Post by parsons on Jun 6, 2016 5:15:55 GMT -5
Light and sound seem lost as we begin. The screen bears no distinguishing features, only darkness, vast, solid and unending…
The only indication we are even viewing an actual recording and not some “technical difficulty” is a digital clock that is displayed in the bottom right hand corner of the screen. The clock reads fifteen hundred…three o’clock pm? Or perhaps something else?
The clock is all that matters, standing stationary as seconds pass to minutes, and still it has not moved. Several more seconds pass, and oddly, it begins counting down.
14:59…
Seconds slowly tick away, each seeming to linger longer than the last, before eventually fading away. Is it wasted time?
No. Parsons was a lot of things; talented, arrogant, cunning, an asshole, intelligent, possibly crazy, but there was one word he had never been associated with...foolish. He never wasted time. Booze, drugs, women...sure, he wasted those all the time, but never time.
As a youth, he had a Judo mentor that once told him the reason he didn't argue with his wife. He could remember the words as though it were yesterday. "If she's mad, I hand over my wallet, turn on my computer and hope it doesn't cost too much. I can make more money, I can't get the time I argue with the bitch back. Time where I can just sit and just relax? You can't buy that."
The lesson? Time was the single most valuable commodity in the world. Not gold, or diamonds, or oil. Time.
14:26...
And timing? It was everything, maybe even more important than skill. though it depended on how you looked at things.
On one side there was Brenna Gordon. Darling of PCW. Current Underground Champion. A competitor as fierce and as tough as they came. Battle tested. Simply put, a proven legitimate threat coming off an impressive run that almost ended with a win in The Icemann Invitational Tournament.
On the other? The new guy who just got his first win. The guy with the ridiculous roster page. A guy claiming to be what the PCW faithful already knew was true about the champion. He was, as of yet, untested.
The fans didn't need long in the PCW poll, it was practically unanimous. On paper Brenna was too much, Parsons had a gorilla's chance in Cincinnati of winning. (Too soon?)
14:12…
The darkness seems to finally begin to recede as our scene finally fades in…
Towering Oaks stretch high into the night sky. Here in the wandering forests, there is usually no light save for that of the full moon…but not this night. Tonight, through the trees, a new light shines. Casting it's glow upon all that surround it.
A small fire outlines the form of Parsons. Seated with his back to the flames, his chiseled frame testing the boundaries of his black t-shirt. Lost in thought, he's staring into the night sky. What an opportunity he now possessed, but again, it was all in how you looked at it.
13:28…
Brenna had fought, literally, to exhaustion in her bid to win the tournament, she couldn't be one hundred percent. She had fought so hard, only to come up short, that had to sting a little. Her pride was wounded, her confidence had to be shaken just a little. She was vulnerable.
Then there was the reverse, she was Brenna Gordon. The same woman who had made her name in PCW by making the most of this very situation. The only difference is now it was her turn to be the wily PCW veteran testing the new talent.
Wasting no more time, he doesn’t wait for us to fully advance before he begins his message. Drawing a long breath, his first words slide from his mouth as though his tongue were made of silver.
Parsons – “Well, I guess what they say is true. Be careful what you wish for, 'cause you just might get it.
I said that PCW wouldn't see my true debut until I got a one on one match, and here we are. ”
As we advance, and as the darkness fades by the light of the fire, he becomes clearer. He is seated with his legs crossed, wearing faded denim and a black T.I.B. shirt, his ever present RayBans at his side.
Parsons – “I know what you're all thinking. Brenna's gonna whip this guy's ass. Who does this guy think he is anyways? What's he done?
I get it, I really do. Brenna's been here a while now, all you hear around here is how much of an impact Brenna Gordon made when she burst onto the scene in Pure Class Wrestling. A warrior, who gives her all each and every match. Win or lose, she holds nothing back.
But think about that. She's been pushing herself to her breaking point for so long now, that eventually she's going to find it.”
Pausing, he takes a long, deep breath. Allowing time for his words to stand in the night air.
