Post by Vladimir Strife on Oct 27, 2015 23:20:55 GMT -4
(I know this probably won't get read, but I wanted to type it and post it for myself anyhow)
Following a brutal triple threat with Jakob Azazel and Agent Toxin, the GodKing has managed to come away on top yet again and we find him as camera's turn a corner - unlacing his boots in a small lockerroom. A Middle Eastern and overly eager reporter in Jeff Young pops up in front of the camera and they close in on the Barbarian Lord, Jeff more than eager to begin questioning him.
"Mr. The Vladimir Strife! Congratulations on big huge victory! How do you feel?"
Vladimir glances up at him momentarily and then back to his laces with a heavy sigh.
"Awful.."
The wirey interviewer looks confused and mulls over the response a moment as though he's never heard the word before suddenly getting wide eyed in understanding.
"Yes, it was very hard fight, Mr. The-"
Vladimir cuts the young man off abruptly as he finishes unlacing the first boot and moves to the next.
"The fight was shit. I've struggled more on the toilet."
Jeff seems truly perplexed now, almost unsure of where to go.
"I... I don't understand... You won the tournament, GodKing.. Why are you not happy? Why don't you celebrate?"
Vladimir shakes his head as the foreigner babbles. He stops lacing his boots and grabs up a cigarette, pressing it into his mouth and lighting it before turning his attention to the curious Young.
"Why the fuck should I celebrate? Look around at all of this... Do you even faintly comprehend it?"
With a deep inhalation and a puff of smoke blown into the already hazy third-world air, Strife continues.
"You looked at what happened and you saw this great tournament with talented individuals in which I came through and conquered. That's not what all of this was. This wasn't proof that EVPW still has it or whatever the fuck you took it as. This little tournament, this exercise... it was proof that exactly what I feared is true, I was just too stubborn and naive to accept it.."
Vlad goes back to unlacing his second boot with the cigarette hanging out of his mouth. The eager Jeff Young leans in and presses him further.
"I still.. I don't.."
"SHUT THE FUCK UP! Look at me.. Here I am, sitting in front of you, taking my boots off. I'm not sitting in a hospital or laying on a gurney or being stitched up like a goddamn quilt! I'm sitting right fucking here. This little tournament was a damn charade. Not a single one of those fuckers that stepped into the ring with me gave their all out there. They came here swinging goddamned Nerf swords and so, yes, the one motherfucker who was serious came out the winner - big fucking shock."
Vlad angrily takes a long drag off of his cigarette before expelling the pollution into the air. He flicks it aside and fiddles with the strings, finally peeling them out enough to slip off his second boot and into his more casual walking shoes.
"All that this showed me was that all that this was... this limitless company seething with the lifebloods of SCW, ICW, and GHW... this collaboration of some of the greatest wrestlers to have ever walked the Earth.. this warzone whereby every man and woman was afforded a fair shot and proved themselves and found who they were... that all of those nights where we poured our everything into our craft and left it in the ring with those fans.. ALL that we did.. our LEGACIES.. this EMPIRE... it all died with Jerry Nate and Jaggeroth.. and I'm just mortified that it took me so long to finally realize and accept that.."
Strife peels off his denim duster and throws it at a locker, letting it hit and crumple up on the floor without a care in the world.
"..I lost two of the best friends I've ever known that day.. maybe that blinded me.. but after tonight I see. It's finally clear as day that it was a blow we couldn't come back from. After all, we aren't this big huge deal that GHW was or that these other companies are... I wanted a small fanbase in order to facilitate a more fervent one.. to be free of the restrictions that come with a larger one.. and I never considered that a smaller, less money hungry federation is also a more vulnerable one."
The GodKing removes his padded gloves and drops them onto the bench, showing no intent to take them with him as he departs the foreign land.
"Everything I did for this business and this company.. all the sleepless nights, the weeks of meticulous planning and coordinating and advertising and recruiting... destroying GHW and absorbing it... alienating friends and making enemies... all of it was for nothing in the end.. And all of those people who counted on me, who came here in part at my urging, are out jobs and a place they considered home. I won damn near every match I've been in and that will get remembered.. but right now, my biggest takeaway is that I let everyone down. I let our home get foreclosed upon and for all of them who trusted me to get evicted.. So, no, Jeff - I'm not celebrating."
