Post by Notorious B.O.B. on Mar 23, 2014 12:23:49 GMT
”Look, baby …” the way she said that word, ‘baby’, just letting it roll off her tongue without any regard for the cavalier tone it now took, just made his heart sink down into his stomach. ”You know my history; you know that it’s hard for me to settle down in one place for too long.”
Rolling his eyes and leaning back, his head resting against the wall, he begins to slowly count in his head knowing that she’ll somehow spin this to be her father’s fault. ”I didn’t have the best life growing up, Bob, you know that.” She places a hand over her chest, looking at him pleadingly, ”I blame my father …”
Pooler couldn’t contain the smile that spread across his face, something that didn’t go unnoticed. ”You think this is funny?” She was starting to get heated; only a matter of time now until ‘Defensive Holli’ came out to play. ”I asked you to come over to try and sort this out, I didn’t want you to be hurt – but if you’re going to just be an ass, then … then …” He pulled his head up off the wall, looking her straight on, the smile gone, ”Then what Holl? You going to kick me out?”
Whether meant as a challenge or not, it definitely took Holli back. She stammered, stuttered, but then recovered. ”I don’t want to; I want us to figure things out. I don’t want you to be hurt; I just want you to understand that this wasn’t about you.”
Wasn’t about him? ”When is it ever about me, Holli?” he asked. He could feel the words just start pouring out of his mouth, ”When in this relationship has anything been about me? Since day one it’s been about you and what makes you happy. Did you ever stop for three seconds and ask yourself why I moved back here? When Revival folded, you came to me and said that you couldn’t stand living in Chicago, that you were going to be leaving, and where did that leave me? I’d been doing EVERYTHING” he shouted, ”to keep us together.
Dammit, Holli …” he said, standing and beginning to pace around the room, ”I’ve tried everything I could to make this work, to make us work. But I’ve realized that it isn’t enough if you aren’t going to meet me halfway.” He stops, looking down at her on the couch; like a shrinking violet, looking up at him with her eyes wide and full of a mix of fear and shock. ”Don’t look at me like that,” he spits, ”I’m man enough to admit my mistakes, maybe it’s time you put on your big girl pants and try the same thing.”
That seemed to do it; Holli’s eyebrows furrowed, her jaw set, as she pushes herself up to her feet and immediately gets in Bob’s face. ”Screw you, asshole. I don’t know what rose tinted glasses you’ve been looking through, but you’re no Mother Theresa. I never asked you to move from Chicago, I never asked you to help out me and Joshua and I NEVER asked you to propose” she says with a sneer. ”Did you think that was going to make things all better?” she asked, a cruel smile on her face.
”Did you think that if we got married I’d become the ‘little wife’ that you wanted? I’m sorry if I’m not the woman you want, Bob, but this is who I was when you signed on – you can’t get mad at me for not changing." It was almost too much for Bob to take, his hands alternating between clenching and unclenching. ”You’re the one who changed. What happened to just having a good time?”
”What happened to not fucking around behind my back?” he muttered, low but still loud enough for Holli to hear. She cocked her head to the side, pulling her bubblegum pink streaked hair out of the way and tucking it around the other side of her head and over her shoulder. ”What was that?” she asked, pointing to her ear, ”You want to run that one by me again?”
”I said,” he began, taking a step forward and getting in her face, ”what happened to not fooling around behind my back? And Ryan? Of all the guys in the world for you to cheat on me with, you choose someone in the Empire. What, was Spike unavailable?” He was chest to chest with Holli, but only for a moment. Pressing two hands against his chest, shoving him backwards.
”Fuck you … “ she growled, the hatred painted on her face. ”Just … fuck you.” She was pointing at him and shaking her head slowly. Her eyes, mere slits, bore right through him. ”You don’t get to judge me … “
”Fine,” he conceded, ”then just tell me how long this shits been going on then.” He was still furious, but there was still the smallest hint of hurt in his voice. ”No …” she began, ”you don’t get to ask questions; you don’t get to control me – to control my relationships.”
