Post by Gjenrei on Jun 16, 2013 14:28:32 GMT
--The man in the mask, did not look particularly happy. His eyes stared ahead with a glare that bordered on unbridled fury, his mouth a grim line. He did not like what he had to do, nor was it in him to do so, but at the behest of those he has respect for, he must.--
"I dislike this whole promo thing. Save the long speeches for the braggarts and show offs. Save the woe is me pity speeches for the attention starved. I elected to put myself through the hell training offered by two names synonymous with what was nCw. I chose to take the hard path instead of picking some fly by night school that offered the barest minimum of training for bottom of the barrell prices. I even passed on the fancy high priced schools simply because I was seeking what those who trained me had to offer. It earned me the respect of two great men, the respect and trust of someone I consider to be the best tag team partner I could ever hope for, and this mask."
--The man in the mask exhaled, adjusting the mask over his face.--
"This may all in fact be a moot point when the time comes. Cable and I may well have earned the tag team championships and not even be a factor in this outcome, but in the interest of being mentally and physically prepared for what may come, I have been increasing my regime to include the possibles I may face here. But I look around, and I don't like much what I actually see. So, if you'll excuse the rather frankness of the whole thing, I'd simply like to be on with it."
--The man in the mask reached off camera, and when his hand returned it was holding a single sheet of paper.--
"In my hand, is a list of names. Names of all the men who wish to place their name in history as the first IWF Imperial Champion. It would be a noteworthy feat to be sure, certainly something that will be remembered for a long time. Even in the locker room today, you hear the name Lance Ryan uttered, sometimes with reverance, sometimes with bitterness and contempt. Being first is something that people take pride in, they treasure when it's mentioned, they treasure the feeling and often times it is something they point to, years later when it has long been past. I myself do not care for such notions. First, fifth, fiftieth, last, none of that makes any difference if you did not make the most of the moment when you had it. I cannot stand here and assure you that I will simply win, leave that for worthless braggarts like Laszlo. Leave it for those who always find a way to have their excuses tailored to the situation. Leave it for those who simply speak to hear the sound of their own voice, and have very little to say."
--The man in the mask, raised the paper and turned it to face the camera. The names were too small to read, but it's clear they were all there.--
"I could rattle off each name. Go in depth about it. But what good would that actually do me? Discussing the crushing weight of the ego of Mike Laszlo, or the hollow threats of Deathtrain wouldn't matter much when the bell rung. I could discuss the courage of Andrew Jacobsen, and the utter lack of it by Seth Evans. Bushido's failures at his own concept, that he harshly judges others for. The lack of heart in Ryan Shane, and the rediscovered passion of Joe Everyman. I could state my opinions, give facts, make jokes, say all sorts of things to get their blood boiling, to throw them off their game.
But I don't want to. Because I said everything I needed to say about them in those few brief sentences. Their egos, pride, courage, failings, heart, passion, none of these things will change because I start talking about them. Words will never win matches on their own merit. A factor, possibly, but a win, never.
But nor will I gloss over anybody. Not Freakke, for all his cynical humor. Not those who were covered in the Tag match snippet. Not Alex, or Erik or Bernard, or Blade, or Constantine, or Drifter. Not the mystery entrant, nor Jake Keeton, who seemed to have plenty to say about others not named Gjenrei. I could pay him the same courtesy, or scoff and be offended at the bypass. But I will not.
Because I am not interested in their lives, their stories, or their respect. Nor do I concern myself with their words towards me, or lack thereof. I will not overlook or underestimate anyone. I will not try to pre-emptively gauge their talent versus my own. No, I will look each in the eyes, and demand that they show me where their honor lies.
Because I choose to. It is the way I was brought up. The way I was trained, and simply the way I am as a man."
--The man in the mask crumpled the paper, and threw it off camera.--
"This list, as a hollow list of what amounts to simple words. Labels that people allow to define who they are. I carry no such burden. The mask is what I fight for, and the mask will lead me towards my destiny. Whether I am fated to win the tag team championships with Cable, or survive this hell and be a part of the heir to the throne, the mask will lead me there.
For it is not simply an object, it is a message. A message of honor. It gave me life.."
--Gjenrei folded his hands in prayer.--
"It will show me how to live."
-End Promo-
----------------------
--The promo was over, but the film crew continued to role. The shot panned back, and two men were standing off camera, aged veterans and familiar faces from nCw, Angel and Falcon, watched with bemused interest.--
Gjenrei: I hate such things, am I finished?
"Never had much use for those things myself either, just a part of the job. But yea, that's pretty much it."
"Nice approach."
Gjenrei: Not.. sure how I should take that.
--Angel shrugged.--
"Take it however you want. Not what I would have gone with, but to each his own."
"Agreed."