Picking up his bag, Vlad brushes by the speechless interviewer and disappears into the halls, heading for the airport and the first flight he can make back to America.
Following a brutal triple threat with Jakob Azazel and Agent Toxin, the GodKing has managed to come away on top yet again and we find him as camera's turn a corner - unlacing his boots in a small lockerroom. A Middle Eastern and overly eager reporter in Jeff Young pops up in front of the camera and they close in on the Barbarian Lord, Jeff more than eager to begin questioning him.
"Mr. The Vladimir Strife! Congratulations on big huge victory! How do you feel?"
Vladimir glances up at him momentarily and then back to his laces with a heavy sigh.
"Awful.."
The wirey interviewer looks confused and mulls over the response a moment as though he's never heard the word before suddenly getting wide eyed in understanding.
"Yes, it was very hard fight, Mr. The-"
Vladimir cuts the young man off abruptly as he finishes unlacing the first boot and moves to the next.
"The fight was shit. I've struggled more on the toilet."
Jeff seems truly perplexed now, almost unsure of where to go.
"I... I don't understand... You won the tournament, GodKing.. Why are you not happy? Why don't you celebrate?"
Vladimir shakes his head as the foreigner babbles. He stops lacing his boots and grabs up a cigarette, pressing it into his mouth and lighting it before turning his attention to the curious Young.
"Why the fuck should I celebrate? Look around at all of this... Do you even faintly comprehend it?"
With a deep inhalation and a puff of smoke blown into the already hazy third-world air, Strife continues.
"You looked at what happened and you saw this great tournament with talented individuals in which I came through and conquered. That's not what all of this was. This wasn't proof that EVPW still has it or whatever the fuck you took it as. This little tournament, this exercise... it was proof that exactly what I feared is true, I was just too stubborn and naive to accept it.."
Vlad goes back to unlacing his second boot with the cigarette hanging out of his mouth. The eager Jeff Young leans in and presses him further.
"I still.. I don't.."
"SHUT THE FUCK UP! Look at me.. Here I am, sitting in front of you, taking my boots off. I'm not sitting in a hospital or laying on a gurney or being stitched up like a goddamn quilt! I'm sitting right fucking here. This little tournament was a damn charade. Not a single one of those fuckers that stepped into the ring with me gave their all out there. They came here swinging goddamned Nerf swords and so, yes, the one motherfucker who was serious came out the winner - big fucking shock."
Vlad angrily takes a long drag off of his cigarette before expelling the pollution into the air. He flicks it aside and fiddles with the strings, finally peeling them out enough to slip off his second boot and into his more casual walking shoes.
"All that this showed me was that all that this was... this limitless company seething with the lifebloods of SCW, ICW, and GHW... this collaboration of some of the greatest wrestlers to have ever walked the Earth.. this warzone whereby every man and woman was afforded a fair shot and proved themselves and found who they were... that all of those nights where we poured our everything into our craft and left it in the ring with those fans.. ALL that we did.. our LEGACIES.. this EMPIRE... it all died with Jerry Nate and Jaggeroth.. and I'm just mortified that it took me so long to finally realize and accept that.."
Strife peels off his denim duster and throws it at a locker, letting it hit and crumple up on the floor without a care in the world.
"..I lost two of the best friends I've ever known that day.. maybe that blinded me.. but after tonight I see. It's finally clear as day that it was a blow we couldn't come back from. After all, we aren't this big huge deal that GHW was or that these other companies are... I wanted a small fanbase in order to facilitate a more fervent one.. to be free of the restrictions that come with a larger one.. and I never considered that a smaller, less money hungry federation is also a more vulnerable one."
The GodKing removes his padded gloves and drops them onto the bench, showing no intent to take them with him as he departs the foreign land.
"Everything I did for this business and this company.. all the sleepless nights, the weeks of meticulous planning and coordinating and advertising and recruiting... destroying GHW and absorbing it... alienating friends and making enemies... all of it was for nothing in the end.. And all of those people who counted on me, who came here in part at my urging, are out jobs and a place they considered home. I won damn near every match I've been in and that will get remembered.. but right now, my biggest takeaway is that I let everyone down. I let our home get foreclosed upon and for all of them who trusted me to get evicted.. So, no, Jeff - I'm not celebrating."
Picking up his bag, Vlad brushes by the speechless interviewer and disappears into the halls, heading for the airport and the first flight he can make back to America.
