Post by Dominik Santiago on Sept 6, 2011 15:57:01 GMT -5
Dominik Santiago, already dressed for war, comes marching down one of the many corridors in the arena, until he ventures into the hallway connected, his motions quickly being picked up by the camera sitting there. In his hands lies the Thumbtack Chair, the weapon made famous by the Genius, the steel equalizer which he took as his own and had shed much blood with. He slams the weapon into the nearby wall, a loud "crack" sound reverberates through the aisle. The veins in his skull began to appear, his blood pressure clearly running to the surface, obviously seething, and fuming over something. The Lord of the Flies' eyes dart from side to side frantically as he continues to swing the chair around, catching nothing but air with his blind swipes. Someone's footfalls become audible, alerting the Assassin. Santiago turns, his iconic weapon being cocked back in the ready in the process. It's none other than the newest staff member Jamie Graves, who raises his arms in defense, whilst flinching, eyes bulged with dread, his body trembling with fear. Santiago takes a deep breath, lowering the chair and grabbing the young interviewer by the collar, getting right into his face, his enraged pupils burning through those of Graves.
"Where's Ryan Hughes?"
Jamie Graves caught like a deer in the headlights just stares at Santiago, his disposition intimating he has no answer for the King of Deathmatches' inquiry. Santiago releases Graves, shoving him back slightly. Having had his wardrobe wrinkled by the irate Californian, Jamie attempts to gauge at what's possibly bothering the Legion's fearless leader.
"Dare I ask what's on your mind Dom."
Santiago ignores Graves, turning to the wall and banging his head into the cinderblock. He continues for a second and third time, before groaning in realization of the agony. Instead of ramming his cranium into the unforgiving structure, he slams his fist into it, before gingerly planting his head along it, resting there. Jamie just looks on, a GHW microphone still held in his fingertips. After a brief moment Dominik pulls away, titling his head back, his blond hair flying to the back of his neck like in a Fabio moment. He turns back to the younger staffer, approaching him, sliding the top of the chair along the floor.
"Lastweek that yellow toothed scumbag injured my partner. That was a message, it was well received. I wanted to send him a reply, a personal one, but I can't seem to find him right now! I've got all this pent up rage and anger,
and...and... I NEED TO UNLEASH IT ON SOMEONE!"
Graves backpedals in hopes of preserving his well being, not taking the glare being administered from the Assassin lightly. Dom rubs the rim of his chin with his free hand, panting heavily, still quite discomposured.
"You know Jimmy, I've had to deal with a lot of shit as of late. Ryan Hughes wants to go start his coalition of crumpet eaters, that's fine by me. But attack one of my allies, and its personal. But then again its always been personal with us. Maybe these brits are just hired guns by the board to take my focus away from Full Circle. I don't know. I don't fucking know. All I know is, someone's gonna have their head driven into a canvas tonight.... fucking driven into a mat repeatedly. Because I'm losing my mind right now, so someone has to lose theirs!"
Dominik freezes for a second, beginning to ponder, the hyperventilation subsiding for a moment. Meanwhile Graves raises the mic to his mouth.
"And who do you have in mind? You've got so many enemies."
Dominik looks over to the side of him, before turning around, extending a finger at Jamie. He hisses his frustration, taking a huff out of anger and rage before turning back over, his teeth bared and gritted in a scowl, his eyes squinting, demonstrating his seriousness.
"So many enemies... But I guess I'll start with The Purest. He climbed out of the abyss, so I'm going to toss his old ass back in. If Marcus Rayne, Corrin Cobain, and Freddie McGavin want to make an appearance, they'll be blasted with this thing right here, my tool for negotiation, this peacemaker. Hell, if the Outcasts need me to bury them some more, let them rush to ringside, I'll plaster their faces with enough thumbtacks to satisfy a teacher's school supplies. They want the Tag Team Championships, come get them. They want the King of the Deathmatch Title? Fine! That can be arranged. Let's do it in a Shattered Dreams match, let me bury your ambitions in a glassy prison. How about a Last Man Standing match, where I'll stand tall above your aspirations. I'll let you scoundrels choose your graves, and where you want to be buried, just let me know how you want your funerals to be given. They want to kill the Legion, they'll have to cut the head off the snake, the vile, venomous serpent that stands here right before your eyes Graves."
