Post by Dre Cutler on Sept 29, 2013 21:48:50 GMT
Samantha Williams: This is good, you know? We never sit around and talk anymore. I like this, I like it a lot.
Sam and Killian are sitting across from each other at the table in the kitchen of his apartment. Sam is wearing of Killian's shirts, which fits like a dress on her, and Killian is clad only in a pair of boxers. A Camel cigarette rests comfortably between his lips; smoke from the tip of it drifts off, floating slowly towards the ceiling. He squints threw the wall of smoke, looking at Sam as if she's lost her mind.
Killian Creed: What are you talking about? We talk all of the time.
Samantha Williams: (shaking her head) No, I mean just talking, you know? We talk, sure, but usually one of us is in a hurry or something. But today, we're both just sitting here, relaxing with nothing else to do. I don't know, I just think it's great.
Killian Creed: Uh -- wow, you're such a woman sometimes.
Samantha Williams: Ah, fuck off, jerk.
Killian smirks before placing his cigarette on the edge of the ashtray. He rises to his feet, pausing for a moment to stretch before sighing overly loud and looking at Sam.
Killian Creed: I have to take a piss, I'll be back in a second.
Samantha Williams: Oh, how sexy is that? Can I watch? Oh, oh, oh! Better yet, can I hold it for you?
Killian Creed: What? No -- definitely not. What the -- just, hell no.
Sam giggles in response and Killian can't help but smile back at her. He acts like he doesn't give a shit about relaxing and talking with her, but he's probably enjoying it more than she is. He leaves the kitchen en route to the bathroom, leaving Sam at the kitchen table. She grabs his cigarette off the ashtray and takes a long drag, coughing slightly on the exhale. She waves the smoke away from her eyes as she places the cigarette back in the ashtray. She grabs Killian's wallet off the table and opens it up; like any American, she first checks for money, spotting a couple of twenties.
Samantha Williams: (whispering) Oh, so he does have money. He better have a damn good reason for not buying me flowers or chocolates or something!
She changes her attention to the plastic picture book attached to the inside of the wallet. There's a picture of her and Killian together, as well as a picture of Killian, his mother, and another person, although the face of the third person has been scribbled out with a red ink pen. She turns the picture over and there's information about the date, location, and people in it -- but the third person's name as been scribbled out as well.
Killian Creed: What are you doing?
Creed walks into the kitchen and snatches his wallet away from Sam. He's visibly upset as he does this; and it's not the fact that she was going through his wallet -- he doesn't give a shit about that, instead he's upset because of the picture she was looking at. It's his brother's face that is scribbled out and while Sam is aware that Killian doesn't ever speak of his brother, she doesn't know the details behind their falling out. He throws the wallet onto the kitchen counter and Sam looks a little shocked and surprised. She swallows hard and tries to clear her throat a couple of times before responding.
Samantha Williams: I was -- I was, I don't know, I was just looking at the pictures in your wallet, Kill. I -- uh, I--
Killian is looking at Sam with fire in his eyes and boiling blood in his veins. Sam is visibly overwhelmed with Killian's change in attitude and she's not handling it very well at all. Her eyes are starting to tear up and she's shaking profusely as she tries to explain herself. Killian is extremely agitated and what little patience he has is gone as his anger continues to build. However, while he's very upset, his composure is still present enough to allow him to calm himself a bit before speaking.
Killian Creed: (clearing his throat) Sam, I'm trying to remain calm because I know it's the right thing for me to do, but I'm struggling here. What, and this will be the last time I ask you, what were you doing?
Samantha Williams: I was just looking at the picture of you, your mother, and your brother. I, uh -- I was just thinking, you know? It's been fifteen years since anyone's seen Elijah -- and I know you despise him, but I don't really know why you guys had such a falling out, you know? And I was just thinking -- I don't know, I'm sorry, Killian. Please, don't be mad at me.
Killian Creed: It's none of your business, do you understand me? None of your fucking business. He's fucking dead to me, do you understand? DEAD TO ME!
