Post by "The Divine Chaos" Galen Ronan on Jan 24, 2011 14:06:44 GMT -5
Waking The Demon
RP #3
Paul Sant vs. Obscene vs. Galen Ronan vs. Esix Cordero
“I seldom end up where I wanted to go, but almost always end up where I need to be.” ~ Douglas Adams
The Moment You're Living For
It felt like a goddamn train had hit Galen when he saw the card. At first, he was confused - no Galen on the opening card? Odd. They must have not booked him to allow him some time off before his big match against the bastard Abel. And then, out of curiosity, he scrolled down to check out the other matches. His eyes widened as he saw the main event, leaning back as if recoiling from a shot. And then he couldn't help but allow his lips to form that casual little smirk of his - main event, baby. The bookers had finally seen some sense and put the star power where he belonged - in the leagues of people like Esix Cordero. Admittedly, it was odd they had placed him with Paul Sant and Obscene as well - - perhaps this was some kind of 'prove yourself by beating the big star that beat Josh Eagles' match-up.
Or maybe it was just a general mistake - and even if it was the previously mentioned type of match-up, it was definitely a mistake to put them anywhere near both Galen Ronan and Esix Cordero, at least in Galen's mind. He had every thought of destroying all those in the ring, leaving their blood splattered about the front row as they didn't know what to think, to cheer or boo. Unsure of what they should do know that Galen dominated and controlled all of those in the ring, made them his bitch for as long as that match lasted. He was going to make sure that the bookers realized that this was far from a mistake - he belonged here, in the main event - the first ever main event match in his career was going to be a hard-fought, practically lethal one for all those involved if he had anything to do with it.
Thoughts about possibilties and theoreticals raced damn near constantly through his brain as he sat back in the computer chair, gripping his blonde, scraggly hair back into a pony-tail as he tapped the power button and stood up, letting a sigh part his lips as he - still in wrestling attire from going out to beat Adam Abel down - stood and moved back to the locker room with slow, determined and powerful steps - eyes tracing along each edge, contour and angle of the darkened, spacious and empty area. All was quiet in the locker room, for it was abandoned - not a single soul remained besides him in the Cookeville Community Center. It was cleared out, and odd in that way.
Eventually he found his way to his locker in the overall mess of them - he always got lost in the seemingly endless and repeating rows of same-y lockers. His fingers found their way to the lock, twirling in his combination and tugging the lock down, opening the door and pulling out his normal or 'street' clothes - work-out zip-up sweater, pair of blue jeans and sneakers. Unlacing his boots, he stepped out of them and let his mind flow to the various things occuring as of late. A female named Aurelia was recruited as of late - he thought about this and decided he must make an attempt to find more information about that and more specifically, her - especially considering the fact that she was facing a person he had beat in his debut match in Kingdom of Pride. He wondered to himself whether or not that was worthy of starting a conversation over.
Eventually, his brain found itself to thoughts that were considerably more like Galen's norm to have as he finished pulling on the rest of his normal clothing - such as the obvious self-argument about how he was already thinking about another woman when he still hadn't quite gotten over Roxy. His pregnant ex-fiancee he had left so he could take part in Kingdom of Pride and the other various wrestling federations he had to be constantly touring for. It was a difficult thing to do, to break up with her on such short notice, to leave her at home - and he stil wasn't over her. He would still think about her at night, still wish there was someone - not just anyone, but her, lying next to him.
Which is why it surprised him most he was already having thoughts about another woman next to him - despite not knowing anything about her other than hearing her name and catching a quick glimpse of her as Sterling was touring her about the building, where various men (such as John Parker) flexed their muscles, attempted to get numbers and were generally, overall brushed off. He shrugged and pushed open the door to the locker rooms, wandering absently down the halls - a man lost in thought, in careful consideration of everything that had happened and was going to happen in the near future.
He snorted just a bit as he walked past the various private locker rooms - names appearing on them such as Christian Kane. Esix Cordero. Josh Eagles. Kid Flanagan. These people were respected in the industry and not a single damn one of them came anywhere close to deserving it in his eyes. Christian Kane won the title on an interference from Tic Tic, Esix Cordero was an ingrate that was going to be proven nothing but a misfit and a loser after their match - Josh Eagles was a whiny false-hero who couldn't hold on to a title to save his life and was, all in all, a loser. And Kid Flanagan was more of a punch-line than the people he had beaten in the match he had when he first entered the industry - Mikey Dega, who he had knocked down time and time again, and Dustin Douglas, who he had forced to tap out in the center of the ring - just to prove how 'holy' he really was, just to prove how much of a 'nobody' Galen was, just to crush his thoughts of egotism. Above all, just to prove how much Galen Ronan could accomplish with the right timing and attitude.
In all these myriad thoughts, in all the plethora of reactions and memories pouring through his brain like a waterfall, one thing never crossed his mind. Defeat. Loss. The only thing that passed through his mind was success - and the plan he had. He had no thoughts of 'what if', he didn't try to determine the odds of winning or losing like he was Johnny Noble. All he knew was that he would eventually grasp victory by the throat and make it his bitch - like he was used to, like he always did. And even through that, he had a plan.
Not a plan for the fight, of course not - he knew well from experience that attempting to plan a fight, to attempt to strategize past a couple of moves would only end in failure, being stomped down on the street, bloody and bruised. Fights were not like books, or movies - you couldn't predict every single move that was going to happen and you had to go on reaction and instinct alone. Unless you, of course, wanted to end up on the floor bleeding and useless, like a masochistic fucker - but in his mind, he'd rather leave that for the bondage clubs than the wrestling ring.
No, no, he planned ahead. He planned for the future of him - the future of KoP, the future of the war that was going, of his entire career. He knew what he was going to do - regardless of what ridicoulous obstacles got in his way - no Flanagan, Eagles, Cordero or Parker was going to get in his way as he climbed to the top by force. And what would he do when he got to the top, when he had the Valiant championship and had Pride on it's knees, begging apology and all wanting to back him in every movement he made, a unified worship of him?
Why, he was going to walk. He was going to walk out on Kingdom of Pride to let them all know that it was far too late to apologize, it was too late to say 'we're sorry, and you were right.' He was going to let them know that they shouldn't have made the same mistake that his father made, that Adam Abel made, that the entire world made from the second he was born. They shouldn't have made the mistake of disrespecting him from the start - because he did not take well to disrespect, as he had proved quite excellently in the previous weeks.
And that was it - that was all he could think about as he pushed his way through the exit doors, eyes falling upon the star-laden sky - each one a seperate beam of light that shone down on the streets of Cookeville tonight. And he knew, that somewhere up there, as he walked home - that one of those stars was him, and that one of those stars was for him - shining down and endless plethora of light down on him in great amounts. He knew that he was going to make a difference in the world, he was going to make a mark and he was going to fulfill the dreams that his sensei never could.
He was going to fulfill all of his dreams - no more hesitation. No more self-doubt or misery. This is it, Galen. Time to prove yourself. You've only got one shot.
