Here I go again..
| OPPONENT: |
Caleb Hart/Harmony Taylor |
| MATCH TYPE: |
REGULAR SINGLES MATCH/Tv Title |
| TITLES: |
Not yet |
| CURRENT RECORD: |
0-0-0 |
Pierce Ward stood firm, staring out of a giant picture window. The light defracted through the window causing the beautiful illusion of a rainbow, while causing the hated exposure of the sun's glare. Birds flew by casually, causing slight interruptions to the scenery of the city park outside the giant portrait window. Basking in the ray's curtains was none other then Pierce Ward. He stood, in golem form, unmoving and emotionless. He had thick, dark sunglasses that completely drowned out any view of his pupils. If your eyes were windows to the soul, he was going to make sure he put up stained glass.
His posture relaxed some as thoughts began to swim through his head, he began to have his own personal Charybdis* in his conscious. There was a lot there. A lot of worries. A lot of aspirations. A lot of pieces. And very little synchronization. Although, he did seem to gain a bit of tunnel vision in his mind, current event had acted like a lightning rod for his focus. The minute his mind got too cluttered, he would shift his mind over to that and suddenly, wah-lah, his mind immediately felt lighter.
"That" being, of course, he's recent addition to Pure Pain Wrestling. The time since he had last been inside of a wrestling ring was long and mind-numbing. It was 2 years, but it could have been 12 years for all Pierce could have known. In fact, if you told him today that he had been out of action for a millennia, he would believe you, it seemed just that long.
He took in a slow and deep inhale, let the breathe of ambition re-ignite his brain. He solemnly exhaled, let the waste of worry leave his body. Respiration of the soul. Pierce's head cocked slightly to the left, his eyes bore down on a group of kids playing football in the park, he took only brief notice while his thoughts interrupted his focus.
" It's something to come back, isn't it? To come back to something that you have long since been void of. The soldier returning to a war that has changed since the time he was last fighting in it. There's a lot in your mind. Has it changed to the point were you no longer want to fight for it ? Has the way the war is fought changed to such a degree that the way a gone warrior can no longer carry a battle. Will have allies to fit with? Or does he fight alone, where what was once a cause, turns merely into survival? Does glory still matter, or is that even too cheap by today's standards? Does the business revolve more around political activism or is it still physical competition? Does your ability to talk about what you can do rule over what you actually can? Do I even still matter?....
...Hell yeah, I would!
No matter how the wrestling world has changed in these two years, it isn't enough to mark out the best. When you are a master of a craft, that means you can still perform obscenely well, even when the demand changes. Being the best is calculated in two very specific attributes. Playing your greatest and being able to still do it over time. I have both skills, and just because the soldier was taken out of the war, doesn't mean he forgot how to accomplish the number one goal...destroy the enemy.
I look on at the battlefield of PPW. I see all of it's forces. I see all of it's battles. I see great men, and I see even more men who want to be. I see those with limitless momentum, and those who think they have it going, only they don't realize their stop is just a few miles down the road. Such men that represent the latter is such a man that I have to face on my return to the fight. A man whos meteoric rise has been unparalleled, a man whos jet flight through PPW has not been shot down, and a man whos arrogance is like bamboo, sturdy on the outside, yet hollow to it's core. His momentum carries him to new heights and blaring speeds, yet he doesn't know where he's going and he doesn't seem to know that what he sees in front of him is a distortion of what really is. If only I could think of something to compare it to."
*THUD!*
Pierce's heads snaps a short distance to the left and catches a glimpse of bird falling promptly to the ground after smacking directly into the solid demise of the portrait window. Pierce snickers lavishly.
" Yeah, that will do nicely."
The sound of the door being knocked on rocks through the air with each loud bang. Pierce's cocks and eyebrow that hovers over the rims of his sunglasses.
PW:Well, spank me with curiosity. Who could this be?
Pierce moves for the door in very graceful and fluid motions. Something your body takes as it's own nature when you've studied under martial arts for an extended period. When Pierce reaches the door, he opens it gently. On the other side he sees a slightly stocky suited man with spiked hair and an artificial tan. Pierce looks away from the man, and leans back slightly to look a clock on the far side of them room. He then glances casually at the bronzed pudger.
PW: You're 30 minutes late, Does that mean I get a free order of crazy bread?
?: Har har.
The man brushes past Pierce and heads straight for the kitchen. Pierce chuckles to himself as he swings the door closed.
PW: So, Travis, did you ever take up your dad's offer to join the family construction business after nobody else picking you up as a manager when I was put on the shelf?
Travis exits the kitchen briskly with a half-glass of what is noticeably an alcoholic drink. He sits down in one of Pierces fine leather chairs.
And speaks in a Matter-of-fact tone
Travis Da'Monte:: Of course not *takes a drink* These hands weren't made for labor'in, they were made for lovin'.
PW: Well, Atleast one of them was.
Travis rolls his eyes to the comment and then his face becomes stricken with seriousness as he takes another drink.
Travis Da'Monte: Pierce, we need to talk, now...about you going back to wrestling, I don't think..
Before he can finish Pierce starts off towards a hall-way not at all interested in the conversation.
PW: I don't want to hear it, Travis.
