Post by Dustin Delta on Mar 30, 2013 3:43:51 GMT -5
The Vicious One paces back and forth in the squared circle and the smirk which crosses his countenance speaks volumes. Confident and quite satisfied with his verbal dirty work, the host of Glory and Gossip eagerly awaits the arrival of his stabilized opposition.
"This is the beginning of the song."
"Threshold" by Sex Bob-Omb hits the P/A, and Vince leans back against the turnbuckles as the graphics of Dustin Delta cross the Honor Tron. Arena lights turn red, while the various LED screens that make up the massive Honor Tron turn to red-tinted cosmos, overlayed with faded checkerboards.
"I'm hearin' voices, animal noises;
The creme de la creme, the feminine abyss,
And I'm reachin' my threshold,
Starin' at the truth 'til I'm blind."
A very discontent and unhappy superstar emerges on the stage and he is bathed in the clarity of the spotlight. Dustin Delta is clad in his standard gear, and his new sleeve-less white denim jacket. He wastes no time making a flashy entrance. The red-headed competitor does not pose, does not stop to acknowledge the existence of any of the populace. He makes a B-line towards the ring, but more specifically, the man waiting inside.
"My body is stupid, stereo putrid;
Spewin' out music, in the raw sewage.
I'm reachin' my threshold,
Starin' at the truth 'til I'm blind."
Delta's feet slow and he comes to a halt outside of the ring. The New Yorker throws the ring apron up, and from the steel frame of the squared circle, retrieves a black steel chair. The audience pops once they see the weapon, which Dustin begins bashing against the frame of the ring like a mad man - which, he frankly is. Just don't tell him I ever said that. Vince bends his knees, now in a position where he'd be ready to dash towards and tackle Double D the second he stepped in the ring. Showing a lack for the sense and strategy he usually employs, the former King of the Deathmatch slides under the bottom rope, chair in hand, and hopes for the best. Vegas attempts a running takedown, but has the head of the chair driven directly into his stomach, leading him to double over and collapse. Delta mounts himself on top of Vince, holding him down and locking his arms around the neck of the Nevadan. While the circulation of breath is cut off, and Vegas struggles wildly to escape, Dustin begins his insane shouting routine.
"I deserved it, Vince?! I deserved it? What do you deserve, huh? A kick through the teeth, Vince? Do you deserve that? A knife run up your wrists, eh? Or maybe I should just ask Jerry Nate for a shotgun so I could blow your empty skull to fragments!"
Delta adjusts his positioning so now his right foot is holding down the neck of Vince - once in place, Dustin releases the head lock and stands, supporting himself with only his right leg while his left leg repeatedly stomps away at the scalp of the Las Vegas native. After a repetition extending to approximately twenty stomps, Double D steps away, grabbing the chair. Many members of the capacity crowd believe he's about to beat Vincent with it, however, Double D brings the chair to the center of the ring and stands on the seat, unhooking the X - however, rather than claiming it for himself, he chucks the reward at Vegas, who was up and running to prevent Dustin from capturing the victory. Although it strikes his chest, Vince catches the X as he falls. Dustin smiles as if he's witnessing the precious first steps of a child. He leaps down to the canvas and kicks the steel chair over. He shouts with the voice of a man drunk:
"Ladies and gentlefucks, the winner of your god damned match, Vincent Vegas!"
The Vicious One raises his arm in victory as if he had actually won the match - before long, he realizes it was Dustin's voice he had heard. His eyes widen, but before he can turn around to face the traumatized Fighty fighty person, Dustin jumps up and digs both knees into the back of Vegas, pulling him down and driving the joints further into the shoulders. Vincent bounces off the knees and tries to roll away, however, Dustin is in hot pursuit. Delta's fingers bury themselves in the scalp, using it for leverage to pull the Nevadan up due to his lack of hair. Double D approaches from behind and heaves the Television Championship contender onto his shoulders before planting his head down on the 'X' he had just been striken with, Delta connecting with Dustin's Driver. The Vicious One begins to bleed from the head, and writhes in anguish. Inches away, the former Tower of London winner is bent over, on all fours, shouting yet again.
"Maybe I deserved it, Vince. Maybe it's my fault. Maybe it's my fault that my only friend in the world ruined my head and twisted my thoughts for the rest of my sad life, maybe it's my fault that my life's so fucked. Maybe it's my fault that I get raped and I get burnt and I like it. It's my fault, Vince. It's my fault that everything in the world sucks, and it's my fault that you're bleeding, Vince. You know, Vince, Vince, I like blood. I like the color, and I like the warm way it feels when it passes down my face and I like it's taste, Vince. I like tasting my own blood, it tastes good. I like it Vince, do you like it? Do you like the taste of blood, pretty boy? Huh?! Do you?!"
Dustin's bellows demand an answer from the Las Vegas native.
"No! Fuck no!"