Waking The Demon
Galen Ronan's taped fists flew incessantly into the bag, causing it to swing and sway in the impact - occasionally even moving to bump right back into Galen, who simply drew forward in a 'clinch'-like motion to shove it back, continuing his never-ending assault on it. Every single blow felt like one of revenge - one more powerful than he had ever thrown. One thrown of hatred, disgust and rage at everything around him - furious assault on the black, sewn-up large pillow-like thing. It was clearly one aged from years of abuse - abuse very similar to the kind Galen was throwing right now with each time the white tape surrounding his fist and wrist smacked into it.
The gym around him was almost completely devoid of other life, minus a few staff workers going around fixing up various items in different corners, straightening treadmills and fixing ring-ropes - it was early morning, judging by the vaguely red sun and sky that flowed through the windows and skylights. The chain that connected the bag that Galen asasulted to the ceiling rattled, clinked and shook without a moment of rest - a neverending background to the other actions that occured throughout the gym area. It was almost rhyhmic, in a sense - Galen's determined focus causing a bit of a pattern to it. As it swung, one might think that he was thinking about his match - he was thinking about what he was going to do to those guys. In a way, he was - he was thinking exactly that.
But in truth, it was something else entirely. All he could imagine that punching bag being was his father, his face bloodied with every hit, his rolls of fat providing almost no resistance to the stone-cold energy of vengeance that poured through Galen's veins - circulating through him, pouring hate into every part of him - raw hatred for his father, raw hatred for everything around him. Righteous fury pumped through him in time with his heart, and he knew that inside of him was Pandora's box - and it was waiting to be opened, and it was just about the appropriate time to pull it open and scream the names of his enemies.
He had the demons inside of him, the endless hatred - the street-fights he had gotten into when he was younger, splattering people's faces all over the pavement in cold, calculating manners - not out of hatred for them, but repressed hatred that he had to contain. The endless, bottomless and nameless feeling he had for Adam Abel - a rage that was cold, hateful and determined to simply take them down in any way possible, bypassing any code of honour that they may have previously had. That it all he could feel for Abel, and that was what he had every intention to do - he was going to wake up the demons that sat dormant inside of him and use them to climb the mountain. He was going to make all of Pride stare into the abyss of emotional wreckage and raw, pure fury that flowed through Galen all his life - and he was going to make sure that they knew that he was nowhere near the stage where he could be put down for a three-count, or forced to tap out, or made out to be a loser.
No, this was it. This was the time he had to pull the door ajar with his bare hands and walk through the fire that rested within - he had to walk through hell and survive while burning all the others that chose not to go with him alive. He had sacrificed so much to walk into this industry, there was no chance he was backing out now. He would release the demons - and then there would be no regret. No emotion other than this pure, unadultered and unmolested hate. The same contempt he had to hold back when his father beat him and his mother to near-death. The same hate he had do repress when the kids at his schoolyard shoved him around like some chewtoy - the very same he had when adults asked what was wrong with him, his dreams, his thoughts.
And all of that, this Sunday, would flow through him like a miasma - like wind through a tunnel. He was going to shake it all up with an upset victory - regardless of what he had to do to get that victory. If Adam Abel interfered? He was fucking welcome to, he'd just kill two birds with one stone. Christian Kane or Josh Eagles interfered to get Esix down? Go ahead and let him. Silence intereferes to knock down Paul Sant? He's fine and welcome to. Stu Cage comes on down to try and knock Obscene down a peg? Hell, he'd cheer for that. He was going to show the world that Galen had what it took to win, and would also make it damn clear that he was going to win at every occasion he possibly could.
It was time to show his shit - maybe even show off a bit, time to show that he could not only hang with but also knock down and out the best. Three count, submission, it didn't matter to him - he was going to prove that he could get up and shake anything off, that he could force anyone to beg for mercy - make anyone long for survival, plea to not be curb-stomped, pray to not be brought up into the Divination and dropped to the canvas like someone carelessly dropping a piece of meat. It was time to prove himself among the best of the best - people like Esix, who had beaten giants of the industry like they were nothing - and still held contempt for it. It was rather disgusting, really - he had complaints upon complaints about the way things ran, the way people were, yet did nothing to change it. He was the kind of people Galen hated most, and that was people that complained because they had the capabilities and facilities to complain rather than any actual valid thing to say.
But his thoughts went off that track for now - he had other things onhis mind than simply insulting his opponents in his own head, such as training his ass off. Leave the insults for the promos, the way he figured it - his knuckles actually bleeding from the relentless assault on the bag through every thought and motion. Sweat dripped down himself - soaking his thin, white t-shirt that he wore into the area for work-out purposes. He panted and gasped as he then let out one final roar, grappling at the bag and tugging it - enough to break the chain loose of the ceiling as he shoved the weighty back away from him, sending it tumbling onto the floor.
And behind him, came a slow, hesitant and almost sarcastic applause from an audience of one that watched the entire event. Galen reached down to tug his shirt over his head, revealing the musculature of his chest - and fangirls everywhere simultaneously didn't squee, first of all because Galen probably doesn't have any fangirls, and second of all he doesn't wear a shirt in matches anyway so it's nothing out of the ordinary. As he did so, Galen turned to see a skeleton crew of Alex Avice and a camera-man, who probably has a name too but that doesn't really matter at the moment. Galen's eyes formed a cool glare as he looked at the two, Alex slowly dropping his hands to his side as Galen brushed off his shoulders and chest of sweat, pulling a hand up to his mouth to start to bite at and pull off with his teeth the white tape surrounding his hands.
"Help you?"
A Brief Discussion About Respect
Alex quickly strolled over to Galen, holding the mic up to his own lips as he began to speak, the camera-man giving a slight nod at an apparently unseen signal. The smile on Avice's face was unmistakable - one of almost smugness, his usual superiority complex shining through.
"Hello, Kingdom of Pride! I'm Alex Avice, and this is rising star Galen Rona-..." Galen quickly gripped the microphone and pulled it away from Avice, Alex recoiling at the rather sudden movement. Galen placed a hand on Avice's forehead, pushing him back a bit onto the floor as he leaned down, tilting his head - that smug face echoing perfectly in Galen's as Avice's mysteriously went missing - Galen's rage apparently also causing him to grow both a bit of an ego and the courage to simply out-right attack or at least shove an interviewer of Kingdom of Pride - a clear, vicious mockery of Avice's repeated interuption of Galen's sentences and his interview.
"So you come in, and suddenly, you want Galen's opinion! Suddenly, Galen matters, and you're all buddy-buddy with him. Galen attacks Adam Abel, and suddenly everyone wants to know more about Galen, while a week ago, nobody wanted to hear Galen! Everyone wanted to hear Adam Abel's voice, everyone wanted to see him wrestle. Not a single damn person knew my name, and now they can't stop saying my name. Now they want to know what Galen has in store, what Galen thinks of what's going on, what Galen thinks about the war. Well, you don't think I've forgotten about you interupting my sentences, and the interview that I arranged for, that I paid for out of my own pocket, to go talk to that cocksucker Adam Abel, have you? Huh? No? Now get the fuck out of here!" Galen practically shouted at the top of his lungs, many people around the gym stopping and staring at the spectacle - the camera man beginning to follow Avice's lead as he proceeded to flee into any place that absolutely wasn't the gym. Galen tossed the mic down and slid his hands over his face, then stopping the camera-man by stepping forward and placing a hand over his chest.