12:16…
Parsons – "I'm not going to sit here, half drunk, slightly high, under the stars and say I'm coming to Trauma to become the Underground Champion, because these matches are just shit storms. Let's be honest with ourselves, you throw two people who fight for a living into a ring and tell them they can pretty much do whatever they want to each other...there's no analyzing this. Stats don't matter for shit in this type of match. This is a fight, plain and simple. It could come down to one well timed shot.
So, if Brenna Gordon thinks for even one second that Underground Rules favor her, or that just because I'm one of 'the new guys', that this is a confidence builder for her. Something for her to use to 'get back on track' or that it's management's way of feeding her a quick and easy title defense...this bitch better google Michael Bisping, because if she wants to beat me, she better pack a lunch. It's going to take a lot longer than you all motherfuckers think.”
9:53…
Allowing a few more precious moments to slip away, Parsons looks into the camera with great intent. He has to know the anger his words will inspire within Gordon, he has to know that anger left to fester soon becomes rage, and that rage can be channeled and twisted to its own sick purposes. Or maybe that was the point. After all, there’s a reason they call it ‘blind’ rage…careless mistakes twisted to 'The Nightmare's' favor could shock the roster and possibly the wrestling world at large…or was he was testing Brenna's mental chin on the heels of a bitter end to an otherwise flawless run?
Parsons – “I came here for one reason, a new challenge. To find out if I'd become complacent. I didn't want to see the truth. I'd become a shell of what I once was, the last real motherfucker left standing.
Not this time, I'm coming out this week to do something I haven't had to do in years. Prove I belong. Win, lose...irrelevant. When people leave that arena, all they're going to be talking about is this match. Nothing else.
There will be no talk of our new champions, or the whereabouts of Ms. Starr, only the war that two people waged trying to prove to themselves that they've still got the fire. Because that's what this really is.
A fight between two people who, for different reasons, find themselves staring across from each other at a crossroads in their respective careers. Funny when you think about it. We don't know shit about each other, yet fate and timing conspired to put us in front of each other in times of doubt. Ain't that a bitch?"
7:37…
Parsons had been serious now for several minutes, lately, a personal best. Something had been stirring inside him for weeks now. He hadn't been able to put his finger on it. The jokes were fun and all, but they didn't have the sting they once had. They meant there could only be one thing left to do. The time for jokes was over, you know, mostly.
Parsons – "You know, the other day I was sitting in my ridiculously awesome penthouse, just minding my own business, being awesome...and it hit me. I realized that this match is actually more important for you than it is me."
7:09…
Parsons – “Think about it…you came so close to having that golden ticket, only to see it slip through your fingers. The chance to challenge for any Championship at any time, but more importantly, the chance to move to the next level. Earn your stripes, make that run for the top you've been eyeing for so long.
You probably had it all envisioned, after your crowning moment, you'd bide your time. Slowly pick away a top contender, maybe two or three, then one night, you'd strike, defeat this Grimm guy that has everyone on his dick...and become PCW World Champion, fulfilling your destiny and dreams while creating a moment that would live on forever. The perfect ending to the steady climb to the top you've had.
But that all came to a screeching fucking halt, and instead, you get me. Wrestling's Viagra (Patent Pending), the man who's about to make the Underground Division hard again. All in all, in the long run, not that bad of a consolation prize sugartits. You get to go out there and try to beat the hell out of someone with a chip on their shoulder and something to prove...just like you used to.”
The flames burn hotter, flaring up to match the intensity in its otherwise dead voice. Hotter, brighter, the fire outlines his form, was he playing devil's advocate? Or was Parsons the devil himself?
The timer continues to slowly count towards zero, yet Parsons has made no mention of it.
5:39…
Parsons – “Before shit hits the fan on Trauma, I just want to say thanks. That ain't a set up, or a punchline. I actually sorta mean it. I needed a wake up call, something to dial me back to just enough awesome to make sense, and Brenna...you were it.
The rising star, the next big thing. They're already calling for you to move on from the Underground. I'm sure you hear them don't you Brenna? How could you not? Shit I only just got here and I know they're calling for you.
