand.” Crap, I sound like a hippy teacher already “painting can be done by many things from your bare hands to an inked stick, but for our first lesson together I think it will be best to just use a paintbrush,” while saying those words I handed Yashira a paintbrush and a bucket of black paint. “But for there to be unison between mind and hand you must only paint what you want to paint, not what others expect you to paint. Another essential to this unison is to make complete control of your mind, the slightest change of mood can make dramatic changes to one‘s artwork…yes Yashira?” Okay, I did try to sound like a genuine teacher when I noticed that she shyly raised her hand up to ask a question.
“Well, Mister Agbonlahor,” she said slightly childishly, causing me to chuckle at what she called me. “What you said about ‘control of your mind,’ does that explain how you can be so unresponsive when creating a masterpiece?”
“You can just call me Jericho,” I replied with a smile to my sweet student “and yes…and no…I does help me appear feeling less but a slight dose of joy or grief here and there help create what you call ‘masterpieces.’ And, by the time we finish your first painting, you would have made a masterpiece.”
“But I can’t paint…” she spoke out quite unconfidently.
“Don’t be fooled by what you can’t do before Yashira,” I said with my slight smile remaining “I never started painting until the third day into my six month stay at the hospital designed for those called ‘mental.’ And look at me now, I’m still struggling at times to keep control of my feelings but I create paintings that you call masterpiece with a stroke of a brush.” She nodded to my words, possibly indicating to me that she understood me, and I simply continued to speak “since you should paint only what you want to paint, what do you want to paint has your first masterpiece?”
“What about a Snorlax?” A Snorlax? I expected something girly like butterflies or even unicorns but a Snorlax? What the fuck is a Snorlax!?! I felt like asking her a more polite version of that last question but before I could speak she pulled out a picture of a Snorlax, from one of her pockets, and showed me it. It feels stupid to teach someone how to paint a round thing with cat ears…but in the end I just sighed and nodded before sticking the picture to the top-right of the canvas. “Can I ask you a question Jericho?” she sounded shy but I simply nodded a ‘yes’ answer “why do you prefer to be completely emotionless over showing much emotions?”
That question kind of stung, almost like the first punch your spouse gives you after marriage, and after a few moments I just decided to not answer the question “I think you should start painting now.” I think I accidentally said my words coldly because the expression on her face looked like she might have done something wrong as she dipped the brush in the paint and began trying to paint the Snorlax. I could easily tell that I’ve upset her in one way or the other, since the brush she is holding is going all over the place when all she needs to do is paint a circle. So I chose to sit behind my student and press my chest against her back, my right hand taking hers and helping her paint the so called ‘Snorlax.’
“J-Jericho?” She said, her voice flooded in surprise, while her facial cheeks going a bit rosy…I don’t know why, since I’m just trying to help her paint. It was only moments later that I finally decided to speak about her question…well whisper about it to her ear.
“Do you want to know why I choose to be emotionless and cold?” Instead of getting a vocal answer Yashira simply nodded her head softly as we worked together to paint the outline of Snorlax’s belly. “Four odd years ago I was just some overexcited kid who thought he had everything in life…friends…a stable job…loving parents…a family to call my own. But on one drunken night my wife, Serena, asked me to drive the car back to our caravan and I said okay…but then we crashed into some truck. I was on the verge of dying yet lived while my Serena passed away right in front of me. My friends called me an idiot and abandoned me…my parent were embarrassed and pretended that I was never their child in the first place…I got fired…and my sister-in-law somehow bribed the judge into legally giving all the rights of my daughter, Sabrina, to her…so from everything to nothing in one bad turn of the wheel, I was on the verge of losing my mind…hell, I was even sent to that mental hospital after three weeks of drowning my sorrows with whatever alcoholic beverage available. It was in that hospital that I learnt to be emotionless, because it still hurts too much to let it control me.” While I spoke we coloured the belly in, painted the arms and feet on and then, when I was near the end of my reason, we were about to finish the outline of the head.
“There is nothing wrong with having feelings though Jericho,” she softly spoke after giving her ear to every word I spoke. “I always found you to be so cool in how you could be in so much control at times…yet now I see that you’re just afraid of the memories and what could happen if your emotions consume you,” I felt the heat build from her face with each word she said and, while she spoke, I moved my hand away from hers and she masterfully painted the face and coloured in the Snorlax’s head. When she saw the finished result of our tiny coalition Yashira smiled brightly “look what we made Jericho,” she said with a brighter smile.