”I … I’m not” he stammered, his angry ebbing away. ”I just …”
She was like a shark that smelled blood. She knew this argument was over, that she’d won. He was backing down like a scolded dog. ”Yeah, you j…j…just …” she said, mockingly, ”I’m done here. I thought you might be able to handle this like an adult but you’re still nothing but a damn child.” The way she spat that word at him, ‘child’, hurt nearly more than anything else. ”I’d tell you to save your dignity but we both know you lost that years ago.”
She was on a roll and going for the KO. ”Take your coat and get the hell out of my house.” Bob stood there for a moment, his teeth grinding, but said nothing. Instead, he reached down and grabbed his jacket, not bothering to put it on but simply walk towards the front door. Holli, several steps behind him, was cocking back for her verbal haymaker. ”Walking away is something you’re good at – almost as good as bending over and taking it. You were always a good little bitch.”
He stopped in the open doorway, a look of absolute murder on his face. Holli, smiling sweetly, just leaned against the door to the hall closet with her arms crossed. ”What?” is all she had to say. Pooler wanted to wipe that smug look off her face, but instead turned and stepped out into the cold March air. Nearly at his car, Holli went for the kill by tossing him a final hand grenade. ”Don’t worry about your stuff, I’ll box it up and have Lance drop it off this week.”
She closed the door and Bob, unable to contain the frustration anymore roared and brought his hands down onto the hood of his car with a double ax handle that left a sizable dent. He felt a trickle on his chin, bringing a hand up to wipe it away and realizing that he’d bitten his tongue to the blood. Cursing under his breath and spitting on the lawn, he rips open the door of his car and peels away seconds later. Unnoticed by him were the several neighbors outside their homes shaking their heads and looking back at number 12 with expressions of pity. But from the dining room window, the woman standing inside number twelve wasn't wearing an expression of pity – but one of victory.
”It all comes down to this” he says with a grin. ”This past year the IWF was given an early Christmas present, a Cruiserweight champion worthy of this once great title. In the ninety days that followed, I’ve defended this title against any and all; defeating men considered gods in this company. Yet, it would seem that it’s all for naught; because in a little more than forty-eight hours this title, this culmination of three months of painstaking work … will be no more.” He drags a finger beneath his right eye.
”Win or lose, at High Stakes the Cruiserweight title will be retired. No, I’m sorry – what’s the phrase that Angel used again? Oh yes,” he says, emotionlessly, ”‘merged’; as though this is some kind of compensation. To think that after everything I’ve done to rebuild the legitimacy of this title, that the thought of it being combined with that … that … Heavyweight nonsense to create some half-breed bastard …” he sneers.
”Most would see this as an incredible opportunity; the chance to become the very first Invictus champion in IWF history. I, on the other hand, see this as an opportunity to do so much more. A simple trip through the various title histories in this company shows how each and every title went through ‘low points’; periods in its history when it was held by someone of less than reputable or deserving standards. Each time, it took someone who truly understood the business and deserved the title to pull it out of the basement and elevate it through his or her hard work and dedication.
So, the question is, does IWF continue this trend of burying their titles with champions who barely deserve to look upon them; or does the IWF lay the foundation for the future of this title through me?” He allows the posed question to hang there for a moment, folding his hands in front of him and continuing.
”A house is only as strong as its foundation, and we’ve all seen how the Imperial title may as well have been built on sand. From Everyman to Lex, the ground that title stood on was constantly shifting and it wasn’t until Spike Kane burned it all down to the ground” he says with a smile, ”in order to build it back up again, that the Imperial title was truly taken seriously again.
IWF has an opportunity to do it the right way, for once. High Stakes represents the chance for me to lay the first bricks of a foundation that will stand strong for years – long after the other paper champions, false gods and gimmicky clichés have faded from memory.” His right eyebrow flicks upward, hoping that those fitting these categories understand.