"Hold it. I still got shit to say." The camera hesitated, reluctantly then turning to face the sweaty, shirtless Galen - clad only in his blue jeans and wrestling boots as he released his hair from the pony-tail it presently sat in, sending his shoulder-length blond hair tumbling about in several directioons - the exasperated, tired and adrenaline-filled Galen breathing heavily as the sweat continued to drip down over him. His lips parted and angled just enuogh to blow some stray locks of hair that accidentally acted as a fringe out of his eye as he then moved his hands up behind his head, falling back onto the wall and into a sitting position - camera quickly panning down to follow all of his motions.
"Now I'm gonna clear something up. I'm gonna clear up the question that everyone who watches Pride is asking - why did Galen Ronan, The Divine Chaos, attack Adam Abel twice in the same night? And it's rather simple, once you actually think about it from my perspective - which the jeering, public-school brainwashed fans haven't, because they're too stupid to think about anything but how much they want to bone the person next to them. Think about it like this: you're finally living out your dream of being a professional wrestler. You've just won a match, and have organized to be interviewed so you can get your name and your message out there. And in the middle of your planned speech, some egotistic man who needs all the spotlights on him to feel alive walks in and all but snatches the mic from me in order to spread his verbal shit all over the place. And me? I'm a nice guy, I can forgive that - I am relatively unknown, and hell, maybe he just thought Avice just needed some footage."
"But then he had to go in front of all the Pride fans and act like I'm a fucking dog, calling me out into the ring with him so he can shake my hand and talk about what a nice guy he is, sucking the fan's collective dicks just a little bit harder so he can get accepted when he doesn't goddamn deserve to be. Do you know how fucking humiliating that was? To be called out like I'm being pulled by my collar, being asked to sit, roll over and speak for the crowd? Do you know what it feels like to be asked to debase yourself for a false apology just so people can think, 'Wow, how cool a guy Abel is!'"
"It's bullshit. Everything Abel has told you, will tell and and is telling you - all of it is bullshit. All he wants is another chance. And let me ask you, Pride - how many chances have we given Abel? How many times have we said, 'C'mon Abel, c'mon, let's bring you in here and give you everything you want right from the start!' The fucker started higher on the card than me, got more screentime than me, got everything that I didn't have despite not deserving it. Me? I've gotten one chance so far and I haven't blown it. I don't have any fans, I don't have a wife, I don't have hot people making signs for me. I don't have a manager, or a sister for that matter. So why is it that this bum that we give so many shots at fame, who has tossed them all aside so far, is cheered for, adored and loved by so many?"
"Why does he get all the respect when he hasn't done a damn thing to deserve it? I'll tell you why. Because people are desperate to cling to a showboater, to a has-been, because they can't take unfamiliarity. They can't take someone else taking the spot of someone who deserves it less. So Kurt Noble wants me to not murder this guy? Fine. I won't... not until The Knighting, at least. At which point everything changes... all of it changes."
"But back to the topic of respect. I have been thrown dirt on for my entire career so far - insulted by my opponents, called a 'nobody,' the listings for the card getting my last name spelled wrong, had my interviews interupted and being shoved into last-minute opening matches while much less deserving but much more familiar people have occupied the spots that are higher on the card. So I come out and decide to change that up, and what do you know? I assault everyone's fan favorite and everyone wants to know who I am, what my history is, why I'm doing what I'm doing. And all of a sudden, what do you know, I'm up there in the main event - just two weeks in the industry and I'm brought up for a big, old fashioned main event match. And who would've imagined? Rather than Adam Abel getting to showboat up at the top, he's in the middle-card while I, the man who is the next Eddie Nash, get to stay on top of the card where I belong."
"So it seems the bookers finally realized that I, unlike many in this industry, am not a joke - I don't fuck around. And when it comes down to it, Adam Abel is. He may have been a world champion once, but now he's washed-up. He's a nobody. He's a nothing. And when I, at The Knighting, put him on the shelf, we're going to see exactly who it is that really deserves to be at the top here in Kingdom of Pride." Galen looked up towards the camera with a low half-sigh, pursing his lips as he raised a hand up to wipe some sweat from his brow, the intesne speech seeming to tire him out just as much as his training - but he simply continued on, ready to continue speaking for as long as he still had a point to make or until his lungs gave out.
"But I suppose I should actually get concerned about the people in my match, hm? Well, let's get on that topic than."
Paul Sant & Obscene
"Maybe it's just me noticing this, but it seems like I'm contractually obliged to have at least one religious fucknut in every match I'm in. First, Dustin Douglas, then Morgan Jones, and now Paul Sant. All of whom hang around in churches, praying to whatever God or some bullshit like that to deliver them from touching small children. The odd thing being that Paul Sant is the least religious, yet seems to hang around Dustin Douglas an awful damn lot. I'm starting to think it's really a gay sex cult, Morgan Jones on top of Paul Sant while Dustin Douglas..." He cuts himself off, faking a gag and brushing a hand over his face with a low chuckle, shaking his head and giving a momentary pause, moistening his cracked and chapped lips with a mixture of saliva and sweat before speaking once more.
"Paul Sant is coming off a win, but in the same sense, he's coming off quite a loss given the beating that his friend Dusty was given - and the fact that he was recently declared the next target of Silence, who is quite famous for rather easily stomping and destroying anyone who he so chooses. Considering that, I think this should be quite an interesting match to have for that alone, considering the potential interference with such a destructive force."
"As for my actual thoughts about Paul Sant losing or winning this match, he's practically useless in this case - considering the pure caliber of the other stars that are in this match and aren't complete religious fucktards. So Paul Sant, here's my message to you: Don't even bother showing up to the fuckin' arena. Because you're gonna be saving yourself a beating from Silence and you're gonna be saving yourself another beating from the other people in this match. Sounds nice, doesn't it? Yeah. You should just quit Pride while you're ahead, go home to your slut girlfriend and get your dick sucked before Silence tears it right the fuck off. Apply for a job at McDonalds and live the rest of your life in the same goddamn mediocrity you get from professional wrestling. You don't belong in the main event, buddy, and it's showing... because you're gonna crack, and when you do, we're gonna be right there to kick your ass six ways to Sunday."
Galen gave a bit of a smirk, waving a hand about as he reached into a pocket of his jeans pants, pulling out a packet of cigs and a lighter - quickly lighting one and popping it into his mouth, replacing the objects into his pocket and taking a long drag, letting the smoke flow from his mouth before he shuffles into the ground, mentally counting something up it would appear. "And my next opponent happens to be Obscene. The man who was recently very close to being fired along with Stu Cage... and the two of them seem to have recently taken up quite a bit of hatred for eachother, constantly spilling blood and making a mess of the locker room areas. Again - that's prompting quite an interesting idea of how this match might go, what with Stu Cage wanting to prove his damndest that he belongs in this company."
