Legend Fall - Printable Version +- X-treme Wrestling Federation (https://xwf99.com) +-- Forum: Warfare Boards (https://xwf99.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=6) +--- Forum: Warfare RP Board (https://xwf99.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=12) +--- Thread: Legend Fall (/showthread.php?tid=39202)

Legend Fall - Corey Smith - 12-19-2020 The expansive kitchen hummed with activity, and just faintly over the din of knives rhythmically clacking on cutting boards and a large pot boiling on the stove, Corey could hear the Trans Siberian Orchestra playing in the other room. Gerrard stepped out of the walk in freezer, which allowed a cool breeze to skirt along the floor. In hand, was a large frozen roast, which he manuevered to the counter after deftly kicking the door shut with his foot. Across the way, Dolly and Ronnie stood side by side, chopping vegetables. They were immersed in “girl talk”, with Corey catching snatches of it here and there. He didn’t focus on it though, simply allowing them their moment. His eyes drifted over to the light steam emitting from the boiling pot. For some reason, it captured him. But not for long. So are you gonna stand there like a bump on a log, or are you gonna help? Her curt statement cut right through Corey’s daydreaming. Giving her his full attention, he smiles. I burn hot pockets. Her eyes narrow. Then go mash the potatoes. She goads him gently. What do you think this is, some Norman Rockwell “halcyon days of yore” shit where I’m supposed to have dinner cooked and slippers ready as you slide your chauvinist ass into a barcalounger? Ronnie burst into laughter. Corey bowed his head, a broad smile on his face. I concede. Show me to the potatoes. But then, the orchestra’s take on “O Come All Ye Faithful” was jostled aside by the characteristic tone of the doorbell. Dolly’s head shot back up. No. No! She pointed her knife threateningly in Corey’s direction. I got it! Corey announced playfully, bounding through the door before Dolly could make good on the gross bodily harm. Walking briskly through the hall, he passes by the expansive archway leading into one of the manse’s plush living areas, where a small circle of his other guests were gathered around and watching the TSO’s effervescent performance. Corey arrived at the front door, and he could immediately make out a slim figure through the frosted glass. Such random drop-ins were certainly expected, but Corey still got a small tickle of anticipation every time someone new showed up. A cynical mind would call his reaction the spectre of his recent failures, but Corey preferred to think it was the simple pleasure of meeting someone new he could help. Corey opened the door. The young man started, as though he hadn’t been paying attention, but recovered deftly. He was wearing a hoodie made out of thin material, and jeans that looked worn in the hard way with a slight pastel of ground dirt. He tucked his hands into his pockets, a nervous gesture perhaps. Oh, uh, hey man, what’s good? He peered past Corey almost immediately. Corey shifted his position discretely, squaring up in his field of vision. Hey, how can I help you? His brow furrowed a bit before answering. Is this where people can go to, you know, get help? The young man seemed consumed by a nervous energy, eyes never laying to rest on any one thing. Corey stepped fully through the threshold, closing the door behind him. The young man stepped back, giving him a respectful amount of space. Yeah! I just need to sit and talk to you for a bit. No big deal. He looked surprised. Oh. Well I was told to talk to a Corey Smith. You're lookin' at 'em. Inwardly, Corey was glad for one where his reputation didn’t precede him. A small half smile curled onto the young man’s lips. Like, how old are you man? Then, withdrawing a hand from his pocket, he waves it in the air as though batting the words away. I’m sorry. That was rude as fuck. It’s cool. You weren’t the first one to be surprised by that. So, what kind of help are you looking for? I just need a place to go for a bit. That’s all. Corey waited for more, and when he realized it wasn’t coming, he continued. Well, could you tell me a bit more about where you’re coming from? Here, have a seat. Corey gestured for him to follow to the edge of the billowing front steps. Corey sat down, prompting the other to do the same. After a bit of initial hesitancy, he did. The young man extended a hand, I’m Christian. The name, not the religion. Corey chuckled, Well, nice to meet you “Christian: Not the Religion”. He shook his hand, pandemic be damned. So! What brings you here? Like I said, I got nowhere to go. I’m kinda in between places. Well, where did you come from? He shrugs. I’m a local boy. Corey breathed out a small sigh. He could see where this was going. Look, I’m gonna level with you man. You gotta give me more than that. Christian’s body language spoke volumes. He leaned away from Corey, ever so slightly, suspicion coloring his features unbidden. What, you gotta know my whole life story or somethin’? The gentle simmer of frustration bled through into his tone. I was told this place don’t judge…. We don’t. He spoke the words confidently. But I have a lot of people in there who trust me to give them a safe place to go. So, I need to know that you’re safe. That you’re here for good reasons. A brief pause. I gotta know who you are. And I gotta lay some ground rules. Was you layin’ ground rules when all those people were partyin’ here last week? Shit. Corey looked him over. He didn’t recognize him from amongst the numerous people he and Dolly had purged from the property. But clearly, word of the events was contagious. That was a mistake. A big one. I’m doing things differently know. Hence, the third degree. Corey mustered some plaintiveness into his next statement. Look, there’s kids here. I’ve never hurt a kid. Icy I didn’t say you did. I….. he folded his hands in his lap. I’ll start. Start what? I’m a recovering drug addict. That’s for starters. I’ve never been to jail or anything like that, but I probably should have. Many times over. I… he grasped at how to parse the sheer oddity of his life. I used to be….something that was not me...but in a way, still me. Christian narrowed his eyes. …..what? I don’t know how to explain it so it’ll make sense. Hell, you probably wouldn’t believe me anyway. But the long and short of it is, a lot of people got hurt on my watch. I was sick. Real sick. So what are you sayin’? Did you kill somebody? Did you kill somebody? The words touched down like a thunderclap in his skull. Corey didn’t even realize he had withdrawn into himself until Christian was prompting him. Uh, hello? You still there? Sorry! Corey leapt back into the present. It’s just that….he swallowed painfully, surrendering to the truth….yeah, I guess I did. Christian scoffed, moving to to get up. And you wanna know if I’m “safe”?! ‘Later man. Fuck. He’d never had one go like this. Corey became acutely aware he was losing Christian. And for some reason, in that moment, that seemed a truly awful thing. Without even thinking, Corey caught Christian’s wrist. Please don’t. He hadn’t meant for the words to sound pleading, but so they did. Christian pulled his wrist away. You gettin’ right with God and shit? Is that what this is about? Man, I don’t need the third degree from…. I just wanted to be honest with you! I don’t want to be part of your weird ass act of contrition! Forget I was even here! He went down the steps and turned to walk up the drive. Corey practically leapt down the stairs and skittered out in front of him. Dont go. Christian laughed derisively. Damn boy, you need this more than I do? Shit, and I thought I was carryin’ the weight, but I got nothin’ on you! Outta my way, please. Fine! I do need this! I do! Corey shouted without meaning to. It stunned Christian long enough for Corey to grab the young man’s arm and push his sleeve up. Christian started to curse and jerk away again, but stopped when Corey brought his forearm up next to Christian’s. Both of their arms bore the tell tale hints of dark sickly rivers that once ran thick with poison. The profundity of the movement called a cease fire to Christian’s fight. How long? Four months. He spoke it softly. Not much. Four months is everything. Corey withdrew his arm. Christian continued to hold his aloft, looking down at the broken veins. His temperament had cooled considerably, something about the moment striking something deep and profound in him. How did you know? I guessed. A silence. And then, improbably, Christian start to laugh. You’re a piece of work, Smith. It was an educated guess. It’s like 85 goddamn degrees out and you’re wearing long sleeves. Christian let his laugh peter out, nodding his head in acquiescence. I want to hear about your weight. Huh? You said you were carrying a weight too. I wanna hear it. Christian finally looked squarely into Corey’s face, for the first time really. Eyes, laden with necessary desperate cunning, searched Corey’s for the remotest hint of threat or disingenuousness. He