--Gjenrei stood there, looking at the two. Angel was Cable's primary trainer, for obvious reasons, moreso than just his and Cables wrestling style were similar. Falcon was the one to bequeath the mask to the masked man, so he'd taken the role of training the new Gjenrei incarnate. Angel turned and walked off, off to a dozen more pressing matters.--
"Are you ready for this?"
Gjenrei: I am ready. Still a few contingency plans that I will ponder before then and now, but I am focused and ready for the task ahead.
"Good. It's not the most challenging thing you may ever face, but it's pretty close. I don't envy you, though. For the Riot we had weeks of preparation time."
Gjenrei: I am ready for anything at a moment's notice.
"That is what I like to hear. Now.. Oh, can I help you Madame?"
--Gjenrei was focused on the man in front of him, that he didn't hear the door open behind him. The same dapper woman from last week strode into frame, in a different dress, with a different hat, and different jewelery, but all the same refinement. Gjenrei slowly turned.--
"Now, now, Chrissy. I know you told me that coming here was bad for my health, but I just thought I'd drop your allowance off personally before we went back home."
Gjenrei: You really did not have to do that.
"Oh it's no trouble. Richard can find his way anywhere with no problem. So here."
--She extended an envelope towards the man in the mask. For a moment, it looked like he was going to protest, but his eyes said that he thought better of it and he simply took what she offered.--
"There's a little extra in there because I know how hard you're working. Oh, young man, I'd like to settle the billing for his school fee if you don't mind. Could you point me to the person in charge of that, please?"
--Falcon looked back and forth between the woman and Gjenrei, clearly there was something more than what was presented, but he'd let it pass for now.--
"That's already been settled, Madame. Don't worry."
"Well, you just call me if something comes up, ok? Chrissy has my number. And you shouldn't wear a mask, darling, it hides your handsome face. Maybe you should paint your face like your friend here."
Gjenrei: Thank you for your concern, I'll think about it. Ok? Give Clinton my regards.
"Certainly, dear. Now you kids have fun and play nice!"
--She wandered away, and both watched her go. A door opened, and then shut off camera.--
"Do I want to know?"
Gjenrei: It's better if you forget this ever happened.
"Understood. What's in the envelope?"
Gjenrei: Crap I don't want.
--Gjenrei walked by Falcon, and disapeared. He pressed the envelope into Falcon's hand as he passed. Falcon watched him go, then slid the envelope open to take a peek inside.--
"Man, there must be like fifteen thousand dollars in here."
-Fade.-
"I dislike this whole promo thing. Save the long speeches for the braggarts and show offs. Save the woe is me pity speeches for the attention starved. I elected to put myself through the hell training offered by two names synonymous with what was nCw. I chose to take the hard path instead of picking some fly by night school that offered the barest minimum of training for bottom of the barrell prices. I even passed on the fancy high priced schools simply because I was seeking what those who trained me had to offer. It earned me the respect of two great men, the respect and trust of someone I consider to be the best tag team partner I could ever hope for, and this mask."
--The man in the mask exhaled, adjusting the mask over his face.--
"This may all in fact be a moot point when the time comes. Cable and I may well have earned the tag team championships and not even be a factor in this outcome, but in the interest of being mentally and physically prepared for what may come, I have been increasing my regime to include the possibles I may face here. But I look around, and I don't like much what I actually see. So, if you'll excuse the rather frankness of the whole thing, I'd simply like to be on with it."
--The man in the mask reached off camera, and when his hand returned it was holding a single sheet of paper.--
"In my hand, is a list of names. Names of all the men who wish to place their name in history as the first IWF Imperial Champion. It would be a noteworthy feat to be sure, certainly something that will be remembered for a long time. Even in the locker room today, you hear the name Lance Ryan uttered, sometimes with reverance, sometimes with bitterness and contempt. Being first is something that people take pride in, they treasure when it's mentioned, they treasure the feeling and often times it is something they point to, years later when it has long been past. I myself do not care for such notions. First, fifth, fiftieth, last, none of that makes any difference if you did not make the most of the moment when you had it. I cannot stand here and assure you that I will simply win, leave that for worthless braggarts like Laszlo. Leave it for those who always find a way to have their excuses tailored to the situation. Leave it for those who simply speak to hear the sound of their own voice, and have very little to say."
--The man in the mask, raised the paper and turned it to face the camera. The names were too small to read, but it's clear they were all there.--
"I could rattle off each name. Go in depth about it. But what good would that actually do me? Discussing the crushing weight of the ego of Mike Laszlo, or the hollow threats of Deathtrain wouldn't matter much when the bell rung. I could discuss the courage of Andrew Jacobsen, and the utter lack of it by Seth Evans. Bushido's failures at his own concept, that he harshly judges others for. The lack of heart in Ryan Shane, and the rediscovered passion of Joe Everyman. I could state my opinions, give facts, make jokes, say all sorts of things to get their blood boiling, to throw them off their game.