"Of course, as for Obscene as a competitor, I do respect him slightly more. As is Paul Sant, he's coming off a win - this time against the rookie Chris Williams. Chris Williams has been making waves, so I suppose he's similar to me in that manner. But unlike me, Chris Williams has lost - and I have absolutely no intention, nor will I, lose to Obscene. Just not gonna happen no matter how bad Obscene cheats - and Obscene? I recommend you do show up. First of all, to make sure you're not fired, and second of all, to flatten out Stu Cage when he does probably show up and attempt to kick the shit out of you."
Galen slowly sat up and coughed into his hand, shuffling about - clearly there was some more thoughts he had to express. Someone who had the basic reasoning of a third grader could probably assume it was about the last person in the match that he had, as of yet, left mostly if not entirely unmentioned - Esix Cordero. The big star of the match - the one that everyone was going to place their bets on, the one that was the reasonable choice. All signs pointed to Esix winning this one, especially considernig that all the people that might want to interfere would, in all likelihood, be too busy with their own matches or simply faffing about, working out, or whatever else - all of the others had someone that might step in, in an attempt to force a loss for them. Along with that, Esix was a brutal competitor - tiring out his opponents quickly and being constantly on the attack. There would be some natural difficulty in getting him down, but he would work his ass off - and simply by the look in his eyes, Galen didn't expect a loss.
Confidence emanated from his entire being as he slowly stood, taking a long drag of the cigarette and letting it flow from his mouth in a smooth breath - eyes falling up into the camera, staring into it as if delivering a message directly someone on the other side of it. His voice lost any jovial tone he might have had as he spoke now, a calm, collected and monotone voice as he rested the cigarette between two of his fingers. There was no smirk, no grin, nothing - just a stony expression that gazed into the camera, a thousand mile stare.
"But let's get down to brass tacks. Esix Cordero."
And Last, But Not Least...
The words were intoned almost hauntingly - as if saying them was bringing a plague upon both houses, like it was a forbidden word to mention. And yet the stony expression remained - no fear, just the occasional bubble of raw hatred finding it's way to the surface. His voice slowly went towards a threatening tone, hissing and angry - but still maintaing an odd monotone manner. It was undefinable, the emotions that rested within him at this very moment - but they were strong, and they were there most definitely.
"I've been waiting for a match with a man of your caliber, Esix Cordero. Unfortunately, Esix, I didn't get a man of your caliber - instead, I got you. I got a disrespectful, whiny little bitch who hates wrestling yet continues to do it so he can have the fame, the fortune, the titles. Not because he enjoys it, not even because he has an unhealthy obsession with victory like myself. He's in it because his father 'made' him do it, so he whines constantly about how he doesn't respect wrestling, he hates it. Basically, he's the rich kid who whines about his problems."
"And you know what? Fuck you, Esix. You verbally shit upon every achievement all of the people in KoP have ever made and at the same time attempt to climb the ranks? What the fuck is that? You say that we're not worthy, that we're stupid professional wrestlers only concerned with pride and that we deserve to die, in the ring? Well guess what. I think it would be a goddamn honour to die in the ring, Esix. I think it would be a goddamn honour to die doing what I love, in a place that has history and prestige - not for the fucking money and fame. Because unlike you, I wasn't born into a life like this - I wasn't born being able to pursue what most kids would consider a dream. If anything, in Pride, I have the most goddamn right to complain - not you. Because my bones are aching, my back is breaking, I lost my fiancee and will probably never see my kid, all because I wanted this dream and got this dream."
"It was my dream to become a professional wrestler, Esix. I wanted to do this for my whole goddamn life. And then you waltz in on your high horse and talk about how professional wrestling isn't shit and that it sucks - all because you were born into it rather than having to climb your way up from the bottom of the mountain. You could've gone anywhere and done anything you wanted from the start, and you fucking hate your father for that - I don't know why."
"Speaking of which, we are similar in that respect - we both hate our fathers. But that's as far as the similarity goes, because the reason you hate your father is because you're a whiny, ingrateful prick who can't appreciate your father wanting to do something good by getting you into a dream career that will get you more than you ever needed, with the only downside being some pain. I hate my career because he regularly beat me within an inch of my life and told me I was shit and that I wouldn't amount to anything in my life. Which sounds more reasonable to you?"
"Exactly. But don't get me wrong - I'm not making myself out to be completely a loser in life. I just know that I got here by hard work, and you got here from being a spoiled, rotten brat who's got absolutely nothing going for him compared to me. Face it, Esix. This is it, this is the be-all end-all for you. Me. Because I'm going to prove that you don't belong at the top of the card with a guy like me. You belong down in the fucking pits with people like Mikey Dega and Dusty Douglas for all that you haven't done for the industry."
"And you know what? You know what the fucking pathetic part is? You're better than half the goddamn people here, and you're still nothing but a loser. You're going to be crying, sobbing and wanting your daddy and mommy to crawl back to when I'm through with you, Esix. Because all throughout this match - and you better listen here, 'cause this is the most important part. Throughout this entire match, I won't be imagining facing Esix Cordero. Because there's someone I hate much more than you - and that's Adam Abel. And through this entire match, every punch you take, every time you get hit, kicked and slammed into the ground - just keep in mind that's all the hate I have for Adam Abel being taken out on you. And that..."
"Is why I think I'm going to do you a favor this week. I could say I'm going to take you down a peg, but no - here's what I'm going to do for you. I've thought about this a lot - and I've decided it's the right thing to do. I'm going to break your fucking spine so you can't walk - I'm going to take you out of the wrestling business forever, just so you don't have to whine and complain about how much you hate it. And so my eardrums don't have to be pierced by your shrill, teenage 'my daddy never loved me and my mommy didn't hug me enough' bullshit you're constantly spouting from that prettyboy face of yours."
"So get ready, Esix. Get ready, Paul. Get ready, Obscene. Because I can guarantee you, while we're all stepping into that ring in our freshest shape, doing the hardest work we've ever done in a long, long time... not one of us is gonna walk out in that shape. And maybe some of us won't be walking out at all. So say what you gotta say, make your peace with the fans and whatever stupid fucking god you believe in - 'cause if you don't, there's gonna be a lot of things you wish you would've said before I put you out of the businses."
Galen slowly straightened up, taking one last drag of the cigarette before chucking it rather carelessly at the camera, reaching one booted foot forward and stomping it out - moving away as the camera slowly faded to black, leaving the viewer alone to contemplate what they had just heard and seen. No-one could be quite sure of what he was really planning - no one but himself. No one could say if he meant what he said about paralyzing Esix - but the only thing that was sure is that he wasn't joking when he said he was going to give it his all, that he was going to make damn sure he was going to win this one.
This was his shot - his chance to make a big splash in the industry. And just as his fiancee hadn't, just as Dustin Douglas and Mikey Dega hadn't, just like Morgan Jones hadn't, just as Adam Abel hadn't, nothing was going to get in the way of him earning respect and gaining victory after victory in this godforsaken, fickle industry.
