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Giovanni Aries vs. David Miller
Topic Started: Aug 2 2010, 06:34 PM (210 Views)
Kassie Khane
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Giovanni Aries vs. David Miller

2 RP Limit per singles match, 4 RP per team
Deadline: Noon EST Thursday, August 12, 2010

~~ Good Luck Everyone! ~~
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GiovanniAries
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OOC: This promo is to have taken place before Breakdown aired.

Event: Friday Night Ammo August 13th, 2010
Opponent(s): David Miller
Promo: | Clear Perception Of Reality - II : The Man I Have Become |
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Miller
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OOC: As always, the opening and closing scenes are "Off-Camera" and considered private. The monologued promo in the center is wide-open. Went for a different approach on the 'trash talk'. Less insulting, and more the 'cold hard facts' to go along with Miller being a more straight-forward character. Loved your first post, Gio, and wishing you nothing but luck! Win or lose, you'll be a hell of a threat around here!

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Well, I can’t say things went as smoothly as I would have liked, but I picked up the win. That’s all that really matters right now, anyway. Focus on the match. Pick up the win. Move on to whoever’s next in line.

The last few times I came back, I spread myself too thin. Obsessed over things I couldn’t control. Tried to be the one that put Winchester in his place. Tried to bring Greaternity down myself. Tried to shut Adam Allocco’s mouth once and for all. I even thought I could be SCW Champion; but I was wrong on all counts.

Well, maybe not wrong. I’m not about to say I can’t be the SCW World Champion. Shit, I damn well know I can. I’ve already beaten half the men who’ve held it: Wheeler, Savior, Winters, Angel, Gold and Speed. Two of them I dropped right in the middle of their reigns. So yeah, if I wanted to, I could make a bee-line straight to the top and knock Thorn colder than a damned Klondike …just not yet. I’ve got the skills, I’ve got the power, and I’ve got the tenacity …what I lack is the focus. ‘Focus Is Key,’ as the old saying goes, and there’s nothing but truth to that statement. There’s just too much shit on my mind right now: Kayla; the shit with the Board; the Pure Fighting Championship …not to mention whether or not I’ll keep my streak going.

One match isn’t much of a streak, true, but compared to the joke I almost turned into last time, hell, I’ll take a hard-fought win over anyone, even Marcus Lopez, any day. ‘Course, in his defense, Lopez wasn’t the mindless slug I remembered, either. Somewhere between then and now, the kid found some new tricks and a couple more RPMs to tack onto that speed of his. That, or maybe I’m just getting slower. That Daemon kid from the interview had mentioned me getting older. I still wouldn’t call myself an old man, but he still had a point. I’m pushing thirty now. I was twenty-five when I first showed up in Majestic, twenty-six when Drachewych called me up into the ‘Big Leagues.’ How much younger are the guys I’m up against now? …

Thorn, Starr, Helms, Winchester, Aries, Walker. Most of them are close to five years younger than me, and every bit as sharp in the ring as me. I’m not about to specify, but fuck it, some of them might even be better.

Not by much, obviously …I do have some pride to hang onto… but any one of them could leave me a broken mess in the middle of the ring without even breaking a sweat. Shit, most of the guys I looked up to in fear and awe …Valentine, Evans, CHBK and Hudson … Not even they could keep the young bloods down.

Leaning back against the cold steel of the lockers, I tried not to think about it all too hard. None of it should have been that much of a surprise anyway. Professional Wrestling, Mixed Martial Arts …both of them have a ‘cap’ when it comes to performing ages. This isn’t acting. This isn’t the theatre. No-one ‘ripens’ when they hit their forties and fifties. They start slowing down. Their shots get weaker. Their heart and lungs give out halfway through the second round and it’s a damned miracle they don’t collapse a minute into the third. I knew getting into this business I’d hit that point eventually …I just never expected to reach it so damn soon.

Eyes closed, I tried to focus my attention to something else …anything else. Through the plasterboard walls, I could hear the crewmen laughing amongst themselves as they packed up. Cracking an eye open long enough to peek at the clock over the door leading into the showers, I figured it was close to ten. The show had been over for at least thirty minutes, maybe a little less, since the main event had gone overtime. I didn’t bother watching. I could tell just from the echoes filtering through the halls that Knight’s team was pulling every dirty trick they could think of. They weren’t on the same level as the NBR had been, and I doubt anyone will ever hit the kind of heights Greaternity did …but Knight’s little ‘club’ was getting real close…

“Not a bad match.” The voice sounded a little distance, since it had to cut through the haze at the back of my mind, but once it made it through, I caught the familiarity. “You looked a little rusty, though.”

“I’ve been gone almost half a year, Sharpie …did you really expect me back in full form?”

