Post by Damian Simmons on Aug 22, 2017 12:50:51 GMT -5
DISCLAIMER:
I really am not sure where to put this. It is in an internet style post, but it is also adding to Simmons' character. I also don't want this to count as a roleplay for Revenge. So if anyone thinks this should be somewhere else, Please help me correct it.
ONTO THE POST!
--------------------
WCF.com catches up with Damian Simmons after his and Matthew Drake's loss at Slam for the tag team championships.
They're in an empty hallway, surrounded by black trunks full of production equipment. Sitting on one of these trunks, was the big man. The trunk he was sitting on had a square white sticker on the front. The sticker read in big black lettering "destination: OVW Louisville, KY".
The reporter, a man in his late thirties, dressed in a simple WCF crew shirt and black pants stood next to Simmons, who was still dressed for his match only a few moments ago.
Reporter. Damian, a tough loss tonight. How are you feeling?
Simmons. ...
Reporter. Um... Mr. Simmons?
Simmons. Sorry, I'm just.. really disappointed. I really thought we-
Matthew Drake storms down the hallway toward the two.
Drake. Disappointed?! You're disappointed? You should be! You cost us the match!
Simmons, frustrated, stands up and faces his partner.
Simmons. You're really going to blame me for the loss? If I remember correctly, you took the pin. Am I wrong?
Drake. You could've-
Simmons. Am. I. Wrong?
Drake. Don't you ever interrupt me again. You have no right! You could have broke up the pin. It wasn't hard!
Simmons. I was taken out! How about you take some responsibility for once in your miserable life instead of blaming me for your shortcomings.
Drake. My life is miserable? How about yours? I kick your ass every chance I get and you just sit there and take it! You're a joke! You no good, talentless hack. Why don't you just get the fuck out of WCF?!
Matthew punctuates his sentence by shoving Simmons hard in the chest.
Simmons takes a moment to compose himself, as he was in the verge of snapping. He closed his eyes and breathed rhythmically, in and out. He did this, much to the confusion of Drake, until he was calm. No longer scowling, no longer breathing heavy, calm.
Then, out of nowhere, Simmons jumps at Drake, knocking him to the ground. He then mounted the prone man and flooded him with punches. Simmons' vision was partially obscured by his long black hair in this face. However he didn't need his vision. He just needed to have a basic idea of where his target was. Punch after punch, Simmons' rage built. Drake tried to cover himself but was was too slow for the larger man's quick jabs.
Finally, Drake was able to push his opponent off of him. Scrambling to his feet, he went to hit a superkick out of instinct. Simmons, knowing his foe so well, easily ducked his seven foot frame under his leg and got behind him. He spun Matthew around, grabbed him by the neck, lifting him up, and throwing him hard onto one of the black production trunks.
Drake arched his back in pain. He coughed, also feeling the effects of the hands around his throat from a moment before. But Simmons didn't let him rest. He grabbed Drake by the neck once again and repeatedly drove his head into the hard material that made up the box. He continued until the box began to splinter under the steady force.
Simmons grabbed Drake's side and pulled him towards his body and letting him tumble to the floor. Drake was bleeding now. A small gash had opened on the back of his head where he had hit the trunk. He slowly rose to his hands and knees. Upon noticing this, Simmons pulled his hair back, out of his face, revealing eyes that of a wild beast.
He took a step back, then another. He steadily made distance between him and the fallen Drake. Once satisfied, he took a running start. He jumped, stepped onto Drake's head, and drove it quickly into the hard, concrete floor. A curb stomp finishing his attack.
Without saying another word, Simmons walked off. Leaving the camera operator to pan down helplessly at Drake.
-FIN-
I really am not sure where to put this. It is in an internet style post, but it is also adding to Simmons' character. I also don't want this to count as a roleplay for Revenge. So if anyone thinks this should be somewhere else, Please help me correct it.
ONTO THE POST!
--------------------
WCF.com catches up with Damian Simmons after his and Matthew Drake's loss at Slam for the tag team championships.
They're in an empty hallway, surrounded by black trunks full of production equipment. Sitting on one of these trunks, was the big man. The trunk he was sitting on had a square white sticker on the front. The sticker read in big black lettering "destination: OVW Louisville, KY".
The reporter, a man in his late thirties, dressed in a simple WCF crew shirt and black pants stood next to Simmons, who was still dressed for his match only a few moments ago.
Reporter. Damian, a tough loss tonight. How are you feeling?
Simmons. ...
Reporter. Um... Mr. Simmons?
Simmons. Sorry, I'm just.. really disappointed. I really thought we-
Matthew Drake storms down the hallway toward the two.
Drake. Disappointed?! You're disappointed? You should be! You cost us the match!
Simmons, frustrated, stands up and faces his partner.
Simmons. You're really going to blame me for the loss? If I remember correctly, you took the pin. Am I wrong?
Drake. You could've-
Simmons. Am. I. Wrong?
Drake. Don't you ever interrupt me again. You have no right! You could have broke up the pin. It wasn't hard!
Simmons. I was taken out! How about you take some responsibility for once in your miserable life instead of blaming me for your shortcomings.
Drake. My life is miserable? How about yours? I kick your ass every chance I get and you just sit there and take it! You're a joke! You no good, talentless hack. Why don't you just get the fuck out of WCF?!
Matthew punctuates his sentence by shoving Simmons hard in the chest.
Simmons takes a moment to compose himself, as he was in the verge of snapping. He closed his eyes and breathed rhythmically, in and out. He did this, much to the confusion of Drake, until he was calm. No longer scowling, no longer breathing heavy, calm.
Then, out of nowhere, Simmons jumps at Drake, knocking him to the ground. He then mounted the prone man and flooded him with punches. Simmons' vision was partially obscured by his long black hair in this face. However he didn't need his vision. He just needed to have a basic idea of where his target was. Punch after punch, Simmons' rage built. Drake tried to cover himself but was was too slow for the larger man's quick jabs.
Finally, Drake was able to push his opponent off of him. Scrambling to his feet, he went to hit a superkick out of instinct. Simmons, knowing his foe so well, easily ducked his seven foot frame under his leg and got behind him. He spun Matthew around, grabbed him by the neck, lifting him up, and throwing him hard onto one of the black production trunks.
Drake arched his back in pain. He coughed, also feeling the effects of the hands around his throat from a moment before. But Simmons didn't let him rest. He grabbed Drake by the neck once again and repeatedly drove his head into the hard material that made up the box. He continued until the box began to splinter under the steady force.
Simmons grabbed Drake's side and pulled him towards his body and letting him tumble to the floor. Drake was bleeding now. A small gash had opened on the back of his head where he had hit the trunk. He slowly rose to his hands and knees. Upon noticing this, Simmons pulled his hair back, out of his face, revealing eyes that of a wild beast.
He took a step back, then another. He steadily made distance between him and the fallen Drake. Once satisfied, he took a running start. He jumped, stepped onto Drake's head, and drove it quickly into the hard, concrete floor. A curb stomp finishing his attack.
Without saying another word, Simmons walked off. Leaving the camera operator to pan down helplessly at Drake.
-FIN-