Nothing.
RP #3
Paul Sant vs. Obscene vs. Galen Ronan vs. Esix Cordero
“I seldom end up where I wanted to go, but almost always end up where I need to be.” ~ Douglas Adams
The Moment You're Living For
It felt like a goddamn train had hit Galen when he saw the card. At first, he was confused - no Galen on the opening card? Odd. They must have not booked him to allow him some time off before his big match against the bastard Abel. And then, out of curiosity, he scrolled down to check out the other matches. His eyes widened as he saw the main event, leaning back as if recoiling from a shot. And then he couldn't help but allow his lips to form that casual little smirk of his - main event, baby. The bookers had finally seen some sense and put the star power where he belonged - in the leagues of people like Esix Cordero. Admittedly, it was odd they had placed him with Paul Sant and Obscene as well - - perhaps this was some kind of 'prove yourself by beating the big star that beat Josh Eagles' match-up.
Or maybe it was just a general mistake - and even if it was the previously mentioned type of match-up, it was definitely a mistake to put them anywhere near both Galen Ronan and Esix Cordero, at least in Galen's mind. He had every thought of destroying all those in the ring, leaving their blood splattered about the front row as they didn't know what to think, to cheer or boo. Unsure of what they should do know that Galen dominated and controlled all of those in the ring, made them his bitch for as long as that match lasted. He was going to make sure that the bookers realized that this was far from a mistake - he belonged here, in the main event - the first ever main event match in his career was going to be a hard-fought, practically lethal one for all those involved if he had anything to do with it.
Thoughts about possibilties and theoreticals raced damn near constantly through his brain as he sat back in the computer chair, gripping his blonde, scraggly hair back into a pony-tail as he tapped the power button and stood up, letting a sigh part his lips as he - still in wrestling attire from going out to beat Adam Abel down - stood and moved back to the locker room with slow, determined and powerful steps - eyes tracing along each edge, contour and angle of the darkened, spacious and empty area. All was quiet in the locker room, for it was abandoned - not a single soul remained besides him in the Cookeville Community Center. It was cleared out, and odd in that way.
Eventually he found his way to his locker in the overall mess of them - he always got lost in the seemingly endless and repeating rows of same-y lockers. His fingers found their way to the lock, twirling in his combination and tugging the lock down, opening the door and pulling out his normal or 'street' clothes - work-out zip-up sweater, pair of blue jeans and sneakers. Unlacing his boots, he stepped out of them and let his mind flow to the various things occuring as of late. A female named Aurelia was recruited as of late - he thought about this and decided he must make an attempt to find more information about that and more specifically, her - especially considering the fact that she was facing a person he had beat in his debut match in Kingdom of Pride. He wondered to himself whether or not that was worthy of starting a conversation over.
Eventually, his brain found itself to thoughts that were considerably more like Galen's norm to have as he finished pulling on the rest of his normal clothing - such as the obvious self-argument about how he was already thinking about another woman when he still hadn't quite gotten over Roxy. His pregnant ex-fiancee he had left so he could take part in Kingdom of Pride and the other various wrestling federations he had to be constantly touring for. It was a difficult thing to do, to break up with her on such short notice, to leave her at home - and he stil wasn't over her. He would still think about her at night, still wish there was someone - not just anyone, but her, lying next to him.
Which is why it surprised him most he was already having thoughts about another woman next to him - despite not knowing anything about her other than hearing her name and catching a quick glimpse of her as Sterling was touring her about the building, where various men (such as John Parker) flexed their muscles, attempted to get numbers and were generally, overall brushed off. He shrugged and pushed open the door to the locker rooms, wandering absently down the halls - a man lost in thought, in careful consideration of everything that had happened and was going to happen in the near future.
He snorted just a bit as he walked past the various private locker rooms - names appearing on them such as Christian Kane. Esix Cordero. Josh Eagles. Kid Flanagan. These people were respected in the industry and not a single damn one of them came anywhere close to deserving it in his eyes. Christian Kane won the title on an interference from Tic Tic, Esix Cordero was an ingrate that was going to be proven nothing but a misfit and a loser after their match - Josh Eagles was a whiny false-hero who couldn't hold on to a title to save his life and was, all in all, a loser. And Kid Flanagan was more of a punch-line than the people he had beaten in the match he had when he first entered the industry - Mikey Dega, who he had knocked down time and time again, and Dustin Douglas, who he had forced to tap out in the center of the ring - just to prove how 'holy' he really was, just to prove how much of a 'nobody' Galen was, just to crush his thoughts of egotism. Above all, just to prove how much Galen Ronan could accomplish with the right timing and attitude.
In all these myriad thoughts, in all the plethora of reactions and memories pouring through his brain like a waterfall, one thing never crossed his mind. Defeat. Loss. The only thing that passed through his mind was success - and the plan he had. He had no thoughts of 'what if', he didn't try to determine the odds of winning or losing like he was Johnny Noble. All he knew was that he would eventually grasp victory by the throat and make it his bitch - like he was used to, like he always did. And even through that, he had a plan.
Not a plan for the fight, of course not - he knew well from experience that attempting to plan a fight, to attempt to strategize past a couple of moves would only end in failure, being stomped down on the street, bloody and bruised. Fights were not like books, or movies - you couldn't predict every single move that was going to happen and you had to go on reaction and instinct alone. Unless you, of course, wanted to end up on the floor bleeding and useless, like a masochistic fucker - but in his mind, he'd rather leave that for the bondage clubs than the wrestling ring.
No, no, he planned ahead. He planned for the future of him - the future of KoP, the future of the war that was going, of his entire career. He knew what he was going to do - regardless of what ridicoulous obstacles got in his way - no Flanagan, Eagles, Cordero or Parker was going to get in his way as he climbed to the top by force. And what would he do when he got to the top, when he had the Valiant championship and had Pride on it's knees, begging apology and all wanting to back him in every movement he made, a unified worship of him?
Why, he was going to walk. He was going to walk out on Kingdom of Pride to let them all know that it was far too late to apologize, it was too late to say 'we're sorry, and you were right.' He was going to let them know that they shouldn't have made the same mistake that his father made, that Adam Abel made, that the entire world made from the second he was born. They shouldn't have made the mistake of disrespecting him from the start - because he did not take well to disrespect, as he had proved quite excellently in the previous weeks.
And that was it - that was all he could think about as he pushed his way through the exit doors, eyes falling upon the star-laden sky - each one a seperate beam of light that shone down on the streets of Cookeville tonight. And he knew, that somewhere up there, as he walked home - that one of those stars was him, and that one of those stars was for him - shining down and endless plethora of light down on him in great amounts. He knew that he was going to make a difference in the world, he was going to make a mark and he was going to fulfill the dreams that his sensei never could.
He was going to fulfill all of his dreams - no more hesitation. No more self-doubt or misery. This is it, Galen. Time to prove yourself. You've only got one shot.