“Maybe.” Hiding his smile behind a pseudo-hawkish stare, Adam Sharper stepped down into the room. I wasn’t considered one of the ‘major draws’ in SCW anymore, so instead of a private room, they’d pushed me back into the general lockers. Noting the change in surroundings, ‘Sharpie’ let his eyes roam the water-stained floor and rusted metal barriers dividing the wide-open cabinets, before they finally drifted back to where I sat, half-dressed in my jeans, hair still wet from the shower with a towel draped around my neck. “Guess I lost the bet. Knots said something about you being down in the ‘bargain bin,’ but I didn’t believe him.” Irritation lit the older man’s eyes a second, before a glint of amusement tempered the frustration. “Actually amazes me Sasha would put you here… you’ve been gone awhile, but you’re still…” Shrugging his shoulders, he cut himself off and sat beside me on the bench, resting his arms over his knees.

“I don’t think it was her idea.” Straightening up as he sat down, I reached up to pull the towel away, balling it up and lobbing it towards the hamper before matching his pose, my arms braced across my knees. “Nick warned me the Board would start taking its pot-shots …figured this was my ‘warning.’ Besides, Sasha would have told me up front I’d be stuck back here. She might be new to this C.E.O. stuff, but she learned what she’s got from Desoubrais, and he’s better than that …least, I’d like to think he his.”

Sharper nodded a minute, before letting his storm-gray eyes drift my way. “You did start up a lot of rumbling with that interview. Have to admit, even I was surprised you got that blunt. Between admitting outright you’d start another war backstage, plus all the tension over altering the Underground Title …well, let’s just say you didn’t so much leave a line in the sand… as dig yourself a trench.” Rolling one of his shoulders into a haphazard shrug, the older man turned and stared across the room to the far wall. “Still, from what I heard out there, people’re glad to see you back. Crowd was on your side, anyway.” His lips eased back with a quiet smile, as his gaze went distant …internal. “That never seems to change, does it?”

“Does when you’re the one hearing it.” Turning my head just enough to get his attention, I waited to meet his eyes a second before turning my own off to the far wall as well. “You can hear the difference when you’re in the ring. The ones that do it ‘cause everyone else is. The fake ones. The ones out of respect, or memory of what you used to be. Kind of like knowing the difference between a screaming brat, and a kid who’s just hungry or tired. Eventually, you reach the point where you know who’s side the crowd is on just by walking out onto the stage. Not by the volume or cheers or boos… but all the unsaid things in between.”

After staring at me a couple minutes, Sharper turned himself just enough to face me, leaning his shoulder back so it braced against the edge of a locker. “So which one did you hear?”

Without looking back, I just shook my head. “They couldn’t have cared less.” Dropping my eyes to the floor, I studied the endless cracks running through the once-white tile. When I first started competing, I heard guys talk about how each crack represented one of the faceless rookies that walked into the room, and never left. The guys who fought a couple matches, earned some money, but never made it out of the communal showers. According to the legend, when they finally quit …or got cut… their own crack opened up in the floor when they slammed the door shut for the last time. Made me wonder how much longer it would be before that’s all I was …just another crack in the floor… just another forgotten face in the legend.

“I see.” I didn’t bother looking, but I could ‘hear’ the shift in his expression through his voice. The change from announcer, to an impromptu trainer. It wouldn’t be the first time, either, and not just with me.

‘Sharpie’ was the guy who’d been a part of wrestling since it’s ‘hay-day.’ You could pick any name out of a hat: Haystacks, Bruiser, Hansen, Rose, Rogers, Flair, Hogan, Andre, Studd, Valentine, Hennig, Bruno; he’d not only called their matches… he’d been in the ring with them. He didn’t advertise it, and neither did the SCW, but half the reason Adam Sharper was so damned good at what he did, was because he’d been there …he was a true ‘done it all, seen it all’ veteran. And the best part was, he wasn’t above sharing that experience when he thought someone needed it. I’d seen him do it with Cody Mitchell, I’d seen him do it with me, and Mayhem and Holly Adams. He’d even helped guys like Juan Ramirez, Jake O’Neil and at times, Greg Cherry, though I doubt Greg would ever admit to it. Heaven forbid he ever admit he needed help.

Hoping to beat the old man to his punch, I waited until I saw him pause before cutting through the silence myself. “What’s on your mind, Yoda?”

To his credit, Sharper just smiled, though his eyes still narrowed. “Smart-ass.” He matched the smile I could feel building on my face, before sobering himself up and shaking his head. “Tell me something, David …why did you come back?” Before I could even open my mouth, he brought his hand up, holding me off as well as prompting me to turn my head, locking eyes with the wiser man. “Don’t just blurt the usual shtick, either. I’m serious. No-one comes back without a reason. Something made you pick up the phone and reactivate your contract. Something made you open a challenge to everyone on the roster. What was it? …out of everything in this world, what made David Miller come back to the SCW?”

He was setting me up. I could tell. I could feel it in my gut, but at the same time, couldn’t help but find myself thinking back through all the reasons. I told myself I wanted to pick up where I left off. Told myself I wasn’t happy with the way things had ended with the Pure Fighting Championship. Told myself there was nothing else I knew how to do. All of them had passed through my mind at least once or twice …but feeling Sharper’s eyes boring into me as I cycled through them… I could tell none of them were true. In all honesty, I didn’t have the first damned clue why I’d come back. Something had just told me it was time. Time to come home. ‘Home’ …one mention of the word, and all I could think about was the cage, the ring. Fighting.