”While everyone else has their eyes firmly glued on the Roulette, mine are firmly where they belong. Invictus; a word that, up until last week, represented me … un-beaten, un-conquered, un-vanquished; since the day I set foot in IWF I have been bloodied, I have been battered, but never beaten. That is until Xander Famularo did what no man before him had managed to do; hold me down for three seconds” he says, pain in his voice.
”In those three seconds I went from BEING invictus – to being just like the rest of you;” he sneers, ”marred, flawed, imperfect. This title is more than simply a shiny piece of hardware. The Invictus title represents the spirit, the heart of the man who should champion its cause.
When you look in the mirror each morning, Kristoff, tell me about the man you see. Is he the shell of a man that we see each week in the ring? A man who uses violence as an escape from the prison that is his life? Is this the kind of man who should be leading?” he asks.
”No.
This is the kind of man who should be following. How can we trust you at the helm of the USS Invictus when you can’t even right your own ship?” he snorts.
”You’ve spent the better part of the last month, since your unimpressive victory over Mason St. Croix, speaking my name – as though that’s all it took to get a rise from me. The fact that you even find yourself in this match should be considered a gift. St. Croix was a broken man, disillusioned with his role in this company. Call it delayed PTSD, call it laziness, call it whatever you will … St. Croix was about as much a champion at the end of his run, as Killian Creed was when Laszlo shocked the world.
Time has passed, wounds have healed and eyes have been opened. People are starting to see the men and women standing at the tops of their respective divisions, and they’re wondering … is this the best IWF can do?” he shrugs
”Davey Ortega? The man had the world on a silver platter – but pissed it all away.
Seph? Haven’t I said enough about this one already? Every time he opens his mouth it’s apparent that there is more Pattinson to this one than meets the eye.
Jen? How that dumb bitch remembers to breathe let alone manages to win titles will astound and haunt me until my dying days.
Amber? Considering that there are only two women in this company worthy of holding either of the two titles, there isn’t a damn thing I can say about her. I might not agree with who she shares her bed with – but that’s on her.
Then there’s you, Kristoff. You’re a man who could do so much if you allowed yourself a chance and a half to succeed. You have always been, and will always be, the biggest road block to your own future.
By no means am I perfect, but that shouldn’t be taken as a confession of weakness. I strive for perfection, and expect nothing less from the men I face in the ring. High Stakes should prove whether you, Mr. Bates, actually deserve to ‘hang with me’.
The writing is on the wall, Kristoff; this isn’t nCw and nobody here cares much for your ‘American Psycho’ shtick anymore.” Pooler rolls his eyes, ”The loosening of the necktie, the manic expressions, and associations with a reject from “The Lost Boys” … you’re stretched too thin, you’re trying to hard, and you don’t know what you want anymore.
Part of you wants that spotlight, that chance to shine and feel like the eyes that are on you aren’t judging – aren’t laughing. Part of you is already lamenting the loss of your Heavyweight title, the fact that IWF is pissing on what little legacy you had must be absolutely tearing at you. That fragile psyche of yours just fracturing under the stress of knowing how close to oblivion you really are” he says with a grin.
”You’re standing at the precipice, Kristoff; your knees wobbling as you peer over the edge, knowing full well that the slightest nudge would send you over. While you stand there, trepidation in your eyes, I’m poised to be the first man to ever hold the Invictus title. There are very few firsts in this company, and unfortunately no amount of retconning will erase some of the more … ‘unfortunate’ ones. My victory at High Stakes might not wipe away the Joe Everyman, the Davey Ortega or even the Gjenrei, but it will at the very least be a starting ground for a new, and better, tomorrow.
Look in the mirror and ask yourself, Kristoff. Are you the man who can usher in a new age for IWF? What kind of champion would you have been? Because I know the kind of champion that I’ve been, the kind of champion I’ll continue to be” he says coldly.
”You’re just a weak little lamb – a corporate sheep that broke away from the rest of the flock; and me?” he chuckles, ”I’m the Big Bad Wolf.