Waking The Demon
Galen Ronan's taped fists flew incessantly into the bag, causing it to swing and sway in the impact - occasionally even moving to bump right back into Galen, who simply drew forward in a 'clinch'-like motion to shove it back, continuing his never-ending assault on it. Every single blow felt like one of revenge - one more powerful than he had ever thrown. One thrown of hatred, disgust and rage at everything around him - furious assault on the black, sewn-up large pillow-like thing. It was clearly one aged from years of abuse - abuse very similar to the kind Galen was throwing right now with each time the white tape surrounding his fist and wrist smacked into it.
The gym around him was almost completely devoid of other life, minus a few staff workers going around fixing up various items in different corners, straightening treadmills and fixing ring-ropes - it was early morning, judging by the vaguely red sun and sky that flowed through the windows and skylights. The chain that connected the bag that Galen asasulted to the ceiling rattled, clinked and shook without a moment of rest - a neverending background to the other actions that occured throughout the gym area. It was almost rhyhmic, in a sense - Galen's determined focus causing a bit of a pattern to it. As it swung, one might think that he was thinking about his match - he was thinking about what he was going to do to those guys. In a way, he was - he was thinking exactly that.
But in truth, it was something else entirely. All he could imagine that punching bag being was his father, his face bloodied with every hit, his rolls of fat providing almost no resistance to the stone-cold energy of vengeance that poured through Galen's veins - circulating through him, pouring hate into every part of him - raw hatred for his father, raw hatred for everything around him. Righteous fury pumped through him in time with his heart, and he knew that inside of him was Pandora's box - and it was waiting to be opened, and it was just about the appropriate time to pull it open and scream the names of his enemies.
He had the demons inside of him, the endless hatred - the street-fights he had gotten into when he was younger, splattering people's faces all over the pavement in cold, calculating manners - not out of hatred for them, but repressed hatred that he had to contain. The endless, bottomless and nameless feeling he had for Adam Abel - a rage that was cold, hateful and determined to simply take them down in any way possible, bypassing any code of honour that they may have previously had. That it all he could feel for Abel, and that was what he had every intention to do - he was going to wake up the demons that sat dormant inside of him and use them to climb the mountain. He was going to make all of Pride stare into the abyss of emotional wreckage and raw, pure fury that flowed through Galen all his life - and he was going to make sure that they knew that he was nowhere near the stage where he could be put down for a three-count, or forced to tap out, or made out to be a loser.
No, this was it. This was the time he had to pull the door ajar with his bare hands and walk through the fire that rested within - he had to walk through hell and survive while burning all the others that chose not to go with him alive. He had sacrificed so much to walk into this industry, there was no chance he was backing out now. He would release the demons - and then there would be no regret. No emotion other than this pure, unadultered and unmolested hate. The same contempt he had to hold back when his father beat him and his mother to near-death. The same hate he had do repress when the kids at his schoolyard shoved him around like some chewtoy - the very same he had when adults asked what was wrong with him, his dreams, his thoughts.
And all of that, this Sunday, would flow through him like a miasma - like wind through a tunnel. He was going to shake it all up with an upset victory - regardless of what he had to do to get that victory. If Adam Abel interfered? He was fucking welcome to, he'd just kill two birds with one stone. Christian Kane or Josh Eagles interfered to get Esix down? Go ahead and let him. Silence intereferes to knock down Paul Sant? He's fine and welcome to. Stu Cage comes on down to try and knock Obscene down a peg? Hell, he'd cheer for that. He was going to show the world that Galen had what it took to win, and would also make it damn clear that he was going to win at every occasion he possibly could.
It was time to show his shit - maybe even show off a bit, time to show that he could not only hang with but also knock down and out the best. Three count, submission, it didn't matter to him - he was going to prove that he could get up and shake anything off, that he could force anyone to beg for mercy - make anyone long for survival, plea to not be curb-stomped, pray to not be brought up into the Divination and dropped to the canvas like someone carelessly dropping a piece of meat. It was time to prove himself among the best of the best - people like Esix, who had beaten giants of the industry like they were nothing - and still held contempt for it. It was rather disgusting, really - he had complaints upon complaints about the way things ran, the way people were, yet did nothing to change it. He was the kind of people Galen hated most, and that was people that complained because they had the capabilities and facilities to complain rather than any actual valid thing to say.
But his thoughts went off that track for now - he had other things onhis mind than simply insulting his opponents in his own head, such as training his ass off. Leave the insults for the promos, the way he figured it - his knuckles actually bleeding from the relentless assault on the bag through every thought and motion. Sweat dripped down himself - soaking his thin, white t-shirt that he wore into the area for work-out purposes. He panted and gasped as he then let out one final roar, grappling at the bag and tugging it - enough to break the chain loose of the ceiling as he shoved the weighty back away from him, sending it tumbling onto the floor.
And behind him, came a slow, hesitant and almost sarcastic applause from an audience of one that watched the entire event. Galen reached down to tug his shirt over his head, revealing the musculature of his chest - and fangirls everywhere simultaneously didn't squee, first of all because Galen probably doesn't have any fangirls, and second of all he doesn't wear a shirt in matches anyway so it's nothing out of the ordinary. As he did so, Galen turned to see a skeleton crew of Alex Avice and a camera-man, who probably has a name too but that doesn't really matter at the moment. Galen's eyes formed a cool glare as he looked at the two, Alex slowly dropping his hands to his side as Galen brushed off his shoulders and chest of sweat, pulling a hand up to his mouth to start to bite at and pull off with his teeth the white tape surrounding his hands.
"Help you?"
A Brief Discussion About Respect
Alex quickly strolled over to Galen, holding the mic up to his own lips as he began to speak, the camera-man giving a slight nod at an apparently unseen signal. The smile on Avice's face was unmistakable - one of almost smugness, his usual superiority complex shining through.
"Hello, Kingdom of Pride! I'm Alex Avice, and this is rising star Galen Rona-..." Galen quickly gripped the microphone and pulled it away from Avice, Alex recoiling at the rather sudden movement. Galen placed a hand on Avice's forehead, pushing him back a bit onto the floor as he leaned down, tilting his head - that smug face echoing perfectly in Galen's as Avice's mysteriously went missing - Galen's rage apparently also causing him to grow both a bit of an ego and the courage to simply out-right attack or at least shove an interviewer of Kingdom of Pride - a clear, vicious mockery of Avice's repeated interuption of Galen's sentences and his interview.
"So you come in, and suddenly, you want Galen's opinion! Suddenly, Galen matters, and you're all buddy-buddy with him. Galen attacks Adam Abel, and suddenly everyone wants to know more about Galen, while a week ago, nobody wanted to hear Galen! Everyone wanted to hear Adam Abel's voice, everyone wanted to see him wrestle. Not a single damn person knew my name, and now they can't stop saying my name. Now they want to know what Galen has in store, what Galen thinks of what's going on, what Galen thinks about the war. Well, you don't think I've forgotten about you interupting my sentences, and the interview that I arranged for, that I paid for out of my own pocket, to go talk to that cocksucker Adam Abel, have you? Huh? No? Now get the fuck out of here!" Galen practically shouted at the top of his lungs, many people around the gym stopping and staring at the spectacle - the camera man beginning to follow Avice's lead as he proceeded to flee into any place that absolutely wasn't the gym. Galen tossed the mic down and slid his hands over his face, then stopping the camera-man by stepping forward and placing a hand over his chest.
