Post by "Invincible" Damian Kaine on Jan 15, 2017 17:22:20 GMT -5
The entire Brotherhood has been a fucking madhouse. The Bisso scream-off spectacular shook most of the brothers and sisters. Add that to Kidd and Zander in the hospital with broken arms. We're still trying to recover from Lester leaving.
I'm not letting myself be affected by it all. I've taken more walks in the last week then ever before. I'm just ready for all of this bullshit to end.
-Fade In-
Minneapolis, Minnesota, “Corey Black Presents: XIII”
Damian Kaine looks on from behind the curtain at the anarchy that is Karma Bishop and her brain child. Joe Smarts- or.. Smartina, as he wanted to be called tonight- sits in a fold out chair a few feet away, wiping his makeup off. Damian looks over in disgust.
“Dude, what the hell is wrong with you. Ah- Nah don’t bother answering that.”
Of all the people in the Brotherhood, Smarts was the one person Damian couldn’t stand. Yeah, he was nice. And the kid had heart. But damned if Damian didn’t think the dude was fucking ridiculous.
“There are nothing wrong with me. I is smartiest man on Earth, Deejay.”
“Dammit Joe-”
Damian’s outburst is cut off by the muffled voice of the talk show tool Jason Slasher, whom was somehow allowed to be the special ring announcer for the Final Woman battle royal. That’s like letting Bill Cosby into a female college dorm room. Or, at least, from what Damian had gathered about the guy.. All of his info came from Kevin, so DK took that with a grain of salt.
Karma Bishop burst through the curtain, face baptized in blood thicker than Drax the Destroyer’s dick. Smarts/Smartina jumps from his seat to hug the Brotherhood’s Queen B.
“No, Smartie. Don’t wanna stain that dress of yours.”
Joe pouts and sits back down in his chair. Damian looks dead in Karma’s eyes, and the words are unnecessary to understand the situation. Damian simply shakes his head.
“He just… He couldn’t watch you. He would have been at that ring the first time you were hit. It wouldn’t have been pretty..”
“I- I know, DK! I just wish… I wish he would get it through his thick, loving skull that I don’t need protection! Maybe. Maybe then it could have been HIM greeting me at the curtain tonight. Maybe all of this shit wouldn’t be going down. Damian-”
Damian places his hand on her shoulder to calm her down, speaking sternly.
“Karma, stop. Listen to me. Kevin loves you! Like, a fucking Dom and Letty, ride or die kind of love. All of this? You know damn well that his little shenanigans here are just him being over-protective. No, he doesn’t think you’re some useless, defenseless little girl who can’t fight her own battles. He thinks you shouldn’t have to.”
“And that’s just the thing, Damian! I didn’t have to! I wanted to! I’ve been away from the ring for so long. I’ve been at home for so long, I just wanted to have a little fun. The way the Queen B should. Do you get me?”
Damian sighs.. He’d never been one for drama. But Karma was right for her beliefs. She had every right to step back into the squared circle. But Kevin was also right in his beliefs, as well. All he wanted to do was protect her, he’d just gone about it all wrong.. One should never tell Karma fucking Bishop that she isn’t allowed to do something… Which sparks the question…
“Did you do it for that? Or because Kevin told you not to?”
Though the “backstage” area was full of staff and wrestlers and random people, the silence resembles a John Cage masterpiece. Karma's face was in shock. She didn't even know the answer to that question.
“Look, Karma. You and Kev have done a lot for me. And I mean a lot. But I refuse to be the fucking mediator between the two of you. I love you both. So I'm gonna let y'all work this shit out. I'm gonna head home. YOU tell Kev where I went. Because you need to talk to him. The right way.”
Damian hugs Karma, then walks off. Smarts/Smartina gets up to follow him. Without thinking, Damian turns and grabs the neckline of Smarts' dress, pinning him against a wall.
“And you. You better straighten the fuck up. Get your head in the game. Because to me? You're expendable. Keep in mind, you stupid fuck. I never wanted you here in the first place. So if you fuck things up for me Sunday night? I will scramble the last few brain cells you haven't fucking fried.”
