Post by Camisado on Jun 13, 2007 21:17:39 GMT -5
Key
Sililoquy
Speaking
Action
Camisado
Knuckles
Cicatrix
~Lyrics~
-Memory-
_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_
Date: Thursday, June the Seventh, 2007
Time: 5:41 PM
Location: FWF Live-Wire Arena
Occasion: Live-Wire: Camisado vs. Shawn Fuller, Round One of Jealousy Tournament
-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-
_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_
Date: Thursday, June the Seventh, 2007
Time: 6:17 PM
Location: Back of an Ambulance
Occasion: Live-Wire Aftermath
-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-
_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_
Date: Sunday, June the Tenth, 2007
Time: 12:14 PM
Location: Camisado's Locker Room
Occasion: Ring, Ring, Ring. Phone Call! Phone Call!
-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-
Camisado, now very much awe-struck by the words Knuckles had forced himself to mutter, dropped the phone from his hand. His jaw was dropped wide open and his face was blank, no real expression shown what so ever. The end of the phone that contained the screen first hit the ground and the much heavier, bulkier end collapsed down onto it, forcing it shut, concluding the call.
~I always believed in futures
I hope for better in November
I try the same losing lucky numbers
It could be a cold night...
for a lifetime
Hey now, you can't keep saying endlessly:
My darling, how long until this affects me?
Say hello to good times
Trade up for the fast ride
We close our eyes while the nickel and dime take the streets
completely~
_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_
Date: Sunday, June the Tenth, 2007
Time: 9:16 PM
Location: Knuckles' House; Louisville, Kentucky
Occasion: He's Really Back
-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-
Sililoquy
Speaking
Action
Camisado
Knuckles
Cicatrix
~Lyrics~
-Memory-
_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_
Date: Thursday, June the Seventh, 2007
Time: 5:41 PM
Location: FWF Live-Wire Arena
Occasion: Live-Wire: Camisado vs. Shawn Fuller, Round One of Jealousy Tournament
-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-
-The bell is rung, signaling the end of the match. Charles begins to announce the winner.
Charles: Here is your winner, by pinfall... Camisado!
Fuller's face is by now filled with shock. It's literally written on his forehead. By this time, Camisado had crawled towards the ropes and used them to propel himself onto Fuller. He began throwing all sorts of punches and blows on Shawn. During this, the Devil had rushed down to the ring to help his newfound partner in crime. He pulled Camisado off him, grabbing a handful of hair and throwing him backwards
.
¢|Camisado|¢|:.
Damnit! I knew I needed to get my hair cut last week when it was only five bucks!
Myles: This isn't right. By God, it isn't right! Shawn Fuller thought the Devil was against him but it all turns out that The Devil and Shawn Fuller were on the same page! But did the Devil cause him the match? Does Shawn Fuller even care about the match? He just wants to make Camisado pay!
The Devil, with a steel chain wrapped around his fist, began delivering diminishing punches to Camisado's skull, busting his head wide open. He takes a short break on the beatdown, just so he could pick him up and call Fuller over, who then hits a sick SKO.
.¢|Camisado|¢|:.
AHHH FUUUCKK!!
Strachon: What a beatdown, Myles!
By now, Camisado was unconcious, he was not about to go anywhere. The Devil then rolled out of the ring, only to steal Charles' seat. He throws the chair under the lower rope and slides in himself. He then sets it up in the corner turnbuckle. Fuller then picks up Camisado and carries him over to the Devil, who by now had climbed up to a standing position atop the highest turnbuckle. The Devil positions him in between his legs and prepares. He soon jumps off and hits the Damned to Hell on Camisado, smacking right into the chair.
Myles: BAH GAWD, Strachon! Camisado must have broken his neck! This is absolutely sickening.
EMTs and trainers run down to the ring and back the two culprits away from Camisado. The two head up the ramp and backstage, enromous grins on their faces the entire way as the EMTs fit a brace around Camisado's neck. The two EMTs place him on a flat stretcher and roll up him the ramp, and out of the arena.-
Charles: Here is your winner, by pinfall... Camisado!
Fuller's face is by now filled with shock. It's literally written on his forehead. By this time, Camisado had crawled towards the ropes and used them to propel himself onto Fuller. He began throwing all sorts of punches and blows on Shawn. During this, the Devil had rushed down to the ring to help his newfound partner in crime. He pulled Camisado off him, grabbing a handful of hair and throwing him backwards
.