"Well if you don't want to taste it some more, just get the fuck out of my home. Get out of my ring, or I'll show you what you deserve and I'll show you what's my fault!"
Vince, whose has dawned the proverbial crimson mask, rolls out of the ring quickly, disposing himself to the ringside padding. Dustin laughs maniacally and crawls to the edge of the ring, demanding that a member of the on-hand staff provide him with a live microphone. His command brings a result, and Delta sits up, leaning back against the first rope while speaking.
"Who here has ever tried to kill themselves?"
Dustin raises his hand, but not another person in the arena does. His eyes scan the sold out crowd, expecting another man, woman, or even a child like him. He finds no one of the sort.
"That's because you don't live the life I live. You all have something, you all have a sickness. A sickness I call happiness. You're all delusional and you're all insane. You're crazy. You've lost it. Happiness is an ailment that only death can cure. But I know one disease worse than happiness and that disease is life. You psychopaths all ask your God and your sciences to cure cancers, and autoimmune diseases, and all these trivial sicknesses when the real cure you seek is death. Of all the fatal illnesses that we suffer from as a species, life is the worst of them all. Because every species on every planet, and every life form of every species on every planet is infected and the only cure is death."
"I didn't ask to be born. I never wanted to grow from a cell to a zygote to a fetus to a boy to a man to a mess. I didn't ask to be brought into a world that would tear me a part and not have the courtesy to explain to me how I fix the tears in the threads. I didn't want to be born, I didn't ask for life, and now all I want is to get rid of it. I want my noose back and my noose is back and it's tight and it feels good because Vlad is back. Vladimir Tepes Strife was my noose for a year or two, and I just needed a chair to kick and now the chair is kicked but my noose disappeared because it wasn't strong enough to hold my weight so I broke it. You were all there! You saw when it ripped. You saw when I broke Strife's arm and now, that monster, that false idol comes back and says he's some kind of honorable hero but I don't know heroes who get their arm broken by a bad guy, 'cause that's what I am, I'm just a bad, bad guy, because I'm ill with that sick thing called life and I'm addicted to the antidote."
"Vlad, I gave you mercy the last time we met. I broke your arm and you're lucky that was all I did. But this time, I'm begging you, God, come out here and give me a sweet, sweet medicine. Come out here and show me mercy by killing me. Put me out of my misery, Vladimir. Come out here and cure me of this sickness of life. Because life infected me and all of us at birth, and from birth, I've felt nothing but pain, and abandonment, and emptiness and brokenness and all these symptoms have broken me down to nothing and I need that antidote. Come out from the dark, creature of the night, and heal me with your powers, you supposed God. Come heal the king of the sick."
TBC Vladimir
"This is the beginning of the song."
"Threshold" by Sex Bob-Omb hits the P/A, and Vince leans back against the turnbuckles as the graphics of Dustin Delta cross the Honor Tron. Arena lights turn red, while the various LED screens that make up the massive Honor Tron turn to red-tinted cosmos, overlayed with faded checkerboards.
"I'm hearin' voices, animal noises;
The creme de la creme, the feminine abyss,
And I'm reachin' my threshold,
Starin' at the truth 'til I'm blind."
A very discontent and unhappy superstar emerges on the stage and he is bathed in the clarity of the spotlight. Dustin Delta is clad in his standard gear, and his new sleeve-less white denim jacket. He wastes no time making a flashy entrance. The red-headed competitor does not pose, does not stop to acknowledge the existence of any of the populace. He makes a B-line towards the ring, but more specifically, the man waiting inside.
"My body is stupid, stereo putrid;
Spewin' out music, in the raw sewage.
I'm reachin' my threshold,
Starin' at the truth 'til I'm blind."
Delta's feet slow and he comes to a halt outside of the ring. The New Yorker throws the ring apron up, and from the steel frame of the squared circle, retrieves a black steel chair. The audience pops once they see the weapon, which Dustin begins bashing against the frame of the ring like a mad man - which, he frankly is. Just don't tell him I ever said that. Vince bends his knees, now in a position where he'd be ready to dash towards and tackle Double D the second he stepped in the ring. Showing a lack for the sense and strategy he usually employs, the former King of the Deathmatch slides under the bottom rope, chair in hand, and hopes for the best. Vegas attempts a running takedown, but has the head of the chair driven directly into his stomach, leading him to double over and collapse. Delta mounts himself on top of Vince, holding him down and locking his arms around the neck of the Nevadan. While the circulation of breath is cut off, and Vegas struggles wildly to escape, Dustin begins his insane shouting routine.
"I deserved it, Vince?! I deserved it? What do you deserve, huh? A kick through the teeth, Vince? Do you deserve that? A knife run up your wrists, eh? Or maybe I should just ask Jerry Nate for a shotgun so I could blow your empty skull to fragments!"