Still shaking my head, I struggled to get my mouth open. “What else …can I do?” My voice finally emerged, awkward and broken. Staring down at the map-like series of cracks I’d been studying before, I used the toe of my boot to grind at one of the wider gouges. “Can’t go home …don’t have one. Can’t retire and raise a family …same reason. Only place I ever really seem to belong anymore is inside that ring. Seems like the only place I ever did belong Only place people seemed to take any real notice.” For one reason or another, I wanted to say it was the one place I felt loved …but just couldn’t bring myself to say it.

For what felt like an hour, I could feel Sharper’s eyes burning into the back of my neck. When I finally picked my gaze up off the floor, and turned it back to find those storm-clouded pools, I immediately knew I’d disappointed him. His expression hadn’t changed, but his stare had darkened. Grown almost foreboding, as he resettled himself against the locker, and dropped his voice to a firmed tone. “Were you waiting for me to swallow any of that, David? …were you actually expecting me to believe you? …I just got done telling you not to feed me all of the usual garbage, and here you are trying to cram it down my throat.” Shaking his head, the former veteran leaned in closer, biting each of his words off through clenched teeth. “I want the real answer, David. It’s already gone through your head …I know it has, because it went through mine when someone asked me the same damn thing. Now it’s your turn. Why did you come back?”

“What do you want me to say?” Planting my feet, I tried to push off the bench, but he was faster than he looked …especially for his age. Whipping out his arm, he shackled my wrist and pulled me back down again, leaning in closer until our faces were only inches apart. “Damn it, Sharper, let go of me!”

“Tell me why!”

“I don’t know!” Leaning back in, I screamed in his face …then felt my lungs catch as I held my breath. That was the answer. The truth. Drawing back, I ripped my arm out of his grip and turned to lean forward against my thighs again, clutching a balled fist until I both heard, and felt, the knuckles crack. “I don’t know.” Opening both hands, I cupped my face and scrubbed at it a little. “I just ... I needed to come back.”

From the corner of my eye, I watched him as he straightened a little, then let his body lean back against the edge of the locker. I couldn’t tell, but it almost looked like he had a smirk on his face. After a few seconds, he nodded his head, and turned his eyes off to the far wall again. “I know what you mean ... that’s exactly what I said.”

Silence stretched between us after that. I don’t know what was going through his mind, but mine was a fucking hurricane. Everything I’d told myself was starting to fall apart like a house of cards. The hell was I thinking saying I didn’t know what brought me back? …Of course I knew! …I wanted the Pure Title back! …I wanted my shot at the Championship! …I wanted to finish what I’d started four years ago, when every last son-of-a-bitch who knew what the fuck SCW was swore, fucking swore, up and down, that I would become the biggest name in Supreme Championship Wrestling history! …I’d put legacies like Xander Valentine and Steve Griffon to shame! …I wanted to live up to the image so many fucking people had forced onto me! …Didn’t I? …Curling my fingers, I dug the nails into my temples, raking the skin a little, hoping the sudden bursts of pain would clear my head, but they didn’t. Just added a damned headache into the mix.

Eventually, I felt a hand on my shoulder, the fingers giving a gentle squeeze that both relaxed the muscles, and pulled my attention back to Sharper’s face. Most of the fury had drained from the gray clouds, but there was still a wealth of expectation behind his piercing gaze. “You know why I asked you, David?”

“’Cause you’re a sick bastard who loves fucking with my head.” Muttering it through my clenched teeth, I bit back a hiss when he dug his fingertips into the tendon of my collarbone. Waiting for the numbness to pass, I tried to roll my shoulder to knock his hand away, but he just held his grip. “Fine. Why?”

“Because it’s the one question you never want to answer.” Taking his hand away, Sharper shook his head, and motioned to the empty showers. “The guys stuck back here? …They’ve all got reasons for breaking into the business. They’re going to be champions. They’re going to set records. They’re going to take the world by storm.” Unable to hide it, I saw the smirk at the corner of his mouth a second before he just scoffed. “How many of them do? …Care to take a guess?”

“Sure …just count the cracks in the floor.” The words were out before I had a chance to stop them, or my eyes from diverting to those same spider-webbed patterns in the tile. All over again, the legend played through the back of my mind …and along with it, the fear about how much longer before I was one of them.

The smirk built to a full smile as he nodded. “I remember that one …got more truth to it than most think. But back to my point. You want to know what keeps guys like you going? …What's kept a guy like Alex on top for so many years?” Without waiting for me to answer, he did it for me. “Not caring.” I must have made some kind of face, because he shook his head after that. “And I don’t mean not caring about winning or losing. People who use that one wind up being the sorest losers in the game …hell, I can remember when you were like that.” Jabbing his finger into my chest, he waited until I finally offered a crooked smirk before starting in again. “I’m talking about people who don’t care about the ‘why’s’ or the ‘what’s.’ The one’s who don’t give a rat’s ass about titles. Who couldn’t care less if they made the record books or not. The ones who go out and just focus on doing what they do best …just because they love it.”