¢|Camisado|¢|:.Damnit! I knew I needed to get my hair cut last week when it was only five bucks!
Myles: This isn't right. By God, it isn't right! Shawn Fuller thought the Devil was against him but it all turns out that The Devil and Shawn Fuller were on the same page! But did the Devil cause him the match? Does Shawn Fuller even care about the match? He just wants to make Camisado pay!
The Devil, with a steel chain wrapped around his fist, began delivering diminishing punches to Camisado's skull, busting his head wide open. He takes a short break on the beatdown, just so he could pick him up and call Fuller over, who then hits a sick SKO.
.
¢|Camisado|¢|:.AHHH FUUUCKK!!
Strachon: What a beatdown, Myles!
By now, Camisado was unconcious, he was not about to go anywhere. The Devil then rolled out of the ring, only to steal Charles' seat. He throws the chair under the lower rope and slides in himself. He then sets it up in the corner turnbuckle. Fuller then picks up Camisado and carries him over to the Devil, who by now had climbed up to a standing position atop the highest turnbuckle. The Devil positions him in between his legs and prepares. He soon jumps off and hits the Damned to Hell on Camisado, smacking right into the chair.
Myles: BAH GAWD, Strachon! Camisado must have broken his neck! This is absolutely sickening.
EMTs and trainers run down to the ring and back the two culprits away from Camisado. The two head up the ramp and backstage, enromous grins on their faces the entire way as the EMTs fit a brace around Camisado's neck. The two EMTs place him on a flat stretcher and roll up him the ramp, and out of the arena.-
~I'm not a problem
until you make one out of spite
I'll give you hell and consequences for trying,
don't want an enemy,
DON'T FUCK WITH MY LIFE~
until you make one out of spite
I'll give you hell and consequences for trying,
don't want an enemy,
DON'T FUCK WITH MY LIFE~
_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_
Date: Thursday, June the Seventh, 2007
Time: 6:17 PM
Location: Back of an Ambulance
Occasion: Live-Wire Aftermath
-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-
.¢|Camisado|¢|:.
Pain is temporary. It may last a minute, an hour, a day, or a year, but eventually it will subside and something else will take its place. I can't wait to stop feeling this pain. But if I quit, it lasts forever.
A scene begins to come into view with the sound of sirens and a roaring engine filling the air. Strapped securely onto the plastic orange stretcher was Camisado, with pads of guaze taped all over his face and across his chest, the blood and antibiotic pouring through the thick yet giving material. A plain white, puffy brace was situated firmly around his neck. Intravenous tubes carrying blood were injected into both arms, forcing new blood into the veins in order to replace the blood that had been lost in the past thirty minutes from the brutal beating he had received via The Devil and and the man who had been his opponent for the night, Shawn Fuller.
.¢|Camisado|¢|:.
Is this really what it's come down to? My first week back, and I'm already getting bum-rushed by the wWo? I mean, come on. Have some originality. Mix it up now and then. Maybe keep me guessing. Wait one week, then beat me down. Just keep it interesting. The same shit every week, let me tell ya, it gets old.
The sirens were shut off and the roaring of the engine subsided as the ambulance came to a hault in front of the hospital. The doors in front of Camisado, who was now drifting in and out of consciousness, had been thrust open by the duo of young emergency medical technicians, both of whom had short, brown hair and pale, hazel eyes that were hidden behind a pair of thin-rimmed, black glasses.
All at once, he was pulled from his solitary position in the back of the ambulance and the worn, black, plastic wheels to the stretcher were pulled from the bottom and were locked into place as they struck the ground. The faded, gray concrete had no give to it whatsoever, which had caused the stretcher, which was merely supported by a few metal poles that were attached to the wheels, buckled violently, though Camisado stayed in place and hardly felt the movement as he was strapped in so tightly and securely. If he had been conscious, that probably would have added a bit more pain to what he was already experiencing.
The EMTs swiftly wheeled Camisado's seemingly lifeless body inside the automatic sliding doors and into the cold, bright hospital building. Camisado dimly heard voices shouting things such as "critical", "lost fluids", a shitload of different letters that he thought were just randomly thrown together, and a few other phrases he had heard before while watching Scrubs, along with his name. His real name, not Camisado.