"Hold it. I still got shit to say." The camera hesitated, reluctantly then turning to face the sweaty, shirtless Galen - clad only in his blue jeans and wrestling boots as he released his hair from the pony-tail it presently sat in, sending his shoulder-length blond hair tumbling about in several directioons - the exasperated, tired and adrenaline-filled Galen breathing heavily as the sweat continued to drip down over him. His lips parted and angled just enuogh to blow some stray locks of hair that accidentally acted as a fringe out of his eye as he then moved his hands up behind his head, falling back onto the wall and into a sitting position - camera quickly panning down to follow all of his motions.
"Now I'm gonna clear something up. I'm gonna clear up the question that everyone who watches Pride is asking - why did Galen Ronan, The Divine Chaos, attack Adam Abel twice in the same night? And it's rather simple, once you actually think about it from my perspective - which the jeering, public-school brainwashed fans haven't, because they're too stupid to think about anything but how much they want to bone the person next to them. Think about it like this: you're finally living out your dream of being a professional wrestler. You've just won a match, and have organized to be interviewed so you can get your name and your message out there. And in the middle of your planned speech, some egotistic man who needs all the spotlights on him to feel alive walks in and all but snatches the mic from me in order to spread his verbal shit all over the place. And me? I'm a nice guy, I can forgive that - I am relatively unknown, and hell, maybe he just thought Avice just needed some footage."
"But then he had to go in front of all the Pride fans and act like I'm a fucking dog, calling me out into the ring with him so he can shake my hand and talk about what a nice guy he is, sucking the fan's collective dicks just a little bit harder so he can get accepted when he doesn't goddamn deserve to be. Do you know how fucking humiliating that was? To be called out like I'm being pulled by my collar, being asked to sit, roll over and speak for the crowd? Do you know what it feels like to be asked to debase yourself for a false apology just so people can think, 'Wow, how cool a guy Abel is!'"
"It's bullshit. Everything Abel has told you, will tell and and is telling you - all of it is bullshit. All he wants is another chance. And let me ask you, Pride - how many chances have we given Abel? How many times have we said, 'C'mon Abel, c'mon, let's bring you in here and give you everything you want right from the start!' The fucker started higher on the card than me, got more screentime than me, got everything that I didn't have despite not deserving it. Me? I've gotten one chance so far and I haven't blown it. I don't have any fans, I don't have a wife, I don't have hot people making signs for me. I don't have a manager, or a sister for that matter. So why is it that this bum that we give so many shots at fame, who has tossed them all aside so far, is cheered for, adored and loved by so many?"
"Why does he get all the respect when he hasn't done a damn thing to deserve it? I'll tell you why. Because people are desperate to cling to a showboater, to a has-been, because they can't take unfamiliarity. They can't take someone else taking the spot of someone who deserves it less. So Kurt Noble wants me to not murder this guy? Fine. I won't... not until The Knighting, at least. At which point everything changes... all of it changes."
"But back to the topic of respect. I have been thrown dirt on for my entire career so far - insulted by my opponents, called a 'nobody,' the listings for the card getting my last name spelled wrong, had my interviews interupted and being shoved into last-minute opening matches while much less deserving but much more familiar people have occupied the spots that are higher on the card. So I come out and decide to change that up, and what do you know? I assault everyone's fan favorite and everyone wants to know who I am, what my history is, why I'm doing what I'm doing. And all of a sudden, what do you know, I'm up there in the main event - just two weeks in the industry and I'm brought up for a big, old fashioned main event match. And who would've imagined? Rather than Adam Abel getting to showboat up at the top, he's in the middle-card while I, the man who is the next Eddie Nash, get to stay on top of the card where I belong."
"So it seems the bookers finally realized that I, unlike many in this industry, am not a joke - I don't fuck around. And when it comes down to it, Adam Abel is. He may have been a world champion once, but now he's washed-up. He's a nobody. He's a nothing. And when I, at The Knighting, put him on the shelf, we're going to see exactly who it is that really deserves to be at the top here in Kingdom of Pride." Galen looked up towards the camera with a low half-sigh, pursing his lips as he raised a hand up to wipe some sweat from his brow, the intesne speech seeming to tire him out just as much as his training - but he simply continued on, ready to continue speaking for as long as he still had a point to make or until his lungs gave out.
"But I suppose I should actually get concerned about the people in my match, hm? Well, let's get on that topic than."
Paul Sant & Obscene
"Maybe it's just me noticing this, but it seems like I'm contractually obliged to have at least one religious fucknut in every match I'm in. First, Dustin Douglas, then Morgan Jones, and now Paul Sant. All of whom hang around in churches, praying to whatever God or some bullshit like that to deliver them from touching small children. The odd thing being that Paul Sant is the least religious, yet seems to hang around Dustin Douglas an awful damn lot. I'm starting to think it's really a gay sex cult, Morgan Jones on top of Paul Sant while Dustin Douglas..." He cuts himself off, faking a gag and brushing a hand over his face with a low chuckle, shaking his head and giving a momentary pause, moistening his cracked and chapped lips with a mixture of saliva and sweat before speaking once more.
"Paul Sant is coming off a win, but in the same sense, he's coming off quite a loss given the beating that his friend Dusty was given - and the fact that he was recently declared the next target of Silence, who is quite famous for rather easily stomping and destroying anyone who he so chooses. Considering that, I think this should be quite an interesting match to have for that alone, considering the potential interference with such a destructive force."
"As for my actual thoughts about Paul Sant losing or winning this match, he's practically useless in this case - considering the pure caliber of the other stars that are in this match and aren't complete religious fucktards. So Paul Sant, here's my message to you: Don't even bother showing up to the fuckin' arena. Because you're gonna be saving yourself a beating from Silence and you're gonna be saving yourself another beating from the other people in this match. Sounds nice, doesn't it? Yeah. You should just quit Pride while you're ahead, go home to your slut girlfriend and get your dick sucked before Silence tears it right the fuck off. Apply for a job at McDonalds and live the rest of your life in the same goddamn mediocrity you get from professional wrestling. You don't belong in the main event, buddy, and it's showing... because you're gonna crack, and when you do, we're gonna be right there to kick your ass six ways to Sunday."
Galen gave a bit of a smirk, waving a hand about as he reached into a pocket of his jeans pants, pulling out a packet of cigs and a lighter - quickly lighting one and popping it into his mouth, replacing the objects into his pocket and taking a long drag, letting the smoke flow from his mouth before he shuffles into the ground, mentally counting something up it would appear. "And my next opponent happens to be Obscene. The man who was recently very close to being fired along with Stu Cage... and the two of them seem to have recently taken up quite a bit of hatred for eachother, constantly spilling blood and making a mess of the locker room areas. Again - that's prompting quite an interesting idea of how this match might go, what with Stu Cage wanting to prove his damndest that he belongs in this company."