His composure is gone and he's lost control of his anger. Simply talking about his brother is enough to make him boil over. He's been inching himself closer to her since this conversation began. Killian never raises his voice towards her and never says anything angrily at her, so this whole situation has her shaken up. She's crying now and Killian is standing right in front of her. He bends down, so that they are face-to-face with each other.
Killian Creed: (angrily) Do... you... understand... me?
She's too upset to respond, she's trying to breathe, but she's so worked up that she's having trouble gathering herself. Killian clinches his fists and looks as if he's going to really go over the top, but instead he simply grabs her by the shoulder and brings her to her feet. He shoves her in the direction of the living room, causing her to stumble and fall to the floor.
Killian Creed: (yelling) Just get the fuck out of here, Sam. Get the fuck out!
He walks towards her as she crawls towards the door, trying to get back to her feet. She finally gets up and quickly exits the apartment; still only wearing one of Killian's shirts, she leaves behind her belongings and slams the door behind her. Killian walks quickly towards the door and slams his fist into it. He goes to swing at it once more, but thinks better of it. He turns around and leans against the door and slowly slides down it until he's seated on the floor. His eyes are tearing up, his cheeks are on fire and teeth are grinding as his anger continues to build.
Killian Creed: (whispering) I told her... I told her to never speak of him. He's -- God, I hate him. Fuck you, Elijah. Fuck you, Sam. Fuck everyone... Just... fuck it all...
He remains seated, leaning against the door, as his mind races a mile a minute and his anger continues to build. He opens his mouth to say something else, but decides against it. Instead, he just sits there.... nothing else, he just sits...
-----
I'm going to take this opportunity to make something very clear. This week, things are going to be a little different; you see, normally my goal is to do anything and everything to win the match. I mean, at the end of the day, that's everyone's goal, right? We all want to win matches, championships, etc. The ultimate goal on top of that one is to be the very best wrestler; not just in the IWF, but in the entire profession. If anyone's listened to anything I've said since showing up here, they'd know that I want to be the best. But this week's not about winning matches. It's not about proving that I belong on the main roster. It's not about proving that I am deserving of title opportunities. No, fuck all of that; you see, this week is about beating the holy fucking shit out of my opponents. I don't care if I win the match or not. That's completely irrelevant to me, instead my goal this week is to cause as much pain as humanly possible to Davey Ortega and Gjenrei. I want to break their bones, I want to tear their muscles and ligaments, and, quite frankly, I want to destroy them. And before you guys start running to your mommies and daddies to tell them that I'm being mean, just understand that it's nothing personal, okay? I've had a rough week. I'm going through some tough times. And all I want to fucking do is beat the living hell out of anyone and everyone. And unfortunately for you two, the powers that be have put you in the same ring with me.
See, Mr. Ortega, I've heard your name before. I've never really followed your career, but I know who you are. And if you're still around after all these years, you must be doing something right. Unfortunately for you, your career may very well come to an end on Monday. It's the old saying of "being in the wrong place, at the wrong time" because I'm going into this match with a lot of anger, a lot of frustration, and I can't think of a better way to alleviate all of that than to crush someone's skull. That's the beautiful thing about professional wrestling -- I can do that, you know? I can beat you into a bloody pulp; a shell of a man drowning in his own blood, tears, and urine. And what's the worst that can happen? A disqualification? Do you really think I give a shit about that? Like I said, winning is not a priority for me this week. Causing great pain and suffering, THAT'S my priority. And you, Davey, are in for a beating worse than your scariest nightmares.
Once our match concludes this week, if you are still of sound being and mind, you'll forever live in fear of Killian Creed. When you close your eyes, you'll see my fist coming towards your face. You'll remember this beating for the rest of your life. You'll need therapy afterwards. You'll seek medical help because you can't live with the memories of the worst pain you've ever experienced. Your bones and body will hurt for the rest of yours years, Davey. You'll find yourself starting to forget things; one day you'll forget where you put your car keys, the next day you'll forget your name. It's never going to end for you.