Hours later, in the early hours Friday morning, he awoke to a pair of cold yet sweaty hands lightly tapping either side of his face. He didn't have much feeling across his face at the moment, considering how hyped up on diamorphine he was. The IVs from inside the ambulance had been swapped out for newer, cleaner ones containing painkiller. As furiously as the doctor tapped on his face, Camisado could hardly feel his hands. The slapping continued on and on, becoming stronger and harder with each tap. Camisado's eyes slowly began to open and close with indecision, as if he were not sure whether or not he wanted to wake up. After all, it had been a long night for him. Harder and harder the slaps became, until eventually, Camisado's eyes thrust straight open and instantaneously, he awoke from his deep sleep which had lasted throughout the night.
An icy chill filled the air, and nearly instantly after he had awoken, he felt that same chill through his body, inside and out. He began to shiver as the doctor backed a few steps away from him, as it was obviously unneccessary to be right in Camisado face, now that he was conscious and all. Camisado had gained consciousness, though he was still nearly out of it. As he shivered, his teeth began to clatter together rapidly, creating a great production of noise that filled the room nearly as well as the ice-cold chill had.
¢|Camisado|¢|:.Pain is temporary. It may last a minute, an hour, a day, or a year, but eventually it will subside and something else will take its place. I can't wait to stop feeling this pain. But if I quit, it lasts forever.
A scene begins to come into view with the sound of sirens and a roaring engine filling the air. Strapped securely onto the plastic orange stretcher was Camisado, with pads of guaze taped all over his face and across his chest, the blood and antibiotic pouring through the thick yet giving material. A plain white, puffy brace was situated firmly around his neck. Intravenous tubes carrying blood were injected into both arms, forcing new blood into the veins in order to replace the blood that had been lost in the past thirty minutes from the brutal beating he had received via The Devil and and the man who had been his opponent for the night, Shawn Fuller.
.
¢|Camisado|¢|:.Is this really what it's come down to? My first week back, and I'm already getting bum-rushed by the wWo? I mean, come on. Have some originality. Mix it up now and then. Maybe keep me guessing. Wait one week, then beat me down. Just keep it interesting. The same shit every week, let me tell ya, it gets old.
The sirens were shut off and the roaring of the engine subsided as the ambulance came to a hault in front of the hospital. The doors in front of Camisado, who was now drifting in and out of consciousness, had been thrust open by the duo of young emergency medical technicians, both of whom had short, brown hair and pale, hazel eyes that were hidden behind a pair of thin-rimmed, black glasses.
All at once, he was pulled from his solitary position in the back of the ambulance and the worn, black, plastic wheels to the stretcher were pulled from the bottom and were locked into place as they struck the ground. The faded, gray concrete had no give to it whatsoever, which had caused the stretcher, which was merely supported by a few metal poles that were attached to the wheels, buckled violently, though Camisado stayed in place and hardly felt the movement as he was strapped in so tightly and securely. If he had been conscious, that probably would have added a bit more pain to what he was already experiencing.
The EMTs swiftly wheeled Camisado's seemingly lifeless body inside the automatic sliding doors and into the cold, bright hospital building. Camisado dimly heard voices shouting things such as "critical", "lost fluids", a shitload of different letters that he thought were just randomly thrown together, and a few other phrases he had heard before while watching Scrubs, along with his name. His real name, not Camisado.
Hours later, in the early hours Friday morning, he awoke to a pair of cold yet sweaty hands lightly tapping either side of his face. He didn't have much feeling across his face at the moment, considering how hyped up on diamorphine he was. The IVs from inside the ambulance had been swapped out for newer, cleaner ones containing painkiller. As furiously as the doctor tapped on his face, Camisado could hardly feel his hands. The slapping continued on and on, becoming stronger and harder with each tap. Camisado's eyes slowly began to open and close with indecision, as if he were not sure whether or not he wanted to wake up. After all, it had been a long night for him. Harder and harder the slaps became, until eventually, Camisado's eyes thrust straight open and instantaneously, he awoke from his deep sleep which had lasted throughout the night.
An icy chill filled the air, and nearly instantly after he had awoken, he felt that same chill through his body, inside and out. He began to shiver as the doctor backed a few steps away from him, as it was obviously unneccessary to be right in Camisado face, now that he was conscious and all. Camisado had gained consciousness, though he was still nearly out of it. As he shivered, his teeth began to clatter together rapidly, creating a great production of noise that filled the room nearly as well as the ice-cold chill had.