Letting go of Smarts, he heads of to the exit.
-fade out-
Should I feel bad for snapping on Joe? Or.. Nah. No. Everything I said was true. Because Sunday is big for us. We've got a match against the fucking number one contender for the world championship. Smarts is treating this like a piece of cake. Cap’n Crook? A breeze? Singh is fucking viscous. He couldn't give two shits about anything. Which is why I'm so bloodthirsty. I made the Book of Damian to get under Archer's skin, and damned if I didn't. Now, I'm dying to know what makes Steven Singh soft. And where better to find out then the home of the “Picasso of Pontification,” himself.
-fade in-
It's true.. Damian lied to Karma. And yeah, he kinda regretted it. But he needed to do this, because he knew he would need leverage Sunday.
Damian pulls into the parking lot of a medium sized building. He parks, then starts digging through his glove box. He grabs two pieces of paper, one a Google maps printout, and the other a picture of Steven Singh. He climbs out the window of his ‘69 charger.
As he steps foot on the ground he looks into the camera.
“What? The door’s broken. #FourthWallBreak #FuckYouSingh”
Damian looks at the building in front of him. A large sign above the door reads 3RD STREET GYM. Damian smirks, then pushes through the door. He sees two men sparring in a ring about ten yards away. One man outside the ring notices DK at the front and speed walks to him.
“Good afternoon, sir. How can I help you?”
“Ah, I'm here for information on a man who used to attend this gym.”
“Uhh, sir, I'm sorry to tell you I can't give that information out unless you have a search warrant, and sir, you don't look like no pig.”
Damian unfolds the picture of Singh and presents it to the man. Without consideration, the man laughs.
“That prick? Hah! Yeah we still got his information. He's held up in some condo complex in Brooklyn. Williamsburg, I do believe. You should be able to find it. Without me losing my job.”
Damian and the gym worker laugh and Damian thanks him for his service. He walks out and climbs back through the window. And sets off toward Brooklyn.
-fade out-
Fuck Seth. Fuck Corey Black. Fuck XIII. Because every competent fucking member of the brotherhood is in XIII, save Psychopomp. And thanks to Seth's little fucking rule, they can't be in Slam if they're in XIII. So I'm stuck with fucking Joe Smarts. I don't know why I wasn't put in a singles match. Or hell, even a cluster fuck would have been better than this Roll Tide-level fucktard. So I'm putting this out there. Seth, I want a rematch next week. For Cap’n Crook’s tag team championships. With a member of the brotherhood, of my choosing. Do you understand me, you drunk fuck?
-fade in-
Damian is kneeling on one knee in front of a door. His arms seemingly twitching, there is a loud *CLICK* and Damian pushes the door open, revealing a gorgeous condo. He can hear the shower running. I am on limited time here… He searches around the room, before spotting Steven Singh's tag team championship. Approach cautiously, he digs through his satchel, pulling out his fingerprint grabber. He selected a section of the leather along a crease. When he
collects the print, he goes to leave, but an Amazon Echo catches his eye. Making sure the shower is still in use, he dashes to the corner and picks up the seemingly unused Echo. The shower comes to an abrupt stop and the sound of a shower curtain being pulled is heard. Damian slightly panics and dashes for the door, making it out just in time!
-fade out-
Captain Pantheon. Can I begin to understand this motherfucker? A guy who sucks Singh's dick more than Odin Balfore blows himself. Huh... maybe that's why Erika is so unappealing to Steven…
Cap reminds me of Smarts. Only difference is he actually has a chance in the ring.
There's one problem I have with him though. He's being played. Fucked like a slut in the Pantheon locker room. I mean you have Steven Singh. Who doesn't give two shits about his own tag partner. Yet, Cap idolizes him. Treats him like the “Golden God” that Singh thinks he is. Heh.. fool’s gold, maybe. Cap is just too damn daft to understand that Singh is only there so he can be tag champ. Because we all know that if Singh could be champ by himself, he would.
