Post by wwjbcd on Nov 27, 2014 1:36:20 GMT
And the fiends' eyes slowly opened, and that terrifying glow shone dim, shone bright. Bat-like wings unwrapped themselves from bodies, extending to their fullest. Two fiends. From two separate Hells. Their claws sharpened, their teeth dripping with acidic saliva. Their hunger for revenge and humiliation reaches a fever pitch. Their destinies in front of them, their fates sealed. For good MUST triumph on this day, or all is lost. The
the
the tyrannic demons must have their wings RIPPED from their backs, the beast must not avert his gaze or cover his ears; he must revel in all of their agony. Their claws must be left broken, the beast must not hesitate now; fight evil deeds with eviler ones. Their teeth will be smashed, their eyes forcefully gouged from their sockets, oh, there WILL be blood! And, it will burn the beast, and, it will cause him to roar in pain, but this is a good thing. This is a good thing.
Maxwell Schneider wields the only weapon that can dispatch them forever!
The kitchen sink.
The kitchen sink.
Time slows to a creep, oozing out of the mud-infested hourglass. Days feel like weeks, hours like days, and so forth. But in four days... in four days, MSW will rise From the Ashes... emerging as the RWD forevermore! Anticipation leaves the owners, the wrestlers, the fans on edge. One match on the card, this one we'll be speaking about shortly, promises to be something so terrible, only the strongest of wills can watch it head-on.
"Perfectly Sane" Maxwell Schneider was last seen entering the Marriott. He's waited patiently for his opponents to offer up their rebuttals, and sure enough, they finally have! Their words are cocksure, their promises so solid they're borderlining on threats, but they're not an animal trapped in the corner, and injured beast, both physically and pride-wise. They NEED to do things in this match: KONSTANTINE NEEDS to show the world his loss to The Portland Madman was a fluke, and that dumb animals can't get lucky all the time... and Frankie Cocheese NEEDS to take down KONSTANTINE, to truly be considered the very best. To have BEATEN the very best.
But Schneider... Schneider NEEDS to win too. He NEEDS to humble KONSTANTINE once and for all, he NEEDS to utterly mutilate Cocheese, leaving him a barely recognizable mess. And yet.
And yet...
AND YET...
Something's missing.
Anyway. The Marriott. The boiler room. Traditionally, an ominous locale for a wrestler to be lurking in. So of course Schneider lurks about. He pays no mind to the cameraman, or rather, he doesn't try to acknowledge the camera with his weary nutty glare.
"Somethin's missin', somethin's missin'," he mutters to himself as he continues to pace. "All the tools, ALL the tools were at my disposal, an' I STILL got taken down by a no-good yella-bellied THUG! An' despite the beating he took by my hands, the OTHER one still wants more. Well all right! Well, okay! We'll ALL have a wonderful Thanksgiving this Sunday, WON'T we?! WON'T we."
Not much else to report on, this scene is, for the time being, at least, fairly sparse.
"Nuthin', NUTHIN' gets through that fool HEAD of yours, DOES it, Frankie? Well, since ya don't wanna USE it, ya LOSE it-HAAAAAAAAAAAAA HA HA HA HA HA HA HAAA!!!"
His manic gets replaced with his depressive.
"But ya alREADY beat me, beat be BAD, DIDN'T ya? So I guess I ain't got much ground ta, ta STAND on with you, HUH? That's fine. That's fine, that's fine, because I KNOW what was missin' in our last bout, oh yeahhhh. I went too EASY on ya, THAT was the problem! I saw you, ya poor deranged RAT ya, and a part of me, a VERY stupid part of me, why, he was hopin' he'd leave ya in enough pieces so you could pick yerself up and get the help ya SORELY needed, but noooooooo! Ya don't know what's GOOD for ya, Frankie! Ya CAN'T be helped, because you don't WANNA be helped! Well, THIS time around, I ain't plannin' on lettin' my, my COMPASSION get in the way of a good brawl! THIS time, I'm gonna flay ya, flense ya, debone ya, and fry ya UP! Yer days're NUMBERED, Frankie: one, two, three, FOUR days ta be exact!"
He sees a rat scurrying around his feet, and he snatches it up with unearthly speed and reflexes. It squeals, OH, does it squeal!
"Frankie, oh Frankie, with yer beady eyes and unkempt hair, SQUEAL for me, baybeh! SQUEAL for me until you've squealed... yer LAST."
The rat bites Schneider, who immediately drops it. The rat scurries into the all-concealing shadows.
Schneider sucks at the bite wound, then smears some of the blood all around his face. "Ahaha, ya got me THERE, Frankie! Ya got me there. Come Sunday, I'm gonna return the favour and bite yer nose c-c-c-c-CLEAN off yer face! Oh yeah!!!"
Then, the manic fades away again, and the depressive returns.
