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Act 1: Sentiments of a Sociopath; Nero -VS- El Locon
Topic Started: Jan 30 2011, 05:39 AM (259 Views)
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OOC Note: I apologize for the lack of quality this week. Still working six days a week and just haven't been feeling all that well the last couple of days. Good luck to everybody, and so far good job by the lot of you.


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Act I: Sentiments of a Sociopath
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There was a time in my life when everything seemed perfect.

My mom would make me cookies. My dad would play catch. My little brother and I would ride our bikes down to the local quarry and go swim with the other neighborhood kids.

Even little Fluffy would tag along and we'd spend hours in the water and having fun.

Hell, even as a family we used to take yearly vacations.

Once we went to Italy, then the following year we traveled to France. But when I was 10, we went on a cruise in the Pacific Ocean.

Everything was going fine, we had hit six of the seven ports and we were leaving Sydney when trouble struck. In some sort of freak accident, my parents and my younger brother fell overboard. I stood there and watched that night as the boat kept moving forward. They were struggling in the water. Trying to keep from getting sucked under from the current of the ship's propellers... but as they began to lose their battle with the waves, I felt some sort of feeling overcome me. And as I looked down at them begin to disappear one by one, my eyes narrowed in on theirs from several stories up. The fear, the sadness, the anger from betrayal, all at once. It felt like they finally got to know the real me.

I haven't felt so calm as I had that evening all of those years ago.

This unique, morbid sense of tranquility as I stood atop the deck of the S.S. Intrepid, watching my family struggling to survive. Oh how I long to go back to that night all these years later and just feel so happy. So content. So serene.

Is it odd that I watch Titanic just for the big sinking at the end? That I sit at the edge of my seat, giddy as a school girl watching with excitement as all of those people get sucked into the great dark abyss? To me, this is a mug of cocoa on a cold winter day. A nice cozy fire to curl up next to in a snow covered cabin.

Is it inappropriate to laugh every time Goldie Hawn falls over board in "Over Board"? Is it immature to giggle when I hear the tune to Jaws?

Nothing satisfies me more to remember the warmth of the moonlight on my back as I stood there, staring down at my struggling family in the water. Treading the water. Screaming for help. I was the only one around. Some speculated that I had pushed them in. It's not my fault they fell in. I didn't give them a nudge. But I certainly didn't throw them a rope either. People must pay for their mistakes in life.

Come hell or high water, people must pay for the sins in their lifetime.

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When the heavens shined down upon us and we looked up into their awaiting eyes, what was it inside of them that showered us with fire? With days and days worth of water? With years of snow and ice? Why is it that every time we get something great going... fate comes and fucks it up?

Pardon my French, but I feel that by just swearing once here, I've already outmatched the wit put out by my opponent this week. He calls me an underwear shitter and then tells me to take this seriously? A guy in a straightjacket tells me to take things seriously?

What in life should ever be taken seriously? A guy who's about as revered as a hangnail? Or a guy who's just about as sane as a three dollar bill? Hmm? What makes El Locon assume he'll ever be big enough, be smart enough, be man enough to get inside of me?

If I were to be offered a chance at setting my genitals on fire or having to listen to a person who's most eloquent sentence is: "Grow a fucking pair of balls"... then well, I'd chose the latter. If only for self-mutilation. But that's neither here nor there.

I'm being tasked with destroying a person who's just about as capable of taking his own life by drinking bleach because he liked the bottle.

Am I to be blamed when this nut job can't find the floor come Showdown? Am I to be blamed when I literally rip a hole in his throat and spit down it to just hear the gurgling? I may be a sociopath. But my playthings, El Locon is an imbecile. He's a cockroach who's too stupid to scatter when the light turns on, and at the end of the day, he too will be squashed under my boot.

People look to me and they see a creep in face paint. They see the guy who took a knife to Bobby Dean and whistled as he walked away. People look to me and see a pale individual with crimson lipstick.

But when I look at myself, I see an artist with a muse. I see a musician performing in front of a live audience. I see preacher with a pulpit.

When El Locon calls me irrelevant, I find it irritating. Because all I seem to be getting is a bunch of cookie-cutter bullshit. I didn't ask to be booked against this arrogant little fartnugget. But I'm extending the courtesy of actually coming up with original material and not rehashing some lame promo from two years ago.

I may not be the most technically sound, or the most sound of mind, but for Christ's sake, even I have standards. And when I'm standing over his lifeless body and I'm pissing in his mouth just for shits and giggles, well, I guess we'll see who's irrelevant and who's not some washed-up never was.

The real sadness is you having the stagehands digging up dirt on me to find anything of use. They probably didn't tell you my tortured story. They probably didn't tell you how I drew pictures in the buckets of Bobby Dean's blood. How I use his life essence to sign my name on anything proudly. You see, I'm not a guy who buys my way into things. I see something--and I take it.

It's not based on a desire for chaos, it's based on a need to want things. I've turned the Sanctioned Violence Organization upside down by slicing my blade into BBD's face one time. With one action, people everywhere are speaking my name. Be it good or bad, the name of Nero is dancing on their tongues.

The last time I heard anything about you El Locon, it was when you were being played like a puppet by Jon Page and this shameful excuse for management, the Company.

But you go ahead and you insult me. You throw sand in my face and you spit in my eye. When it comes down to it, I'll still break you neck and wipe the ring with your limp body like a wet mop. Why? Because I know what the hell I'm doing and I'm not some twelve year old playing dress-up.

The next time you try to insult me, keep this in mind. If you can't butcher a man with one swing of your cleaver, you may as well avoid putting on your apron.

After our match at Showdown, and they're scraping your body up off from the canvas I want you to know this: When you die, I'll only be more than happy to dance a jig of glee after taking a piss on your grave.

The will of the Gods cannot stop fate.

For the sisters three are mere hours away from cutting your life short, Locon. And I'm only too happy to stand there and watch you fail.

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ATH: Reaper Edition I & II - Winner

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