| It's Over.; C2V RP1 | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Jun 23 2008, 10:11 PM (250 Views) | |
| Thornhill | Jun 23 2008, 10:11 PM Post #1 |
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The Revolution
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The scene opens up to a large, bare field on what looks like a rural farm. A small pond sits in the background of the scene, flanked on either side by small, rusted tin barns. There is a stump sticking up out of the water, and a Diet Pepsi can sits atop it. Matt Thornhill is standing just off to the left of the shot, as is revealed when the camera swings around towards him. Thornhill is wearing a pair of clear Oakley M-Frames, a backwards Chicago Cubs baseball cap, a t-shirt and a pair of khaki shorts, and in his hands is a .22-caliber rifle. Thornhill grimaces and adjusts his glasses, bringing the rifle up to his shoulder. He takes aim, bringing the Pepsi can into his sights, and prepares to shoot. I've got so much I could say and should say, but in the interest of keeping my career intact I will refrain. I'm on a losing streak I'm not particularly proud of, not because of my lack of effort but because of the shitty ways I've lost. Hell, this past week I heard all about my opponent's tag team partner and his closet love for the cock. I was demoralized in the ring, with both of my opponents hitting their finisher on me. This comeback feels like a waste of time to me, and then... I'm booked to open a card against Steele? Thornhill pulls the trigger, and his aim is true; Diet Pepsi explodes in every direction as the round Thornhill fires tears through the aluminum. He brings the rifle down to his side, squinting at the damage done, and lets off a satisfied "Hmm". Let me make things clear, for those of you new to the Matt Thornhill Show. Steele and I have squared off on numerous occasions in the past, and I don't remember how each outcome went down. As we've learned here recently, work you put in towards your match doesn't matter much in the world of professional wrestling, so outcomes can't always be taken to mean the better man won. I honestly can't remember our head-to-head record...but I'm sure Steele will be quick to toss it out there for you. Date, time, weather conditions, match type...he keeps up with all of that stuff. It's just never been for me. I'd have to do some background checking to even see what my record here is in the sVo...because I just don't care. It's not important to me. It's even less important to me when there seems to be no rhyme nor reason to it, but I digress. But that history does not carry over to the sVo, Steele. Neither one of us matters here; that much is pretty obvious. Our titles...they don't matter. Our accolades...they don't matter. Our runs at the top...our feuds with the greats...they don't matter. Nothing either of us has done in our careers to this point...none of it matters, Steele. So why not do something that matters? Thornhill walks over to an outdoor work station nearby where he was shooting from, and sets his gun down. He takes a seat in a patio chair and sighs. A friend of mine once said the Main Event doesn't have a particular place on the card...the Main Event is the match that everybody talks about after the show is over. Our place on the card doesn't matter, Steele...it has never mattered. As I've already discussed...around here, it doesn't seem like it ever WILL matter. Static, never changing. But the impressions we can leave in the minds of the fans, Steele...the people who are coming to see the Alex Ross's and Nights and Travis Williams' of the world...the impact that Thornhill v. Steele can leave with those people...THAT matters. There is a price for greatness, though, Steele...and unfortunately for you, you're the one who will have to bear the cost. This match has the opportunity to be great, as many of our confrontations have been...but you're the one who's blood will be spilled to make this happen. It has the potential to live on in the minds of the fans...but the mental images they render when they think about it will be of YOUR bruised, battered, beaten, and bloody body being broken further down. It has the chance to steal the show... ...but at your expense. I've played games for long enough, Steele. I've apparently not done enough in my time here to make any type of impact on anyone whatsoever. But those days are over...if I have to become the vengeful, spiteful, violent bastard to get ahead around here, so be it. If I have to relive the days in the UnHoly Trinity to have any impact...that's just the way it's gonna have to be. I didn't think I'd have to revert to my Championship ways to reclaim any championship gold...but apparently, I was wrong. If I have to slip into that mindset again...if that's what it takes to get noticed...then Joe was right. It's time to stop being a little boy scout. It's time to put away The Residential Hero. It's time to stop being meek and mild mannered. It's time to stop, Gabe...it's over. It's done. And it's done, starting with you. I've pussyfooted around it for too long...but this is just the way it has to be. Thornhill stands, and walks back towards another small building on the property. A glimpse through the window shows an assortment of freeweights. Joe Wilburn stands outside the door, nodding at Thornhill's monologue with approval. Gabe....the countdown has begun for you. The Countdown to Violence is on. And Gabe...it WILL be violent. You WILL get hurt. There will be advancement in my comeback, but at the expense of yours. I'm sorry, buddy boy...I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I'm gonna hurt you. JW: You've got some potential left in you after all, kid. We might make a winner outta you yet. Thornhill and Wilburn walk into the weightroom as the camera pans back out to the pond before fading to black. |
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12:27 AM Jul 11