Knock, knock …”
Rolling his eyes and leaning back, his head resting against the wall, he begins to slowly count in his head knowing that she’ll somehow spin this to be her father’s fault. ”I didn’t have the best life growing up, Bob, you know that.” She places a hand over her chest, looking at him pleadingly, ”I blame my father …”
Pooler couldn’t contain the smile that spread across his face, something that didn’t go unnoticed. ”You think this is funny?” She was starting to get heated; only a matter of time now until ‘Defensive Holli’ came out to play. ”I asked you to come over to try and sort this out, I didn’t want you to be hurt – but if you’re going to just be an ass, then … then …” He pulled his head up off the wall, looking her straight on, the smile gone, ”Then what Holl? You going to kick me out?”
Whether meant as a challenge or not, it definitely took Holli back. She stammered, stuttered, but then recovered. ”I don’t want to; I want us to figure things out. I don’t want you to be hurt; I just want you to understand that this wasn’t about you.”
Wasn’t about him? ”When is it ever about me, Holli?” he asked. He could feel the words just start pouring out of his mouth, ”When in this relationship has anything been about me? Since day one it’s been about you and what makes you happy. Did you ever stop for three seconds and ask yourself why I moved back here? When Revival folded, you came to me and said that you couldn’t stand living in Chicago, that you were going to be leaving, and where did that leave me? I’d been doing EVERYTHING” he shouted, ”to keep us together.
Dammit, Holli …” he said, standing and beginning to pace around the room, ”I’ve tried everything I could to make this work, to make us work. But I’ve realized that it isn’t enough if you aren’t going to meet me halfway.” He stops, looking down at her on the couch; like a shrinking violet, looking up at him with her eyes wide and full of a mix of fear and shock. ”Don’t look at me like that,” he spits, ”I’m man enough to admit my mistakes, maybe it’s time you put on your big girl pants and try the same thing.”
That seemed to do it; Holli’s eyebrows furrowed, her jaw set, as she pushes herself up to her feet and immediately gets in Bob’s face. ”Screw you, asshole. I don’t know what rose tinted glasses you’ve been looking through, but you’re no Mother Theresa. I never asked you to move from Chicago, I never asked you to help out me and Joshua and I NEVER asked you to propose” she says with a sneer. ”Did you think that was going to make things all better?” she asked, a cruel smile on her face.
”Did you think that if we got married I’d become the ‘little wife’ that you wanted? I’m sorry if I’m not the woman you want, Bob, but this is who I was when you signed on – you can’t get mad at me for not changing." It was almost too much for Bob to take, his hands alternating between clenching and unclenching. ”You’re the one who changed. What happened to just having a good time?”
”What happened to not fucking around behind my back?” he muttered, low but still loud enough for Holli to hear. She cocked her head to the side, pulling her bubblegum pink streaked hair out of the way and tucking it around the other side of her head and over her shoulder. ”What was that?” she asked, pointing to her ear, ”You want to run that one by me again?”
”I said,” he began, taking a step forward and getting in her face, ”what happened to not fooling around behind my back? And Ryan? Of all the guys in the world for you to cheat on me with, you choose someone in the Empire. What, was Spike unavailable?” He was chest to chest with Holli, but only for a moment. Pressing two hands against his chest, shoving him backwards.
”Fuck you … “ she growled, the hatred painted on her face. ”Just … fuck you.” She was pointing at him and shaking her head slowly. Her eyes, mere slits, bore right through him. ”You don’t get to judge me … “
”Fine,” he conceded, ”then just tell me how long this shits been going on then.” He was still furious, but there was still the smallest hint of hurt in his voice. ”No …” she began, ”you don’t get to ask questions; you don’t get to control me – to control my relationships.”
