Post by Stitches on Apr 19, 2024 22:17:00 GMT -6
'Monsters don't always lurk in the shadows. Sometimes they hide in plain sight' - Belle Aurora, author of 'Raw'.
The moon was at its fullest, gleaming a luminescent light across Wembley as the suburb prepared to be enriched with tens of thousands of people in a few short nights as they filled Wembley Stadium. Sitting precariously upon a concrete barrier, the infamous greasy green hair of the carnival clown is noticeable, the crown of his head showing as he stares down at something in his hands. The moonlight peers through an opening a few feet above the carnival clown, casting a phosphorescent glow across one side of his face. A concrete wall a few feet behind the carnival clown is plastered with graffiti, most of which is just generic scribbling from nighttime delinquents. In the palm of the hands of the carnival clown rests a red flag, pressed precariously against the palm by both thumbs to keep it from floating away. The carnival clown stares down at the red flag for a moment before shuffling it over to one hand and then retrieving it with two fingers from the other. Lifting the red flag to his face, the carnival clown eyes it up and down as it flutters in the light breeze.
'I have made it no secret since laying out Jordan Sharpe and placing a red flag upon his unconscious carcass, thus joining the Brawl roster, that the International Championship was always a means to an end'. The carnival clown opens up his jacket and stuffs the red flag into the inner pocket. 'It was always meant to be the stepping stone to once again becoming the Undisputed Champion. If you held that championship you were heralded as the best that Brawl had to offer, even if the champion didn't fit the definition of the championship. The International Championship did just that; it afforded me an opportunity to dig myself out of the deepest and darkest pits of despair, bludgeon King Flip en route to becoming International Champion, and then afford me an opportunity at the Undisputed Championship at the following year's Stranglemania. However, there is a burning sense of injustice lurking in my blackened heart, a sense of criminality that has lingered for quite some time that desperately needs to be extinguished... that being the way I lost the International Championship. You've heard it all before - I am like a broken record - but it bears being repeated; I never lost that championship, it was merely passed back to the previous holder because Morgan Darkwater felt it more appropriate to lie down like a whore than to fight. I watched from the outside of the ring as my championship was taken from me. And although I was afforded my opportunity at the Undisputed Championship at Stranglemania a month later... and squandered it... there was a hole that desperately needed filling. In my infinite wisdom, I thought I could fill that hole by going against everything I had ever stood for and siding with the enemy. As the old adage goes; 'keep your friends close and your enemies closer', but that blew up in my face the same way it did when aligning myself with Prince; they both fucked off into the shadows and left me with what remained'.
In an example of happenstance, the moon briefly slips behind the clouds, casting darkness across the under bridge the carnival clown finds himself in. The phosphorescent glow cast across one side of his face disappears for a moment as the carnival clown is cast into almost complete darkness, almost as if he too had 'fucked off into the shadows' just like those who had preceeded him. As swiftly as he had been cast into the shadows, however, the moon re-emerges from the other side of the cloud coverage, gleaming a luminescent light across the carnival clown and his surroundings again.
'I should have known better not to trust a snake, but there I was again making bad choices. It seemed all of last year I had made bad choices en route to reclaiming the International Championship. I made it no secret that I had alligned myself with King Flip with the intention to cut the head off of the snake and reclaim the International Championship... and then he went and lost the International Championship to the returning Melinda Rhodes. Serendipituously I stumbled into an opportunity at the FX Broadcast Championship and usurped it from the hands of Caleb Scott. A championship over my shoulder should have filled in those glaring holes that had been present for a long time... but it didn't. The FX Broadcast Championship was just that; a championship. It was a notch on the belt. I felt indifferent handing it over at WrestleFest en route to challenging for the resurrected Television Championship. That should be indicative of the fact that none of this was about a championship, it was about righting the wrongs of an injustice. Righting the wrongs of an injustice means reclaiming the International Championship, it means making up for Morgan Darkwater lying prone on his back and costing me my International Championship. It means proving to each and every champion that followed me that, without that injustice, you would not have been a champion. Without King Flip pinning Morgan Darkwater, Melinda Rhodes would not have been champion... or Darius... or Xavier Reid... and JoJo Rush wouldn't have beaten Xavier Reid and we wouldn't have been in this situation currently with JoJo Rush running his own fuckin' gauntlet to see who was worthy enough to challenge him at Stranglemania. He threw the gauntlet in Chicago with the hope that none of us would make it to Stranglemania; meanwhile I am where I rightfully belong and El Pablo lurks like a pesky mosquito'.
