Post by Kyle on May 27, 2014 16:14:52 GMT -5
The scene opens to the WCF locker room following Asesinato De Mayo. The room was empty save the furniture and a pile of camo fatigues in the center of the room. In the background, the sound of a shower running can be heard and, as well as a man whistling to himself.
"Oh, Stevie, I think there has been a mistake."
The camera moves towards the sound of the voice, drawn in by its soft, firm tone. At the edge of the entrance-way between the locker room and bathroom was a second pile of clothing. The jeans were holey and the converse were bright, bright red, but it was the shirt that caught the eye. It was WCF's new graphic tee, depicting Nathan von Liebert in one of his signature stares, his red hand worn around his neck like a certain character from Game of Thrones. Written above the image was two, simple words: "He's Back"
"Thinks got crazy after War, Stevie, things beyond my control. And then, amongst all the chaos, you ended up with something that truly isn't yours."
Finally, NvL comes into view, the lower half of his body hidden behind a wooden barrier as he stood beneath the shower. His upper half was visible, though, revealing the many scars he had garnered in his time with the WCF. Resting atop the wooden barrier was the WCF Tag Team Championship.
"You didn't deserve that belt the first time, my painted friend; I showed you that. So what makes you think you deserve it now? Because you won it over a few more guys? Because you actually defended it once before you got dropped on your fucking head?"
NvL spits at his feet, the phlegm landing directly on the drain.
"The answer is no, Stevie, in case you were struggling to piece those two letters together. A fluke win and one defense over a false prophet means nothing to me. Had I maintained myself after War . . . well we wouldn't be having this problem; I would still hold the belt and you would still be wondering what it was like to be a real World Champion. But things don't always work out right, Stevie; you know from experience. And I do as well. I found myself beaten by the only man stronger than me."
NvL looks over at the camera, a smirk on his face.
"Me."
NvL nods, his grin widening.
"But the time of inner conflict is behind me now; I'm whole again, mentally if not physically, which means one thing, Stevie; I'm gunning for what is rightfully mine."
NvL taps the Tag Team Title with his stump, staring at the camera.
"But I'll cut you a deal, Stevie, a one time offer. At Slam this Sunday, I want you to step into the ring with me, man to man, and trade belts with me. I'll walk away with the World Title, the title I deserve, and you can walk away with the Tag Team Titles, free of charge. No strings attached, no backstabbing. Walk in with a belt and leave with a different one. Some would call that the short end of the stick, but better to walk out with something that not at all."
NvL nods.
"Because if you don't accept my offer, we're still going to meet in the center of the ring. And when we do . . . oh, Stevie, history will repeat itself."
NvL turns away from the camera as the scene finally fades out.
"Oh, Stevie, I think there has been a mistake."
The camera moves towards the sound of the voice, drawn in by its soft, firm tone. At the edge of the entrance-way between the locker room and bathroom was a second pile of clothing. The jeans were holey and the converse were bright, bright red, but it was the shirt that caught the eye. It was WCF's new graphic tee, depicting Nathan von Liebert in one of his signature stares, his red hand worn around his neck like a certain character from Game of Thrones. Written above the image was two, simple words: "He's Back"
"Thinks got crazy after War, Stevie, things beyond my control. And then, amongst all the chaos, you ended up with something that truly isn't yours."
Finally, NvL comes into view, the lower half of his body hidden behind a wooden barrier as he stood beneath the shower. His upper half was visible, though, revealing the many scars he had garnered in his time with the WCF. Resting atop the wooden barrier was the WCF Tag Team Championship.
"You didn't deserve that belt the first time, my painted friend; I showed you that. So what makes you think you deserve it now? Because you won it over a few more guys? Because you actually defended it once before you got dropped on your fucking head?"
NvL spits at his feet, the phlegm landing directly on the drain.
"The answer is no, Stevie, in case you were struggling to piece those two letters together. A fluke win and one defense over a false prophet means nothing to me. Had I maintained myself after War . . . well we wouldn't be having this problem; I would still hold the belt and you would still be wondering what it was like to be a real World Champion. But things don't always work out right, Stevie; you know from experience. And I do as well. I found myself beaten by the only man stronger than me."
NvL looks over at the camera, a smirk on his face.
"Me."
NvL nods, his grin widening.
"But the time of inner conflict is behind me now; I'm whole again, mentally if not physically, which means one thing, Stevie; I'm gunning for what is rightfully mine."
NvL taps the Tag Team Title with his stump, staring at the camera.
"But I'll cut you a deal, Stevie, a one time offer. At Slam this Sunday, I want you to step into the ring with me, man to man, and trade belts with me. I'll walk away with the World Title, the title I deserve, and you can walk away with the Tag Team Titles, free of charge. No strings attached, no backstabbing. Walk in with a belt and leave with a different one. Some would call that the short end of the stick, but better to walk out with something that not at all."
NvL nods.
"Because if you don't accept my offer, we're still going to meet in the center of the ring. And when we do . . . oh, Stevie, history will repeat itself."
NvL turns away from the camera as the scene finally fades out.