Then, there’s Pantheon. God, Cap wants so bad to be one of them… But they don’t acknowledge him. Like, at all. Never have I seen a David Sanchez promo guest starring best friend Captain Pantheon. I’ve never seen a 6ix promo where he’s sharing a piece of ass with Cap. Poor dude doesn’t even get the fucking illuminati insignia. So, Cap, grow a pair. Face your bullies, buddy. Or get tossed around worse than Lilith. Your choice, Bud.
-Fade in-
Damian is shown leaning against what looks like a hospital wall.
Steven Singh considers himself the Picasso of Pontification. I do personally believe that this is an accurate statement. I’ve never heard more bullshit spew from a rich man, and we just sat through an entire Donald Trump election. Think about that. You’re that fucking arrogant! Claiming i’m not a wrestler? Fuck off, prick. You’re a fighter, yes. But I wrestle.
“That said, Singh and I share a few views. Like our disdain for the monster formerly known as Oblivion. And our views on myself. You see, Steven, I know everything you can possibly say against me.”
Damian pulls out a small piece of paper.
“One. I’ve lost all but three matches. Alas, it’s true. I’m not a winner. But I’m ruthless. I’m a brawler, and that’s something to look out for.
“Two. My size. Yeah, i’m small. But fuck, it makes me fast. I can literally run circles around you, Mr. Singh.”
“Three. My mental state. But this, Stevie, is my valuability. I’m unstable, as everybody at home tells me oh so frequently. I’m likely to blow up”
Damian smiles and rips up the small paper.
“And that’s about all. Ya see, everybody says the exact same thing about me, it kinda gets old. It’s like Dion being called homeless. Or all of the Brotherhood being called a cult. It’s obsolete. Just like the Cap’n Crook title reign. And something else… Something else that’s close to Mr. Singh.”
The camera zooms out to reveal a hospital door.
“This, Mr. Singh, is the room in which your brother is being held. Through a series of scientific objectives, I’ve discovered your secret. And found this little gem you’ve been hiding from the rest of us. So, now, you get to live with me, knowing the location of the only thing you give a real damn about in this world.”
An evil smirk spans across Kaine’s lips.
“And that, Mr. Singh? That’s called Checkmate.”
-Fade Out-
I'm not letting myself be affected by it all. I've taken more walks in the last week then ever before. I'm just ready for all of this bullshit to end.
-Fade In-
Minneapolis, Minnesota, “Corey Black Presents: XIII”
Damian Kaine looks on from behind the curtain at the anarchy that is Karma Bishop and her brain child. Joe Smarts- or.. Smartina, as he wanted to be called tonight- sits in a fold out chair a few feet away, wiping his makeup off. Damian looks over in disgust.
“Dude, what the hell is wrong with you. Ah- Nah don’t bother answering that.”
Of all the people in the Brotherhood, Smarts was the one person Damian couldn’t stand. Yeah, he was nice. And the kid had heart. But damned if Damian didn’t think the dude was fucking ridiculous.
“There are nothing wrong with me. I is smartiest man on Earth, Deejay.”
“Dammit Joe-”
Damian’s outburst is cut off by the muffled voice of the talk show tool Jason Slasher, whom was somehow allowed to be the special ring announcer for the Final Woman battle royal. That’s like letting Bill Cosby into a female college dorm room. Or, at least, from what Damian had gathered about the guy.. All of his info came from Kevin, so DK took that with a grain of salt.
Karma Bishop burst through the curtain, face baptized in blood thicker than Drax the Destroyer’s dick. Smarts/Smartina jumps from his seat to hug the Brotherhood’s Queen B.
“No, Smartie. Don’t wanna stain that dress of yours.”
Joe pouts and sits back down in his chair. Damian looks dead in Karma’s eyes, and the words are unnecessary to understand the situation. Damian simply shakes his head.
“He just… He couldn’t watch you. He would have been at that ring the first time you were hit. It wouldn’t have been pretty..”
“I- I know, DK! I just wish… I wish he would get it through his thick, loving skull that I don’t need protection! Maybe. Maybe then it could have been HIM greeting me at the curtain tonight. Maybe all of this shit wouldn’t be going down. Damian-”
Damian places his hand on her shoulder to calm her down, speaking sternly.