"And then we got Devin KONSTANTINE, a man who's got the displeasure of crossin' my path already and feelin' the same way I feel NOW, when he went down ta ME on the first-ever RWD show. The kid didn't give up his little dream of makin' it big, and now he wants ta take another crack at me. HE, wants ta take another CRACK, at ME! He thinks the same way I do about Frankie, about ME. So he's gonna come out on Sunday night and say 'Haaa ha, ya SEE? Ol' Maxie ain't nuthin' AFTER all!' 'Haaa HA'?! 'Haaa HA'?!?! You think I'm gonna just LET you laugh in my face and get away with it, ya snot-nosed BRAT?! NO, I surely AIN'T. I need ta make ya see that yer big plan, BIG plan, ta take me down a notch's gonna be THAT much harder, ya know, considerin' that piece off trash Frankie's gonna be there ta stop ya from havin' me allllll to yerself!"
He grinned, as if his silly revelation was going to somehow make this match easier for him, when in fact this particular triumvirate of bloodthirsty bastards is the most volatile of unions the world has ever seen, even eclipsing the vendetta-level hatred between Frank Washington and Robert Garland, if only due to the fact these three men are going to do some terrible, awful, no good, very bad things to each other this Sunday.
"Double or nuthin', they're callin' it. DOUBLE... or NUTHIN'." Schneider says as he crouches down in front of one of the boilers. He slowly brings his hands up to them, allowing them to rest on the burning metal drum for long enough to growl in pain. "Whichever of us WINS our little game, they get to be at the TOP of this company, and the OTHER two guys get some time off in intensive care. Well boys, I sure as Hell hope ya got some money set aside, because them bills're gonna be HUGE! And I sure HOPE ya both love turkey smoothies, because that's the ONLY way yer gonna enjoy yer Thanksgiving meals THIS year!"
He examines his hands, then rubs them together. He smiles. He was finally and fully embracing his old friend Pain, something he should have done a LOT sooner, but he foolishly rested on his laurels, content with being in the position he was... until he came across Cocheese.
"Ya know damn WELL that ol' Maxie-poo was at the TOP of the RWD until last Sunday Night Combat, and while I wallowed in my self-pity and licked my wounds, I promised myself, 'Never again'! Never AGAIN am I gonna play Mr. Nice Guy, never AGAIN am I gonna let people make a fool outta me, and after this Sunday night, I ain't never AGAIN gonna have ta worry about goin' into reruns with guys like KONSTANTINE and Frankie, because after Sunday, folks, there ain't gonna BE no KONSTANTINE and Frankie... no sir... no sir..."
He shakes his head and continues to repeat "No sir..." several times before resorting to just erratic mumblings to himself, as if having an argument with no. one. at. all.
the
the tyrannic demons must have their wings RIPPED from their backs, the beast must not avert his gaze or cover his ears; he must revel in all of their agony. Their claws must be left broken, the beast must not hesitate now; fight evil deeds with eviler ones. Their teeth will be smashed, their eyes forcefully gouged from their sockets, oh, there WILL be blood! And, it will burn the beast, and, it will cause him to roar in pain, but this is a good thing. This is a good thing.
His pain will be his fuel. His revulsion at the unspeakable horrors he must deliver - and endure - must be swallowed. This is the End of Days, this is the final day. An arena at the precipice of a cliff; the losers must fall! A storm of hellfire will scorch the land. It will never cease... UNLESS... un-less...
The devils named KONSTANTINE and Frankie Cocheese are slain.
Maxwell Schneider wields the only weapon that can dispatch them forever!
The kitchen sink.
The kitchen sink.
Time slows to a creep, oozing out of the mud-infested hourglass. Days feel like weeks, hours like days, and so forth. But in four days... in four days, MSW will rise From the Ashes... emerging as the RWD forevermore! Anticipation leaves the owners, the wrestlers, the fans on edge. One match on the card, this one we'll be speaking about shortly, promises to be something so terrible, only the strongest of wills can watch it head-on.
"Perfectly Sane" Maxwell Schneider was last seen entering the Marriott. He's waited patiently for his opponents to offer up their rebuttals, and sure enough, they finally have! Their words are cocksure, their promises so solid they're borderlining on threats, but they're not an animal trapped in the corner, and injured beast, both physically and pride-wise. They NEED to do things in this match: KONSTANTINE NEEDS to show the world his loss to The Portland Madman was a fluke, and that dumb animals can't get lucky all the time... and Frankie Cocheese NEEDS to take down KONSTANTINE, to truly be considered the very best. To have BEATEN the very best.
But Schneider... Schneider NEEDS to win too. He NEEDS to humble KONSTANTINE once and for all, he NEEDS to utterly mutilate Cocheese, leaving him a barely recognizable mess. And yet.
And yet...
AND YET...
Something's missing.
Anyway. The Marriott. The boiler room. Traditionally, an ominous locale for a wrestler to be lurking in. So of course Schneider lurks about. He pays no mind to the cameraman, or rather, he doesn't try to acknowledge the camera with his weary nutty glare.
