Post by Finn Whelan on Feb 4, 2018 18:09:45 GMT -5
AND NOW THEY’RE ALL LIT UP
•••••
Did you think I was going to come in here, trumpets blaring, and tell you that’s exactly why I was put in the main event? Did you think I was going to sit there and talk about why I’m the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end? That because of one match, where I fought valiantly and won, I was going to break the glass ceiling above me? If you thought I’d do that, you’re even denser than I thought.
Yes, I won. Yes, I gained main event status because I capitalize, because I fight, because I do everything in my power to succeed. Axel Graves saw that, and placed me in this competition not because I would flounder, but because I would fight just as hard as anyone else. I have accolades. I flaunt them, that's no secret. But I’m not an ignorant fool -- I’m not about to let hindsight blind my foresight.
This isn’t about wins and losses. It’s about ascendancy. It’s about rising to the top. It’s about proving a point. Many of the companies that I’ve been a part of have realized the potential in which I possess. I don’t settle for anything less than my best. I’m in this tournament because I don’t back down, and I don’t quit.
The King of the Crown Cobra Championship doesn’t simply stand in for only a shot at the Union Battleground Championship in the future. It stands for notoriety. Everyone wants notoriety in some way, shape, or form. Some of us gain it from others in the business. They’re respected and treated as equals. Others? Jump from ship to ship, acting as if they’re top tier when they’re the lowest class citizens this industry has seen in God knows how long. It’s not just a matter of not wanting to be the latter -- it’s a simple refusal to be counted out.
I’m not going to suck the teat of someone else better than me to get ahead. I’m not going to act like a piss baby who’s sad someone did better than me and cost them an advancement because I’m an unhappy shit. This business is cutthroat; that’s an understanding that we put ahead of us every time. We can talk about how well we’ll support our buddies, our families, but then turn our backs in the next second. We can talk about how tough we are, that we bounce right back. But when you’re destroyed in one week, and you come back in a vengeance like a crying baby on steroids the next, something is fucking wrong with you.
I’m lookin’ at you, Vachon.
•••••
“Wanna explain this shit, Kyodai?”
The footage of the attack on Johnny Vachon appeared upon the television screen hung on the wall above a wet bar. Kei sat behind his desk, his hand pressing upon the remote. The hooded figure, the use of REVELATION 6:4 -- these were tell tale signs of something amiss entirely.
From his place on the couch, Whelan looked up at the screen with only one gesture: a shrug of his shoulders. “This shouldn’t even be a question. You know me better than this. Please tell me why I would fuck with Vachon, day one? That’s Salvation’s territory, and last I checked, I wasn’t part of the cult.”
“Still. They’re putting a target on you.”
“Everyone has a target on their back. If Johnny Vachon wants to put one on me because of his bullshit with his involvement with Dick Deveraux, then he can do it. It’s not going to impede me. My eyes are still set on the prize, Kei. I’m always looking ahead. I’ve got Stillwater next. The Crown of the King Cobra Championship will be in my hands.”
“That’s only if you can actually keep your eyes on the prize.”
“Eyes on it.” He stretched out his fingers -- there was caked blood on them, from his own open cuts. Finn rose to his feet. “Let me guess -- cashing in on my wins again, are we?”
“Of course,” Kei leaned back in his chair, a smirk on his face. He pressed one of his long strands of hair between his fingers and pulled gently on it, placing it elsewhere. His eyes followed Finn as headed for the door. When the Seattle Saint has his hand on the doorknob, he stopped him. “Did you take care of what I asked?”
Finn glanced behind him, slowly. There wasn’t a smirk on his face, nothing of the kind and he nodded, only once. “Thermite is a great accelerant.”
Kei’s smirk rose, and honestly, it was the one to watch. The devil himself couldn’t smirk any darker. He nodded silently. “There’s a task in Seattle. After Japan.”
The only response that is given is a long exhale from Finn. There was always very little that was spoken between the two -- they’d been going at this longer than anyone would have previously thought. The end fact was that Finn was simply good at his jobs, all of them. He could be the one counted on to succeed, even when the cards dealt were never in his favor.
And to this point, the cards were never in his favor.
•••••
I wanna talk to you about something I notice about you, Vachon. You can’t seem to stick in one spot for longer than a few shows. You’re always adding more dates, always weaving in and out of places like a snake with a rat they’ve got their eye on. If I think about it, you’re this guy that brings this fire with you, this punk rock outlook with you that you just don’t give a flying fuck, and fuck tha’ police.
Was that The Casualties or NWA? They’re all the same in the end.
And you -- you’re the same as every tried and true miscreant with a penchant for destruction. You’ve got this idea that you’re this badass and you’re going to destroy people -- make ‘em bleed in the Slaughterhouse, and all that jazz, right? They proclaimed everyone was the Pure Champion of the Slaughterhouse, and that you were one of the only ones to continue from the Slaughterhouse of Old. But yet, you were eliminated by one of the new breed. And what did you do in response? You went down like a pathetic waste of trash and ruined an opportunity well-earned because you couldn’t stand losing.
Let’s not forget to mention the fact that you tied yourself to a family of men and women with the same agenda. The Filth Parade stood for something that brought about the camaraderie of like-minded individuals. A family. And then you turned your back on them as if they were virtually nothing. It makes me wonder why anyone -- Devereaux, Killswitch -- would even think you’re trustworthy enough to help take down a faction like Salvation.
Let me tell you right now, Vachon -- you’re walking into my ring now. This isn’t Slaughterhouse, this is fuckin’ Union Battleground, and despite your associations, you aren’t Dick Devereaux. You aren’t a former champion here. In all honesty, you’re quite literally nothing but something for Salvation to chew on. A good little rawhide wrapped in grommets and spikes, with a bad attitude and nothing to stand for except yourself. And people who stand for nothing but themselves . . . they don’t deserve any form of recognition except being tossed in the bottom of the barrel.