I knew exactly what he meant. I’d been the same way back in Majestic. Yeah, I’d had my sights set on the title, but not the way I obsessed over things now. Back then, I’d gotten a kick out of competing, with anyone, over anything. Any reason I had to come down and get in the ring was worth getting excited. It didn’t matter if I was opening the card with someone like Colby Proof or Sickle, or going head-to-head with Allocco or Gold in the Main Event …so long as I was standing in the middle of that ring, taking the fight to someone simply because I could …and I knew I could… I couldn’t have been any fucking happier. Now …I was the same as the rest. Foaming at the mouth for a chance to stand onstage with the gold around my waist.

Kayla used to ride my ass about the same thing. My second-time-round against Speed, she used to beg me, even plead with me not to get in over my head. Throwing myself into shit like the ‘Hell’s Highway’ match, or even the ‘Fall From Grace’ bullshit I agreed to against Gold. Things that had absolutely nothing to do with just being the best …and everything to do with proving I was better than anyone else …everyone else.

And now …here I was falling back into the same routine. I’d kicked dirt in Knight’s eyes over a stupid message board, all but dared Speed to sue me, and flipped everyone on the Board the damned finger! …All for what? …Some cheap exposure? …Because I thought it would get me back into the spotlight so I could run rampant through the SCW? …Like fucking hell. I could make it as far as I wanted, but I wasn’t about to run over, around or through anyone. This wasn’t the ‘old days’ anymore. Every last name on the roster could stop me faster than a brick wall …and I wasn’t even paying attention. It took a few minutes, but eventually the pressure on my skull reminded me I still had my head in my hands. Breaking my grips, I dropped my arms back across my thighs, ignoring the white lights bursting behind the closed lids of my eyes as my head dipped in a low bow. I needed to get my mind straight. Fast. Before I wound up out of control all over again.

“This shit used to be a lot easier…”

I’d muttered the words under my breath, but Sharper was either watching me like a hawk, or had some serious hearing, because he nodded his agreement. “Welcome to my world.” Chuckling at his own joke, he pushed to his feet and reached down to clap a hand on my shoulder again. “But, if nothing else, at my age I’ve learned things only get difficult when you complicate them …so, the answer should be easy.”

I didn’t even bother looking up. Shaking my head, I swallowed the scoff as best I could, but still heard it push through. “Yeah? …Enlighten me.” Up until Sharper had come into the room, I’d been feeling pretty damned good! …Lopez or not, I’d picked up my first win in half a year. I was back in the ring and back on the hunt. Now I couldn’t even think of a reason to pick my head up.

Lowering his voice, Sharper forced the words out with a dramatized whisper. "You must simplify, Young Skywalker."

“From where I was sitting, things seemed pretty fucking simple, Sharpie.” I hadn’t even finished before I hated myself. Sarcasm dripped from every word …but I just couldn’t stop. “Crush Lopez, slap some sense into that Aries kid, and just keeping dropping bodies ‘till I get to Knight." Finally, I managed to roll my eyes up, staring into his face as best I could from the awkward angle. "Pretty hard to complicate a straight line.”

Sharper’s eyes bored through mine. His expression as cold and unyielding as the concrete in the walls, before I caught a hint of something behind the swirling storm-clouds. Whatever it was, it drew the corners of his mouth back in a half-smile, if only for a second. “Yeah, it is …which is exactly what I said.” There was a tone to his voice that raked on my nerves. Not an arrogance, so much as a hard confidence. The kind of tone you got from someone who’d been there. Who knew. “Problem is, you’re not going in a straight line. At least, not yet. You’re in four, maybe five different places right now, and only one of them matters. My advice? …figure out which one. Sooner the better …’cause if you keep trying to follow them all, you’ll wind up back where you started with nothing but wasted time to show for it.”

My cheeks burned as the blood started to simmer in my veins. I don’t know what the hell I was getting so worked up over, but something about this whole ‘discussion’ just rubbed me the wrong way. Why now, anyway? …One match. I’d had one damn match, and the man was already breathing down my neck about keeping things simple? …I get in the ring, knock some punk into next week and move on to the next asshole standing in line! …As far as I’m concerned, that’s simplicity personified! …Gritting my teeth, I pushed to a stand, bringing myself face to face with the grizzled vet until our eyes clashed and locked with a dead stare.

That half-smile returned …then spread. Holding the lock, Sharper nodded his head, before pulling his hand away long enough to motion to the flames I knew had to be raging behind the green glass of my eyes. “Now see? …That’s what I was looking for. That’s simplicity. That’s what brought you to this dance in the first place, Mr. Miller. That’s what you need to be focusing on.” Taking a step back, he let the smile take over his face, softening his expression just a little. “Anyway …that’s all I really wanted to know. Just thought I’d let you know it’s good to see you back.” Turning to go, he paused a half-step before the door, turning to glance back over his shoulder, unable to hold back his good-natured jab. “Let’s hope you stick around a little longer this time, though.”

Before I could even fire back, he’d stepped back out into the hallway. Staring at the open doorway, I felt my fingers curling, the knuckles cracking hard, the echoes reverberating in the empty air like muffled gunshots.

