Post by Logan on Jun 17, 2011 5:10:12 GMT -5
Waking up this morning could’ve proved difficult for your average human-being. Especially considering the facts that one had just closed a book on a long enduring rival, a career long enemy, more importantly though what kept someone from taking a little longer to move in the early hours of the light could be the discovery of another life – one that he created. Roy Speede, the direct son of Logan. It had a nice twist to it, perfectly slid off the tongue like an easing cough drop. Roy Speede, who would’ve thought? Worse yet, it was actually true. Logan had a son in Roy and Roy had a father in Logan – biologically scientifically DNA-proven strictly speaking. That ruled out the theory of it being a scam to win over ratings or invite fresh viewers to the television. Nope. This was nothing more than an honest mistake, a human mistake. One night, somewhere, a drunken night assumedly, Logan, a human-being, engaged in sexual play with another human-being. Not a far stretch considering how dearly he exploits the opportunity to mention his Jumbo Hotdog of Treachery whenever the merest of a given chance arises, and it’s also not impossible to believe that this certain jumbo hotdog shaped male organ left its mark on, or rather, in a certain someone. And, the end result? Out popped Roy Speede, only just a whole eighteen years later.
Another relative of Logan’s whom he didn’t have knowledge of being related too managed to float along on the boogey board of fate to end up making the exact same career choice and the same exact career location. Terrifying, considering this isn’t the first time a similar situation has happened, unless, Barrack Obama turns out to be the bastard son of George W. Bush – that’d definitely shadow the news of Roy Speede’s reveal. There was a time not too long ago that spun the same familiar shocking twist; Jay Price and Logan, half-brothers. Was it their blood they shared that cursed them to wrestle, and coincidentally, in WCF? It had to be fate, nothing less, cold hard dark fate. It’s not as if Logan found out of his sons existence and said, ‘Hey, come follow your old mans footsteps’. No – the bastard-child had already been here, just like Jay had. Penny for your thoughts, Logan?
The fact was; nobody knew generally what type of impression Roy had made on him, other than the brief stare that was shared right up until the sloppy placement of commercials that ruined the moment at Blast. ACTUALLY, nobody ever precisely knew what Logan had on that mind of treachery, other than that he did have a mind of treachery. The reputation he earned could easily allow for unpredictable behavior on his behalf, even more so now that he had a son in the mix. Anxiously, a cameraman waited at his hotel room door, hoping for some sort of light to shed in the mysterious dark events of Blast. More than likely, Logan anticipated the interviewer type presence when he dressed this morning, and that showed when he opened the door and stood shaven, covered in casual clothes. He had been awake now for a long while. Though his shallow facial impression didn’t shine off a clue to a sort of intention he may’ve had. With the right kind of eye, one could realize that his eyes nor face never actually had anything to say or offer. Whether in a seemingly genuine moment of happiness or charm, a monster always lurked in his eyes. He further demonstrated a lack of emotion, hitting the cameraman with a fake yet warm smile, a basic human interaction that could fool the brightest of therapists, and a skill that he had mastered.
Logan: What’re you doing here, waiting outside the Door of Treachery, peeping through the Keyhole of Treachery, trying to get a glance of the Jumbo Hotdog of Treachery.
The opportunity to mention it never seemed to pass.
Logan: Too much treachery in the morning? SHUT UP!
Subconsciously, the cameraman couldn’t help to agree, objects were being labeled ‘of treachery’ too freely – even for Logan. Maybe this whole Roy Speede thing had shaken him up.
Cameraman: You know why I am here.
Logan: Sure.
The Face of Treachery - understanding?
Logan: You came here to see the biggest thing in WCF history, the unique, one and only, headstrong, woman pleaser, baby-maker; Jumbo Hotdog of Treachery!
Never mind. But, ‘baby-maker’? At least he was getting to the point.
Logan: I know what you really came here to ask me. You didn’t come here to talk about Rick Mad, about ME giving him a lifetime supply of tickets. Rick Mad is done. Even I can agree that no one wants to talk about that. He was finished before he even returned; his fifteen seconds of fame will forever be remembered in this business as that one stupid-ass guy who got the biggest beat down in the history of Blast. That’s Rick Mad. That’s who he was and who he is. But, babygurl, the purpose of this interview isn’t about Rick Mad is it?
The cameraman shook his head, expecting Logan to continue and spill the beans on his own.
Logan: Roy Speede…
Bingo.
Logan: Roy.. Speede..
Bingo times two.
Logan: Come inside.
The cameraman happily accepted the invite, smuggling his way through the door past Logan.
Logan: Sit.
He found his place on a chair; Logan joined him on another, sitting just across from him.
Cameraman: It’s rather shocking news. I’m sure.
Logan: SHUT UP!
Cameraman: Oh?
Logan: Yes, oh, only the Face of Treachery speaks inside the Room of Treachery—
There he went again.