"Of course, as for Obscene as a competitor, I do respect him slightly more. As is Paul Sant, he's coming off a win - this time against the rookie Chris Williams. Chris Williams has been making waves, so I suppose he's similar to me in that manner. But unlike me, Chris Williams has lost - and I have absolutely no intention, nor will I, lose to Obscene. Just not gonna happen no matter how bad Obscene cheats - and Obscene? I recommend you do show up. First of all, to make sure you're not fired, and second of all, to flatten out Stu Cage when he does probably show up and attempt to kick the shit out of you."
Galen slowly sat up and coughed into his hand, shuffling about - clearly there was some more thoughts he had to express. Someone who had the basic reasoning of a third grader could probably assume it was about the last person in the match that he had, as of yet, left mostly if not entirely unmentioned - Esix Cordero. The big star of the match - the one that everyone was going to place their bets on, the one that was the reasonable choice. All signs pointed to Esix winning this one, especially considernig that all the people that might want to interfere would, in all likelihood, be too busy with their own matches or simply faffing about, working out, or whatever else - all of the others had someone that might step in, in an attempt to force a loss for them. Along with that, Esix was a brutal competitor - tiring out his opponents quickly and being constantly on the attack. There would be some natural difficulty in getting him down, but he would work his ass off - and simply by the look in his eyes, Galen didn't expect a loss.
Confidence emanated from his entire being as he slowly stood, taking a long drag of the cigarette and letting it flow from his mouth in a smooth breath - eyes falling up into the camera, staring into it as if delivering a message directly someone on the other side of it. His voice lost any jovial tone he might have had as he spoke now, a calm, collected and monotone voice as he rested the cigarette between two of his fingers. There was no smirk, no grin, nothing - just a stony expression that gazed into the camera, a thousand mile stare.
"But let's get down to brass tacks. Esix Cordero."
And Last, But Not Least...
The words were intoned almost hauntingly - as if saying them was bringing a plague upon both houses, like it was a forbidden word to mention. And yet the stony expression remained - no fear, just the occasional bubble of raw hatred finding it's way to the surface. His voice slowly went towards a threatening tone, hissing and angry - but still maintaing an odd monotone manner. It was undefinable, the emotions that rested within him at this very moment - but they were strong, and they were there most definitely.
"I've been waiting for a match with a man of your caliber, Esix Cordero. Unfortunately, Esix, I didn't get a man of your caliber - instead, I got you. I got a disrespectful, whiny little bitch who hates wrestling yet continues to do it so he can have the fame, the fortune, the titles. Not because he enjoys it, not even because he has an unhealthy obsession with victory like myself. He's in it because his father 'made' him do it, so he whines constantly about how he doesn't respect wrestling, he hates it. Basically, he's the rich kid who whines about his problems."
"And you know what? Fuck you, Esix. You verbally shit upon every achievement all of the people in KoP have ever made and at the same time attempt to climb the ranks? What the fuck is that? You say that we're not worthy, that we're stupid professional wrestlers only concerned with pride and that we deserve to die, in the ring? Well guess what. I think it would be a goddamn honour to die in the ring, Esix. I think it would be a goddamn honour to die doing what I love, in a place that has history and prestige - not for the fucking money and fame. Because unlike you, I wasn't born into a life like this - I wasn't born being able to pursue what most kids would consider a dream. If anything, in Pride, I have the most goddamn right to complain - not you. Because my bones are aching, my back is breaking, I lost my fiancee and will probably never see my kid, all because I wanted this dream and got this dream."
"It was my dream to become a professional wrestler, Esix. I wanted to do this for my whole goddamn life. And then you waltz in on your high horse and talk about how professional wrestling isn't shit and that it sucks - all because you were born into it rather than having to climb your way up from the bottom of the mountain. You could've gone anywhere and done anything you wanted from the start, and you fucking hate your father for that - I don't know why."
"Speaking of which, we are similar in that respect - we both hate our fathers. But that's as far as the similarity goes, because the reason you hate your father is because you're a whiny, ingrateful prick who can't appreciate your father wanting to do something good by getting you into a dream career that will get you more than you ever needed, with the only downside being some pain. I hate my career because he regularly beat me within an inch of my life and told me I was shit and that I wouldn't amount to anything in my life. Which sounds more reasonable to you?"
"Exactly. But don't get me wrong - I'm not making myself out to be completely a loser in life. I just know that I got here by hard work, and you got here from being a spoiled, rotten brat who's got absolutely nothing going for him compared to me. Face it, Esix. This is it, this is the be-all end-all for you. Me. Because I'm going to prove that you don't belong at the top of the card with a guy like me. You belong down in the fucking pits with people like Mikey Dega and Dusty Douglas for all that you haven't done for the industry."
"And you know what? You know what the fucking pathetic part is? You're better than half the goddamn people here, and you're still nothing but a loser. You're going to be crying, sobbing and wanting your daddy and mommy to crawl back to when I'm through with you, Esix. Because all throughout this match - and you better listen here, 'cause this is the most important part. Throughout this entire match, I won't be imagining facing Esix Cordero. Because there's someone I hate much more than you - and that's Adam Abel. And through this entire match, every punch you take, every time you get hit, kicked and slammed into the ground - just keep in mind that's all the hate I have for Adam Abel being taken out on you. And that..."
"Is why I think I'm going to do you a favor this week. I could say I'm going to take you down a peg, but no - here's what I'm going to do for you. I've thought about this a lot - and I've decided it's the right thing to do. I'm going to break your fucking spine so you can't walk - I'm going to take you out of the wrestling business forever, just so you don't have to whine and complain about how much you hate it. And so my eardrums don't have to be pierced by your shrill, teenage 'my daddy never loved me and my mommy didn't hug me enough' bullshit you're constantly spouting from that prettyboy face of yours."
"So get ready, Esix. Get ready, Paul. Get ready, Obscene. Because I can guarantee you, while we're all stepping into that ring in our freshest shape, doing the hardest work we've ever done in a long, long time... not one of us is gonna walk out in that shape. And maybe some of us won't be walking out at all. So say what you gotta say, make your peace with the fans and whatever stupid fucking god you believe in - 'cause if you don't, there's gonna be a lot of things you wish you would've said before I put you out of the businses."
Galen slowly straightened up, taking one last drag of the cigarette before chucking it rather carelessly at the camera, reaching one booted foot forward and stomping it out - moving away as the camera slowly faded to black, leaving the viewer alone to contemplate what they had just heard and seen. No-one could be quite sure of what he was really planning - no one but himself. No one could say if he meant what he said about paralyzing Esix - but the only thing that was sure is that he wasn't joking when he said he was going to give it his all, that he was going to make damn sure he was going to win this one.
This was his shot - his chance to make a big splash in the industry. And just as his fiancee hadn't, just as Dustin Douglas and Mikey Dega hadn't, just like Morgan Jones hadn't, just as Adam Abel hadn't, nothing was going to get in the way of him earning respect and gaining victory after victory in this godforsaken, fickle industry.
Nothing.