Unable to hold it back, I felt the tic in my spine an instant before my body lurched at the waist, wheeling round to send a balled fist careening into one of the metal dividers. Pain exploded through the thick mass of my hand, but it was nothing compared to the comforting release. Flesh and bone connected with a sickening ring, as thin steel and bolted metal collapsed under the impact. The divider dented first, then tore away at the fastenings, leaving the four-foot scrap swinging loosely from its two remaining screws. Giving an absent look down to my hand, I watched the thick blood pool from the shredded remains of my middle knuckles …

Rage. Seemed to be the only thing that I’d been able to keep for any length of time. Over thirty years of life, I’d lost family, friends, opportunities …everything. But the rage was always there. Like a beast lurking in the shadows, waiting for that one moment, that one split-second of weakness. That was its chance to strike.

And it had. Countless times. There wasn’t a man or woman in my life that hadn’t stared down ’The Dragon’ at least once. Nick, Kayla, Angela, Michael, Aria …they’d all seen it. Some of them had even fallen victim to it …one I’d lost because of it. Dropping back down onto the bench, I just draped the injured arm over my knee, watching the steady stream of blood as it spilt between my fingers and splattered across the pale tiles.

Bringing my good hand to my face, I palmed it, scraping my nails across my temple again if only to give my mind something else to focus on. I’d been so sure of how things would go. So convinced that I had it all planned out. Maybe that’s what Sharper had meant about being ‘everywhere at once.’ I was doing the same thing I did last time …coming in knowing what to do. Knowing what needed to be done. Out of everything he’d thrown at me, that was something I not only caught, but understood. This wasn’t the kind of business where you could plan things out. You could set goals, make statements, raise bars and expectations all you wanted, but until you were standing in the ring, actually making it happen, none of it meant a damned thing.

Goading Knight. Taunting Speed. Vowing the return of the Pure Title. None of it would mean a thing if I didn’t start putting some action behind it. All that shit I’d started on Twitter, all the comments I’d made in the After Hours interview …they needed to be backed up. And to do that, I needed to focus on more than just running my mouth and waiting for people to listen, ‘cause they wouldn’t. Not until I gave them a damned good reason. And held up against that, Lopez was nothing. He didn’t qualify as proof, and in the long run, neither would Aries. The only way Aries would end up meaning anything was if he won. If he beat me on Ammo, it was proof I was full of it …proof I was still the same loud-mouthed little fuck I was before.

Proof I was just another crack in the floor.

Ignoring the pain it caused, I balled my fist as tightly as I could, watching the blood spill with twice the flow, staining the once-white tiles a garish red. Watching as it filled the cracks, I swore on the liquid essence of my life …swore it would be the last time I ever had to look down at those fucking cracks again!

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Giovanni Aries. The man who plans to be our escort through the harsh reality of the world we live in.

No offense, man, but I got a feeling there aren’t too many people out there right now who don’t have a pretty firm grasp on that already. Have you bothered looking out the window recently? …Picked up a newspaper or turned on the news? …Shit, next time you’re down at the Laundromat, just keep your mouth shut and your ears open! …Trust me, you’ll get a lesson in reality. Life is probably the cruelest teacher you’ll ever know or have, and she’s one merciless bitch. You know what reality is, Aries? …Reality is having to sit back and watch your own President debate whether to sell your country out to the illegals or the terrorists. Reality is watching nine and ten years olds get kidnapped, raped and mutilated beyond recognition …and then watch the men that did it wind up back on the streets a month later. Why? …Because there’s no room in the prisons. Reality is knowing your kid isn’t learning anything in class, because the teacher’s too busy trying to remind the retarded fuck who should have been held back how to spell his own name! …That’s reality, Aries. That’s life. And like I said, there isn’t a man, woman or child who doesn’t know all about it.

But there’s no point in trying to explain that to you, is there? …Of course not. What else could you spend twenty minutes railing about on-camera if not teaching us all how to ‘open our eyes’ to the horrors and calamities that befall the world around us. Then again, maybe the only ‘reality’ you’re interested in is the one where you’re right …and everyone else is wrong… yeah, that sounds about right, doesn’t it, Giovanni?

After all, in ‘your’ reality, you’re the only one who has his head on straight, and all the rest of us just walk around with our heads in the clouds. All we care about is how far in life we can get. How many people we can stab in the back …how much we can get our hands on. That pretty much sum up your idea of ‘reality?’

Let me clue you in on something, Aries …you’re not the first one to come around trying to tell us all how shitty the world is. What’s even more pathetic is you won’t be the last. Now, granted, you’re a littler more intelligent than the others were …and a little sharper with your words, too. Get enough idiots in one room and you might be able to start a following as long as no-one pays any real attention. Which, luckily enough, you won’t have to rack your brain over too hard, ‘cause I can pretty much promise you nobody is …or will.