_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_
Date: Sunday, June the Tenth, 2007
Time: 12:14 PM
Location: Camisado's Locker Room
Occasion: Ring, Ring, Ring. Phone Call! Phone Call!
-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-
The scene comes into view of the old, yet familiar room, the locker room of Camisado, with it's red walls, splashed with silver and black, the Generation X- Custom Paint Job. Those had been the days, when the wWo hadn't run rampant, dominating Live-Wire, when Camisado was on top, had the friends he needed to surround him and protect him, knowing the feeling was mutual, but most importantly, he had the girl, and that's what had mattered most to him.
But it's been long since then. The couch he lay on at this point was once a rich, coffee-colour, but as he sleeps atop it, it looks as though it's taken it's fair share of wear and tear, a bit faded, as if the coffee had a bit much creamer dumped into it, just not quite as appetizing.
Camisado was awoken by the booming noise that quickly filled the room, filling what had become an area of nothingness sound-wise. Camisado frantically searched for his cellular telephone as he sung along to his ring tone.
.¢|Camisado|¢|:.
Holy Diver!
You've been down too long in the midnight sea
Oh what's becoming of me..
Ride the tiger!
You can see his stripes but you know he's clean
Oh can't you see what I mean..
Gotta get away..
Holy Diver!
He began searching under the couch, and with luck, found that it had fallen from the side table next to the couch, to right beneath it during his joyous, yet still relaxing night-time napping session. He flipped his white-and-blue phone open to see that he was currently in the middle of receiving a call from his wrestling mentor and current trainer, Knuckles. He quickly punched the green button labeled "Talk" and greeted his mentor.
.¢|Camisado|¢|:.
Knucks, how's it hanging?
.↑|Knuckles|↑|:.
Ryan. This is serious. You've got to get down here. Now.
.¢|Camisado|¢|:.
Dude, you know I'm not coming to Louisville, and that's final.
.↑|Knuckles|↑|:.
No, Ryan. I am telling you. You're coming down here, and that's all there is to it. You HAVE to come down here.
As much as Camisado did not want to begin to believe it, there was a strong sense of urgency in Knuckles' voice.
.¢|Camisado|¢|:.
Knuckles, I've got to keep training! Jealousy's only a few weeks away and I've got another match this week on Live-Wire! Worst of all, it's a Tables Match, and it's against Don Lepore! I've got the odds stacked against me, man! All I can do it keep training if I've got any hope come June Thirtieth.
.↑|Knuckles|↑|:.
Ryan, I'm telling you, you're gonna want to get down here.
Seemingly dumbfounded, Camisado fell to the couch, seating himself there as the confusion began to set in.
.¢|Camisado|¢|:.
Knucks, you know I never want to see that place ever again. There's nothing there for me but horrid memories of my childhood. You know that better than anybody.
.↑|Knuckles|↑|:.
Not exactly everybody.
.¢|Camisado|¢|:.
What are you talking about? You and Nerina are the only two that know really anything about my childhood. You two are the only ones I can really trust, and I'm not sure how much I can even trust her anymore, after she left me hanging dry, only to come back, with Pain of all people by her side.
.↑|Knuckles|↑|:.
That's the thing. There's someone here, and I know you can trust him.
.¢|Camisado|¢|:.
I don't care who's there. There's too many memories I'd be forced to relive there, and I'm not about to put myself through that again, especially not this close to something so huge to my career like Jealousy!
As he yelled over the phone to the man made him into the wrestler he is today, he stood himself up off the couch and began to walk around the rather small and boring room, his face becoming a bright red color. Out of anger, he kicked his silver and black Nike running shoe that he had left on the floor, and sent it hard against the wall. It was showing that he played soccer in high school.
.↑|Knuckles|↑|:.
Jealousy ain't shit compared to this.
.¢|Camisado|¢|:.
Knuckles. My dad killed himself there. My mom left my brother and I on our own there as she went out on her daily drinking binges. My brother was killed there, and now you're all that I have left.
.↑|Knuckles|↑|:.
Actually, I've got something to tell you, kid. And I've got a mighty strong feelin' you're gonna want to hear this.
.¢|Camisado|¢|:.
Okay, okay. What is it? I guarantee you it still won't get me down in Louisville, no matter what it is.
.↑|Knuckles|↑|:.
