NvL goes Valentine Shopping

[Kyle]

"A heart is not judged by how much you love, but by how much you are loved by others."
~Frank Morgan

"He loves me. . . he loves me not. . ."

With the conclusion of the oddest opening to any Nathan von Liebert promo every created, visual feed opens. But not completely, though. Nathan appears, his usual clothing and greasy hair. In his hands, he's holding a bundle of flowers, pulling a petal off as he continually speaks the words above. And there is nothing else; just darkness behind him. In this darkness, though, a romantic bliss is forming. Violin music begins to play, softly, to supplement Nathan's words. It seems the viewers were witnessing, for the first time, the place Nathan goes to when he's lusting for love.

"Sir, why are you pulling the petals off of our artificial plants?"

And with those words, the utopia was shattered. Nathan was suddenly standing in an aisle of Wal-Mart, a pile of fake petals around him. A Wal-Mart employee was standing there, clearly not happy with this. Nathan, who seemed to had zoned out, shook his head once and looked towards the employee.

"Sorry, sir, but I just found myself in a dilemma. Valentine's day is coming up soon, and at the moment, I have six valentines to choose from. And I just cannot figure out how I'm going to pick the right one."

The employee looks at the stained clothing, the greasy hair, and just shakes his head. It seems this man doesn't believe the hobo before him could possibly have six valentines to choose from.

"Six, huh? Are they, by any chance, homeless or prostitutes?"

The viewers could tell this man was inferring that Nathan's valentines were worthless, but Nathan doesn't catch on. Either that, or he agrees his valentines are shit.

"I have a feeling quite a few of them have sampled drugs before. And I have a gut feeling one of them gets paid for services. He wouldn't have succeeded so much in life without sucking a few hot dogs, if you catch my drift."

Nathan nudges the man in his ribs, but he backs away, mortified. It seems this man was a homophobe, and he saw before him a homeless homo.

"Umm. . . if you're seeking advice for valentine's gifts for me, I'd suggest asking any of the female employees. Or the fruitcake over at the hair salon. I don't actually know his name, so just call him Jonny, without the hair. That name's about as gay as you can get."

The man tries to back away from Nathan, but the man holds both of his hands up defensively.

"Calm yourself, sir. I don't roll that way, my friend; my name ain't Roy Speede. No, you see, I'm a wrestler and I got a big match this week against some big people. Since its so close to Valentines, I'd figure I'd buy my gifts now and celebrate on Sunday. The thing is, though, I've never actually bought a gift for this holiday. The only girls I get are the ones I kidnap."

Nathan chuckles at this, his tone humorous. But the man steps back a little more; he doesn't hold it past Nathan to kidnap women. Seems this man was a good judge of character.

"Now, I don't want to buy the cliche box of chocolate and flowers, cause you see that won't mean anything to these people. In fact, it might give these six a bad vibe about me. I don't want to be be known as the Devil's Dick Beating Hand! I am Nathan von Liebert, the Devil's Right Hand!"

Nathan holds his red hand in the air for emphasis. Viewers will notice, for the first time ever, just how odd Nathan was. To the WCF Universe, Nathan was a sadistic psychopath. But to the everyday Wal-Mart Employee, Nathan was a freak.

"So, sir, all I ask of you is advice. Help me pick out a gift that will leave a lasting impression on these six valentines, one for each. I don't even need help for all of them. Spark my creativity with the first, and I will walk away to find the remaining five on my own, leaving you alone. So, what do you say?"

The man sighs, but doesn't walk away.

"I'll help you for the first one only. But first, you need to tell me a little more about the first one, so I can pick a themed gift."

Nathan understands, nodding his head.

"Well, let's see. The first one I've had limited contact with over the year. Not like Te'o and his 'girl'; I've seen this valentine in person. And quite frankly, this one fits my preferences. Little on the old side, not in his prime like he was in the past. We've fought in the past, but I enjoy these fights. Because you see, sir, I like them submissive, and man is this one a pushover! I mean, I guess he tries to fight back, but its like a gnat you see. I drop on his head one time, and he's done fighting. And if not me, someone else does it. And that's about it. He's old, he's a pushover, and he enjoys it. Wal-Mart got anything useful?"

