Post by Daniel MacNamara on Jan 20, 2020 16:10:56 GMT -5
The green and black of NVR was hung up behind that high backed leather chair. It was frayed a little at the corners, the green didn’t pop as much as it used to, and the black in it seemed a little gray in patches. It was a flag that Daniel MacNamara had carried and carried proudly since he’d come back to wrestling on a permanent basis. It was a flag he was proud to carry constantly. Time and time again, into fray after fray, holding the standard high no matter where he went. That’s why he was at Union, right? To represent NVR, even when no one else would.
Even when the champion wouldn’t represent it, Daniel MacNamara would.
The dark of the room was only cut by the dim light of the lamp on his oak desk, a dying cigarette held in a pewter ashtray shaped like the head of a wolf, the pale smoke curling up before fading in the back drop, occasionally drifting towards the flag behind his chair.
It probably wasn’t what you’d expect of the man sitting in that chair. The red hair, the blue green eyes, the scarred up and yet still handsome face of a man who’d walked right through hell time and time again, only to reach the other side. Each time though, as he’d found out the hard way, he’d come out with less and less of himself. The wounds became greater, the psychic fucking baggage weighed heavier on whatever was remaining of that man’s soul as he escalated the fights he entered with each act of gratuitous violence. If time was truly a flat circle, then he was in danger of skidding off the edge with each breakneck turn he made.
Frankly, he felt stuck in an ever arching loop.
Still, here he was, once more into the breach.
Once more.
“Johnny Vachon.”
The name seemed bitter on his tongue with the way he said it, releasing it in an annoyed sigh that practically came with an eye roll.
“The man who would have murdered his entire family because no one gave him the attention that they gave everyone else. The epitome of hurt feelings and unwarranted self importance rolled up into the badly taken care of body possessed by an obtuse fucking man child who’s so out of touch with reality that instead of dealing with how he felt, he faked his own death and decided he’d go on a mission of vengeance that…. No one fucking understands?”
The last bit, he had to shrug on, lifting his cigarette up to his lips to take a hard drag off of before speaking through the smoke.
“Let’s be real here, you don’t have a fucking cause for vengeance, Vachon. You have multiple daddy issues, you probably have some hygiene oriented disease, and you possible have an STD, but a cause for vengeance? That you absolutely do not fucking have, unless you feel that you somehow were overlocked. Which, when your group includes Hanako Takeuchi and Josh Kennedy, I can pretty easily see why you’d feel overlooked with how utterly underwhelming you are.”
That was Danny’s time to casually ash that cigarette.
“Shit, Johnny, you’re almost impossible to underestimate.”
With that said, he brought the cancer stick back to his lips to take another drag off of it, blowing the smoke off to the side.
“You come back with the remnants of Ultraviolence Union, looking to take on Filth Parade. No one’s expecting you to be alive, much less able to fight. You have the element of surprise, the numbers, you had every single advantage a battle commander could ever fucking want Johnny, you had that, and just like a seasoned whore with a cock in front of her? You fucking blew it.”
Snort. He shook his fuckin’ head as if he was in mild disbelief over his own words.
“It has to be two on one odds before you guys even have a chance over there in Japan. You had to outnumber my brother, my cousin, their friends, and even then what’s it all been worth? The entire lot of you couldn’t even hold a title that you act like you hold a birthright to. I don’t even get what the fuck Genocidal Hate Brigade is about. Are you all one collective comedy of errors given flesh? A sex cult of degenerate nobodies? Or is it something more? I’d hope that you could answer me, but frankly, you come off like a blathering cunt every time you crack open your gob to talk, and not a whole lot of it makes sense.”
Shrugging, as if to say ‘that’s that’ he set his cigarette aside and leaned over his desk, as if really, and truly, meaning to address him.
:”Part of me feels sympat-- No, sympathy isn’t the right word. My feelings are far too contemptuous is list sympathy among the possibilities. No, what I feel for you is pity. Pity, for the man who has been so utterly outclassed by his peers that he can’t cope with how far he’s sunk in relation to them. He can’t even elicit the needed rage and hatred from them to fuel his own ego. That’s your problem, Johnny. Remember how I said that you’re underwhelming? Your fucking death did more to Eddy Poe than your comeback ever did. Do you get that? Do you fucking realize that I’ve done more to torment Eddy fucking Poe than you have? I mean, your death allegedly contributed to the Rise of the Slasher, whereas your resurrection and betrayal did nothing more than ruffle a few initial feathers and then plateau’d.”
Leaning back in that chair, he kicked his booted feet up on the corner of it, casually picking up the cigarette once more, but not yet drawing from it.