But before you think about that, think about this. A man with nothing to lose is either crazy or dangerous and the line that decides the difference is razor fucking thin.
I have nothing to lose, and everything to gain. Worst case scenario, I come out of this with a few more eyes on me after coming up short against one of the best in PCW.
Best case scenario? You have a stroke mid match and I pin your Michael J. Fox like body to the mat for an easy three...like I said, the difference is razor thin. We're going to find out just how bad that loss got to you Brenna, we're going to find out which of us wants this more."
Taking a moment, Parsons seems to reflect on his own words…being known as a guy who liked to take chances, it was no surprise that the Las Vegas native was ready to throw caution to the wind to make a statement.
3:57…
Parsons – “Maybe I'm off base, but I get this feeling that we're more alike than you realize Brenna. We're both fighting just to be what we are.”
Lunacy and truth drip from his very words as a thin smirk stretches across his face…like a snake moments before it devours its prey, he’s waiting, allowing time to simply tick away as his match with Brenna Gordon draws nearer.
3:03…
Parsons – “I don't even have to say it do I? You know exactly what I mean don't you?
Of course you do. You've been wondering the same thing ever since Living a Legacy. It's the reason you've been quiet leading up to our match, and I'm here to tell you it's ok to be angry Brenna, actually I'd prefer it if you were. I told you I wouldn't say that I was coming to Trauma to take the Underground Championship...that's because I'm coming to coat the canvas in our blood.”
Stretching his arms out, the silhouette against the flames becomes leaner, more defined. He was running out of precious time.
0:60…
Parsons – “There are two types of newcomers to any wrestling promotion. There's the fly by night, flash in the pan types who come in maybe string together a win or two and then the first time they get their asses handed to them, they run.
Then there are the hard workers, the adaptable, the innovators, and the visionaries. the people who go out there and even if they lose, the winner knows they were in a fight. The type of people who only work harder when faced with adversity.
The type of people who don't worry about their fifteen minutes of fame running out..."
0:01…
The expiring timer sends the scene crashing to a halt, returning to the darkness from where it came.
The only indication we are even viewing an actual recording and not some “technical difficulty” is a digital clock that is displayed in the bottom right hand corner of the screen. The clock reads fifteen hundred…three o’clock pm? Or perhaps something else?
The clock is all that matters, standing stationary as seconds pass to minutes, and still it has not moved. Several more seconds pass, and oddly, it begins counting down.
14:59…
Seconds slowly tick away, each seeming to linger longer than the last, before eventually fading away. Is it wasted time?
No. Parsons was a lot of things; talented, arrogant, cunning, an asshole, intelligent, possibly crazy, but there was one word he had never been associated with...foolish. He never wasted time. Booze, drugs, women...sure, he wasted those all the time, but never time.
As a youth, he had a Judo mentor that once told him the reason he didn't argue with his wife. He could remember the words as though it were yesterday. "If she's mad, I hand over my wallet, turn on my computer and hope it doesn't cost too much. I can make more money, I can't get the time I argue with the bitch back. Time where I can just sit and just relax? You can't buy that."
The lesson? Time was the single most valuable commodity in the world. Not gold, or diamonds, or oil. Time.
14:26...
And timing? It was everything, maybe even more important than skill. though it depended on how you looked at things.
On one side there was Brenna Gordon. Darling of PCW. Current Underground Champion. A competitor as fierce and as tough as they came. Battle tested. Simply put, a proven legitimate threat coming off an impressive run that almost ended with a win in The Icemann Invitational Tournament.
On the other? The new guy who just got his first win. The guy with the ridiculous roster page. A guy claiming to be what the PCW faithful already knew was true about the champion. He was, as of yet, untested.
The fans didn't need long in the PCW poll, it was practically unanimous. On paper Brenna was too much, Parsons had a gorilla's chance in Cincinnati of winning. (Too soon?)