The man scratches his chin, pondering this over.

"Well, I believe a lasting gift for him would be a cane, or maybe a walker. He's old, and canes personify old age. Plus, if he's a pushover, a cane might be the difference in him falling. But I don't think we have any cane in stock. . ."

The man turns, walking over to a telephone to call, inquiring about canes. Nathan stands there, looking around, when he spots an elderly man walking, an gnarled cane in his hand. A grin crosses Nathan's face, and he suddenly bursts out the aisle. He rips the cane out of the man's hand, sending him tumbling to the ground. Cane in hand, and cameraman behind him, Nathan ducks into a side aisle. He twirls this cane in his hand, a smirk on his face.

"That man truly didn't understand what I was looking for, did he? And I'm sure you people, the WCF Universe, are no different. You actually thought I was here, buying heart-warming gifts for my opponents this week at Slam. Thought I suddenly developed a romantic bone in my body. Thought I actually gave a shit about love.

Well, you're partially right.

I am here shopping for gifts for my opponents, but it isn't out of love. No, I'm in search of gifts that will prove my points. Chocolate and flowers won't cut it. No, I need an item for each man who leaves a impression on them. Whether it is physical or mental?

I'm not picky."

Nathan smirk widens.

"Like this cane, for instance, personifies Skyler Striker. Weathered, worn, old. Now, you're not literally old like the poor gentleman back there without his cane, but you are old in the standards that matter. Skyler, you are considered a legend in this company. That's a title many people in this company strive to become. Some have accomplished it, some are well on their way, some will never get close. And then there is one who isn't trying at all. I don't want to be a WCF Legend, Skyler.

Because, you see, legend in this company personifies greatness in the past tense, not the present.

So why would I want that, Skyler? I am a man who strives to be the best he can in the present. I want to be a star, a main event fixture. The fucking deal in this company. And a legend just doesn't fall under the criteria. Granted you were all that, and then some, in the past. Skyler, you were a World Champion, and one of the best this company had to offer back then.

But this is now, not back then.

And frankly, you're not the best. None of the legends are. Gravedigger clings to the World Champion, instead of being a champion himself. Corey Black isn't even fighting in this match, when in reality, he should have your spot alongside his stablemates. Dake Ken has disappeared once more, when he finally realized he couldn't pull his weight. All of those men, the legends in this company, knew they couldn't last in the present times.

Why, Skyler, are you so blind to the truth?

Why do you continue to come out, week after week, and get your ass kicked? To relive the glory days? To experience the adrenaline of the ring once more? This isn't a Tort appearance, Skyler, where you wrestle once, and walk away once more. No, you wrestled your big match at One. . . and then you stayed.

Even though you're not cut out to stay.

Because you see, Skyler, you're not good anymore; Your name is great. Skyler Striker will forever be a legend in this company, because names last forever. Or, at least, they last longer than the bodies who bear the name. You're a testament to that statement, Sky. You're name lives on in the Main Events, while your body gets battered and beaten.

Your entire career is being held up by a figurative cane, just waiting for someone to come along and knock it out from under you, so you can go tumbling to the earth like that old man.

I thought I kicked the cane out once before. You and I were on opposite teams in Torneo Cybernetico. We both walk out losers in the match. But you walked out much sooner than I did, Skyler. I picked you up, and I dropped you on your head. I pinned the legend, revealing just like with Dake Ken, that you're nothing more than fluff, a broken body to a mighty name.

But you stayed around.

I thought after last week, when Orbit did the same thing to you, that I did, you'd learn. You'd realize you're running on fumes. But you didn't. You're back once more, wrestling against me like nothing has changed. And maybe it hasn't.

But it will this Sunday.

Because I'm going to kick that cane out for good, Skyler. The crutch will be gone, and you will fall. But I'm going to go further. I'm going to take the cane, and I'm going to beat you with it. Beat you until one of two things happens. Either this cane is going to break, or you are, Skyler. It doesn't matter which.