“A beautiful painting indeed,” I admitted “but you’re the only who deserves the credit Yashira, all I did was keep your hand steady, the rest you did by yourself. So you are quite talented Yashira…and thank you for listening to my tale…the tale of ninety-nine percent of the reason why I prefer to in complete control of my emotions…”
“Ninety-nine?”
“The one percent left is because of the anger I have stored from these four year of self-loathing, I choose to be in complete control because if that rage is unleashed then something horrible is going to happen…” I admitted softly to this Japanese beauty I’m leaning slightly against “well, that was your first painting lesson…tomorrow’s lesson is going to judge the unison between mind and arm by having you wear a blindfold of some kind…maybe something from that S & M shop I brought a while ago might do…” I grinned at my last line, especially when it made her face almost as red as a strawberry.
“I don’t think I would make a good sub…” she tried to joke back but fail miserably when she blushed even more. Yet me laughing has lightened her mood and she laughed along with me before we both agreed to go out for our last takeaway before travelling off to my homeland.
Scene Three: Take My Hand
With a press of a button the camera began recording. We are currently in room zero-four-six of a hotel quite close to Heathrow airport but the camera couldn’t tell much of the room for the low key lighting has rendered the room in almost complete darkness, so dark in fact that my darkish face paint almost blends in with the room. For this promo Yashira has agreed to be either outside or waiting in the nearest café, for I prefer to be alone for this darkly themed promo. After a few seconds of idling in the dark the camera finally got to see my face in this dark atmosphere has I began to speak.
TBS: I hear that THE Fatal Four Way Match at THE Legacy would steal THE show because of THE addition of THE Brian James…why do I not sound impressed? Could it be that I never actually noticed what THE Brian James has ever done in THE ring? He has defeated THE WEW Champion Chance Rugani twice yet he has decided to use social networking to possibly get a shot instead of trying to earn a Title shot. Maybe I should feel jealous about THE fact that, unlike me, he’s been handed opportunity after opportunity on a silver platter…but I don’t, why could that ever be? Because I feel so damn comfortable right now. No expectations, no goals, no aimless chasing…just proving day after day that I deserve to be who I am.
Okay, that was weird, I have a dark environment to my aid and I start by mocking Brian James’ “THE” title. A bit bizarre I admit but it never kills to be different to what people expect…the cold tone of my voice added a tiny sense of horror with each word I spoke and once I finished all those words I looked down, my dark hair covering my face and blending me in with this dark room.
TBS: Exit the light, enter the night and what occurs is what will ensure my victory over you Brian. And I don’t mean the fact that you still sleep with a teddy bear…no. Exit the Light, enter the night and with a grain of sand I feel the enticement and the excitement with the enlightenment of the eternal epilogue between the lines of time and space. Do I sound strange? Do I sound weird? Do I sound bizarre? Do I sound like I’ve lost my mind Brian James? Tell me the truth Brian James, do I sound mad? What am I doing? You can’t speak through a screen…I’ll just wait for the Fatal Four Way to gain my answer from you, the so called “Last Mohegan Superstar.” But back to what I’ve said earlier…exit the light, enter the night and what occurs is what will ensure my victory over you. What could ensure my victory over you Brian James? The answer is within the mirror on the wall; your biggest fault is…yourself.
I kept to my cold tone yet managed to sound immovably calm at the exact same time. Since the camera can’t see me, with my hair covering my face, in the dark I chose to walk slowly has I spoke out every single word. Amusingly the floor creaked with each step my unseen feet make within this currently lonely hotel room. When I was near the end of my words I found somewhere to sit upon and once I finished my last word I rose my head up, revealing not only my face again but also now that I am on some kind of bed.