“Oh, I know. I’m not supposed to mention how the big bad guy of the week is lackluster and bland, but it’s what you are. Tasteless, and not in the shocking way either. You’re tasteless in the bland way. Oooh, you’re a degenerate! You do deathmatches!”
He waved his hands around, as if pantomiming how very shocking, and awe inspiring it was before letting out a bark of a laugh!
“You’re every member, of every stable, who’s done the same thing you’ve done since you’ve started. What are you going to do? Make some crass jokes? Do a fucking bit about how you’re into sexually assaulting people? Talk about how utterly fucking hardcore you are in the ring? Are you going to try and pretend to be spooky? Be an edgelord? I’m just.. I’m at a loss with you. A man like you, who’s held the DTW Eternal Warfare belt over eight times? A Trios champ back when CWC was a thing, and yet.. For all you’ve done, you’re not much of anything, are you?”
Releasing that heavy shy, he folded his hands over his stomach, not even bothering to look to the camera, at least not yet.
“Truth be told, I suppose I shouldn’t be bringing titles up at all. What have I done? I may very well be the NVR World Champion by the time we face off, I may not be anything. I’m just another lost wolf in the sea of them. I put my own pack in position to prosper, to be great, to be the best. My Karen is the NVR Women’s Champ. My Izzy is the R!ZE Champion, and all I have is a flag, my pride, and the absolutely fucking tattered remnants of my sanity.”
Snorting, he looked back up to the camera, looking right at it, as if talking to Johnny directly once again.
“That’s it though, Johnny. Your kind, you bemoan about how you have nothing to lose, nothing to fear, nothing to… Well, Eddy Poe and I already did this dance. I broke the Slasher, I sent him to a fucking asylum. Mr. Nothing to Lose had a lot to lose. He learned, Riley Savell *is* learning. You’ll learn too.”
Taking those feet from his desk, lifting the cigarette from the ashtray just to snuff it, he finally moved to stand, to straighten out his clothing, to fix the tie around his neck.
“Wrestling deserves than you, Johnny. You should have done our world a favor and stayed dead, but since you won’t, I’ll do us all a favor and end the miserable little half life that you’re still desperately clinging to in hopes that past friends who are now enemies are going to take you seriously and be your ticket back into relevancy.”
Eyes on the camera, his hand moving to rest a finger on the power button of the lamp at his desk.
“I wish that I could give you a proper eulogy, but being as you’ve had one already I’m afraid that anything I might say would simply be disingenuous, so I’ll leave it simple. This isn’t your path back to the big stage. This is going to be me dragging you back to your coffin and putting the final nails into that mother fucker.”
And just like that, he cut off the lamp, and snuffed out the final light in the room as the camera faded out.
Even when the champion wouldn’t represent it, Daniel MacNamara would.
The dark of the room was only cut by the dim light of the lamp on his oak desk, a dying cigarette held in a pewter ashtray shaped like the head of a wolf, the pale smoke curling up before fading in the back drop, occasionally drifting towards the flag behind his chair.
It probably wasn’t what you’d expect of the man sitting in that chair. The red hair, the blue green eyes, the scarred up and yet still handsome face of a man who’d walked right through hell time and time again, only to reach the other side. Each time though, as he’d found out the hard way, he’d come out with less and less of himself. The wounds became greater, the psychic fucking baggage weighed heavier on whatever was remaining of that man’s soul as he escalated the fights he entered with each act of gratuitous violence. If time was truly a flat circle, then he was in danger of skidding off the edge with each breakneck turn he made.
Frankly, he felt stuck in an ever arching loop.
Still, here he was, once more into the breach.
Once more.
“Johnny Vachon.”
The name seemed bitter on his tongue with the way he said it, releasing it in an annoyed sigh that practically came with an eye roll.
“The man who would have murdered his entire family because no one gave him the attention that they gave everyone else. The epitome of hurt feelings and unwarranted self importance rolled up into the badly taken care of body possessed by an obtuse fucking man child who’s so out of touch with reality that instead of dealing with how he felt, he faked his own death and decided he’d go on a mission of vengeance that…. No one fucking understands?”
The last bit, he had to shrug on, lifting his cigarette up to his lips to take a hard drag off of before speaking through the smoke.
“Let’s be real here, you don’t have a fucking cause for vengeance, Vachon. You have multiple daddy issues, you probably have some hygiene oriented disease, and you possible have an STD, but a cause for vengeance? That you absolutely do not fucking have, unless you feel that you somehow were overlocked. Which, when your group includes Hanako Takeuchi and Josh Kennedy, I can pretty easily see why you’d feel overlooked with how utterly underwhelming you are.”
That was Danny’s time to casually ash that cigarette.
“Shit, Johnny, you’re almost impossible to underestimate.”