You, your career, won't be getting up again either way."

With one final smirk, Nathan begins wandering Wal-Mart, in search of his next gift. For a few moments, viewers are provided a chance to watch people's reaction as they see this homeless man walking, cane in hand, through Wal-Mart. Suddenly, Nathan ducks into the pet aisle, the camera speeding up to follow them. By the time they get there, Nathan is standing over a cat food bag, which he had cut open with a switchblade in his pocket. He holds up his "gift." A picture of a furry cat, with golden yellow hair.

"To Jay Price, I give him the two things he covets more than anything else. Pussy and gold.

And quite frankly, Price doesn't get either very often. Which is sad, really, when he's suppose to be a part of the strongest stable in the history of the WCF. Pantheon, a name that just radiates gold and power. And you guys got the power. Owner of the company, CFO. You guys have more power than ever.

But no gold to show for it.

But Jay Price doesn't mind. He's never been a man good with gold. Oh, he's held more belts in this company alone than anyone else. But does a single reign of Jay Price stand out in anyone's mind. When people talk the television belt these days, Jay Price isn't a part of the conversation. Henri Ducos, Sarah Twilight, Eric Price. No Jay Price. No, the only title reign of this man that gets any focus is the one Price probably wants to forget the most.

His two week world title reign.

And I don't blame him for wanting to forget. That title reigns puts it in a category alongside FPV and Waylon Cash; who would want to be a part of anything with those two? But Jay Price has other reasons for forgetting.

Because his reign, compared to his stablemates, is fucking pitiful.

Jonny Fly held the belt for most of 2012. Jeff Purse held it for a good while. Corey Black has held it five times. All of those men have something to show for it. Jay Price doesn't. Jay Price never does.

Because Jay Price himself is worthless.

Nothing you've done this past year has been worth mention, Jay. Nothing you've ever done, besides lose, is ever worth mentioning. Because this kitten, and you, Price, personify weakness. Cute, pitiful weakness. At any moment, I can find this kitten and stomp it beneath my foot.

You're no different, Price.

Tort proved that at One, to any who didn't know it before. But he didn't have to go looking for you; you found him on your own. You stepped out on that stage, a little kitten, trying to appear a ferocious lion. You meowed you're mighty roar, carried on with the necessities to make this rout worth watching.

And then you fucking lost.

You were too weak to beat the man you had sought to destroy for years. If you didn't have the strength, the drive, the desire to beat Torture, how are you going to win this week? You're up against not one, but three men, who you strive to be. You have Slane, the man who holds the title you want the most, the title you're too weak to win. You have the better Price, the world champion, who holds the title you'd loved to hold again, but which you're too weak to hold. And then there is me.

The man whose holding a title I dare you to try and take.

Because unlike the former owner of this belt, I won't run away. Roy Speede was a coward, but I'm not. I have faced you in the past; I have beaten you in the past. I know exactly who Jay Price is. He's the man who covets all the things everyone else has.

The things he's too weak to get, or to hold for long if, by some chance, he does get them.

But the time is done, Price, where you stop wishing. This Sunday, I'm going to drop you on your head and end this game. You're going to wake up, and this kitten here is going to be resting atop your chest. You're going to hold it dear, because not only is it the first pussy you've gotten in a while.

Its also the only gold you'll ever be getting from me."

Nathan nods, before putting the kitten in his pocket. he steps over the spilled cat feed, and continues his quest. The pet aisle turns into the toy section, as Nathan eyes a toy helicopter on the rack. He pokes it with his cane, knocking it off the shelf. It lands on the concrete, shattering before the camera.

"Well, it seems Jonny Fly won't be getting a physical present this Sunday. But why should he? Everything he wants, he gets. He wanted to become the owner of this company. He got it. He wanted Eric Price back, but beneath his boot. He got it. He wanted Roy Speede out as the hardcore champion.

He fucking got it.