14:12…
The darkness seems to finally begin to recede as our scene finally fades in…
Towering Oaks stretch high into the night sky. Here in the wandering forests, there is usually no light save for that of the full moon…but not this night. Tonight, through the trees, a new light shines. Casting it's glow upon all that surround it.
A small fire outlines the form of Parsons. Seated with his back to the flames, his chiseled frame testing the boundaries of his black t-shirt. Lost in thought, he's staring into the night sky. What an opportunity he now possessed, but again, it was all in how you looked at it.
13:28…
Brenna had fought, literally, to exhaustion in her bid to win the tournament, she couldn't be one hundred percent. She had fought so hard, only to come up short, that had to sting a little. Her pride was wounded, her confidence had to be shaken just a little. She was vulnerable.
Then there was the reverse, she was Brenna Gordon. The same woman who had made her name in PCW by making the most of this very situation. The only difference is now it was her turn to be the wily PCW veteran testing the new talent.
Wasting no more time, he doesn’t wait for us to fully advance before he begins his message. Drawing a long breath, his first words slide from his mouth as though his tongue were made of silver.
Parsons – “Well, I guess what they say is true. Be careful what you wish for, 'cause you just might get it.
I said that PCW wouldn't see my true debut until I got a one on one match, and here we are. ”
As we advance, and as the darkness fades by the light of the fire, he becomes clearer. He is seated with his legs crossed, wearing faded denim and a black T.I.B. shirt, his ever present RayBans at his side.
Parsons – “I know what you're all thinking. Brenna's gonna whip this guy's ass. Who does this guy think he is anyways? What's he done?
I get it, I really do. Brenna's been here a while now, all you hear around here is how much of an impact Brenna Gordon made when she burst onto the scene in Pure Class Wrestling. A warrior, who gives her all each and every match. Win or lose, she holds nothing back.
But think about that. She's been pushing herself to her breaking point for so long now, that eventually she's going to find it.”
Pausing, he takes a long, deep breath. Allowing time for his words to stand in the night air.
12:16…
Parsons – "I'm not going to sit here, half drunk, slightly high, under the stars and say I'm coming to Trauma to become the Underground Champion, because these matches are just shit storms. Let's be honest with ourselves, you throw two people who fight for a living into a ring and tell them they can pretty much do whatever they want to each other...there's no analyzing this. Stats don't matter for shit in this type of match. This is a fight, plain and simple. It could come down to one well timed shot.
So, if Brenna Gordon thinks for even one second that Underground Rules favor her, or that just because I'm one of 'the new guys', that this is a confidence builder for her. Something for her to use to 'get back on track' or that it's management's way of feeding her a quick and easy title defense...this bitch better google Michael Bisping, because if she wants to beat me, she better pack a lunch. It's going to take a lot longer than you all motherfuckers think.”
9:53…
Allowing a few more precious moments to slip away, Parsons looks into the camera with great intent. He has to know the anger his words will inspire within Gordon, he has to know that anger left to fester soon becomes rage, and that rage can be channeled and twisted to its own sick purposes. Or maybe that was the point. After all, there’s a reason they call it ‘blind’ rage…careless mistakes twisted to 'The Nightmare's' favor could shock the roster and possibly the wrestling world at large…or was he was testing Brenna's mental chin on the heels of a bitter end to an otherwise flawless run?
Parsons – “I came here for one reason, a new challenge. To find out if I'd become complacent. I didn't want to see the truth. I'd become a shell of what I once was, the last real motherfucker left standing.
Not this time, I'm coming out this week to do something I haven't had to do in years. Prove I belong. Win, lose...irrelevant. When people leave that arena, all they're going to be talking about is this match. Nothing else.
There will be no talk of our new champions, or the whereabouts of Ms. Starr, only the war that two people waged trying to prove to themselves that they've still got the fire. Because that's what this really is.
A fight between two people who, for different reasons, find themselves staring across from each other at a crossroads in their respective careers. Funny when you think about it. We don't know shit about each other, yet fate and timing conspired to put us in front of each other in times of doubt. Ain't that a bitch?"