TBS: Your ego was decently sized back at Retribution but it seem to have gone fourfold ever seem claiming a pair of victories over one Chance Rugani…its now so big that you not only claim that your, suppose to be partner, won’t be good enough to defeat Rugani but also demand a shot at the WEW Championship. I don’t know if I should commend you on your courage or pity your foolishness. I seek no hatred in saying this but I don’t see how a few blind sheep signing a petition on some social network get people Title shots. But back to the subject, your ego is possibly distracting you Brian James…why underestimate any of us three when you want a WEW Title shot? I know you want the TV Title to possibly get a future World Title shot but I don’t care if I wreck your hopes for I shall win this match because I need a reason to go on and on and on. So tonight you might need to sleep with one eye open James and you might also need to grip your pillow very tightly…
Talking about egos now…this dark environment has basically been ignored by me, it doesn’t matter I guess. It doesn’t change the fact that I’m probably only in this match as a filler just to increase its purpose. Maybe I should have walked away permanently but part of me could have possibly hated myself even more for giving up, no matter how obvious it is that I’m falling down the card faster than Kevin Kilbourne did before changing his name from “Twin K.” Moments after I said my last few words a knocking noise could be heard…yet I know for a fact that nobody would be wanting to enter this room at the moment.
TBS: Hush little Brian, don’t say a word and never mind that noise you heard. It’s just the beast under your bed…in your closet…in your head. Exit light…enter night…grain of sand. Exit light…enter night…take my hand for we’re off to never never land. And it shall be there that find out the truth, the meaning behind the epilogue and what will ensure my victory over you. Take my hand and find out why…why you’ll never beat me, why the light exit and night enters wherever I go and why I shall out of Legacy has the new number one contender to the World Elite Wrestling Television Championship. Take my hand…the reason is there, so simple to see…
I spoke almost like a father in my first sentence…shit…I miss my little Sabrina…I wonder how is my little one doing? She probably don’t even know I exist, or at least think of me as a cold-blooded murderer since her aunt despises me so very much. I really wish I could hold her in my hands, even if it was in my dying moments I would give up everything just for that one moment. Can’t…cry…the camera is recording me, I can’t let my voice crack to the memories of my daughter being stolen from me…I must end this this promo now before I burst to tears.
TBS: I am the beast under your bed, I am the beast inside your closet. I am the one glaring at you through the corner of the mirror. I am he who gaze upon you through the windows as you look away. I am the beast inside your head…you can feel my breathing when you close your eyes, you can hear me take my steps towards you every time you sleep. My voice is in your head and from today it shall break you down from the inside until you crumble away in front of me at Legacy. I’m The Las Plagas Broken Saint…Break Me! I Don’t Care.
While I spoke each of my words I got off the bed and took short, yet precise, steps toward the camera. Once I spoke out my catchphrase I lifted the camera up, so it could see my face, before switching it off. After I’ve done that my legs collapsed and I feel down onto my knees…oh god, why did I have to accept those keys? I killed my wife…she was wonderful to me…and I was the cause of her death…and my little Sabrina. She’ll probably never know what her daddy was like…I’ll never be called “dada” ever again…I deserve death but instead I’m being tortured…is this god’s cruel joke? Is fate spitting into my eyes? Why? Oh god tell me why? I’ve had it…within moments I slowly pulled out a small blade from my right pocket and pressed it against my wrist. Am I ready to do this? Can I do this? Its only one simple slip and every liquid of life will leave, thus finishing this infinite torment.
But what about Yashira? How would she feel if she knew her friend committed suicide? Would she feel lonely and isolated? Would my self-mutilation remove that sweet and innocent smile from her dearly soft lips? Would my death bring dejection to this this young beauty? How could I be so selfish? I’ve suffered much but while killing myself will put it all to an end, she could possibly end up alone with no one to see these amazing sights with…no one to comfort her whenever something is bothering her…no one for her to bake cookies for. Why did I become so fucking selfish? My grip on the blade loosened with a shiver before dropping the sharp object altogether, afterwards I went to the bathroom and washed this paint off my face. Once I did this I made my quick departure from my hotel room, remembering to lock the door behind me, before making my way to the café that my announcer could be at.
Scene Four: Sad But True...
Here I sit, inside one of the carriages of the London Eye, with Yashira Maran sitting next to me and the camera at the other side of this carriage. There isn’t much to say about the London Eye except for the fact that it is a giant fucking Ferris Wheel that, when at the very top, lets you see all of London…be it Buckingham Palace or the Fulham football club ground, you can easily see them from up here. I admit that this is a very odd place for a promo, but this is my last promo planned for my Four Way match at Legacy…so why care about the oddness of such a location, like the Monaco GP, the substance in the scene is better than the location itself. Without me even saying anything Yashira reached over to the camera and pressed the record button before leaning gently against my side, I replied by having my left arm embrace this Japanese woman gently.