"The Legion is declaring war against the Brits, the Outcats, the Circus Freaks, the undercard, the jobbers, all of them. I will conquer, vanquish, and destroy all of you. Now get the fuck out of my way before I break your goddamn neck kid."
Graves doesn't have to be told twice, stepping aside as Santiago storms out of camera view.
"And there you have it. It's Dominik Santiago and his Legion against GHW. Who will make it out alive as this conflict ensues? Stay tuned!"
With that the feed goes to black, GHW cuts to a commercial break.
"Where's Ryan Hughes?"
Jamie Graves caught like a deer in the headlights just stares at Santiago, his disposition intimating he has no answer for the King of Deathmatches' inquiry. Santiago releases Graves, shoving him back slightly. Having had his wardrobe wrinkled by the irate Californian, Jamie attempts to gauge at what's possibly bothering the Legion's fearless leader.
"Dare I ask what's on your mind Dom."
Santiago ignores Graves, turning to the wall and banging his head into the cinderblock. He continues for a second and third time, before groaning in realization of the agony. Instead of ramming his cranium into the unforgiving structure, he slams his fist into it, before gingerly planting his head along it, resting there. Jamie just looks on, a GHW microphone still held in his fingertips. After a brief moment Dominik pulls away, titling his head back, his blond hair flying to the back of his neck like in a Fabio moment. He turns back to the younger staffer, approaching him, sliding the top of the chair along the floor.
"Lastweek that yellow toothed scumbag injured my partner. That was a message, it was well received. I wanted to send him a reply, a personal one, but I can't seem to find him right now! I've got all this pent up rage and anger,
and...and... I NEED TO UNLEASH IT ON SOMEONE!"
Graves backpedals in hopes of preserving his well being, not taking the glare being administered from the Assassin lightly. Dom rubs the rim of his chin with his free hand, panting heavily, still quite discomposured.
"You know Jimmy, I've had to deal with a lot of shit as of late. Ryan Hughes wants to go start his coalition of crumpet eaters, that's fine by me. But attack one of my allies, and its personal. But then again its always been personal with us. Maybe these brits are just hired guns by the board to take my focus away from Full Circle. I don't know. I don't fucking know. All I know is, someone's gonna have their head driven into a canvas tonight.... fucking driven into a mat repeatedly. Because I'm losing my mind right now, so someone has to lose theirs!"
Dominik freezes for a second, beginning to ponder, the hyperventilation subsiding for a moment. Meanwhile Graves raises the mic to his mouth.
"And who do you have in mind? You've got so many enemies."
Dominik looks over to the side of him, before turning around, extending a finger at Jamie. He hisses his frustration, taking a huff out of anger and rage before turning back over, his teeth bared and gritted in a scowl, his eyes squinting, demonstrating his seriousness.
"So many enemies... But I guess I'll start with The Purest. He climbed out of the abyss, so I'm going to toss his old ass back in. If Marcus Rayne, Corrin Cobain, and Freddie McGavin want to make an appearance, they'll be blasted with this thing right here, my tool for negotiation, this peacemaker. Hell, if the Outcasts need me to bury them some more, let them rush to ringside, I'll plaster their faces with enough thumbtacks to satisfy a teacher's school supplies. They want the Tag Team Championships, come get them. They want the King of the Deathmatch Title? Fine! That can be arranged. Let's do it in a Shattered Dreams match, let me bury your ambitions in a glassy prison. How about a Last Man Standing match, where I'll stand tall above your aspirations. I'll let you scoundrels choose your graves, and where you want to be buried, just let me know how you want your funerals to be given. They want to kill the Legion, they'll have to cut the head off the snake, the vile, venomous serpent that stands here right before your eyes Graves."
"The Legion is declaring war against the Brits, the Outcats, the Circus Freaks, the undercard, the jobbers, all of them. I will conquer, vanquish, and destroy all of you. Now get the fuck out of my way before I break your goddamn neck kid."
Graves doesn't have to be told twice, stepping aside as Santiago storms out of camera view.
"And there you have it. It's Dominik Santiago and his Legion against GHW. Who will make it out alive as this conflict ensues? Stay tuned!"
With that the feed goes to black, GHW cuts to a commercial break.