Your brother's not dead.
But it's been long since then. The couch he lay on at this point was once a rich, coffee-colour, but as he sleeps atop it, it looks as though it's taken it's fair share of wear and tear, a bit faded, as if the coffee had a bit much creamer dumped into it, just not quite as appetizing.
Camisado was awoken by the booming noise that quickly filled the room, filling what had become an area of nothingness sound-wise. Camisado frantically searched for his cellular telephone as he sung along to his ring tone.
.
¢|Camisado|¢|:.Holy Diver!
You've been down too long in the midnight sea
Oh what's becoming of me..
Ride the tiger!
You can see his stripes but you know he's clean
Oh can't you see what I mean..
Gotta get away..
Holy Diver!
He began searching under the couch, and with luck, found that it had fallen from the side table next to the couch, to right beneath it during his joyous, yet still relaxing night-time napping session. He flipped his white-and-blue phone open to see that he was currently in the middle of receiving a call from his wrestling mentor and current trainer, Knuckles. He quickly punched the green button labeled "Talk" and greeted his mentor.
.
¢|Camisado|¢|:.Knucks, how's it hanging?
.
↑|Knuckles|↑|:. Ryan. This is serious. You've got to get down here. Now.
.
¢|Camisado|¢|:.Dude, you know I'm not coming to Louisville, and that's final.
.
↑|Knuckles|↑|:. No, Ryan. I am telling you. You're coming down here, and that's all there is to it. You HAVE to come down here.
As much as Camisado did not want to begin to believe it, there was a strong sense of urgency in Knuckles' voice.
.
¢|Camisado|¢|:.Knuckles, I've got to keep training! Jealousy's only a few weeks away and I've got another match this week on Live-Wire! Worst of all, it's a Tables Match, and it's against Don Lepore! I've got the odds stacked against me, man! All I can do it keep training if I've got any hope come June Thirtieth.
.
↑|Knuckles|↑|:. Ryan, I'm telling you, you're gonna want to get down here.
Seemingly dumbfounded, Camisado fell to the couch, seating himself there as the confusion began to set in.
.
¢|Camisado|¢|:.Knucks, you know I never want to see that place ever again. There's nothing there for me but horrid memories of my childhood. You know that better than anybody.
.
↑|Knuckles|↑|:. Not exactly everybody.
.
¢|Camisado|¢|:.What are you talking about? You and Nerina are the only two that know really anything about my childhood. You two are the only ones I can really trust, and I'm not sure how much I can even trust her anymore, after she left me hanging dry, only to come back, with Pain of all people by her side.
.
↑|Knuckles|↑|:. That's the thing. There's someone here, and I know you can trust him.
.
¢|Camisado|¢|:.I don't care who's there. There's too many memories I'd be forced to relive there, and I'm not about to put myself through that again, especially not this close to something so huge to my career like Jealousy!
As he yelled over the phone to the man made him into the wrestler he is today, he stood himself up off the couch and began to walk around the rather small and boring room, his face becoming a bright red color. Out of anger, he kicked his silver and black Nike running shoe that he had left on the floor, and sent it hard against the wall. It was showing that he played soccer in high school.
.
↑|Knuckles|↑|:. Jealousy ain't shit compared to this.
.
¢|Camisado|¢|:.Knuckles. My dad killed himself there. My mom left my brother and I on our own there as she went out on her daily drinking binges. My brother was killed there, and now you're all that I have left.
.
↑|Knuckles|↑|:. Actually, I've got something to tell you, kid. And I've got a mighty strong feelin' you're gonna want to hear this.
.
¢|Camisado|¢|:.Okay, okay. What is it? I guarantee you it still won't get me down in Louisville, no matter what it is.
.
↑|Knuckles|↑|:.Your brother's not dead.
Camisado, now very much awe-struck by the words Knuckles had forced himself to mutter, dropped the phone from his hand. His jaw was dropped wide open and his face was blank, no real expression shown what so ever. The end of the phone that contained the screen first hit the ground and the much heavier, bulkier end collapsed down onto it, forcing it shut, concluding the call.
~I always believed in futures
I hope for better in November
I try the same losing lucky numbers
It could be a cold night...
for a lifetime
Hey now, you can't keep saying endlessly:
My darling, how long until this affects me?