TBS: Both Purgatory and Brian James have been dealt with, which leads to the question of why am I broadcasting yet another promo towards this match…the answer is simple; this is a Fatal Four Way match and you need four people for it, who may the last individual in this match be? A young girl with floods of potential called “Serenity.” Could this girl have the potential to be the next big thing? To be the next breakthrough star? To be the next Television Champion? Maybe she does, maybe she doesn’t but why should I care? In the end, I’ll walk in as the youngest and exit has the number one contender to the Television Championship. What, didn’t anyone know? I’ve been part of WEW the longest while being the youngest by at least six years and, just like post WWF Attitude era, the quality of television has changed within those six years.
I could feel Sapphire’s head resting gently against my shoulder has I spoke my words, I’m use to this feeling since I’ve embraced her in a comforting way many times before. I kept my voice, and tone, at a calm yet impassive manner…I prefer to be in complete control of all my emotions, maybe those electric shock treatments have helped me confine how I feel and hide it away for as long as I saw fit. One thing that interested me a lot about what I just said was the fact that I enter this match as possibly the most experienced yet the most youthful. But I refuse to let my thoughts about this fact distract me from producing my promo.
TBS: Some of the changes have been good and some have been bad but I think it would best if I depart from the subject of television, even if all we’re fighting for is just some Television Title shot…hell, I doubt the TV Champ himself would bother tasking notice of this match since everyone knows what is going to happen. Either they admit it or not, the truth is so obvious…naked if you like…you have a freak, an egomaniac and Little Miss “Shameless” going against The Broken Saint. I’ve beaten Chance Rugani, Randy Orton and Vantage in a span of two months…I don’t think that any of them can claim such qualification. Just like he ground below, I am miles above all of those soon to be failures. Serenity might have defeat two fellow scarlet that people claim to have “potential” but she is entering a war against two morons and man with everything to prove. So the “Shameless Rookie” has got a seventy-five percent chance of failing to be as good as most people thought she could be. Do I care about the aftermath of her failure? No, I don’t fucking care.
Okay, maybe I took into a more cruel sense here but I guess it’s the cruellest of people that truly succeed since I’ve been buried for my first three months here because I was trying to play the good guy. Even though my tone sounded quite malicious my announcer, whom I’m struggling to believe has actually wrestle a match, stayed relaxed in my embracement has my left arm felt more of her wonderfully soft skin. Instead of continuing to speak, after saying those words, I looked away to stare at the Wembley stadium from our high height…it was only a few seconds into this stare that I resume talking.
TBS: Can you dream? Can you see between the lines of time and space? Can you really feel the pain of a thousand arrows? Can you? Can’t you? No you can’t and here I’m going to tell you why little Serenity, for the answer of that question is also the reason why you’ll yield to me in front of my people. Its sad but true…hate…I’m your hate, I’m your hate when you want love. I’m your life, I’m the one who took you there…I’m your life and I no longer care. I’m your dream, makes you real. I’m your eyes when you must steal. I’m your pain when you can’t feel…sad but true…I’m your dream, mind astray. I’m your eyes while you’re away. I’m you’re pain while you repay…you know it’s sad but true…I’m your truth, telling lies. I’m your reasoned alibi. I’m inside, open your eyes…I’m you and at Legacy, at Wembley, I’ll break free so that you will know what pain really feels like. I’ll breakthrough your binding body so you can actually have your own dream. And I will beat you in that Fatal Four Way match just to reveal the obviousness of that, while you call yourself “Shameless,” you’re actually the one who’s shamed.
Halfway through my words I slowly turned my face back to look directly at the camera lens, my left hand moved to softly rub Yashira’s back in slow circles while I did so. We both felt the mechanism of the London Eye beginning to pull our carriage back down to the ground but it was during this descend that I’ve decided to speak up for a final time in this promo.