did not find what he sought. He sank back down onto the steps. You’re a weird one. He waited for Corey to sit down next to him before taking the plunge. I’m on probation. Okay. Possession and possession with intent to distribute. But the second charge was bullshit. The judge was a hardass up for reelection, and nailing some skinny Puerto Rican junkie to the wall was like red meat for his base. Why did they think you were dealing? Because I had a shit load of dope. Well...Corey held back a chuckle at Christian’s bluntness. But I wasn’t sellin’ to nobody. So what was it for? Me. Christian’s gaze set like the sun, dropping to the ground. I wanted to die. The silence between them congealed. It solidifed. And something irrevocable was born of it. You okay out here? Corey jerked his head about. Dolly stood in the warm glow of the open door, gaze flicking to the other warily before resettling on Corey. Everything cool? She repeated, nudging her head in the direction of the newcomer. Yeah, everything's cool. We’ll be in in a sec. Dolly nodded in understanding, dipping back inside and closing the door gently. You said “we’ll”. Christian turned to Corey again. Because we will. If you want it that is. Then, an addition after the barest of pauses. If you trust me. He knew Christian hadn't told him everything. There was still wreckage beneath those depths. But it was enough. Chances are the young man hadn’t done anything nearly as monstrous as The Engineer. And something deep within Corey screamed out, “don’t let him go”. It was then that Corey had noticed Christian still hadn’t responded. I won’t force you. Christian seemed lost in thought, inscrutable calculations tearing about in his mind’s eye. But at last, he breathed a sigh and addressed Corey. I’ll give it a shot. Corey smiled. That’s all I ask. LATER…. Day had succumbed to night, and we catch Corey outside the house once again. An “outsider looking in”, to be specific. He was watching through a large floor length window into the dining area beyond, where his guests were just sitting down to dinner. Corey ruminated on how the scene seemed to play out like it had a soft glow at the edges, and the magnitude of what he was seeing was not lost on him. These disparate people, coming together under this roof, something akin to an extended family of pure strangers growing in hope and trust. His eyes settled on Dolly, who was setting a plate down in front of Terry, age 7. Who liked Power Rangers and had fully formed opinions on the newest Star Wars trilogy that he could regale you with for hours. In so doing, Dolly’s smile was warm and authentic. She looked happy. She looked well. Corey turned away from the window, and looked directly at the camera. And his features instantly hardened a bit. An anger kindled in his eyes. This would not be kind. Like many good ideas, this started out with me finding something on the internet. I was looking for something punchy, something that cut to the core of what I wanted to say about Centurion and James Raven. And I found it, in spades. And by the by, take note of how I’m at least honest about not being some spontaneous font of Victorian era philosophy. Like none of the rest of you hit up Google before opening your mouths. A small bit of mirth before the jaws clamped shut. It was Ralph Waldo Emerson who said, “A great man is always willing to be little.” Hmm. Drink that in for a sec. Now, I’m sure that our esteemed legacy opponents at Warfare would consider themselves to be great men. But…are they? Talented men? Sure. Feared men? I guess. Storied men? Of course. But are they “great”? Not a chance. Now, I realize this will sound like profanity in a world where egos are rampant and even the hint of weakness has men leaping at your throat like feral dogs. But as I watched James Raven and Centurion, stewing about in their self congratulatory crapulence over high priced drinks, I couldn’t help but shake the notion that it all seemed so….insecure. I mean, here we have these two men, both Hall of Famers, both with unquestionable winning lineages. And yet still, STILL, whether it be on a double date, or in a promo or even on Twitter...Corey smirks….they just can’t stop jerking themselves off. And doesn’t it feel like the grown up version of that childlike chest puffing? Like that friend you had when you were little who couldn’t stop talking about how they were so amazing at everything. Best at every sport. Had all the coolest video games and action figures before you did. But because they were a child, they