With that said, he brought the cancer stick back to his lips to take another drag off of it, blowing the smoke off to the side.
“You come back with the remnants of Ultraviolence Union, looking to take on Filth Parade. No one’s expecting you to be alive, much less able to fight. You have the element of surprise, the numbers, you had every single advantage a battle commander could ever fucking want Johnny, you had that, and just like a seasoned whore with a cock in front of her? You fucking blew it.”
Snort. He shook his fuckin’ head as if he was in mild disbelief over his own words.
“It has to be two on one odds before you guys even have a chance over there in Japan. You had to outnumber my brother, my cousin, their friends, and even then what’s it all been worth? The entire lot of you couldn’t even hold a title that you act like you hold a birthright to. I don’t even get what the fuck Genocidal Hate Brigade is about. Are you all one collective comedy of errors given flesh? A sex cult of degenerate nobodies? Or is it something more? I’d hope that you could answer me, but frankly, you come off like a blathering cunt every time you crack open your gob to talk, and not a whole lot of it makes sense.”
Shrugging, as if to say ‘that’s that’ he set his cigarette aside and leaned over his desk, as if really, and truly, meaning to address him.
:”Part of me feels sympat-- No, sympathy isn’t the right word. My feelings are far too contemptuous is list sympathy among the possibilities. No, what I feel for you is pity. Pity, for the man who has been so utterly outclassed by his peers that he can’t cope with how far he’s sunk in relation to them. He can’t even elicit the needed rage and hatred from them to fuel his own ego. That’s your problem, Johnny. Remember how I said that you’re underwhelming? Your fucking death did more to Eddy Poe than your comeback ever did. Do you get that? Do you fucking realize that I’ve done more to torment Eddy fucking Poe than you have? I mean, your death allegedly contributed to the Rise of the Slasher, whereas your resurrection and betrayal did nothing more than ruffle a few initial feathers and then plateau’d.”
Leaning back in that chair, he kicked his booted feet up on the corner of it, casually picking up the cigarette once more, but not yet drawing from it.
“Oh, I know. I’m not supposed to mention how the big bad guy of the week is lackluster and bland, but it’s what you are. Tasteless, and not in the shocking way either. You’re tasteless in the bland way. Oooh, you’re a degenerate! You do deathmatches!”
He waved his hands around, as if pantomiming how very shocking, and awe inspiring it was before letting out a bark of a laugh!
“You’re every member, of every stable, who’s done the same thing you’ve done since you’ve started. What are you going to do? Make some crass jokes? Do a fucking bit about how you’re into sexually assaulting people? Talk about how utterly fucking hardcore you are in the ring? Are you going to try and pretend to be spooky? Be an edgelord? I’m just.. I’m at a loss with you. A man like you, who’s held the DTW Eternal Warfare belt over eight times? A Trios champ back when CWC was a thing, and yet.. For all you’ve done, you’re not much of anything, are you?”
Releasing that heavy shy, he folded his hands over his stomach, not even bothering to look to the camera, at least not yet.
“Truth be told, I suppose I shouldn’t be bringing titles up at all. What have I done? I may very well be the NVR World Champion by the time we face off, I may not be anything. I’m just another lost wolf in the sea of them. I put my own pack in position to prosper, to be great, to be the best. My Karen is the NVR Women’s Champ. My Izzy is the R!ZE Champion, and all I have is a flag, my pride, and the absolutely fucking tattered remnants of my sanity.”
Snorting, he looked back up to the camera, looking right at it, as if talking to Johnny directly once again.
“That’s it though, Johnny. Your kind, you bemoan about how you have nothing to lose, nothing to fear, nothing to… Well, Eddy Poe and I already did this dance. I broke the Slasher, I sent him to a fucking asylum. Mr. Nothing to Lose had a lot to lose. He learned, Riley Savell *is* learning. You’ll learn too.”
Taking those feet from his desk, lifting the cigarette from the ashtray just to snuff it, he finally moved to stand, to straighten out his clothing, to fix the tie around his neck.
“Wrestling deserves than you, Johnny. You should have done our world a favor and stayed dead, but since you won’t, I’ll do us all a favor and end the miserable little half life that you’re still desperately clinging to in hopes that past friends who are now enemies are going to take you seriously and be your ticket back into relevancy.”
Eyes on the camera, his hand moving to rest a finger on the power button of the lamp at his desk.
“I wish that I could give you a proper eulogy, but being as you’ve had one already I’m afraid that anything I might say would simply be disingenuous, so I’ll leave it simple. This isn’t your path back to the big stage. This is going to be me dragging you back to your coffin and putting the final nails into that mother fucker.”
And just like that, he cut off the lamp, and snuffed out the final light in the room as the camera faded out.