TBS: Sad but true…I’m The New Las Plagas Broken Saint…Break Me! I Don’t Care…
Moments after saying those simple few words Miss Maran reached over and switched off the camera, ending the recording of my last promo in the build-up to this match at Legacy. When the carriage managed to return to the floor we both made our swift exit from the London Eye and headed off to the park.
TBS: What do you think of the City of Cockneys?
I asked her softly while we walked. It only took less than a moment for the question to have elected a sweet giggle from her delicate looking lips, a short while ago I told Yashira about some names us Englanders give each other…like Scousers are people who live in Liverpool and Geordies are from Newcastle.
Sapphire: Its alright Jericho…
TBS: I don’t mind if you dislike this place.
Sapphire: Its not that I don’t like it here…its just…I don’t feel much of positive vibe here…is that makes any sense.
I understood well, even though I didn’t voice my understanding, and we quickly began a conversation about Legacy. About my match, my chances and who going to win what match. By the time we were nearly finished speaking about those three simple things we were at the park, sitting on a wooden bench but after a few words more Yashira went silent…is something troubling her?
TBS: You know has your boss, and caring friend, I think I should know whatever it may be that is bothering you…don’t you think so?
Sapphire: Yes, I guess you should.
TBS: Okay then…care to tell me what is up with you Yashira?
While I said my words my right arm moved over and hugged her close to me, trying to give her some kind of reassuring comfort. She remained silent however and I felt like trying a slight different approached but before I could speak she finally began to talk.
Sapphire: Last Adrenaline I watched has an old friend of mine defeated the Titans Champion. For the past few weeks I’ve seen an old nemesis of mine stand tall no matter whatever happens. And each week I get to see you compete first hand…I know you still don’t believe that I was a wrestler…I guess I’m missing the thrill of competing against the best, but I’m too nervous about my long-term health to train fulltime. I would love to wrestle again but I guess I’m too much of a coward to do what I love…
I felt quite sorry for this Japanese girl, almost sorry enough to believe that she was a professional wrestler…living a life of fearing what you love is like living an obvious lie. I wish I know what to say but, truth be told, I have no clear clue on what action should I take…that was until I felt a tear on my right shoulder. At the moment I felt its lonesome touched my over arm shot over and held my personal announcer extremely close to me. I felt a few tears go down my chest, wetting one of my favourite shirts, but I refused to let go of this sorrowful beauty…she isn’t much of a vocal crier but at she never needed to be, its obvious when she’s either upset or about to cry. I decided to lean my head down and whisper softly into her ear while my arms refuse to let go like they’re holding on for dear life.
TBS: You’re not a coward Yashira, you’re a bright young lady who knows her life has got many years to live. You have a very bright future Yashira, don’t waste it avoiding what you want to do…if you’re too worried about your health then let me train you, after so long together I know how much your knee can take. But for now feel free to cry it all out, you’re too adorably pretty to be cry all the time.
My comforting, yet extremely firm, hug never lessen. My hands didn’t move to rub her back for, this time going, I think a close hug is a lot more beneficial than a rubdown or even a rockaby. Luckily for my top, my words and my hug seem to have calmed this beautiful woman down and it wasn’t much long until she stopped crying altogether and rested gently against me. I kept this embrace on for a good minute or two before loosening my grip on her.
TBS: I don’t know about you but I’m quite parched…I know a pub not too faraway.
It was nice to see Yashira smile again after I said those words. She rubbed the tears off her face, nodding lightly while doing so, and we both got up before heading off to the pub…wait a second…did I just left the camera on the London Eye? Crap…
Scene Five: ...Shit...
Ugh…what a fucking night…I feel so smashed…maybe having multiple pints is not a smart move. Oh now I remembered, I was thirsty and both me and Yashira went off to have a drink. She was completely pissed after just a sip…seriously, how weak is she to alcohol? I guess it was her slow drinking that convinced me to have more and more and more until…well…I can’t seem to remember what actually fucking happened. I doubt much happened…oh god please tell me I didn’t pose naked with a couple of Chinese lads again, it took me forever to finally move on from that.