But I don't want to. Because I said everything I needed to say about them in those few brief sentences. Their egos, pride, courage, failings, heart, passion, none of these things will change because I start talking about them. Words will never win matches on their own merit. A factor, possibly, but a win, never.
But nor will I gloss over anybody. Not Freakke, for all his cynical humor. Not those who were covered in the Tag match snippet. Not Alex, or Erik or Bernard, or Blade, or Constantine, or Drifter. Not the mystery entrant, nor Jake Keeton, who seemed to have plenty to say about others not named Gjenrei. I could pay him the same courtesy, or scoff and be offended at the bypass. But I will not.
Because I am not interested in their lives, their stories, or their respect. Nor do I concern myself with their words towards me, or lack thereof. I will not overlook or underestimate anyone. I will not try to pre-emptively gauge their talent versus my own. No, I will look each in the eyes, and demand that they show me where their honor lies.
Because I choose to. It is the way I was brought up. The way I was trained, and simply the way I am as a man."
--The man in the mask crumpled the paper, and threw it off camera.--
"This list, as a hollow list of what amounts to simple words. Labels that people allow to define who they are. I carry no such burden. The mask is what I fight for, and the mask will lead me towards my destiny. Whether I am fated to win the tag team championships with Cable, or survive this hell and be a part of the heir to the throne, the mask will lead me there.
For it is not simply an object, it is a message. A message of honor. It gave me life.."
--Gjenrei folded his hands in prayer.--
"It will show me how to live."
-End Promo-
----------------------
--The promo was over, but the film crew continued to role. The shot panned back, and two men were standing off camera, aged veterans and familiar faces from nCw, Angel and Falcon, watched with bemused interest.--
Gjenrei: I hate such things, am I finished?
"Never had much use for those things myself either, just a part of the job. But yea, that's pretty much it."
"Nice approach."
Gjenrei: Not.. sure how I should take that.
--Angel shrugged.--
"Take it however you want. Not what I would have gone with, but to each his own."
"Agreed."
--Gjenrei stood there, looking at the two. Angel was Cable's primary trainer, for obvious reasons, moreso than just his and Cables wrestling style were similar. Falcon was the one to bequeath the mask to the masked man, so he'd taken the role of training the new Gjenrei incarnate. Angel turned and walked off, off to a dozen more pressing matters.--
"Are you ready for this?"
Gjenrei: I am ready. Still a few contingency plans that I will ponder before then and now, but I am focused and ready for the task ahead.
"Good. It's not the most challenging thing you may ever face, but it's pretty close. I don't envy you, though. For the Riot we had weeks of preparation time."
Gjenrei: I am ready for anything at a moment's notice.
"That is what I like to hear. Now.. Oh, can I help you Madame?"
--Gjenrei was focused on the man in front of him, that he didn't hear the door open behind him. The same dapper woman from last week strode into frame, in a different dress, with a different hat, and different jewelery, but all the same refinement. Gjenrei slowly turned.--
"Now, now, Chrissy. I know you told me that coming here was bad for my health, but I just thought I'd drop your allowance off personally before we went back home."
Gjenrei: You really did not have to do that.
"Oh it's no trouble. Richard can find his way anywhere with no problem. So here."
--She extended an envelope towards the man in the mask. For a moment, it looked like he was going to protest, but his eyes said that he thought better of it and he simply took what she offered.--
"There's a little extra in there because I know how hard you're working. Oh, young man, I'd like to settle the billing for his school fee if you don't mind. Could you point me to the person in charge of that, please?"
--Falcon looked back and forth between the woman and Gjenrei, clearly there was something more than what was presented, but he'd let it pass for now.--
"That's already been settled, Madame. Don't worry."
"Well, you just call me if something comes up, ok? Chrissy has my number. And you shouldn't wear a mask, darling, it hides your handsome face. Maybe you should paint your face like your friend here."
Gjenrei: Thank you for your concern, I'll think about it. Ok? Give Clinton my regards.
"Certainly, dear. Now you kids have fun and play nice!"
--She wandered away, and both watched her go. A door opened, and then shut off camera.--
"Do I want to know?"
Gjenrei: It's better if you forget this ever happened.
"Understood. What's in the envelope?"
Gjenrei: Crap I don't want.
--Gjenrei walked by Falcon, and disapeared. He pressed the envelope into Falcon's hand as he passed. Falcon watched him go, then slid the envelope open to take a peek inside.--
"Man, there must be like fifteen thousand dollars in here."
-Fade.-
Well howdy there pardner.