I didn’t come to Union to play, and it’s not in my prerogative to come after people in cheap shot attacks for the hell of it. You will know that I’m coming for you when I look you in the eyes, right before I put you on your fucking back in the center of a ring. This company, it's been noticed from its inception as a stomping ground. And now you, the rest of the place . . . they're all lit up. Like you, coming into this match -- you're gonna be lit up, only to be doused by the water of your impending failure.
This match is a vengeance bit, but when you look at it, you should really only be looking at the future. Like I am. You’re a deviation in my path towards the Crown of the King Cobra Tournament . . . and you’re not about to put me down. I’ll see you at L!GHTS OUT -- after Calhoun takes your fucking face off in Slaughterhouse, you get to meet me. When two representatives of Seattle have dropped you on your face, you’ll realize your place in the world. But maybe you already have . . .
Post by Johnny Vachon on Feb 5, 2018 20:46:10 GMT -5
The scene fades in on a small apartment complex. On the second floor in apartment 203 we hear the faint sound of music playing. We pan inside where we see a small party booming. Punk rockers and rejects are downing shots and listening to tunes. We see people passed out with Sharpie covering their faces and a man covered with whipped cream. We move to the bathroom of the apartment in the back room where we can see a few punks gathered around the door. The camera pushes past them and into the bathroom before stopping. We pan down to see Johnny Vachon, drunk as a skunk, laying next to the toilet. Inside of the toilet is a ton of vomit, covering the entire inside of the bowl. Liquor bottles line the tub and empty beer cans lay all over the floor. Johnny looks to the camera and grins.
"Rebel Manson! We've got another match this week! Another chance for me to beat the dog piss out of you haha!"
Johnny reaches into his pocket and pulls out a picture of his opponent, Finn Whelan. He looks at it for a second and laughs before a confused look comes across his face. He looks it it closer and then begins to laugh.
"Oh yeah! It's not Rebel, it's that Finn Whelan douche! All these fucking emo bitches look the same to me."
Johnny lays the picture on the toilet seat before grabbing a beer off the floor. He takes a sip before continuing with his slur.
"Finn, I've heard plenty from you. You think you're hot shit in this business. You think you can just walk up into Union Battleground and have anything and everything you want because you did something outside of UB. NEWS FLASH... everyone has to make a name for themselves here. Not one person has come in and been handed a damn thing! We've all worked for it. And now you've gotta' work for yours."
Johnny attempts to sit up by grabbing onto the toilet seat. He barely gets halfway up, but he doesn't care as he slumps back down to the ground. He mutters "Fuck it" to himself before continuing.
"Why are we in this match against one another? The answers simple. Your Goddamn pervert ass jumped me in the shower last show. There I was, trying to take a Goddamn shower for once and your creepy ass had to stalk me like a Pedophile on a playground. Then you attack me when I call you out. You jump me from behind like a little BITCH! See, you claim it wasn't you, but why would someone else use your fucking finisher? Why does that make sense? From where I stand it doesn't. I've played these games before. Hide behind a mask to get what I want. I'm hip to the plan. But you fucked up Finn. Should've just knocked my ass out with a damn shampoo bottle for fucks sake!"
Johnny finishes the beer he was drinking and tosses it to the pile on the side. He grabs the toilet and hoists himself to his feet, barely. Johnny stumbles into the shower and falls down to his rear end on the side of the tub. He catches himself before falling in. Johnny looks up and gives a thumbs up to the camera before continuing.
"Finn, you lie through your Goddamn teeth! I know you fucked me over last week! And you can talk all the shit you want about how much of a backstabber I am and what I did to the fucking Filth Parade, but in the end you and I are the same. You would've done the same damn thing if you were in my shoes! You don't like to share the spotlight, like me. That's why you're a solo guy. But you weren't getting any spotlight now were you? I WAS! And you were jealous. I am over here battling the UB Champ while you're sitting there not even qualifying to fight for the belt. You got jealous and wanted that spotlight. You always have and always will. So you put on this stupid disguise and jump me when you thought nobody was looking. Big fucking mistake. Now we're booked to scrap, and I plan to get some revenge. You see, I don't care about winning or losing this match. Beating you doesn't give me anything but bragging rights. But getting revenge gives me all the satisfaction I need! I'm here to settle a fucking score."
Johnny stumbles forward as he gets close to the camera... too close. He rams his head into the lens on accident before backing up and almost falling into the tub again. He stops himself however as he moves close to the camera again.
"Win, lose, or draw, it doesn't matter. I want to get my hands on you Finn. And I want to make you realize that this punk isn't someone you should've fucked with! I'm not someone you can walk all over. You can call yourself a hero and get these stupid people to cheer for you, but I know your truth! You're the villain in the story Finn. The mastermind behind the whole plan. And what happens to the mastermind in every story?"
Johnny grabs the photo of Finn from the toilet seat and shows it to the camera before turning to the toilet and dropping it into the vomit. Johnny bends down and shoves his finger down his throat causing himself to gag. Johnny then projectile vomits all over the picture of Finn. Johnny wipes his mouth with a rag before flushing the toilet with his foot. We watch as the vomit along with the photo of Finn go down the drain.
"The mastermind along with his miraculous plan go down the fucking drain! See you at LIGHTS OUT Whelan! CHEERS!"
Johnny grabs a bottle of Whiskey from the floor and tips the bottle back. He stumbles back and falls into the tub this time. He drops the bottle and immedietely passes the fuck out. The scene fades out on a very drunk and very unconscious Johnny Vachon... the Gutter Trash...