"Somethin's missin', somethin's missin'," he mutters to himself as he continues to pace. "All the tools, ALL the tools were at my disposal, an' I STILL got taken down by a no-good yella-bellied THUG! An' despite the beating he took by my hands, the OTHER one still wants more. Well all right! Well, okay! We'll ALL have a wonderful Thanksgiving this Sunday, WON'T we?! WON'T we."
Not much else to report on, this scene is, for the time being, at least, fairly sparse.
"Nuthin', NUTHIN' gets through that fool HEAD of yours, DOES it, Frankie? Well, since ya don't wanna USE it, ya LOSE it-HAAAAAAAAAAAAA HA HA HA HA HA HA HAAA!!!"
His manic gets replaced with his depressive.
"But ya alREADY beat me, beat be BAD, DIDN'T ya? So I guess I ain't got much ground ta, ta STAND on with you, HUH? That's fine. That's fine, that's fine, because I KNOW what was missin' in our last bout, oh yeahhhh. I went too EASY on ya, THAT was the problem! I saw you, ya poor deranged RAT ya, and a part of me, a VERY stupid part of me, why, he was hopin' he'd leave ya in enough pieces so you could pick yerself up and get the help ya SORELY needed, but noooooooo! Ya don't know what's GOOD for ya, Frankie! Ya CAN'T be helped, because you don't WANNA be helped! Well, THIS time around, I ain't plannin' on lettin' my, my COMPASSION get in the way of a good brawl! THIS time, I'm gonna flay ya, flense ya, debone ya, and fry ya UP! Yer days're NUMBERED, Frankie: one, two, three, FOUR days ta be exact!"
He sees a rat scurrying around his feet, and he snatches it up with unearthly speed and reflexes. It squeals, OH, does it squeal!
"Frankie, oh Frankie, with yer beady eyes and unkempt hair, SQUEAL for me, baybeh! SQUEAL for me until you've squealed... yer LAST."
The rat bites Schneider, who immediately drops it. The rat scurries into the all-concealing shadows.
Schneider sucks at the bite wound, then smears some of the blood all around his face. "Ahaha, ya got me THERE, Frankie! Ya got me there. Come Sunday, I'm gonna return the favour and bite yer nose c-c-c-c-CLEAN off yer face! Oh yeah!!!"
Then, the manic fades away again, and the depressive returns.
"And then we got Devin KONSTANTINE, a man who's got the displeasure of crossin' my path already and feelin' the same way I feel NOW, when he went down ta ME on the first-ever RWD show. The kid didn't give up his little dream of makin' it big, and now he wants ta take another crack at me. HE, wants ta take another CRACK, at ME! He thinks the same way I do about Frankie, about ME. So he's gonna come out on Sunday night and say 'Haaa ha, ya SEE? Ol' Maxie ain't nuthin' AFTER all!' 'Haaa HA'?! 'Haaa HA'?!?! You think I'm gonna just LET you laugh in my face and get away with it, ya snot-nosed BRAT?! NO, I surely AIN'T. I need ta make ya see that yer big plan, BIG plan, ta take me down a notch's gonna be THAT much harder, ya know, considerin' that piece off trash Frankie's gonna be there ta stop ya from havin' me allllll to yerself!"
He grinned, as if his silly revelation was going to somehow make this match easier for him, when in fact this particular triumvirate of bloodthirsty bastards is the most volatile of unions the world has ever seen, even eclipsing the vendetta-level hatred between Frank Washington and Robert Garland, if only due to the fact these three men are going to do some terrible, awful, no good, very bad things to each other this Sunday.
"Double or nuthin', they're callin' it. DOUBLE... or NUTHIN'." Schneider says as he crouches down in front of one of the boilers. He slowly brings his hands up to them, allowing them to rest on the burning metal drum for long enough to growl in pain. "Whichever of us WINS our little game, they get to be at the TOP of this company, and the OTHER two guys get some time off in intensive care. Well boys, I sure as Hell hope ya got some money set aside, because them bills're gonna be HUGE! And I sure HOPE ya both love turkey smoothies, because that's the ONLY way yer gonna enjoy yer Thanksgiving meals THIS year!"
He examines his hands, then rubs them together. He smiles. He was finally and fully embracing his old friend Pain, something he should have done a LOT sooner, but he foolishly rested on his laurels, content with being in the position he was... until he came across Cocheese.
"Ya know damn WELL that ol' Maxie-poo was at the TOP of the RWD until last Sunday Night Combat, and while I wallowed in my self-pity and licked my wounds, I promised myself, 'Never again'! Never AGAIN am I gonna play Mr. Nice Guy, never AGAIN am I gonna let people make a fool outta me, and after this Sunday night, I ain't never AGAIN gonna have ta worry about goin' into reruns with guys like KONSTANTINE and Frankie, because after Sunday, folks, there ain't gonna BE no KONSTANTINE and Frankie... no sir... no sir..."
He shakes his head and continues to repeat "No sir..." several times before resorting to just erratic mumblings to himself, as if having an argument with no. one. at. all.
THE END.
so quickly so sad!