The carnival clown stands to his feet and starts pacing back and forth, reaching one end of the long, concrete barrier before pacing back to the other side again, the moonlight casting strange shadows across the surrounding environment as the carnival clown reached different points of contact.
'You wanted to bury me in your pain, JoJo, you were sure I would never survive such a burial. You wanted to snap my ACL like a wish bone. You wanted to assure me that there was more to this cruel world than just survival, but you wouldn't know the first thing about survival if it slapped you in your fuckin' smug face'. The carnival clown places two fingers into the corners of his lips and fish hooks them, spreading the corners of his lips as far apart as humanly possible. 'These aren't just fancy stretch marks, JoJo, nor are they the creatively uncreative etchings of an uninspired delinquent, these are my scars; the remnants of my survival... but not just the remnants of my survival, they are the marks left behind from my rebirth. You honestly think I would have dragged myself out of a pool of my own blood just to survive, JoJo? If I wanted to just survive I wouldn't be here, on the precipice of staring back at your smug face, prepared to tear away the International Championship from your undeserving shoulders. I wouldn't be here, JoJo, with the resume that I possess if my intention was just survival. If I wanted to just survive I would have remained in the carnivals, dancing for the plebians who couldn't care less if I tumbled from the tightropes I walked. My demise is nothing more than a car crash to them, cowboy, they want to see the fiery wreckage. But you don't want to see my fiery wreckage, that's why you had Tori Taylor crack that cowbell across the side of my head, you never even wanted a part of this. You tried against Caleb Scott and were successful because you knew you could be successful, you tried against El Pablo and failed, still assured that you could be successful. But you never tried against me, JoJo, because you knew through all your ruminations and ramblings that you could never bury me in your pain because the pain you have felt and the pain I have felt are immeasurable'.
The carnival clown abruptly stops his pacing and sits back down upon the concrete barrier, almost in the exact same spot he had stood up from. Taking a moment to pause, a sombre tone is noticeable across his pallid white, painted face.
'Honestly, I feel almost insulted that you chose not to even give me the time of day in Chicago but you chose to indulge El Pablo and his absurd 'shini-dreams'. Tori Taylor was more of a man than you that night, cowboy, and as much as I would love to plaster her face across the canvas at Stranglemania, she is not the International Champion, you are. As much as I despise the man though, El Pablo and I share one common goal; to become the Undisputed Champion by any means necessary. He recognised the same thing I had recognised a long time ago; this place is an endless cycle of climbing ladders and capturing a championship and holding onto said championship turns heads and makes people pay attention. That's why he had a stranglehold over the X-Division Championship, it wasn't to beat Harlow Kingsley's record-breaking reign as champion, nor was it to duplicate it and decimate it, it was to turn heads in his direction after what could have only been described as a lackluster run prior. It was me who incited that astronomical run as champion, it was me who he beat for the championship, but more-so than that, it was the history he had with me that motivated him to finally put my shoulders to the mat and end the endless cycle of 'what ifs' that had lingered over his head since dropping the Indy Championship back to me inside Monster's Ball. You are here not just because of me, El Pablo, you are here for me... you are here for us... you are here for the International Championship... and more importantly than that, you are here for the Undisputed Championship. You are here for a multitude of reasons which makes me wonder; can you remain focused? Can you remain focused on the International Championship when you know that chasing the 'shini-dream' an becoming Undisputed Champion has consistently run into dead ends? Can you focus on pinning the fallen man or are you obsessed with righting the wrongs of your own injustices?'