But what he never got, or never get, is a submissive Nathan von Liebert. Since his ascension to owner of this company, he's been trying to weed out the filth in this company. He's sending Striker like a hound, to take out any and all who opposes him. He himself brought Eric Price to heel. He knocked Roy Speede off his throne. Whenever someone appeared that he did not like, Fly broke him. Except one

Jonny Fly has never broken Nathan von Liebert.

Me, little old Nathan, cannot be bested by the mighty Jonny Fly. And that's sad really. You can control Eric Price, you can order legends to end Stuart Slane. But you can't stop me, a man you've beaten in that ring so many times.

Its almost as if you haven't do anything at all.

And in my eyes, you haven't. This contract of yours with Price won't mean anything, Fly, because right after he signs it, he's teaming up with myself and Slane to beat your ass in the thing. The champion, Eric Flyjobber, is going to beat you. And then you're going to sit there, wondering what went wrong. Why isn't anything going right for you now? What is the problem with the WCF now?

You're the fucking problem, Fly.

With Seth around, all the problems handled themselves. When didn't need this higher power to solve our problems for me. If I a problem with someone, I fucking solved it with that person. And if solving it meant breaking their career, so be it. They got broken because they weren't strong enough to survive in this business. This allowed the breed of WCF wrestlers to grow in depth, because the weaker genes were kept out of the equation. And then you came along, spouting off this nonsense about ridding the company of evil. But you weren't just getting rid of evil, Fly.

You were attempting to get rid of the best this company had to offer.

The best, by chance, happened to be the evil people, but this wasn't your goal. You needed us gone to make room for the weak. You could handle yourself, but the rest of Pantheon, the rest of this company could not. You didn't want to get left alone with us, because you knew, by yourself, you wouldn't last. Your strong, Fly, but not strong than the combined strength of Price, Slane, and I.

So you began this campaign to usurp the triumvirate of dominance by taking over this company. If you could control this company, you could weed out the bad guys, the best in this company, to make this a utopia for the old and the weak. You needed us gone so you wouldn't be alone and vulnerable.

But you failed, Fly.

Because, you see, none of us have been defeated. Honestly, we're stronger than ever. Price, Slane, and I are the only team consisting of all champions. You sought to weaken us, but you only made us stronger. You could've fired Price, gotten rid of him when you had the chance. But you didn't. Your pride said beating him would be enough. Beat Price, and it will all be good.

But it turns out Price played you like a fucking fiddle.

And this week, not only are we three going to play you, Fly. We're going to fucking beat you. It is time you realize we're not messing around. You wanted the best in this company to disappear, but your mistakes have only brought us closer. And because of your mistakes, we're going to teach you that we can never be broken."

Nathan walks away once more, leaving his remains behind. The wandering last only moments, as Nathan finds himself in the jewelry aisle. He admires some of the product of the golden variety. Reaching over the counter, he grabs a golden necklace, with an open heart on it.

"This necklace here is the perfect gift for you, Roy, and I do hope you accept it. Its a knock off copy of the 'open heart' collection from Kay Jeweler's. And quite honestly, I feel it is speaking to you, Speede.

It's telling you to keep your heart open, because one of these days someone might come along and love you.

Because, without the gold around your waist, the hardcore title, any love you had is gone. Because you, Speede, were not liked for anything but the gold around your waist. I can see it from here. Your Genesis mates aren't happy with you. The fans aren't interested in you. Roy Speede is worthless in their eyes.

Welcome to reality, Speede, because this isn't new in this company.

No one has ever liked you, Roy. You're the proverbial 'boudle' in the WCF. The only thing you had that made you a force in this company was the gold. And I fucking took it from you, without a blink of the eye. Because, personally, I was tired. Tired of seeing your face every week, with that belt over your shoulder. I was tired of Roy Speede.

But as I stand here today, I see a man who has his life unraveling before him. Your title is gone. Your friends are turning against you. You're continually booked to lose, every week. Your whole life has gone to hell. And I'm partly to blame for this. And deep inside, I feel bad.

I feel bad that I'm not a hundred percent to blame.