See, this is a somewhat convoluted business we’re in, Aries. Every week, or every other week, we sit in front of a camera, and try to convince a world-wide audience about why we’re better. Better than the other guy, better than the champion, better than anyone and everyone else! …But, the reality is, no-one cares. They’re not listening. Hell, they’re not even paying attention. They might tune in or download a clip now and then just to see if there’s any cool quotes they can pick up. And the Board or the PR people might skim through to see who has the charisma to be a ‘face’ for the company …but as far as anyone really taking anything we say to heart? …No chance. And it’s not because they don’t care. Fuck no. Of course they care. If they didn’t care, we’d all be out of a job ‘cause they wouldn’t be buying tickets, would they? …No, what I mean by them not caring is, everything we say into these cameras? …It’s just that… Nothing but a bunch of talking.

The ‘reality’ comes when we get down to the ring. That’s where the ‘truth’ comes out. That’s where all the lines between fantasy, fiction, truth, fact and everything else get erased once and for all. You think you’re better than someone else? …Get in the ring. If you can beat them, then obviously you were telling the truth.

But if you can’t? …You’re just another ‘talker.’ Another bag of hot air who needs to sit down and shut up.

Which is where we circle back to you, Aries. I’m not going to lie. It’s not my style. I didn’t bother listening to much of anything you said, but I did pick out one or two things that caught my attention …mainly because I’ve already heard them time and again. From guys better than you, worse than you, and all points in between. You’re not the first guy to try and call me out as some overblown attention whore, man. Just about everyone I’ve faced down has tried it one way or another. Now, lists may not mean a damned thing to you, but since we’re talking about ‘reality,’ I’ll go ahead and cite a couple names: Jay Gold and Damian Angel. If I wanted, I could tack Jason Wheeler-Zero and Christian Savior on there, too. Those names mean anything to you? …Since we’re talking about the difference between ‘air bags’ and ‘real deals,’ they probably should.

All four of them thought I was nothing but talk. Every last one of them. They would have sworn on their mother’s graves that I was just another mouth who knew how to be in the right place at the right time. Well, like I said before, eventually it was time to get in the ring …know where that ‘right place’ wound up being?

Standing over their broken bodies. The very same place you’ll find me when the bell tells you it’s all over.

I don’t go looking for attention, Aries. I never have. It finds me because I earn it. It finds me because whether the usual half-asses like Knight, Starr or you want to believe it or not, I’m as real as it gets. I don’t go for two hour rants over a camera. I don’t storm the ring and suck off the microphone waiting for the cheap pop …and yeah, it’s partly because I don’t have the talent for talk. I never did …probably never will.

What I do have a talent for, is shutting mouths. I take people like you, people who think they know it all, people who think they’ve got everyone figured out, and I leave them flat on their fucking backs, trying to piece whatever’s left of their skulls back together. And yeah, I happen to like hearing the reactions I get from the crowd. When I slip into place behind someone, and I hear that low rumble picking up through the arena …I can’t think of a bigger rush. They know what’s coming …and they can’t wait to see me drop them.

‘Course, I don’t need to talk you through it, you’ll get to hear it yourself just fine in a couple days. Or are you still convinced that you’ll be the proverbial needle that pops my bubble? …Is that what you see in your ‘reality,’ Giovanni? …Do you see yourself standing over the fallen body of the ‘Assassin?” …’Cause if that’s the case, than maybe you need to slow down on that ‘magic carpet’ of yours …you’re flying too high.

Oh …what? …You honestly thought I wouldn’t bring that up? …Think about it, Aries. You say you’re here to introduce us all to a new vision of the truth. Exactly how much of that ‘truth’ can you see with your head lost in a purple haze? …Don’t worry, though. I’m not going to waste my breath telling you how much of a hypocritical little punk you are. For one I’m sure you already know. For another, I know the fans already do.

Besides, half the SCW roster’s either chased the dragon, or fucked Mary Jane to within an inch of her life.

Asher Hayes, Rachel Foxx, Josh Hudson, Justin Davis …I think even Glacier’s got his own stash of ‘Ice’.

Me? …Not so much. I might drink on occasion, but not enough to keep me from focusing on what needs to be done …can you say the same? …All the head-shrinks talk about drugs being an escape. An escape from reality. An escape from responsibility. An escape from fear …makes me wonder which one you’re running from, Aries. Can’t be running from reality, right? …That’d kill your whole act right there, wouldn’t it? …So maybe it’s the responsibilities. Nope. Wait. You don’t have any, do you? …I guess that just leaves the fear.

Dare I ask what scares you, Giovanni? …Is it the truth, maybe? …The truth about what you really are?

‘And what am I?’ …I can hear you asking.

‘A fucking hypocrite’ …I answer.

You call me an attention whore, Aries …but what do you call someone who strives to draw all eyes to themselves? …Someone who demands the attention of the world, for the sake of his own purposes? …Let me guess, you need me to clarify. Alright, fair enough. You rail against the world, calling it unfair and prejudiced, then you turn around and try to call me out for obsessing over attention. What is it you’re looking for, Giovanni? …Did you plan on being some unheard voice in the wilderness? …Is this one of those ‘if a bitch cries, and no-one hears him, does he matter’ kind of analogies? …I have trouble understanding how you plan to ‘educate’ the world to your ‘reality’ when anyone who stands out becomes an immediate ‘attention whore.’ Ah. Wait. I get it. That doesn’t apply to you, right? …right… my mistake.