lacked the wisdom and insight to know not to constantly parade that shit around. They lacked the maturity to know how tedious and dull that made them seem. So Centy and Ravey, I ask you, my friend Bobby Hendricks was 8 when he did all that stuff. What’s your excuse? Now, I gather you two really don’t have much of a sense of shame about that. But that inability to be humble, that inability to show grace and dignity and not have to resort to playground posturing to pick your fragile egos up off the floor and dust them off, marks you both straight out as something less than great. It diminishes you. Points to something vacuous and empty living inside you. Something that will never, ever be filled. Corey shrugs and smacks his lips as if daring them to defy the sentiment. Let’s switch gears. Centy. Ooohhhh, Centy. You really stepped in it bub. Actually….he points a finger in the air….Cent wanted to bring up some history, so I will too. So let’s back up a bit. Once upon a time, when I had the privilege of hosting Lux in this paltry unit, she teamed up with Centurion. And was this some random pairing? Oh no. She CHOSE him. Because she respected him. She thought he was a good, decent person. And her and I, we talked about it before hand. And she took issue with the notion that so many people thought Centurion was boring. No, she said he was something truly special because he was a breath of normalcy amidst all this chaos. Cent wasn’t boring, he was grounded. He had a sense of ethics. And he didn’t have the time for the craziness that was yours truly, but nonetheless seemed to have a sense of mutual respect for Lux despite all the weirdness. She liked you Cent. She really did. And she would be very, very disappointed to see what you’ve become. And you know what else? I think it’s odd that you didn’t even mention teaming with her. Or then again, maybe not so odd. you did after all have a lot to say about Dolly weighing me down in this match, being the proverbial weak link. Now, how did that tag match you had with Lux go down? Oh yeah, you ate the pinfall. Corey chortles a bit. Now, earlier we took a look at the big question: Are Centurion and James Raven GREAT men? Mmmmm….they’re not. They’re tacky, childish little balls of egomania. But could it be WORSE than that? Oh, it can. It gets SO MUCH WORSE FROM HERE, SUNSHINE! You see, sometimes people get to a crux in their lives where they have some kind of deep, remorseful revelation. When they look back on everything they’ve done, as well intentioned as it seemed at the time, and have to ask themselves…. Corey waves at the camera. Hi, Cent. This is that moment for you. He cracks his knuckles. Let’s roll. Now, I know Dolly would never admit this. Hell, she might be pissed when she finds out I said it, but Dolly’s life was something less than spectacular. Being the progeny of Muddy fucking Waters, who never encountered a watering hole or cheap strip joint he wasn’t determined to emabrass himself in, was her father. For her, it was a childhood full of instability and neglect. The kind of life brew that fucks you up forever. The kind that constantly makes you check your self worth and leaves you fundamentally broken inside. It’s the kind of upbringing that makes it so you only feel secure in the throes of chaos, because normalcy is TERRIFYING. And it’s the kind of life that makes the allure of drugs so, so much more appealing. Hell man, why else do you think she turned to wrestling when she was so young? And Dolly would never use those facts to make excuses for herself. But Cent, you’re really, REALLY not getting the big picture, so out it comes. Now, even teenagers growing up under ideal circumstances are usually fuck ups. I’m still a fuck up myself. It’s part and parcel of that whole “your brain isn’t fully formed ‘till your 25” dealy. So if Dolly truly did gussy up a kidnapping as a means of escape, and I don’t know that she did, can you really blame her for making a poor choice? 17 years old, with a life time of trauma so severe she could only find solace in dope and fighting. Image that, Cent. And don’t tell me you didn’t screw up as a kid. Like you dropped straight out of Mama Centy’s nethers, the cord got clipped and the doctor put you in her arms announcing, “Congradulations, it’s a healthy baby PERFECTION.” 