Because you see, I never liked you, even before you joined this war against me. You were an annoying gnat that I've wanted to swat for a long time. I got that chance, and I took it. But here, a week later, I see a different Speede. I see a man who has finally come to terms with the fact that the WCF Universe hates you.

And I'm not going to help you, Speede. But this necklace here, is your hope. You'll put this around your neck, and you'll know that one of these days, the fans will like you. Someone special will enter your life and love you for who you are, not the gold you use to wear. One of these days, Speede will be loved!

The day he's in a coma like Frankie, that is.

Because until you shut your little trap, Speede, no one is going to like you. Cowards are hated with a passion in this company, and people want cowards dealt with. And, at the moment, that dealing can come at any moment. You entered this war last week, whether you wanted to or not. And you're not getting out, either.

Not unless you end up like FPV or Johnny Nova.

And with me, that is entirely possible. You knew the risks when joining with Genesis; this Sunday, you finally experience the risks first hand. You will be beaten this week, Speede, and you might even get yourself broken. And this is going to happen, every time you and I meet, until you just give in like the Polar Phantasm and FPV.

Give in, Roy, and be loved for the corpse everyone wants you to become."

Nathan pockets the necklace, before continuing his quest. He doesn't move much further through the store until he comes across a service that wasn't being provided by a Wal-Mart employee. An obvious prostitute is standing there, just waiting for a customer. To sum her up: Late fifties, sagging boobs, more plastic surgery than Dolly Parton. Overall, a woman of Steve Orbit's dreams. Nathan walks up to her, and the two exchange a brief conversation, before Nathan hands her a slip of paper. With that, he returns closer to the camera, a grin on his face.

"Congratulations, Stevie. I just scored you your next broad to pleasure. And I insist that you accept her.

Because this Sunday, she'll be the only thing you get on top of.

Last Sunday, you proved my point when you scored the victory by pinning Striker. You couldn't beat me, couldn't pin me for the second time in your career, so you settled for an old legend. So congrats, Orbit. You pinned a legendary name.

But you didn't pin the fucking best in the flesh.

Because, as I say time and time again you can't. This ain't like that time, in May, when you scored the upset of the year. You and I aren't at the same level as before; I'm way above you now. Yeah, yeah, you got the win for HG at Payback. You're friend ran out of the ring, leaving you behind. I thought you'd fail. But you made the pin, score the win for Genesis.

And then, in the more important match, I beat Roy Speede.

And I do say important match. You see, Orbit, you're in a war now. And in war, winning isn't everything; a single lose won't deter you from total victory. And, in the same sense, winning these unimportant battles won't change anything. You guys, Genesis, are the French, and I the English. Your win over Atreyu and Balfore is like beating the Germans.

Whoopie the fuck doo.

Because while you beat the Germans, who have no affiliation with me, I fucking destroyed one of your armies, stole your kingdom. I beat Roy Speede, possibly broke one of your comrades. And let me say this; you need all the help you can get. What you men should've done was come out, during my match with Speede, and beat me to within an inch of my life. You had the chance; there were no rules in the match, and the fans would've cheered you the entire time. But you didn't. You cherished your little victory, while I destroyed one of your friends.

So, coming into this week, do you think you have the advantage? Roy Speede is possibly broken, both in body and spirit. Waylon Cash has sights on me and me alone. And you? You can't even beat me cleanly anymore. You three, the body of Genesis.

I'd rather have the fucking body of that prostitute back there.

You three aren't a team anymore. You're three lambs, just waiting to be slaughtered. You incompetent generals, thinking a win is a win is a win. You're wrestlers who have truly forgotten to recognize danger.

And I, along with my teammates, are fucking danger.

But you won't realize this until too late. We'll beat you. You'll return to your hotel room and fuck Sarah Twilight's grandma back there. And you'll wonder how things have went so wrong.

You'll realize you're not dealing with whores anymore.

You'll dealing with the Devil's Head Pimp.

And you'll realize, once and for all, no matter what happens in the ring, you'll always be his head bitch."

Nathan smirks, as he continue walking. He finally finds himself in the the alcohol aisle, with shelves full with whiskey and bourbon. Nathan doesn't notice this, his back turned to the drinks as he speaks.

