Post by M.D.K. on Apr 29, 2018 18:05:50 GMT -5
Wrestle Wars - Post ‘Say My Name’ match.
M.D.K walks backstage following his victory with a smug grin spread across his face although the atmosphere backstage is different to usual. There’s a tradition backstage that whether you win or lose, whether the fans cheer or boo you, that there is an enclave of front-line and back-line staff who will pat you on the back and congratulate you but in this instance, there is an awkward silence as two banks of staff stare at the smiling but battered M.D.K as he strolls between them. They are giving him a look of disbelief as M.D.K in their eyes took it over the the line tonight. People are known to go to extremes to get the win but what M.D.K did just down has left most people feeling slightly uncomfortable. It’s not surprising though considering you don’t often see a man douse his opponent in gasoline and threaten to light him on fire in order to win.
M.D.K strolls along and stares dead ahead as he feels the eyes of everyone upon him. He continues to stroll along as the crowd gathers together behind him. Before he goes through the door leading towards his locker-room, he turns to face them and snarls at them.
M.D.K.: “Are you peons, peasants and pissants judging me? Are you mere fucking mortals silent because you are disgusted at me?”
The awkward silence continues.
M.D.K.: “I think you might forget who I am and what I do. I told you all before the match that I was going to win by any means necessary and you know that the fucking potato would have done it too had he had the bollocks to do anything remotely like I would do. So you fucking serfs with your mops and your brooms, you had better get out there and scrape that fucking sorry excuse of a man off of the canvas and scrub the stench of his failure out of the mat.”
One of the officials whispers something to a colleague next to him and M.D.K clocks this and glares at him. The colleague steps away as he notices that they have been spotted. M.D.K stares at him.
M.D.K.: “You got something to say?”
The official looks around in the vain hope that M.D.K isn’t talking to him. His face goes pale with the realisation that he is. The crowd parts around the official who looks almost transparent he’s now that pale. M.D.K takes a step towards him.
M.D.K.: “You got something to say big man?”
Official: “Err... N-n-no.”
M.D.K.: “I’ll rephrase it. Have you got something to whisper about be fuck-knuckle?”
Official: “I was just saying that... Err... I was um... I was...”
M.D.K.: “I’m waiting...”
Official: “I... I said that what you did... N-n-nearly cost us our in-in-insurance...”
M.D.K tilts his head to one side and clicks his neck and glares at the official who tries to back away and has reached a concrete pillar.
M.D.K.: “Insurance? You think that I would hesitate to win a match because of insurance? You could have threatened my grandmother and I still wouldn’t have said that turnip’s fucking name. I didn’t care if it would have ended up as a manslaughter accusation because I WANTED to win. Having that want is the difference between the predator and the prey, the wolf from the herd and the men from the vegans. That’s why I am me and you...”
He turns to walk away, spins on the spot and levels a punch into the pillar tat is a mere millimetre from the ear of the terrified official. M.D.K looks him up and down.
M.D.K.: “Tidy yourself up, you’ve pissed yourself...”
M.D.K saunters away and shoves another person over as he makes his way towards his locker while the official slides down the pillar.
***
A Few Days Later
M.D.K sits in his bedroom with the bed unmade behind him and clothes strewn everywhere. Both he and Alyce had a little downtime post Wrestle Wars. The results collectively could have gone better, but the celebration certainly was full throttle to say the least. He greets the camera and smirks with a tilt of his head.
M.D.K.: “Wrestle Wars has been and gone, the mortals have gone back to their average life and their mediocre existence and the landscape has changed and the potato has been laid out for you all to see. You all watched as I took the potato to pieces and made it say my fucking name. The world knew that it would be a war of attrition, you all knew damn well that the war would come down to who would blink first and you all watched him blink, whimper and beg for forgiveness. I left him a crippled mess in the centre of the ring and proved my point that he is nowhere near my fucking league.”
“So what do the powers that be do? They throw him into the lion’s den to come up against the Crimson King and his Bloodthirsty queen. A Crimson King who has torn him to pieces just one show ago and a Queen who has been slighted, under-appreciated and has been a victim of injustice in her pursuit of the World Heavyweight Championship. What did the potato do so wrong that he would be punished in such a way? What did he do to deserve such a thrashing at our hands? And to pair him with a mahogany oxygen thief? This isn’t a match, it’s not even a lesson being taught; this is a glorified fucking execution of him and Terry Borden.”
“This isn’t worth my words, this isn’t worth the exertion of my queen and this isn’t worth the blood that Terry and the Turnip will shed this week on Brawl. The pair of you... Will be rendered as truly... And utterly... INFERIOR!”