Say hello to good times
Trade up for the fast ride
We close our eyes while the nickel and dime take the streets
completely~
_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_
Date: Sunday, June the Tenth, 2007
Time: 9:16 PM
Location: Knuckles' House; Louisville, Kentucky
Occasion: He's Really Back
-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-
Day had just begun to turn to night, though just as sight had become impaired by the darkness, the streetlamps were lit, and vision was once again given back to the inhabitants of the town. By this time, there was not much commotion going on in the streets, aside from the occasional rodent getting into a trash can or two that had been left on the side of the street.
Camisado visciously slams the heavy door to his custom-painted Orange-Red Pontiac GTO that had been his mode of transportation to this, in his opinion, horrid, god-for-saken hell-hole of a city, Louisville, Kentucky. After four years of avoiding the town and the unpleasant memories it holds, he had finally found himself standing in the gravel driveway in front of his mentor's house.
He hesitantly steps away from the large, powerful vehicle and takes a half-hearted step onto the cobblestone pathway that led to the cherry oak front door of the house that belonged to Knuckles, which, in the past twelve years of Camisado's twenty-two year life, had been the place that had felt the closest to being home for him.
He approaches the large, red door and steps up onto the concrete platform in front of it. Whilst taking a rather deep breath, he raises his right hand and ever so lightly tapped on the door, so soft in fact, that even he could hardly hear the noise produced from his fist.
Only moments later, Camisado was greeted by the opening of the door and a welcoming and cheerful smile from the face of Knuckles.
.↑|Knuckles|↑|:.
Hey guy.. Come on in..
Camisado took a large step inside the doorway as Knuckles welcomed him inside and spent a few moments taking a long look around the house that he had not been inside for over four years.
He frantically searched through the house, looking up, down, and in all directions, looking for his brother.
.¢|Camisado|¢|:.
Where is he, man? Where the hell is my brother?
Knuckles simply nods towards Camisado whilst pointing down the hallway behind him. As he turns around, he peers down the non-lit hallway that had become dark from the night. He then saw the silhouette of a body step out from behind the doorway leading to the bathroom.
.«|Cicatrix|»|:.
Hi.
The scene, as his brother muttered this one single, simple word, immediately turned to black.
.¢|Camisado|¢|:.
So here I am. Back in Louisville. Something I'd swore I'd never do again. But here I am. Here I am.. And I couldn't care less. All that matters is I'm here, and so is my brother. And that's more important than my insecurities with facing reality.
And even though he's back, I still can't help but think about how messed up my body is after Live-Wire thursday night, and the beating those two gave me.
No doubt in my mind that it's gonna happen again this week. I'm already gonna be putting myself through hell in the match itself. I mean, it's Don Lepore. He's just plain brutal. And it's a damned Tables Match!
And despite the outcome of the match, I know he's gonna have the Devil coming, not only to protect him, but to assist him in my own beat-down. It's no secret. It's nothing new. It's nothing unexpected. They know it, I know it, everyone backstage knows it, and the fans know it. Worst of all, FWF Management knows it, yet they proceed to do nothing at all about it. They're not gonna step in anytime soon.
I need some help.
I can't help but get these ideas on how to do it. I think I've finally come to conclusion with what would work best: All I've got to do is have some protection of my own.
I stand here looking at myself, so battered and bruised, and I finally realized this. In order for me to beat a single member of the wWo and not get beaten down, I need my own unit, much like the Devil and Shawn Fuller are to Don. And the thing is, I now have that unit, I've just yet to utilize it.
My mentor, Knuckles, and my brother, who will be known to the wrestling world as Cicatrix, they are my answer. They are my unit. And they are gonna be exactly what I need to protect me from the wWo.
I am now confident that I can beat Don Lepore, even in a Tables Match. It's been done before, so why not me? Just because "Tables" is in the title doesn't mean they have to be used. If I can keep Don Lepore wrestling and not slamming me through tables while Knucks and Cicatrix keep Devil and Shawn away from the ring, I am confident that I can walk away from Live-Wire the winner.
And you know what? That's exactly how it's gonna be going down.
EXACTLY how it's going down..
I'm sorry, Don. This way's not so pleasant and it's not so conventional. It sure as hell ain't normal, but I promise you, you'll deal.
Camisado visciously slams the heavy door to his custom-painted Orange-Red Pontiac GTO that had been his mode of transportation to this, in his opinion, horrid, god-for-saken hell-hole of a city, Louisville, Kentucky. After four years of avoiding the town and the unpleasant memories it holds, he had finally found himself standing in the gravel driveway in front of his mentor's house.