"And finally, I find myself trying to figure out Waylon Cash's gift. But I just don't know what to get him. What does one buy a druggie redneck with ties to the Juggalos? What does a hick love more than his sister?"

At this point, the viewers are probably screaming at Nathan to turn around. But he doesn't. He bites his lip, running his hands through his hair. Suddenly, a light bulb goes off in his head. He pulls a stand of his own hair out, holding it out for the camera to see.

"I know what I'm going to give you, Waylon. Something you'll love. Something you'll cherish for the rest of your life.

Waylon, I'm going to give you a lock of Roxanne's hair."

Nathan balls his fist, squeezing tightly.

"I'm going to go home, and I'm going to corner your girl. She's going to fight back; I haven't broke the disobedience yet. But I will prevail; I always prevail. And then I'm going to wrap my fingers around her hair, and yank. She is going to scream, beg me to stop, but I won't. Not until I get enough of it. I don't have to do this. I could just buy you a case of beer. But I'm going to give you fucking hair.

Just because I fucking can.

And you're the only one to blame, Waylon. You brought my wrath down upon you. An eye for an eye, dude. You kicked me, I kicked your girlfriend. You might ask 'why her?' Why not attack you instead? Its because I knew simple retaliation wouldn't suffice. I'd kick you back, we'd set up a time to fight, and I kick your ass at said date. It wouldn't have left an impact; you would've went home and talked it over with Roxanne to cope.

But I knew if I could send you home without someone there to cope with, I knew I'd have your attention for forever.

So I took the girl. I took her, and the only way you can get her back is to beat me. Simple as that; beat me, and you get her back. I laid down the same requirements for the Polar Phantasm. All he had to do was beat me, and all would be swell. But he didn't; he couldn't. He used Jeff Purse to beat me, to get his girl back. But he didn't meet my requirements.

So I kept tormenting them, until they ended up dead.

And you, Waylon, aren't going to be any different; I've already made preparations to grow old with Roxanne by my side. But I'm not doing this because I think you're going to use someone else. Far from it, really. No, I believe you're going to face me head on.

And I know you're going to lose.

You're going to rush into this, and I'm going to knock you down. I've done it before, and I'll do it again. Like I said, you brought this upon yourself. You wanted to fight me, to prove your strength, and now I get to prove my own strength. I will fucking destroy you, Waylon.

And then I'm going to enjoy Roxanne like I never got to enjoy Nightmare.

And then when I'm done, I'll give her to the highest bidder, like one of your best friend's whores.

And that, my friend, is my fucking gift to you. I'm making your blood boiling, building up your rage. I want you to be a monster when we meet; I want you to try and kill me in that ring. That way, when I beat you, people will finally realize my true dominance. I want you to try and fucking kill me.

That way, when I kill you, I can claim self-defense.

But, in reality, it won't be. Because this won't be one of those fights where I'm within moments from death, only to survive. No, you're going to attack me, and I'm going to fucking break you early. And then I'm slowly going to kill you. I'm going to make you pay. I say it won't be self-defense, and in my eyes, it won't be. But in the eyes of the WCF universe, it will be.

Because everything that happens to you happened because you brought it on yourself."

Nathan unballs his fist, dropping the hair on the ground. He tucks his hands in his pocket, watching the camera.

"So I stand here, with the six gifts I plan on giving my opponents. You viewers may be wondering 'what my gift of choice is?' Well, my gift that I wish to receive every week is the title of 'most dominant in the match' I was given that chance in Hellimination. I got the chance in Torneo Cybernetico. I was one of the best in War. In all three encounters, I got three eliminations. So how then am I going to be the best, in this match?

I'm going to get the winning pin.

Nine men, some of the best this company has to offer. Three of them, the Triumvirate of Dominance, will prove they are the better team. And I, will prove I am the best when I score the pinfall. That is all I ask for Valentine's Day.

And with the caliber of my opponents, I'm almost positive that I'll be getting exactly what I want this Sunday."

Fade out