[Vendetta 1]The Butcher Vs Payne Fosters

[onlytrevorhere]

You Can beginning roleplaying for this match now.

-Trevor

 

[downfromhere]

Failure. It's a funny thing, by definition it's supposed to be bad, it's supposed to make the victim of it sad and cause him to pity himself. However, for many, due to purely unacceptable reasons, they try again, just to fail. Now, while Failure is supposedly always bad for one, it's usually great for another, one's failure is another man's accomplishment, so were the basis to which Fosters suffered twice in one night. He arose out of his bad sore and still slightly bloody, the gash above his left eyebrow probably shoulda been looked at, but mistakes should never been regretted, because then they become regrets and no one....No one likes regrets.

He stepped out of his bed and onto his wooden paneled bedroom floor and as he did he let out a loud howl of agony.

"Agghhh ****"

At that moment all he could wonder is, if he had stayed with the doctor just a little long, wouldn't he have gotten some pain pills? Fosters drove his fist into his bed's metal frame, which undoubtedly hurt seeing as he let out a shallow huff and limped his way to the bathroom. You see being as cool and bad-ass as Fosters has it's consequences, like not thinking. Because he didn't accept full help from the doctor, he was going to have to stitch the gash himself. He opened the mirror cabinet and pulled out a spindle of thing black thread and a overly size needle, he set them down and turned on the sink. As he waited for that water to warm up he did his best to gross himself out, playing with the gash, sticking his finger in it and rolling it around till blood drew.

"eeeeuuuck, ****ing gross, bloody ****ing gross" He grinned into the mirror, watching as the blood trickled down his face and into the sink. He pulled some rubbing alcohol and cotton balls from the first aid kit sitting on his toilet and began to clean the gash. Each soggy red cotton ball he formed, he threw in the toilet. Finally, it was time to do some sewing. He picked up the needle, threaded it and drove it right into his skin, He took his hands away and start stomping around

"**** **** **** **** ****ity ****ing ****er ****atash that ****ing hurt like **** god damn it son of a ***** MMMMMMMother****a."

He snickered at his own little outburst and went back to his sewing, with each new stitch a gasp followed. twelve stitches later he put the utensils away and flushed the toilet. He turned on the shower and stripped. He stepped in without hesitation and jumped out faster. The water was cold cause Mr.Brilliant didn't let it warm up, damn electric heating, so slow. As he readied for his second attempt into the shower he tested it first, nice and hot. He stepped in, one foot behind the other and closed the curtain. All of the sudden...

I'm singing in the rain
****in singing in the rain
What a glorious feeling
I'm happy again
I'm laughing at clouds
cause it's so god damn dark up above
The sun's in my heart
And I'm ready for Fuc....
errr...ahem....For love
Let the stormy clouds chase...

As Fosters sang to himself in his shower, lathering, rinsing and repeating, he wasn't thinking happy thoughts, he wasn't thinking about ****ing.... He was thinking about how to get back at The Butcher, how would he defeat this insane, unstable man and that's when his college education struck him... Get into the man's mind and he's yours to control. He was going to play a sick twisted mind game, he was going to take what The Butcher had and by that not the title, but his only true friends.

He stepped out of the shower, failing to dry himself off he ran into the living room and grabbed the phone book out from under his couch. He sat bare naked and wet on his black leather couch, opening the book he looked into the business section. A grin shined upon him, snickering to himself he picked up the phone and dialed the number he had found.

Ring....

Ring....

"Charlie's meat shop, we cut it up, you cook it. How may I help you?"

"I'd like to buy ever ounce of meat in your store...."

At Vendetta The Butcher would face a new challenge, one that himself nor anyone else could of imagined. At Vendetta he'd be saving....his....meat.

 

[The Butcher]

- Sorry about the quality. It was a bit rushed, I've had a lot on my plate recently. I'll pick things up again next week -

(The Butcher carries a heavy looking backpack across the platform and jumps onto one of the trains. It’s not going very far, but he’s not to know that. Bless him. He’s made it perfectly clear that he doesn’t want meat products talking in his ear day and night, so he wants to run away. Or rather ride away, on a train.)


(He sits on an empty row of seats, stretching his head to the right, looking out of the window.)


The Butcher: Wow. Everything passes so fast.


(The train actually starts to move now… The Butcher reaches into his bag and pulls out a bottle of water. The bag still seems heavily weighted.)


The Butcher: Water can be so clear, so pure. But like so much else, it can be ruined. I’ve ruined so much of mine and other people lives, but do I regret it?


(He drinks a mouthful of water, then puts it back into the bag.)


The Butcher: Sometimes.

(There is a brief pause as the train comes to a full stop. It only went as far as the next stop, which is one of those loser stations nobody stops at.)

The Butcher: Wow, Mexico already eh? Boy, these new rocket trains sure travel fast…

(The Butcher strolls outside, with his head looking down, his eyes fixated on the ground, carrying his backpack. He childishly kicks away any object that he comes across; cans, stones etc. But all the while, he holds a smile across his face. He continues wondering aimlessley until he finds a bench, which he sits on, his eyes still looking at the ground.)

The Butcher: I busted myself open to get this thing, and they don’t leave my alone, or even thank me…

(He opens the bag and takes out the National Championship, which has still yet to be put around The Butcher’s waist. This time, when he raises the belt to eye level, he raises his head and looks at it, running his fingers over the inscriptions.)

The Butcher: This thing is a symbol meaning I’m the best. I drew the most blood, I bled the most, and I came out on top. Not least defeated Payne Fosters twice in one night. (sigh) And now they’re making me do it again… they keep telling me to carry on. But I won it myself. I didn’t need or want their help. I don’t want them anymore. I want some fresh meat.

(The Butcher digs deeper into the back and pulls out a piece of meat, which he slaps on the face of the title belt. The raw blood trickles down the inscription.)

The Butcher: There. Good as new.

(He puts the meat back in the bag, and puts the now blood soaked belt around his waist. Only now The Butcher experiences a sense of pride, only now the blood he spilled Sunday night is represented on the front of his prize.)


The Butcher: They told me you’d come back for it Payne. But you don’t deserve it, that’s why this belt won’t be involved on Vendetta. Then once our hat trick over you is complete, they will let me go free… Payne Fosters is no longer fresh meat, because I tenderised him myself, and left him to soak up his own precious blood. Twice. In one night. BAM! So much fresh meat, so little time.