10 fingers, 10 toes, and nary a poor choice to be found. Bitch, please. Now, you’re all huffy because you feel like you went to bat for Dolly and wasted your time. Two things. Number one, that was YOUR choice to do that. And incidentally, Lux also challenged Destiny Graves to a match right before you because she couldn’t get her hands on Michael Graves himself. And number two, what did you really lose? You got a great pay per view moment out of the deal! Burying two Graves’ for the price of one? Le chef’s kiss! So fine, you feel like you got burned because a mixed up 17 year old girl might havel made a bad call. Even though, in the end, you didn’t really suffer at all for it. And Christ Man, it’s not like she sent you a ransom note in her blood, begging you to “oooh, Save Me Centy, Save Me!” You put yourself in that position. Because you’re an ostensibly “nice guy”. Heh. Right. But the level of vitriol we’re seeing coming out of you, and by extension (maybe!) “Mr. I Am The XWF” himself, James Raven, it’s just a little much. No, scratch that, it’s A LOT much. You used the word PUNISH, Cent. What a word. How rife with meaning that is. PUNISH. You are here to PUNISH Dolly Waters for the indignity of being a “flake” and not living up to what you saw as her potential. Now, I could see you popping a hate boner over this if you had, oh, I don’t know, spent years of your life training her or something. But you didn’t. Hell, you two were co-workers at best. But yet you, with a radiant aura of self righteous fury at your back, have decreed Dolly Waters in need of PUNISHMENT. I mean, let’s ignore the creepy psychosexual nuance here (mmmmm…..Daddy) and just address how mind numbingly, patently EGOMANIACAL this is. You, a middle aged legacy wrestler, have decided a 17 year old with a troubled past didn’t live up to YOUR expectations. And now, for that grievous sin, she does not DESERVE to end her career the way she wants. She does not DESERVE her dignity. She does not DESERVE the right to make a choice. Yep! Amongst all the people with flaky histories in this company. Amongst all the people in this company right now who have done truly AWFUL things that actually are deserving of your fury...you’re gonna tee off on a traumatized teenage girl. I say this with as much sincerity as I can muster: GO. FUCK. YOURSELF. And you know what, the next time you try to flash your “good guy” bonafides or the next time you decide to spew some fake ass Limosine Liberal rant, I’m going to remember this. Oh, and incidentally, SUPER great optics in that last promo, in the midst of a fucking pandemic where thousands have lost their jobs and families are tipping into poverty, THANK GOD you and James Raven can still treat yourselves to bougie restaurants and sneer at the plebes who go to Denny’s. God, what a fucking prick! I am so EMBARASSED for you! But hey! Just because Centurion and James Raven are oblivious pieces of smegma, doesn’t mean they’re not talented! It’s an unfortunate fact that douchebags win wrestling matches all the time. And boy are they confident! Corey leans in closer to the camera. You’re gonna lose. This isn’t chest thumping. It’s not trash talk. It’s a FACT. And I think you’ve already started to admit that to yourself despite your claims to the contrary. Now, while I do thank you for Cent-splaining to me the concept of muscle memory, a concept that pretty much every athlete is already acquainted with, you are quite correct. The skills and talent that led this body to a Universal Title reign (but not two, the first Engineer was a completely different person you nonce), are still present. You’re right in assuming that I’m not fresh off the pro-wrestling boat. And I uh, couldn’t help but notice you waxing on about how little this match means to you. And obviously, Raven feels the same way given that “I am the XWF” couldn’t even be arsed to cut a promo. It seems pretty clear to me that you two narcissistic clods are just planning to waltz right through this. Oh please, please, pllllllleeeeassssse, go on assuming that. For every ounce of motivation you two lack in this match, Dolly and I have it five fold. And I personally will be God-DAMNED if I’m going to let either of you two scouring vultures ruin this last match for her. The cold hard fact Centy, is that Dolly is more talented than you. And I’m at least as talented as James Raven. Because in almost two years, this body has only been pinned or made submit TWICE. And THAT fortitude, THAT strength, combined with the raging inferno you’ve lit under me, ensures that neither of you pretentious wads of self-love is making it out with a dubya. Tell Ruby I said hi. And uh, do be a doll and show her this promo. I think she has the right to know what kind of pure-strain dirt bag you really are.