(The scene ends.)
M.D.K walks backstage following his victory with a smug grin spread across his face although the atmosphere backstage is different to usual. There’s a tradition backstage that whether you win or lose, whether the fans cheer or boo you, that there is an enclave of front-line and back-line staff who will pat you on the back and congratulate you but in this instance, there is an awkward silence as two banks of staff stare at the smiling but battered M.D.K as he strolls between them. They are giving him a look of disbelief as M.D.K in their eyes took it over the the line tonight. People are known to go to extremes to get the win but what M.D.K did just down has left most people feeling slightly uncomfortable. It’s not surprising though considering you don’t often see a man douse his opponent in gasoline and threaten to light him on fire in order to win.
M.D.K strolls along and stares dead ahead as he feels the eyes of everyone upon him. He continues to stroll along as the crowd gathers together behind him. Before he goes through the door leading towards his locker-room, he turns to face them and snarls at them.
M.D.K.: “Are you peons, peasants and pissants judging me? Are you mere fucking mortals silent because you are disgusted at me?”
The awkward silence continues.
M.D.K.: “I think you might forget who I am and what I do. I told you all before the match that I was going to win by any means necessary and you know that the fucking potato would have done it too had he had the bollocks to do anything remotely like I would do. So you fucking serfs with your mops and your brooms, you had better get out there and scrape that fucking sorry excuse of a man off of the canvas and scrub the stench of his failure out of the mat.”
One of the officials whispers something to a colleague next to him and M.D.K clocks this and glares at him. The colleague steps away as he notices that they have been spotted. M.D.K stares at him.
M.D.K.: “You got something to say?”
The official looks around in the vain hope that M.D.K isn’t talking to him. His face goes pale with the realisation that he is. The crowd parts around the official who looks almost transparent he’s now that pale. M.D.K takes a step towards him.
M.D.K.: “You got something to say big man?”
Official: “Err... N-n-no.”
M.D.K.: “I’ll rephrase it. Have you got something to whisper about be fuck-knuckle?”
Official: “I was just saying that... Err... I was um... I was...”
M.D.K.: “I’m waiting...”
Official: “I... I said that what you did... N-n-nearly cost us our in-in-insurance...”
M.D.K tilts his head to one side and clicks his neck and glares at the official who tries to back away and has reached a concrete pillar.
M.D.K.: “Insurance? You think that I would hesitate to win a match because of insurance? You could have threatened my grandmother and I still wouldn’t have said that turnip’s fucking name. I didn’t care if it would have ended up as a manslaughter accusation because I WANTED to win. Having that want is the difference between the predator and the prey, the wolf from the herd and the men from the vegans. That’s why I am me and you...”
He turns to walk away, spins on the spot and levels a punch into the pillar tat is a mere millimetre from the ear of the terrified official. M.D.K looks him up and down.
M.D.K.: “Tidy yourself up, you’ve pissed yourself...”
M.D.K saunters away and shoves another person over as he makes his way towards his locker while the official slides down the pillar.
***
A Few Days Later
M.D.K sits in his bedroom with the bed unmade behind him and clothes strewn everywhere. Both he and Alyce had a little downtime post Wrestle Wars. The results collectively could have gone better, but the celebration certainly was full throttle to say the least. He greets the camera and smirks with a tilt of his head.
M.D.K.: “Wrestle Wars has been and gone, the mortals have gone back to their average life and their mediocre existence and the landscape has changed and the potato has been laid out for you all to see. You all watched as I took the potato to pieces and made it say my fucking name. The world knew that it would be a war of attrition, you all knew damn well that the war would come down to who would blink first and you all watched him blink, whimper and beg for forgiveness. I left him a crippled mess in the centre of the ring and proved my point that he is nowhere near my fucking league.”
“So what do the powers that be do? They throw him into the lion’s den to come up against the Crimson King and his Bloodthirsty queen. A Crimson King who has torn him to pieces just one show ago and a Queen who has been slighted, under-appreciated and has been a victim of injustice in her pursuit of the World Heavyweight Championship. What did the potato do so wrong that he would be punished in such a way? What did he do to deserve such a thrashing at our hands? And to pair him with a mahogany oxygen thief? This isn’t a match, it’s not even a lesson being taught; this is a glorified fucking execution of him and Terry Borden.”
“This isn’t worth my words, this isn’t worth the exertion of my queen and this isn’t worth the blood that Terry and the Turnip will shed this week on Brawl. The pair of you... Will be rendered as truly... And utterly... INFERIOR!”
(The scene ends.)