Logan: … boudle-free speaking environment. You aim the camera, focus in on the best damn looking man in this business, and I’ll do the talking. Roy Speede, where do I begin? Firstly, I don’t know anything about him. I hadn’t even bothered to do any research on him, not yet. Just do not know what to think. The only time I’ve seen him, other than last Monday, was when I first returned at XIII, where he was also on the show, wrestling Gravedigger and Brad Kane. Then, of course, sometime last Monday morning, I got the news. Yes, it was shocking. I asked for proof immediately, and I got it. That was almost even more shocking. So, honestly, I didn’t know what to do. I had heard that Roy Speede had also gotten the news. I didn’t approach him. I didn’t know what to say to him. So, after my match with Rick Mad, I did what I thought was right at the time, and announced the news. It’s awkward. Odd. It has no reason not to be. The fact is that after eighteen years of not knowing he even really existed, that suddenly I have a son? And to boot, he’s a wrestler, and in the same company. How am I supposed to feel?
The fact is and was – Logan had been rejected the right to ‘feel’ since birth, incapable of such. Psychical pain was felt of course, whether he choose to enjoy it or not – it was felt. Basic and simple human emotions, however, were far out of Logan’s reach. He didn’t understand them, thus, wouldn’t even know what to do with them had they stabbed in his beating heart. He learned, eventually, to fake human interaction during his involvement with life, to blend in with peers among school days to avoid being out-casted or thrown in a locker. The sociopath-like nature evolved over the years, finally finding its place inside a ring, and it was only there – and just there – that he could be free. Display him as he truly was. That ring had become the one release, the addiction. So, the presence of another that shared his blood, seemed more troubling than anything, troubling because another Logan existed. A victim produced from the drunken mishaps of a cold dead monster. That’s just what he was; the cold dead monster, the little icy voice that existed within all of us to commit bad doings. Why reproduce that; reproduce Logan? Like going ahead with the production of a toy that everyone knew didn’t function correctly to begin with. Roy Speede, Son of Treachery, Son of the Cold Dead Monster. Never had anything ever sounded so legitimately truthful.
Logan: People might expect me to shake his hand, nod, and say something along the lines of, ‘Hello, son. Nice to meet you.’ That sounds like just about what anyone else would do if they found a long lost son, I suppose. Not the most dramatic thing, but, what other choice do I have than to simply introduce myself? This whole thing is awkward. Never done anything like this before. So, here goes. Hey there, Speedo. How’re you? Um, nice name, has a nice ring. Ya’ know, uh, my name is Logan, of course. Got you a girlfriend? Handsome young fellow like yourself ‘ought to have one – oh this going horribly. Roy, you have to understand that I have no idea what I am doing. This is all very new to me. To make things even more possibly weird than they were at Blast, we are booked into a match together. I figured the WCF heads would’ve at least saved that one for a pay-per-view, but, that’s what this isn’t about, that’s not even really important. Even the fact that this match is a qualifying match to get into a main event isn’t even important. What’s important is that my son is Roy Speede and I don’t have a fuckin’ idea who that is. Maybe this Monday we’ll learn a little more about each other, Roy. Yes, Monday, I won’t be teaching my son how to catch and throw a baseball – I’ll be teaching him how to wrestle.
The camera abruptly dies.
Another relative of Logan’s whom he didn’t have knowledge of being related too managed to float along on the boogey board of fate to end up making the exact same career choice and the same exact career location. Terrifying, considering this isn’t the first time a similar situation has happened, unless, Barrack Obama turns out to be the bastard son of George W. Bush – that’d definitely shadow the news of Roy Speede’s reveal. There was a time not too long ago that spun the same familiar shocking twist; Jay Price and Logan, half-brothers. Was it their blood they shared that cursed them to wrestle, and coincidentally, in WCF? It had to be fate, nothing less, cold hard dark fate. It’s not as if Logan found out of his sons existence and said, ‘Hey, come follow your old mans footsteps’. No – the bastard-child had already been here, just like Jay had. Penny for your thoughts, Logan?
The fact was; nobody knew generally what type of impression Roy had made on him, other than the brief stare that was shared right up until the sloppy placement of commercials that ruined the moment at Blast. ACTUALLY, nobody ever precisely knew what Logan had on that mind of treachery, other than that he did have a mind of treachery. The reputation he earned could easily allow for unpredictable behavior on his behalf, even more so now that he had a son in the mix. Anxiously, a cameraman waited at his hotel room door, hoping for some sort of light to shed in the mysterious dark events of Blast. More than likely, Logan anticipated the interviewer type presence when he dressed this morning, and that showed when he opened the door and stood shaven, covered in casual clothes. He had been awake now for a long while. Though his shallow facial impression didn’t shine off a clue to a sort of intention he may’ve had. With the right kind of eye, one could realize that his eyes nor face never actually had anything to say or offer. Whether in a seemingly genuine moment of happiness or charm, a monster always lurked in his eyes. He further demonstrated a lack of emotion, hitting the cameraman with a fake yet warm smile, a basic human interaction that could fool the brightest of therapists, and a skill that he had mastered.