'I know Monster's Ball is still on your mind, it will forever be ingrained into your psyche. The vision of me splattering your face across that stop signs will be permanently ingrained into your mind, just like you splattering my nose across a steel ladder will be ingrained into mine...'. The carnival clown lifts up his painted nose to reveal a scar underneath. '... I also have the scars to show for it, as I bet you do too...'. The carnival clown lets go of his painted nose and allows it to fall back into place. '... I know JoJo Rush keeping you from reclaiming the X-Division Championship you coveted so dearly is a burning irritation that you need to extinguish... but moreso, him burying you alive is more motivation than any to extract justice... beating him for the International Championship will be a semblance of redemption for the atrocities he has committed. But for me, El Pablo? There are no deviations between my intentions, it doesn't matter to me who I beat at Stranglemania because you are both just nameless faces in a grander endeavour. What matters to me is reclaiming that International Championship and restoring justice to a world JoJo Rush eloquently referred to as 'cruel'. Losing the International Championship without being beaten was 'cruel'. Losing my opportunity at becoming Undisputed Champion without being beaten was 'cruel'. Beating the two of you inside of Wembley Stadium to become your new and rightful International Champion will be a 'cruel' reminder of just who the fuck I really am. I am the man who psychologically destroyed El Pablo to the point that it took him years to recover. I am the man who JoJo Rush actively tried to avoid after making such preposterous promises heading into Chicago. No man... nor beast... will keep me or the blind guardian lurking within from reclaiming that International Championship'.
The carnival clown suddenly looks up and stares deadpan straight ahead. In an abrupt manner, almost as if an invisible hand had taken control of the situation, several stitches are sewn into the brow and lower socket region of the carnival clown's eyes, sewing them shut. From the wounds trickles of blood emerge which slowly streak down the side of the painted white face of the carnival clown, coagulating with the white face paint, almost becoming a part of the face paint design. A sinister smirk appears across the face of the carnival clown as the closure of his eyes is completed, almost as if there is no ounce of pain to accompany the sewn stitches.
'There is no deviation, there is no lack of focus, there is barely any tunnel vision... there is only one thing and one thing only; reclaiming the International Championship. If it means bringing forth the monster that lurks beneath... the one I have so desperately tried to keep at bay... in order to sequester the demons and beasts that roam upon the surface I will do just that to ensure that I walk out of Wembley Stadium as the new International Champion. This moment has been a long time coming. You think me spiking Vertigo's masked dome across the canvas was heinous? You think me smashing a cowbell across Tori Taylor was abhorrent? That is nothing compared to the hell I am going to unleash at Stranglemania to ensure that I walk out with the International Championship thrown over my shoulder. I've been through hell and back countless times throughout my career, and even before stepping through those curtains, and I have no qualms with doing it again to right the wrongs of my own injustices. Neither of you wanted me here, this was meant to be your fight... but this has been my fight for a year and a half now and it is about damn time I put it to rest for good, whether that be planting one of you, or both of you into the canvas with the Sound Of Silence. Bring on Vertigo, Tori Taylor, and the entire menagerie of misfits that make up Shinjoshi and I will spike their crowns into the canvas with the Sound Of Silence too. Bring on the world and I will make them all hear the cacophonic sound of silence one... after the other... after the other... because since rising from a pool of my own blood it has always been me... just me... and no one else. King Flip... Prince... Frankie Romono... and anyone else you thought it wise to stab me in the back, they can burn in the shadows because whether I have to bleed or make you both bleed, I'll paint the bloodiest of Picassos en route to becoming International Champion'.
The moon once again disappears behind cloud coverage, casting darkness across the shadows. The carnival clown disappears into the shadows, only the faintest image of his painted face is visible.
'In the darkest of shadows, the light burns brightest. Monsters don't always lurk in the shadows. Sometimes they hide in plain sight'.