“Karma, stop. Listen to me. Kevin loves you! Like, a fucking Dom and Letty, ride or die kind of love. All of this? You know damn well that his little shenanigans here are just him being over-protective. No, he doesn’t think you’re some useless, defenseless little girl who can’t fight her own battles. He thinks you shouldn’t have to.”
“And that’s just the thing, Damian! I didn’t have to! I wanted to! I’ve been away from the ring for so long. I’ve been at home for so long, I just wanted to have a little fun. The way the Queen B should. Do you get me?”
Damian sighs.. He’d never been one for drama. But Karma was right for her beliefs. She had every right to step back into the squared circle. But Kevin was also right in his beliefs, as well. All he wanted to do was protect her, he’d just gone about it all wrong.. One should never tell Karma fucking Bishop that she isn’t allowed to do something… Which sparks the question…
“Did you do it for that? Or because Kevin told you not to?”
Though the “backstage” area was full of staff and wrestlers and random people, the silence resembles a John Cage masterpiece. Karma's face was in shock. She didn't even know the answer to that question.
“Look, Karma. You and Kev have done a lot for me. And I mean a lot. But I refuse to be the fucking mediator between the two of you. I love you both. So I'm gonna let y'all work this shit out. I'm gonna head home. YOU tell Kev where I went. Because you need to talk to him. The right way.”
Damian hugs Karma, then walks off. Smarts/Smartina gets up to follow him. Without thinking, Damian turns and grabs the neckline of Smarts' dress, pinning him against a wall.
“And you. You better straighten the fuck up. Get your head in the game. Because to me? You're expendable. Keep in mind, you stupid fuck. I never wanted you here in the first place. So if you fuck things up for me Sunday night? I will scramble the last few brain cells you haven't fucking fried.”
Letting go of Smarts, he heads of to the exit.
-fade out-
Should I feel bad for snapping on Joe? Or.. Nah. No. Everything I said was true. Because Sunday is big for us. We've got a match against the fucking number one contender for the world championship. Smarts is treating this like a piece of cake. Cap’n Crook? A breeze? Singh is fucking viscous. He couldn't give two shits about anything. Which is why I'm so bloodthirsty. I made the Book of Damian to get under Archer's skin, and damned if I didn't. Now, I'm dying to know what makes Steven Singh soft. And where better to find out then the home of the “Picasso of Pontification,” himself.
-fade in-
It's true.. Damian lied to Karma. And yeah, he kinda regretted it. But he needed to do this, because he knew he would need leverage Sunday.
Damian pulls into the parking lot of a medium sized building. He parks, then starts digging through his glove box. He grabs two pieces of paper, one a Google maps printout, and the other a picture of Steven Singh. He climbs out the window of his ‘69 charger.
As he steps foot on the ground he looks into the camera.
“What? The door’s broken. #FourthWallBreak #FuckYouSingh”
Damian looks at the building in front of him. A large sign above the door reads 3RD STREET GYM. Damian smirks, then pushes through the door. He sees two men sparring in a ring about ten yards away. One man outside the ring notices DK at the front and speed walks to him.
“Good afternoon, sir. How can I help you?”
“Ah, I'm here for information on a man who used to attend this gym.”
“Uhh, sir, I'm sorry to tell you I can't give that information out unless you have a search warrant, and sir, you don't look like no pig.”
Damian unfolds the picture of Singh and presents it to the man. Without consideration, the man laughs.
“That prick? Hah! Yeah we still got his information. He's held up in some condo complex in Brooklyn. Williamsburg, I do believe. You should be able to find it. Without me losing my job.”
Damian and the gym worker laugh and Damian thanks him for his service. He walks out and climbs back through the window. And sets off toward Brooklyn.