Logan: What’re you doing here, waiting outside the Door of Treachery, peeping through the Keyhole of Treachery, trying to get a glance of the Jumbo Hotdog of Treachery.
The opportunity to mention it never seemed to pass.
Logan: Too much treachery in the morning? SHUT UP!
Subconsciously, the cameraman couldn’t help to agree, objects were being labeled ‘of treachery’ too freely – even for Logan. Maybe this whole Roy Speede thing had shaken him up.
Cameraman: You know why I am here.
Logan: Sure.
The Face of Treachery - understanding?
Logan: You came here to see the biggest thing in WCF history, the unique, one and only, headstrong, woman pleaser, baby-maker; Jumbo Hotdog of Treachery!
Never mind. But, ‘baby-maker’? At least he was getting to the point.
Logan: I know what you really came here to ask me. You didn’t come here to talk about Rick Mad, about ME giving him a lifetime supply of tickets. Rick Mad is done. Even I can agree that no one wants to talk about that. He was finished before he even returned; his fifteen seconds of fame will forever be remembered in this business as that one stupid-ass guy who got the biggest beat down in the history of Blast. That’s Rick Mad. That’s who he was and who he is. But, babygurl, the purpose of this interview isn’t about Rick Mad is it?
The cameraman shook his head, expecting Logan to continue and spill the beans on his own.
Logan: Roy Speede…
Bingo.
Logan: Roy.. Speede..
Bingo times two.
Logan: Come inside.
The cameraman happily accepted the invite, smuggling his way through the door past Logan.
Logan: Sit.
He found his place on a chair; Logan joined him on another, sitting just across from him.
Cameraman: It’s rather shocking news. I’m sure.
Logan: SHUT UP!
Cameraman: Oh?
Logan: Yes, oh, only the Face of Treachery speaks inside the Room of Treachery—
There he went again.
Logan: … boudle-free speaking environment. You aim the camera, focus in on the best damn looking man in this business, and I’ll do the talking. Roy Speede, where do I begin? Firstly, I don’t know anything about him. I hadn’t even bothered to do any research on him, not yet. Just do not know what to think. The only time I’ve seen him, other than last Monday, was when I first returned at XIII, where he was also on the show, wrestling Gravedigger and Brad Kane. Then, of course, sometime last Monday morning, I got the news. Yes, it was shocking. I asked for proof immediately, and I got it. That was almost even more shocking. So, honestly, I didn’t know what to do. I had heard that Roy Speede had also gotten the news. I didn’t approach him. I didn’t know what to say to him. So, after my match with Rick Mad, I did what I thought was right at the time, and announced the news. It’s awkward. Odd. It has no reason not to be. The fact is that after eighteen years of not knowing he even really existed, that suddenly I have a son? And to boot, he’s a wrestler, and in the same company. How am I supposed to feel?
The fact is and was – Logan had been rejected the right to ‘feel’ since birth, incapable of such. Psychical pain was felt of course, whether he choose to enjoy it or not – it was felt. Basic and simple human emotions, however, were far out of Logan’s reach. He didn’t understand them, thus, wouldn’t even know what to do with them had they stabbed in his beating heart. He learned, eventually, to fake human interaction during his involvement with life, to blend in with peers among school days to avoid being out-casted or thrown in a locker. The sociopath-like nature evolved over the years, finally finding its place inside a ring, and it was only there – and just there – that he could be free. Display him as he truly was. That ring had become the one release, the addiction. So, the presence of another that shared his blood, seemed more troubling than anything, troubling because another Logan existed. A victim produced from the drunken mishaps of a cold dead monster. That’s just what he was; the cold dead monster, the little icy voice that existed within all of us to commit bad doings. Why reproduce that; reproduce Logan? Like going ahead with the production of a toy that everyone knew didn’t function correctly to begin with. Roy Speede, Son of Treachery, Son of the Cold Dead Monster. Never had anything ever sounded so legitimately truthful.
Logan: People might expect me to shake his hand, nod, and say something along the lines of, ‘Hello, son. Nice to meet you.’ That sounds like just about what anyone else would do if they found a long lost son, I suppose. Not the most dramatic thing, but, what other choice do I have than to simply introduce myself? This whole thing is awkward. Never done anything like this before. So, here goes. Hey there, Speedo. How’re you? Um, nice name, has a nice ring. Ya’ know, uh, my name is Logan, of course. Got you a girlfriend? Handsome young fellow like yourself ‘ought to have one – oh this going horribly. Roy, you have to understand that I have no idea what I am doing. This is all very new to me. To make things even more possibly weird than they were at Blast, we are booked into a match together. I figured the WCF heads would’ve at least saved that one for a pay-per-view, but, that’s what this isn’t about, that’s not even really important. Even the fact that this match is a qualifying match to get into a main event isn’t even important. What’s important is that my son is Roy Speede and I don’t have a fuckin’ idea who that is. Maybe this Monday we’ll learn a little more about each other, Roy. Yes, Monday, I won’t be teaching my son how to catch and throw a baseball – I’ll be teaching him how to wrestle.
The camera abruptly dies.