But, you know, all of that depends on whether or not I don't turn you into a vegetable Monday night. Maybe I'll take it a step too far, perhaps I'll beat your face in so hard, your brain will resemble lumpy mashed potatoes. I hope you're listening to me, Davey, because I promise you this isn't just talk. I'm not afraid of you. I'm not afraid of the consequences that may or may not await me if I end your existence inside the ring. I have so much angst inside, so much fire building, and it's nearing the surface. You're done, Davey. Do you understand me? Maybe you'll win this week, maybe you won't. But the win won't do you any good because you're wrestling career is finished. You, Davey, are fucking finished. Unless, of course, you stay out of my way this week. If you do that, you'll survive to fight another day, but Gjenrei on the other hand....
I'm glad you wear a mask, Gjenrei. You're probably an ugly son of a bitch already, which is why you wear it, but it's convenient for this week because your beating won't look so bad on television. The mask will hold the bones in your face in position after I break them. It'll soak up most of the blood before it leaks out of the bottom. It'll hide your tears as the pain becomes too much for you. It's good, I like it.
See, I don't know who you are. I don't know where you're from. I don't know your wrestling style. You can be the greatest wrestler in the world, or you can be the shittiest. I don't care. Like I said earlier, this isn't about wrestling for me this week. This is about fighting; and I got news for you, everyone thinks they're tough until they eat a fist. You may think you know how to defend against my attacks. You may think you know what I am going to do next. You may think you know everything, but I promise you I will punch you in the face. You will cry. You will leave the arena a broken, beaten, and embarrassed individual. You will be eating through a tube and pissing sitting down once I am finished with you.
But again guys, it's really nothing personal. If I win the match this week, that's fantastic. But as long as I get to beat on you two for as long as I want, I'll consider that just as good. Perhaps I'll lock one of you into the Rear Naked Choke. Feel your body go limp in my grasp; your breathing stops, your heart slows, you know how great that would feel for me? This is going to be fun, guys. I'm really looking forward to it.
And as for Adam Jones -- wait, is it Adam? No, it's Allan, right? Alex? I don't know. Wait, yeah, it is Alex Jones. How could I forget that? He's such a household name and all... whatever, Alex, you better stay at the table. Stay out of my way or you will feel the same pain as my opponents this week. I promise you that.
I'll see all of you at Sacrifice. A beating is on the horizon... and it's going to be fucking epic.
Sam and Killian are sitting across from each other at the table in the kitchen of his apartment. Sam is wearing of Killian's shirts, which fits like a dress on her, and Killian is clad only in a pair of boxers. A Camel cigarette rests comfortably between his lips; smoke from the tip of it drifts off, floating slowly towards the ceiling. He squints threw the wall of smoke, looking at Sam as if she's lost her mind.
Killian Creed: What are you talking about? We talk all of the time.
Samantha Williams: (shaking her head) No, I mean just talking, you know? We talk, sure, but usually one of us is in a hurry or something. But today, we're both just sitting here, relaxing with nothing else to do. I don't know, I just think it's great.
Killian Creed: Uh -- wow, you're such a woman sometimes.
Samantha Williams: Ah, fuck off, jerk.
Killian smirks before placing his cigarette on the edge of the ashtray. He rises to his feet, pausing for a moment to stretch before sighing overly loud and looking at Sam.
Killian Creed: I have to take a piss, I'll be back in a second.
Samantha Williams: Oh, how sexy is that? Can I watch? Oh, oh, oh! Better yet, can I hold it for you?
Killian Creed: What? No -- definitely not. What the -- just, hell no.
Sam giggles in response and Killian can't help but smile back at her. He acts like he doesn't give a shit about relaxing and talking with her, but he's probably enjoying it more than she is. He leaves the kitchen en route to the bathroom, leaving Sam at the kitchen table. She grabs his cigarette off the ashtray and takes a long drag, coughing slightly on the exhale. She waves the smoke away from her eyes as she places the cigarette back in the ashtray. She grabs Killian's wallet off the table and opens it up; like any American, she first checks for money, spotting a couple of twenties.
Samantha Williams: (whispering) Oh, so he does have money. He better have a damn good reason for not buying me flowers or chocolates or something!
She changes her attention to the plastic picture book attached to the inside of the wallet. There's a picture of her and Killian together, as well as a picture of Killian, his mother, and another person, although the face of the third person has been scribbled out with a red ink pen. She turns the picture over and there's information about the date, location, and people in it -- but the third person's name as been scribbled out as well.