Delta adjusts his positioning so now his right foot is holding down the neck of Vince - once in place, Dustin releases the head lock and stands, supporting himself with only his right leg while his left leg repeatedly stomps away at the scalp of the Las Vegas native. After a repetition extending to approximately twenty stomps, Double D steps away, grabbing the chair. Many members of the capacity crowd believe he's about to beat Vincent with it, however, Double D brings the chair to the center of the ring and stands on the seat, unhooking the X - however, rather than claiming it for himself, he chucks the reward at Vegas, who was up and running to prevent Dustin from capturing the victory. Although it strikes his chest, Vince catches the X as he falls. Dustin smiles as if he's witnessing the precious first steps of a child. He leaps down to the canvas and kicks the steel chair over. He shouts with the voice of a man drunk:
"Ladies and gentlefucks, the winner of your god damned match, Vincent Vegas!"
The Vicious One raises his arm in victory as if he had actually won the match - before long, he realizes it was Dustin's voice he had heard. His eyes widen, but before he can turn around to face the traumatized Fighty fighty person, Dustin jumps up and digs both knees into the back of Vegas, pulling him down and driving the joints further into the shoulders. Vincent bounces off the knees and tries to roll away, however, Dustin is in hot pursuit. Delta's fingers bury themselves in the scalp, using it for leverage to pull the Nevadan up due to his lack of hair. Double D approaches from behind and heaves the Television Championship contender onto his shoulders before planting his head down on the 'X' he had just been striken with, Delta connecting with Dustin's Driver. The Vicious One begins to bleed from the head, and writhes in anguish. Inches away, the former Tower of London winner is bent over, on all fours, shouting yet again.
"Maybe I deserved it, Vince. Maybe it's my fault. Maybe it's my fault that my only friend in the world ruined my head and twisted my thoughts for the rest of my sad life, maybe it's my fault that my life's so fucked. Maybe it's my fault that I get raped and I get burnt and I like it. It's my fault, Vince. It's my fault that everything in the world sucks, and it's my fault that you're bleeding, Vince. You know, Vince, Vince, I like blood. I like the color, and I like the warm way it feels when it passes down my face and I like it's taste, Vince. I like tasting my own blood, it tastes good. I like it Vince, do you like it? Do you like the taste of blood, pretty boy? Huh?! Do you?!"
Dustin's bellows demand an answer from the Las Vegas native.
"No! Fuck no!"
"Well if you don't want to taste it some more, just get the fuck out of my home. Get out of my ring, or I'll show you what you deserve and I'll show you what's my fault!"
Vince, whose has dawned the proverbial crimson mask, rolls out of the ring quickly, disposing himself to the ringside padding. Dustin laughs maniacally and crawls to the edge of the ring, demanding that a member of the on-hand staff provide him with a live microphone. His command brings a result, and Delta sits up, leaning back against the first rope while speaking.
"Who here has ever tried to kill themselves?"
Dustin raises his hand, but not another person in the arena does. His eyes scan the sold out crowd, expecting another man, woman, or even a child like him. He finds no one of the sort.
"That's because you don't live the life I live. You all have something, you all have a sickness. A sickness I call happiness. You're all delusional and you're all insane. You're crazy. You've lost it. Happiness is an ailment that only death can cure. But I know one disease worse than happiness and that disease is life. You psychopaths all ask your God and your sciences to cure cancers, and autoimmune diseases, and all these trivial sicknesses when the real cure you seek is death. Of all the fatal illnesses that we suffer from as a species, life is the worst of them all. Because every species on every planet, and every life form of every species on every planet is infected and the only cure is death."
"I didn't ask to be born. I never wanted to grow from a cell to a zygote to a fetus to a boy to a man to a mess. I didn't ask to be brought into a world that would tear me a part and not have the courtesy to explain to me how I fix the tears in the threads. I didn't want to be born, I didn't ask for life, and now all I want is to get rid of it. I want my noose back and my noose is back and it's tight and it feels good because Vlad is back. Vladimir Tepes Strife was my noose for a year or two, and I just needed a chair to kick and now the chair is kicked but my noose disappeared because it wasn't strong enough to hold my weight so I broke it. You were all there! You saw when it ripped. You saw when I broke Strife's arm and now, that monster, that false idol comes back and says he's some kind of honorable hero but I don't know heroes who get their arm broken by a bad guy, 'cause that's what I am, I'm just a bad, bad guy, because I'm ill with that sick thing called life and I'm addicted to the antidote."
"Vlad, I gave you mercy the last time we met. I broke your arm and you're lucky that was all I did. But this time, I'm begging you, God, come out here and give me a sweet, sweet medicine. Come out here and show me mercy by killing me. Put me out of my misery, Vladimir. Come out here and cure me of this sickness of life. Because life infected me and all of us at birth, and from birth, I've felt nothing but pain, and abandonment, and emptiness and brokenness and all these symptoms have broken me down to nothing and I need that antidote. Come out from the dark, creature of the night, and heal me with your powers, you supposed God. Come heal the king of the sick."
TBC Vladimir