-fade out-
Fuck Seth. Fuck Corey Black. Fuck XIII. Because every competent fucking member of the brotherhood is in XIII, save Psychopomp. And thanks to Seth's little fucking rule, they can't be in Slam if they're in XIII. So I'm stuck with fucking Joe Smarts. I don't know why I wasn't put in a singles match. Or hell, even a cluster fuck would have been better than this Roll Tide-level fucktard. So I'm putting this out there. Seth, I want a rematch next week. For Cap’n Crook’s tag team championships. With a member of the brotherhood, of my choosing. Do you understand me, you drunk fuck?
-fade in-
Damian is kneeling on one knee in front of a door. His arms seemingly twitching, there is a loud *CLICK* and Damian pushes the door open, revealing a gorgeous condo. He can hear the shower running. I am on limited time here… He searches around the room, before spotting Steven Singh's tag team championship. Approach cautiously, he digs through his satchel, pulling out his fingerprint grabber. He selected a section of the leather along a crease. When he
collects the print, he goes to leave, but an Amazon Echo catches his eye. Making sure the shower is still in use, he dashes to the corner and picks up the seemingly unused Echo. The shower comes to an abrupt stop and the sound of a shower curtain being pulled is heard. Damian slightly panics and dashes for the door, making it out just in time!
-fade out-
Captain Pantheon. Can I begin to understand this motherfucker? A guy who sucks Singh's dick more than Odin Balfore blows himself. Huh... maybe that's why Erika is so unappealing to Steven…
Cap reminds me of Smarts. Only difference is he actually has a chance in the ring.
There's one problem I have with him though. He's being played. Fucked like a slut in the Pantheon locker room. I mean you have Steven Singh. Who doesn't give two shits about his own tag partner. Yet, Cap idolizes him. Treats him like the “Golden God” that Singh thinks he is. Heh.. fool’s gold, maybe. Cap is just too damn daft to understand that Singh is only there so he can be tag champ. Because we all know that if Singh could be champ by himself, he would.
Then, there’s Pantheon. God, Cap wants so bad to be one of them… But they don’t acknowledge him. Like, at all. Never have I seen a David Sanchez promo guest starring best friend Captain Pantheon. I’ve never seen a 6ix promo where he’s sharing a piece of ass with Cap. Poor dude doesn’t even get the fucking illuminati insignia. So, Cap, grow a pair. Face your bullies, buddy. Or get tossed around worse than Lilith. Your choice, Bud.
-Fade in-
Damian is shown leaning against what looks like a hospital wall.
“Pontificate: to express one's opinions in a way considered annoyingly pompous and dogmatic.
Steven Singh considers himself the Picasso of Pontification. I do personally believe that this is an accurate statement. I’ve never heard more bullshit spew from a rich man, and we just sat through an entire Donald Trump election. Think about that. You’re that fucking arrogant! Claiming i’m not a wrestler? Fuck off, prick. You’re a fighter, yes. But I wrestle.
“That said, Singh and I share a few views. Like our disdain for the monster formerly known as Oblivion. And our views on myself. You see, Steven, I know everything you can possibly say against me.”
Damian pulls out a small piece of paper.
“One. I’ve lost all but three matches. Alas, it’s true. I’m not a winner. But I’m ruthless. I’m a brawler, and that’s something to look out for.
“Two. My size. Yeah, i’m small. But fuck, it makes me fast. I can literally run circles around you, Mr. Singh.”
“Three. My mental state. But this, Stevie, is my valuability. I’m unstable, as everybody at home tells me oh so frequently. I’m likely to blow up”
Damian smiles and rips up the small paper.
“And that’s about all. Ya see, everybody says the exact same thing about me, it kinda gets old. It’s like Dion being called homeless. Or all of the Brotherhood being called a cult. It’s obsolete. Just like the Cap’n Crook title reign. And something else… Something else that’s close to Mr. Singh.”
The camera zooms out to reveal a hospital door.
“This, Mr. Singh, is the room in which your brother is being held. Through a series of scientific objectives, I’ve discovered your secret. And found this little gem you’ve been hiding from the rest of us. So, now, you get to live with me, knowing the location of the only thing you give a real damn about in this world.”
An evil smirk spans across Kaine’s lips.
“And that, Mr. Singh? That’s called Checkmate.”
-Fade Out-