Killian Creed: What are you doing?
Creed walks into the kitchen and snatches his wallet away from Sam. He's visibly upset as he does this; and it's not the fact that she was going through his wallet -- he doesn't give a shit about that, instead he's upset because of the picture she was looking at. It's his brother's face that is scribbled out and while Sam is aware that Killian doesn't ever speak of his brother, she doesn't know the details behind their falling out. He throws the wallet onto the kitchen counter and Sam looks a little shocked and surprised. She swallows hard and tries to clear her throat a couple of times before responding.
Samantha Williams: I was -- I was, I don't know, I was just looking at the pictures in your wallet, Kill. I -- uh, I--
Killian is looking at Sam with fire in his eyes and boiling blood in his veins. Sam is visibly overwhelmed with Killian's change in attitude and she's not handling it very well at all. Her eyes are starting to tear up and she's shaking profusely as she tries to explain herself. Killian is extremely agitated and what little patience he has is gone as his anger continues to build. However, while he's very upset, his composure is still present enough to allow him to calm himself a bit before speaking.
Killian Creed: (clearing his throat) Sam, I'm trying to remain calm because I know it's the right thing for me to do, but I'm struggling here. What, and this will be the last time I ask you, what were you doing?
Samantha Williams: I was just looking at the picture of you, your mother, and your brother. I, uh -- I was just thinking, you know? It's been fifteen years since anyone's seen Elijah -- and I know you despise him, but I don't really know why you guys had such a falling out, you know? And I was just thinking -- I don't know, I'm sorry, Killian. Please, don't be mad at me.
Killian Creed: It's none of your business, do you understand me? None of your fucking business. He's fucking dead to me, do you understand? DEAD TO ME!
His composure is gone and he's lost control of his anger. Simply talking about his brother is enough to make him boil over. He's been inching himself closer to her since this conversation began. Killian never raises his voice towards her and never says anything angrily at her, so this whole situation has her shaken up. She's crying now and Killian is standing right in front of her. He bends down, so that they are face-to-face with each other.
Killian Creed: (angrily) Do... you... understand... me?
She's too upset to respond, she's trying to breathe, but she's so worked up that she's having trouble gathering herself. Killian clinches his fists and looks as if he's going to really go over the top, but instead he simply grabs her by the shoulder and brings her to her feet. He shoves her in the direction of the living room, causing her to stumble and fall to the floor.
Killian Creed: (yelling) Just get the fuck out of here, Sam. Get the fuck out!
He walks towards her as she crawls towards the door, trying to get back to her feet. She finally gets up and quickly exits the apartment; still only wearing one of Killian's shirts, she leaves behind her belongings and slams the door behind her. Killian walks quickly towards the door and slams his fist into it. He goes to swing at it once more, but thinks better of it. He turns around and leans against the door and slowly slides down it until he's seated on the floor. His eyes are tearing up, his cheeks are on fire and teeth are grinding as his anger continues to build.
Killian Creed: (whispering) I told her... I told her to never speak of him. He's -- God, I hate him. Fuck you, Elijah. Fuck you, Sam. Fuck everyone... Just... fuck it all...
He remains seated, leaning against the door, as his mind races a mile a minute and his anger continues to build. He opens his mouth to say something else, but decides against it. Instead, he just sits there.... nothing else, he just sits...
-----
I'm going to take this opportunity to make something very clear. This week, things are going to be a little different; you see, normally my goal is to do anything and everything to win the match. I mean, at the end of the day, that's everyone's goal, right? We all want to win matches, championships, etc. The ultimate goal on top of that one is to be the very best wrestler; not just in the IWF, but in the entire profession. If anyone's listened to anything I've said since showing up here, they'd know that I want to be the best. But this week's not about winning matches. It's not about proving that I belong on the main roster. It's not about proving that I am deserving of title opportunities. No, fuck all of that; you see, this week is about beating the holy fucking shit out of my opponents. I don't care if I win the match or not. That's completely irrelevant to me, instead my goal this week is to cause as much pain as humanly possible to Davey Ortega and Gjenrei. I want to break their bones, I want to tear their muscles and ligaments, and, quite frankly, I want to destroy them. And before you guys start running to your mommies and daddies to tell them that I'm being mean, just understand that it's nothing personal, okay? I've had a rough week. I'm going through some tough times. And all I want to fucking do is beat the living hell out of anyone and everyone. And unfortunately for you two, the powers that be have put you in the same ring with me.