What a fucking joke. Look, let me spell things out for you, Aries, ‘cause I’m already getting sick of looking at this damn lens. You want to call me out for being a glory hound, you go right ahead …but you’d better check the fucking mirror first, ‘cause the ‘reality’ of it is, you don’t set foot in that ring unless you plan on having that crowd in the palm of your hand every second of every day for the rest of your damn life! …This business, and your survival in this business, revolves around how that crowd reacts to you. If they love you, congratulations, you just guaranteed yourself another couple years in the ring. If they hate you, I’ll be honest, that’s even better …’cause they’ll hate you whether you’re in the ring, or just skulking around the outside being your usual dick-headed self. But one way or another, you’d better get their fucking attention.

Which is where I come in …isn’t it? …Who better to help you earn your place? …See, you’re not the brainless little bastard you appear to be, are you? …You know the history I have in SCW. You know the reputation that I carry into that ring every single time I step through the curtain. I’m David Miller. I could be the last match you ever fight. The last man you ever see standing across the ring. Shit, just being able to walk out under your own power is something to brag about! …Or so they say. And you knew that. That’s why you singled me out. That’s why your first match in front of that world-wide audience …is against me.

In most cases, Giovanni, people would have commended you. Might even have congratulated you on making a smart move …but you notice how many people are doing that? …Zero. None. Ever stop to wonder why?

I’ll tell you why. Because the ’reality’ of the situation is this: You don’t stand a chance. And you never did.

Tell you what, Giovanni …I’ll grant you one thing. You’re only the second person to make that mistake, and in all fairness …maybe it’s not that big a mistake. After all, I’m not the man I used to be, am I? …This isn’t 2006 anymore. It’s not 2007. It’s been two years since I last held championship gold in the SCW, three years since I was considered a ‘heavy favorite.’ I’m pushing thirty. I’m slowing down. I’m getting easier to read. I’m starting to lose the momentum I once had …that’s what you’re looking at right? …Tell me, have you bothered paying attention to the rest of the package? …The knock-out power? …The fact I can cave your obviously empty skull in any fucking time I feel like it? …How about the fact that even the so-called ‘monsters’ in SCW used to refuse my challenges? …I might not be the force I once was, Aries, but here’s where your ‘reality’ runs head-first into the damned truth of it …I’m still too damned good for you to beat.

[align=center]I am …and always will be …the best damned fighter in Supreme Championship Wrestling.

I am …and always will be …the most dangerous man in the business.

I am …and always will be …as ‘real’ as it fucking gets!

Don’t believe me?

… Watch It Happen! …


====================[/align]

Leaning forward I clicked the camera off and just settled back in the cold steel chair. Maybe it wasn’t the kind of flame-inducing trash talk you heard from guys like Glacier or Starr, but it was honest. It was ‘real,’ as Aries would probably put it. And most of all, it was simple. It was perfect. Giving the now-darkened camera a lingering look, I pushed to my feet and crossed the short length of the room, flexing the fingers on my injured hand to keep them from falling asleep. It’d been a few days already, but the bandages kept cutting into the circulation, numbing up my hand. It was a pain in the ass for now, but once the match with Giovanni got under way, it would ultimately help. Since I couldn’t feel anything in that hand, anyway, I could use it to hit that much harder. I’d probably need all the advantage I could get, too, if that little video riled him up half as much as I expected it too. As it was, Aries seemed pretty fired up at the thought of stopping me short …and I wasn’t about to think he couldn’t. I’d make that mistake in the past …even lost the Pure Championship over it. I wouldn’t be making it again. Not with someone as solid as Giovanni Aries.

On paper, the kid was run of the mill, but there was something about the conviction in his voice. The calm composure in his eyes when he looked into the camera. Eyes like that reminded me of Shyne, Cedro Martinez, Donovan Kayl and Nathan Kaye. Dangerous men, all of them. More than capable of dominating a match. Aries had the same aura. The same silent strength emanating from his body. Aside from his fucked-up thinking, there wasn’t much to fault him on when it came to his prowess. Having downloaded a few clips from his dark match against Williams and Fiend, there was no denying his potential. Quick, agile …maybe a little sloppy, but he was still green. Four years or not, he was still finding his niche …that always took time.

Cradling my bandaged fist, I stepped out onto the balcony, savoring the strong salted tint in the air as I pulled a deep breath into my lungs. It was good to be home. Even with all its shit, I couldn’t even begin to picture myself anywhere but California. This was where I’d spent ninety percent of my life. This was where I’d found Angela …and Kayla. On instinct, my head shifted, letting my eyes glance off to the right, following the lights of the city down towards Westminster. Part of me thought about calling, but this late, she’d probably gone to bed already. Teachers couldn’t keep too many late hours, especially in the middle of the week. Turning my body, I braced a hip against the waist-high wall surrounding the balcony, letting it hold my weight while I kept my attention on the distant lights. Most of what Sharper had said about keeping things simple still echoed in the back of my mind …and a lot of it kept pulling my thoughts back to what was going on between the two of us. Whenever I wasn’t focused on Aries, or Knight, or whoever I thought was next …I was thinking about her. Wondering what she was up to …and whether she ever thought of me.

