Post by King on Sept 23, 2024 0:35:47 GMT
The camera captures a shot of Portia and Stephen Terrella, sitting by a fire somewhere out in the Nevada desert. Portia is sitting in a fold-up camping chair, nursing a bottle of hard seltzer; while Terrella is resting on top of a cooler right beside her, a few empty beer cans at his feet as he stares into the flames.
"Nick Knight wants answers." Terrella offers the slightest of laughs at the mere idea, quietly snorting.
The searing heat from the campfire sends a single bead of sweat tricking down Terrella's freshly shaved bald head, which eventually disappears into the scruff on his face. Anyone within earshot would be able to hear the soft crackles of burning wood carrying in the air of the desert, interrupted occasionally by a loud popping sound as the would heats up and the walls of the pockets give way to allow the escape of the gases inside. The fire casts a warm, orange glow on the aged face of Stephen.
"This from the fucking guy, few short months ago, that ran his mouth off like he had all the answers." Terrella maintains a low, confrontational tone of voice. "You were going to save this place -this business- from whatever it is that you thought was going on inside that fucked up head of yours. You were going to make the Invictus Championship mean something. Hell, you were going to walk right out the fucking door with it for a payday."
Leaning forward on the cooler he is resting on, Terrella's expression intensifies. "You should've taken the fucking money and ran, Nick. Would've been the smart play. But maybe you thought I wasn't listening, or maybe you forgot I made that fucking championship to begin with before you started taking a Lithium-laced piss on what I built."
"Maybe you never had as many answers as you fucking thought you did, though. You and me, we've done this shit before. You know I don't forgive, and I sure as shit don't forget. You spat in my face, Knight, then you have the balls to walk out to the ring on Sacrifice and whine about how we ruined your special fucking moment." Shaking his head, Terrella's disgust is apparent. "You make me fucking sick."
Stephen leans back with an outstretched leg, reaching into his jean pocket to pull out a can of Skoal. With a flick of his wrist, he begins to pack the can as he speaks. "Here is a bit of hard truth for you, Knight: I didn't give a shit about your super special fucking night. I don't give a shit that you were in a nuthouse. I don't give a shit about your fucking problems. For us, that was just a Tuesday, same as the rest, because while you were locked away telling some shrink what you saw in a picture, we've been here, on my fucking show, cashing checks and holding championships."
Hooking his fingers under the edge of the lid, Terrella pops the top on his can of chew and packs his lower lip. "But you got one thing right, I think you're fucking weak. Always have been, Nick. Tough as hell, yeah... but soft in the head. So, if you think you're going to smell fear here, you're wrong. You ain't going to find any sympathies, or any fucking apologies."
Terrella spits out a mouthful of tobacco juice. "All you're going to find is a fight I want, and a fight you can't fucking win. But I'll be at Odyssey, looking for the Butcher, not the bitch. Bring your board; wear the suit, if you want... and find that shit out for yourself the hard way, if you have the balls."
<End Footage>
"Nick Knight wants answers." Terrella offers the slightest of laughs at the mere idea, quietly snorting.
The searing heat from the campfire sends a single bead of sweat tricking down Terrella's freshly shaved bald head, which eventually disappears into the scruff on his face. Anyone within earshot would be able to hear the soft crackles of burning wood carrying in the air of the desert, interrupted occasionally by a loud popping sound as the would heats up and the walls of the pockets give way to allow the escape of the gases inside. The fire casts a warm, orange glow on the aged face of Stephen.
"This from the fucking guy, few short months ago, that ran his mouth off like he had all the answers." Terrella maintains a low, confrontational tone of voice. "You were going to save this place -this business- from whatever it is that you thought was going on inside that fucked up head of yours. You were going to make the Invictus Championship mean something. Hell, you were going to walk right out the fucking door with it for a payday."
Leaning forward on the cooler he is resting on, Terrella's expression intensifies. "You should've taken the fucking money and ran, Nick. Would've been the smart play. But maybe you thought I wasn't listening, or maybe you forgot I made that fucking championship to begin with before you started taking a Lithium-laced piss on what I built."
"Maybe you never had as many answers as you fucking thought you did, though. You and me, we've done this shit before. You know I don't forgive, and I sure as shit don't forget. You spat in my face, Knight, then you have the balls to walk out to the ring on Sacrifice and whine about how we ruined your special fucking moment." Shaking his head, Terrella's disgust is apparent. "You make me fucking sick."
Stephen leans back with an outstretched leg, reaching into his jean pocket to pull out a can of Skoal. With a flick of his wrist, he begins to pack the can as he speaks. "Here is a bit of hard truth for you, Knight: I didn't give a shit about your super special fucking night. I don't give a shit that you were in a nuthouse. I don't give a shit about your fucking problems. For us, that was just a Tuesday, same as the rest, because while you were locked away telling some shrink what you saw in a picture, we've been here, on my fucking show, cashing checks and holding championships."
Hooking his fingers under the edge of the lid, Terrella pops the top on his can of chew and packs his lower lip. "But you got one thing right, I think you're fucking weak. Always have been, Nick. Tough as hell, yeah... but soft in the head. So, if you think you're going to smell fear here, you're wrong. You ain't going to find any sympathies, or any fucking apologies."
Terrella spits out a mouthful of tobacco juice. "All you're going to find is a fight I want, and a fight you can't fucking win. But I'll be at Odyssey, looking for the Butcher, not the bitch. Bring your board; wear the suit, if you want... and find that shit out for yourself the hard way, if you have the balls."
<End Footage>
Well howdy there pardner.