”I … I’m not” he stammered, his angry ebbing away. ”I just …”
She was like a shark that smelled blood. She knew this argument was over, that she’d won. He was backing down like a scolded dog. ”Yeah, you j…j…just …” she said, mockingly, ”I’m done here. I thought you might be able to handle this like an adult but you’re still nothing but a damn child.” The way she spat that word at him, ‘child’, hurt nearly more than anything else. ”I’d tell you to save your dignity but we both know you lost that years ago.”
She was on a roll and going for the KO. ”Take your coat and get the hell out of my house.” Bob stood there for a moment, his teeth grinding, but said nothing. Instead, he reached down and grabbed his jacket, not bothering to put it on but simply walk towards the front door. Holli, several steps behind him, was cocking back for her verbal haymaker. ”Walking away is something you’re good at – almost as good as bending over and taking it. You were always a good little bitch.”
He stopped in the open doorway, a look of absolute murder on his face. Holli, smiling sweetly, just leaned against the door to the hall closet with her arms crossed. ”What?” is all she had to say. Pooler wanted to wipe that smug look off her face, but instead turned and stepped out into the cold March air. Nearly at his car, Holli went for the kill by tossing him a final hand grenade. ”Don’t worry about your stuff, I’ll box it up and have Lance drop it off this week.”
She closed the door and Bob, unable to contain the frustration anymore roared and brought his hands down onto the hood of his car with a double ax handle that left a sizable dent. He felt a trickle on his chin, bringing a hand up to wipe it away and realizing that he’d bitten his tongue to the blood. Cursing under his breath and spitting on the lawn, he rips open the door of his car and peels away seconds later. Unnoticed by him were the several neighbors outside their homes shaking their heads and looking back at number 12 with expressions of pity. But from the dining room window, the woman standing inside number twelve wasn't wearing an expression of pity – but one of victory.
~~[X]~~
”Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.”
”It all comes down to this” he says with a grin. ”This past year the IWF was given an early Christmas present, a Cruiserweight champion worthy of this once great title. In the ninety days that followed, I’ve defended this title against any and all; defeating men considered gods in this company. Yet, it would seem that it’s all for naught; because in a little more than forty-eight hours this title, this culmination of three months of painstaking work … will be no more.” He drags a finger beneath his right eye.
”Win or lose, at High Stakes the Cruiserweight title will be retired. No, I’m sorry – what’s the phrase that Angel used again? Oh yes,” he says, emotionlessly, ”‘merged’; as though this is some kind of compensation. To think that after everything I’ve done to rebuild the legitimacy of this title, that the thought of it being combined with that … that … Heavyweight nonsense to create some half-breed bastard …” he sneers.
”Most would see this as an incredible opportunity; the chance to become the very first Invictus champion in IWF history. I, on the other hand, see this as an opportunity to do so much more. A simple trip through the various title histories in this company shows how each and every title went through ‘low points’; periods in its history when it was held by someone of less than reputable or deserving standards. Each time, it took someone who truly understood the business and deserved the title to pull it out of the basement and elevate it through his or her hard work and dedication.
So, the question is, does IWF continue this trend of burying their titles with champions who barely deserve to look upon them; or does the IWF lay the foundation for the future of this title through me?” He allows the posed question to hang there for a moment, folding his hands in front of him and continuing.
”A house is only as strong as its foundation, and we’ve all seen how the Imperial title may as well have been built on sand. From Everyman to Lex, the ground that title stood on was constantly shifting and it wasn’t until Spike Kane burned it all down to the ground” he says with a smile, ”in order to build it back up again, that the Imperial title was truly taken seriously again.
IWF has an opportunity to do it the right way, for once. High Stakes represents the chance for me to lay the first bricks of a foundation that will stand strong for years – long after the other paper champions, false gods and gimmicky clichés have faded from memory.” His right eyebrow flicks upward, hoping that those fitting these categories understand.
”While everyone else has their eyes firmly glued on the Roulette, mine are firmly where they belong. Invictus; a word that, up until last week, represented me … un-beaten, un-conquered, un-vanquished; since the day I set foot in IWF I have been bloodied, I have been battered, but never beaten. That is until Xander Famularo did what no man before him had managed to do; hold me down for three seconds” he says, pain in his voice.