He hesitantly steps away from the large, powerful vehicle and takes a half-hearted step onto the cobblestone pathway that led to the cherry oak front door of the house that belonged to Knuckles, which, in the past twelve years of Camisado's twenty-two year life, had been the place that had felt the closest to being home for him.
He approaches the large, red door and steps up onto the concrete platform in front of it. Whilst taking a rather deep breath, he raises his right hand and ever so lightly tapped on the door, so soft in fact, that even he could hardly hear the noise produced from his fist.
Only moments later, Camisado was greeted by the opening of the door and a welcoming and cheerful smile from the face of Knuckles.
.
↑|Knuckles|↑|:. Hey guy.. Come on in..
Camisado took a large step inside the doorway as Knuckles welcomed him inside and spent a few moments taking a long look around the house that he had not been inside for over four years.
He frantically searched through the house, looking up, down, and in all directions, looking for his brother.
.
¢|Camisado|¢|:. Where is he, man? Where the hell is my brother?
Knuckles simply nods towards Camisado whilst pointing down the hallway behind him. As he turns around, he peers down the non-lit hallway that had become dark from the night. He then saw the silhouette of a body step out from behind the doorway leading to the bathroom.
.
«|Cicatrix|»|:. Hi.
The scene, as his brother muttered this one single, simple word, immediately turned to black.
~I always could count on futures;
that things will look up
and they look up
why is it so hard to find a balance
between living decent...
and the cold and real
Hey now, what is it you think you see?
My darling, now's the time to disagree
Say hello to good times
Trade up for the fast ride
We close our eyes while the nickel and dime take the streets
completely
Hey now, The past is told by those who win, my darling
What matters is what hasn't been
Hey now, we're wide-awake and we're thinking
My darling, believe your voice can mean something~
that things will look up
and they look up
why is it so hard to find a balance
between living decent...
and the cold and real
Hey now, what is it you think you see?
My darling, now's the time to disagree
Say hello to good times
Trade up for the fast ride
We close our eyes while the nickel and dime take the streets
completely
Hey now, The past is told by those who win, my darling
What matters is what hasn't been
Hey now, we're wide-awake and we're thinking
My darling, believe your voice can mean something~
.
¢|Camisado|¢|:. So here I am. Back in Louisville. Something I'd swore I'd never do again. But here I am. Here I am.. And I couldn't care less. All that matters is I'm here, and so is my brother. And that's more important than my insecurities with facing reality.
And even though he's back, I still can't help but think about how messed up my body is after Live-Wire thursday night, and the beating those two gave me.
No doubt in my mind that it's gonna happen again this week. I'm already gonna be putting myself through hell in the match itself. I mean, it's Don Lepore. He's just plain brutal. And it's a damned Tables Match!
And despite the outcome of the match, I know he's gonna have the Devil coming, not only to protect him, but to assist him in my own beat-down. It's no secret. It's nothing new. It's nothing unexpected. They know it, I know it, everyone backstage knows it, and the fans know it. Worst of all, FWF Management knows it, yet they proceed to do nothing at all about it. They're not gonna step in anytime soon.
I need some help.
I can't help but get these ideas on how to do it. I think I've finally come to conclusion with what would work best: All I've got to do is have some protection of my own.
I stand here looking at myself, so battered and bruised, and I finally realized this. In order for me to beat a single member of the wWo and not get beaten down, I need my own unit, much like the Devil and Shawn Fuller are to Don. And the thing is, I now have that unit, I've just yet to utilize it.
My mentor, Knuckles, and my brother, who will be known to the wrestling world as Cicatrix, they are my answer. They are my unit. And they are gonna be exactly what I need to protect me from the wWo.
I am now confident that I can beat Don Lepore, even in a Tables Match. It's been done before, so why not me? Just because "Tables" is in the title doesn't mean they have to be used. If I can keep Don Lepore wrestling and not slamming me through tables while Knucks and Cicatrix keep Devil and Shawn away from the ring, I am confident that I can walk away from Live-Wire the winner.
And you know what? That's exactly how it's gonna be going down.
EXACTLY how it's going down..
I'm sorry, Don. This way's not so pleasant and it's not so conventional. It sure as hell ain't normal, but I promise you, you'll deal.