See, Mr. Ortega, I've heard your name before. I've never really followed your career, but I know who you are. And if you're still around after all these years, you must be doing something right. Unfortunately for you, your career may very well come to an end on Monday. It's the old saying of "being in the wrong place, at the wrong time" because I'm going into this match with a lot of anger, a lot of frustration, and I can't think of a better way to alleviate all of that than to crush someone's skull. That's the beautiful thing about professional wrestling -- I can do that, you know? I can beat you into a bloody pulp; a shell of a man drowning in his own blood, tears, and urine. And what's the worst that can happen? A disqualification? Do you really think I give a shit about that? Like I said, winning is not a priority for me this week. Causing great pain and suffering, THAT'S my priority. And you, Davey, are in for a beating worse than your scariest nightmares.
Once our match concludes this week, if you are still of sound being and mind, you'll forever live in fear of Killian Creed. When you close your eyes, you'll see my fist coming towards your face. You'll remember this beating for the rest of your life. You'll need therapy afterwards. You'll seek medical help because you can't live with the memories of the worst pain you've ever experienced. Your bones and body will hurt for the rest of yours years, Davey. You'll find yourself starting to forget things; one day you'll forget where you put your car keys, the next day you'll forget your name. It's never going to end for you.
But, you know, all of that depends on whether or not I don't turn you into a vegetable Monday night. Maybe I'll take it a step too far, perhaps I'll beat your face in so hard, your brain will resemble lumpy mashed potatoes. I hope you're listening to me, Davey, because I promise you this isn't just talk. I'm not afraid of you. I'm not afraid of the consequences that may or may not await me if I end your existence inside the ring. I have so much angst inside, so much fire building, and it's nearing the surface. You're done, Davey. Do you understand me? Maybe you'll win this week, maybe you won't. But the win won't do you any good because you're wrestling career is finished. You, Davey, are fucking finished. Unless, of course, you stay out of my way this week. If you do that, you'll survive to fight another day, but Gjenrei on the other hand....
I'm glad you wear a mask, Gjenrei. You're probably an ugly son of a bitch already, which is why you wear it, but it's convenient for this week because your beating won't look so bad on television. The mask will hold the bones in your face in position after I break them. It'll soak up most of the blood before it leaks out of the bottom. It'll hide your tears as the pain becomes too much for you. It's good, I like it.
See, I don't know who you are. I don't know where you're from. I don't know your wrestling style. You can be the greatest wrestler in the world, or you can be the shittiest. I don't care. Like I said earlier, this isn't about wrestling for me this week. This is about fighting; and I got news for you, everyone thinks they're tough until they eat a fist. You may think you know how to defend against my attacks. You may think you know what I am going to do next. You may think you know everything, but I promise you I will punch you in the face. You will cry. You will leave the arena a broken, beaten, and embarrassed individual. You will be eating through a tube and pissing sitting down once I am finished with you.
But again guys, it's really nothing personal. If I win the match this week, that's fantastic. But as long as I get to beat on you two for as long as I want, I'll consider that just as good. Perhaps I'll lock one of you into the Rear Naked Choke. Feel your body go limp in my grasp; your breathing stops, your heart slows, you know how great that would feel for me? This is going to be fun, guys. I'm really looking forward to it.
And as for Adam Jones -- wait, is it Adam? No, it's Allan, right? Alex? I don't know. Wait, yeah, it is Alex Jones. How could I forget that? He's such a household name and all... whatever, Alex, you better stay at the table. Stay out of my way or you will feel the same pain as my opponents this week. I promise you that.
I'll see all of you at Sacrifice. A beating is on the horizon... and it's going to be fucking epic.
Well howdy there pardner.