”In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.”
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.”
”In those three seconds I went from BEING invictus – to being just like the rest of you;” he sneers, ”marred, flawed, imperfect. This title is more than simply a shiny piece of hardware. The Invictus title represents the spirit, the heart of the man who should champion its cause.
When you look in the mirror each morning, Kristoff, tell me about the man you see. Is he the shell of a man that we see each week in the ring? A man who uses violence as an escape from the prison that is his life? Is this the kind of man who should be leading?” he asks.
”No.
This is the kind of man who should be following. How can we trust you at the helm of the USS Invictus when you can’t even right your own ship?” he snorts.
”You’ve spent the better part of the last month, since your unimpressive victory over Mason St. Croix, speaking my name – as though that’s all it took to get a rise from me. The fact that you even find yourself in this match should be considered a gift. St. Croix was a broken man, disillusioned with his role in this company. Call it delayed PTSD, call it laziness, call it whatever you will … St. Croix was about as much a champion at the end of his run, as Killian Creed was when Laszlo shocked the world.
Time has passed, wounds have healed and eyes have been opened. People are starting to see the men and women standing at the tops of their respective divisions, and they’re wondering … is this the best IWF can do?” he shrugs
”Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the horror of the shade
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.”
Looms but the horror of the shade
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.”
”Davey Ortega? The man had the world on a silver platter – but pissed it all away.
Seph? Haven’t I said enough about this one already? Every time he opens his mouth it’s apparent that there is more Pattinson to this one than meets the eye.
Jen? How that dumb bitch remembers to breathe let alone manages to win titles will astound and haunt me until my dying days.
Amber? Considering that there are only two women in this company worthy of holding either of the two titles, there isn’t a damn thing I can say about her. I might not agree with who she shares her bed with – but that’s on her.
Then there’s you, Kristoff. You’re a man who could do so much if you allowed yourself a chance and a half to succeed. You have always been, and will always be, the biggest road block to your own future.
By no means am I perfect, but that shouldn’t be taken as a confession of weakness. I strive for perfection, and expect nothing less from the men I face in the ring. High Stakes should prove whether you, Mr. Bates, actually deserve to ‘hang with me’.
The writing is on the wall, Kristoff; this isn’t nCw and nobody here cares much for your ‘American Psycho’ shtick anymore.” Pooler rolls his eyes, ”The loosening of the necktie, the manic expressions, and associations with a reject from “The Lost Boys” … you’re stretched too thin, you’re trying to hard, and you don’t know what you want anymore.
Part of you wants that spotlight, that chance to shine and feel like the eyes that are on you aren’t judging – aren’t laughing. Part of you is already lamenting the loss of your Heavyweight title, the fact that IWF is pissing on what little legacy you had must be absolutely tearing at you. That fragile psyche of yours just fracturing under the stress of knowing how close to oblivion you really are” he says with a grin.
”You’re standing at the precipice, Kristoff; your knees wobbling as you peer over the edge, knowing full well that the slightest nudge would send you over. While you stand there, trepidation in your eyes, I’m poised to be the first man to ever hold the Invictus title. There are very few firsts in this company, and unfortunately no amount of retconning will erase some of the more … ‘unfortunate’ ones. My victory at High Stakes might not wipe away the Joe Everyman, the Davey Ortega or even the Gjenrei, but it will at the very least be a starting ground for a new, and better, tomorrow.
Look in the mirror and ask yourself, Kristoff. Are you the man who can usher in a new age for IWF? What kind of champion would you have been? Because I know the kind of champion that I’ve been, the kind of champion I’ll continue to be” he says coldly.
”You’re just a weak little lamb – a corporate sheep that broke away from the rest of the flock; and me?” he chuckles, ”I’m the Big Bad Wolf.
Knock, knock …”
”It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.”
- William Ernest Henley
Well howdy there pardner.