Things were …progressing, but it was hard not to wish I could just snap my fingers and have it all back.

The hours spent in bed, lost in her body, lost in her love …knowing that when I woke up, she’d still be there …she’d always be there, my shield against the world. She was my drug. I’d railed on Aries about his little ‘security blanket,’ but I had one too. Only I couldn’t reach into my pocket and grab her …or could I?

Was it that late? …Bringing my good arm up close I checked my watch. It was closing in on eight, but that wasn’t too bad, was it? …It was just a phone call, anyway …if she couldn’t talk, the worst that’d happen is she’d say so and hang up. Looking out towards Westminster again, I reached down for the cargo pocket of my jeans, digging the Samsung out as best I could with one hand. Using my thumb to slide it open I scrolled through my list of contacts. Not that it was much of a list …I had about ten numbers, total, and three of them were either dead, or didn’t talk to me anymore. The list went by letter, so I had to scroll down to find Kayla’s number. It was the one right above Nick’s. Pressing the button for speed dial, I felt my muscles lock a bit as I lifted the phone to my ear. Over the line, I heard the digital ring tone. Each one tied my throat in a new knot, until I was almost struggling to get my breath out by the time I heard her recorded voice come on.

Answering machine. Either she’d already gone to bed …or she was out somewhere.

A date, maybe? …Nothing was set in stone between us …no reason why she couldn’t be seeing someone else. Still, just the thought of it set my teeth on edge. Closing my eyes, I waited for the swelling rage to ebb, draining from my swollen muscles a little too slowly. Eventually, the insistent beep from her machine cut through the haze in my mind, snapping it back to the whole reason I’d called her in the first place. Shaking my head, I forced what little anger still lingered back under the surface. This was neither the time, nor place.

“Hey, Kayla …it’s me. I guess you’re busy, so I won’t take up too much time. I just …wanted to call and let you know you’d been on my mind. I, uh …I missed you in Texas. Was hoping maybe we could get together tomorrow or the next day before my flight. If not, well …it’s fine. Just …I’d really like to see you before I go. It …It helps, you know? …Always has.” Sucking my bottom lip between my teeth, I bit down on the fleshly muscle, squeezing my eyes shut to keep them from rolling over white. Christ, I sounded so fucking desperate! …Shit, what was I saying, I was desperate! …I couldn’t take not having her with me. And knowing she was probably out dancing with some new guy only made it worse! …Clenching my fist around the phone, I offered up a silent prayer it wouldn’t shatter in my hand as I swallowed a lungful of air, and tried to pick back up again. “Look, sorry I bothered you. I’ve just …had a lot on my mind, and it hasn’t been easy sorting it out …mainly because you’re at the center of it. I’ve never been right without you, Kayla, you know that. I know it was my fault. I know I fucked up. Shit, for all I know, you’re out hanging off some new guy who’s twice whatever I thought I was …but …fuck …damn it…” Biting off the agitated whispers, I yanked the phone away and almost hurled it down into the alley behind my apartments.

What the fuck was I doing?! …I’d gone from begging to see her, to damn near bawling her out for having a new guy! …It was the same stupid shit I’d pulled two years ago! …Shaking my head, I finally just let it drop, my forehead bouncing off the steel pipe topping the wall hard enough to send up a dull, bonging echo.

“… Ow …” Waiting for the bells to stop ringing through my skull, I stuttered through a fresh breath, and pushed back up again. Turning my hand, I checked to make sure the call was still connected before bringing it back up to my ear. “Kayla …I’m sorry. Look, I can’t …I can’t think. I can’t do this over a phone. I need …I need to talk to you. Please. If you’re busy tomorrow, then anytime before Wednesday, ‘cause that’s my flight. Maybe …maybe you could drive me out to LAX. That’d give us time to talk, just …please. Think about it?” Bile-laced pride bubbled up the back of my throat, but I didn’t let it win. Not this time. This woman meant everything to me. This woman was everything to me. If earning her back meant spending the next two years groveling from my fucking knees, then so be it! … “I can’t keep doing this without you. I know I can’t. I never could. I can’t think …I can’t focus …I can barely sleep, babe. Just …say ‘Yes’ this once, please? …Ride down to the airport with me. We can get something to drink, and find a place to talk …I need to talk. I need to see you.” Dipping my head in a humbled bow, I closed my eyes against the salted sting I felt burning at the corner of my right eye. “I, uh …I gotta’ go …I love you… bye.”

Closing the phone, I let it slip back into my pocket without looking, my eyes still locked on the distant Westminster skyline. ‘Keep It Simple.’ That’s what Sharpie’d been trying to tell me back in the locker room.

Good advice …but one problem. I couldn’t keep this shit up without Kayla. I needed her more than anything else. She was the key to everything I was. And that was the problem …nothing with her was ever simple …

Uttering a quiet sigh, I just shook my head. “This shit used to be easier …”
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OOC: Good luck Miller

Event: Friday Night Ammo August 13th, 2010
Opponent(s): David Miller
Promo: |Clear Perception Of Reality - III: Reflection
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