7:37…
Parsons had been serious now for several minutes, lately, a personal best. Something had been stirring inside him for weeks now. He hadn't been able to put his finger on it. The jokes were fun and all, but they didn't have the sting they once had. They meant there could only be one thing left to do. The time for jokes was over, you know, mostly.
Parsons – "You know, the other day I was sitting in my ridiculously awesome penthouse, just minding my own business, being awesome...and it hit me. I realized that this match is actually more important for you than it is me."
7:09…
Parsons – “Think about it…you came so close to having that golden ticket, only to see it slip through your fingers. The chance to challenge for any Championship at any time, but more importantly, the chance to move to the next level. Earn your stripes, make that run for the top you've been eyeing for so long.
You probably had it all envisioned, after your crowning moment, you'd bide your time. Slowly pick away a top contender, maybe two or three, then one night, you'd strike, defeat this Grimm guy that has everyone on his dick...and become PCW World Champion, fulfilling your destiny and dreams while creating a moment that would live on forever. The perfect ending to the steady climb to the top you've had.
But that all came to a screeching fucking halt, and instead, you get me. Wrestling's Viagra (Patent Pending), the man who's about to make the Underground Division hard again. All in all, in the long run, not that bad of a consolation prize sugartits. You get to go out there and try to beat the hell out of someone with a chip on their shoulder and something to prove...just like you used to.”
The flames burn hotter, flaring up to match the intensity in its otherwise dead voice. Hotter, brighter, the fire outlines his form, was he playing devil's advocate? Or was Parsons the devil himself?
The timer continues to slowly count towards zero, yet Parsons has made no mention of it.
5:39…
Parsons – “Before shit hits the fan on Trauma, I just want to say thanks. That ain't a set up, or a punchline. I actually sorta mean it. I needed a wake up call, something to dial me back to just enough awesome to make sense, and Brenna...you were it.
The rising star, the next big thing. They're already calling for you to move on from the Underground. I'm sure you hear them don't you Brenna? How could you not? Shit I only just got here and I know they're calling for you.
But before you think about that, think about this. A man with nothing to lose is either crazy or dangerous and the line that decides the difference is razor fucking thin.
I have nothing to lose, and everything to gain. Worst case scenario, I come out of this with a few more eyes on me after coming up short against one of the best in PCW.
Best case scenario? You have a stroke mid match and I pin your Michael J. Fox like body to the mat for an easy three...like I said, the difference is razor thin. We're going to find out just how bad that loss got to you Brenna, we're going to find out which of us wants this more."
Taking a moment, Parsons seems to reflect on his own words…being known as a guy who liked to take chances, it was no surprise that the Las Vegas native was ready to throw caution to the wind to make a statement.
3:57…
Parsons – “Maybe I'm off base, but I get this feeling that we're more alike than you realize Brenna. We're both fighting just to be what we are.”
Lunacy and truth drip from his very words as a thin smirk stretches across his face…like a snake moments before it devours its prey, he’s waiting, allowing time to simply tick away as his match with Brenna Gordon draws nearer.
3:03…
Parsons – “I don't even have to say it do I? You know exactly what I mean don't you?
Of course you do. You've been wondering the same thing ever since Living a Legacy. It's the reason you've been quiet leading up to our match, and I'm here to tell you it's ok to be angry Brenna, actually I'd prefer it if you were. I told you I wouldn't say that I was coming to Trauma to take the Underground Championship...that's because I'm coming to coat the canvas in our blood.”
Stretching his arms out, the silhouette against the flames becomes leaner, more defined. He was running out of precious time.
0:60…
Parsons – “There are two types of newcomers to any wrestling promotion. There's the fly by night, flash in the pan types who come in maybe string together a win or two and then the first time they get their asses handed to them, they run.
Then there are the hard workers, the adaptable, the innovators, and the visionaries. the people who go out there and even if they lose, the winner knows they were in a fight. The type of people who only work harder when faced with adversity.
The type of people who don't worry about their fifteen minutes of fame running out..."
0:01…
The expiring timer sends the scene crashing to a halt, returning to the darkness from where it came.