My right hand groggily reached up towards the ceiling has my mind computed that I’m in my bed, in this hotel. I raised the blanket off me and sat up…man…did I masturbated naked throughout my drunk night or something? My dick is has solid has a fricking pole and there is some weird liquid near it…how come I can’t remember any of this? Was I really that damn drunk? Anyway, I moved off the bed to see that my tear stained shirt is laying slightly ripped on the floor…maybe this shirt has lived its life expectancy, note to self, definitely get a new shirt. I slowly walked myself towards the kitchen to make myself some breakfast. Wait, where is Yashira? Maybe she’s out for a jog, yeah she does like to exercise…but why didn’t she leave any cookies like she normally does before she leaves?
Anyway, now I’m in the kitchen and damn…everything in the kitchen, discounting the toaster, appeared to have been in a war. The fridge door is slightly dented in the handle, the two chairs seem to have been broken to pieces and the glass of the oven door is completely shattered. Goddamn, did I have a hardcore match against a ninja or something last night? I guess toast is my only option for breakfast, since the cereal and milk are stained across the floor, but this is a good thing since tonight is my big match at Legacy and the last thing I want is to be too stuffed to compete at a hundred percent for my biggest fan base.
So I put the bread in the toaster and whistled to myself lightly, how cool would it be to win a shot at Ryan Car…Cav…crud, his name is murder to say while having a hangover. Well, anyway, he’s not only the TV Champ but also the World Heavyweight Champ, meaning that if I won the TV Title off him I should be more than worthy of being WEW Champion…maybe offering a shot to Sophie could be my greatest chance to finally get my hands on her. Damn, I that sounded so fucking wrong. Oh! The toast has popped up, better butter it up now. Where is the knife again? Darn, this one is too sharp…it’ll do though, only idiot cut themselves while spreading butter…ow…maybe I shouldn’t have used this knife while drunk. There we go, a better knife, now I can butter my toast properly. Everyday I’m buttering, buttering, buttering, everyday I’m buttering, yum, yum yummy.
Now I’ve finished my buttering and dropped the knife in the sink…I think that’s the one with the black bag…ah, some of my spilt blood has been spread on the toast. Whatever, oh knows, blood on toast might be quite tasty. But before I take my first bite I found an upside down clock and righted it back up…half eleven…three hours off my all-time record, but more than enough time to gather my lost wit and get ready for kicking those three asses. Who were they again? Lady Gaga’s distant relative Purgatory, the Brian Kendrick wannabe Brian James and some bimbo called Serenity…man, I loved that Serenity film…don’t know who the main actress was but I swear I got a boner from watching her. But back to the important matter, where is Yashira? Has she really gone out for a walk? Has she left me for some mafia guy? Or have she been kidnapped, meaning that I would have to a real life version of John Cena’s “Marine?” Ah, I’m thinking to damn much…it hurts so fucking back…when was the last time I was so damn drunk?
Maybe the blood on toast would be wonderful now so I let my teeth work in union with my tongue to demolish the first slice down my neck and into my stomach. So now I have only one slice of this weirdly delicious breakfast to eat, would be quite interesting to write in an autobiography: “Once, during a hangover, I accidentally cut myself above my toast and found out that toast taste very good with a hint of blood on it.” Why do I have the sudden feeling that something is on my neck? Hey, why is there a pink bra around my neck? Did I dress like a woman when I was drunk? Damn, haven’t done anything like that since the second day of training under Chris Middley…somehow I could still remember his unexplainable expression when he saw me.
I guess now is the best time to actually go and get dressed so, with the last slice of toast in my mouth, I began to wander out of the kitchen. How come I can’t seem to recall hardly any event that happened last night? And how the fuck is my dick feeling like it has been through ten rounds of the Pussycat Dolls? How goddamn wasted was I? this got to be, by far, the second worst hangover I ever had behind that…something has moved in my bed? What could it be? The moves are too infrequent to be a vibrator and its too big to be a teddy bear. With the toast hanging from my mouth I slowly approached the bed, whatever it is I must be prepared for the worst…if its an ambush then I should be ready to kick ass. I cloud hear my heart beating loudly let alone feel its heavy beats. With each step my heart beats ever so harder, almost like its going to have a cardiac arrest at any moment, until I reached the bed. I slowly and quietly placed my hand on the blanket and, like a flash of lightening, I threw the blanket off and what I saw was frozen me to the spot in complete fear.
There laying in the bed, fast asleep, is Yashira Maran completely naked…how…did we “…shit…”