Travis sets the glass down on the table in front of him and follows Pierce as he tracks down the hall-way in his house. After a few doors are passed, Pierce stops at a set of doors, grabs both handles and opens both doors. He steps into a fairly large room, and sticking about 5 feet from one wall is a small platform, no more then two inchs high. Pierce walks over, grabs a driver golf club. He then reaches into a box and pulls out a very, very ugly modern art vase. He carries the vase over the platform and sets it on the top. Travis can be heard continuing his statement loudly as he approaches the room.
Travis Da'Monte: This is a very big problem,Pierce, and not one that you just igno...what the..?!?
*THWAK!* *SHATTER*
Pierce withdrawals his club casually as class flies everywhere. Travis lowers his forearm from his eyes, and dusts some of the debris off of it.
Travis Da'Monte: Dammit, Pierce! Did you steal Ms. Versails lawn furniture again?! Why do you keep doing that ?!?
Pierce shrugs as he returns with an ugly equally plant, in an equally ugly pot.
PW: Some people clean up oil spills. Some people pick up garbage in parks. I rid the world of ugly ass, old lady, lawn shit.
*THWAK!* *SHATTER*
Travis shakes his head as he leads right back into his argument.
Travis Da'Monte: Pierce, You can't return to wrestling! Not after the all the injur..
*THWAK!* *SHATTER*
Travis Da'Monte:...ies you've sustained. You run the risk severe risk of a major injury if you go throu...
*THWAK!* *SHATTER*
Travis Da'Monte:..gh with this. What do you need to do this for? It's not like you need the money at...
*THWAK!* *SHATTER*
Travis grows increasingly frustrated and begins to yell his concern.
...all! This is a fruitless thing you're doing and run the chance of ruining you're life!
Pierce's lays a lawn jockey on the pedestal. He rears back and smacks just the head off. It goes flying towards a dart board with a picture of Bill O'Reily on it. The barely misses just off to the right and shatters against the wall. Pierce tosses the club aside in frustration and begins to exit the room. Travis again in pursuit.
PW: You saw that. I would have nailed it right on if the wind hadn't picked it up!
Travis Da'Monte: Pah...Peirce we're inside!
Pierce merely shrugs as his journey takes him back to the living room.
PW: Whatever, Travis. I'm not a psychologist.
Travis Da'Monte: What does that even mean..?!?...You know what...nevermind..stop changing the subject.
PW:Travis , I made up my mind. Don't challenge me on it. My only destiny is professional wrestling. And I'm coming back to it. And I'm coming back now!
Travis Da'Monte: But...Pier..
PW: Fuck injuries, Travis! 2 years is enough healing, and I feel like a million bucks and I feel like dropping people like two cents. Counter me further on the issue, and you can be back out there asking people if they would like the complementary roll-down service!
Travis gets fear stamped all around his face, until it drooped in concession. He knew this was a war he lost before he could even fight it.
Travis Da'Monte: Alright. I can't stop you. Can't beat them, then manage them. Let's kick it old school then. So who are your opponents?
Pierce positions himself at the bar of his kitchen, sits on a stool and begins to mix a drink.
PW:Nothing special really, feels more like high school then anything. We've got the headstrong, popular girl that feels she doesn't need anybody's help, even when they help her when she's in need. And we got the popular clown who thinks he's more important then the guy that dry cleaned my underwear today because he has a quick wit.
Travis laughs as he sits on the stool across from Pierce after retrieving his own drink from the living room table.
Travis Da'Monte: Alright, tell me about them, chief.
PW: Right-o. We have Harmony Taylor. What can be said about her? She's pushing me off as a rookie and a punk kid running around jacked up on hormones trying to get the first girl he sees. We'll she's very, very wrong. She'll realize that when soon enough. I feel, what better way to show a damsel that you mean everything you say, by not only obliterating her former lover, but by topping her as well. See, she's one of those hard as nails girls who just really wants a firm man stand by her, and in order for that to happen, they have to be better then her. So, let me tell you one thing, sweety, I'll do exactly that. I've been proving to be better then people for years, it's and art form really, and consider yourself the next spectator of my artistic genius.
Travis Da'Monte: Haha, yeah! Atleast you haven't changed any!
PW: Damn right, I haven't. Alright, then, there's Caleb Hart. You, my friend, will be the first to witness the innovation sensation. And your ass will be parallel to that of your running buddy, PBS. You're a very simple character, a very simple person that I've seen all too many times. You say whatever clever thing you can think of to get a rise in your Levis, and then you laugh with all your friends about just how funny you are. Well, check yourself Caleb, You can avoid me all that you want, you avoid talking about me all you want. But I know you've talked to Slayne, And I know that you are afraid of what's coming. I know that you are in a constant state of worry because your TV title, your record, your former love, and your pride will all be taken by a new comer in his first match for PPW. Your rise has been great, no doubt, but Caleb, mine will be greater. Just think of it, I will do something that has never been done in PPW. Win a title on my debut show. Meh, don't worry your head though, Caleb, i'll give it back to you in time, because my only true goal is to get that Paramount title from the "The Extremely Old" Colon Snail.
..PPW, this is it, the day has come. Prepare for Epitome of Everything, the Embodiment of Brilliant, and to put rather simply...prepare of the best. Consider your selves lucky, that i've decided to tear through like an ambition stained hurricane. and place myself as your top star. Get ready to be shown...the definition of domination.
Scene narrows into black