Post by Van Quinn on Sept 10, 2016 3:35:01 GMT
The echo of a distant, steady clap can be heard from a near distance – but all we can see is black before a silhouette emerges from the distant dark. Van Quinn, in a tight grey t-shirt with dark moistened spots around his neck and underarms, claps his hands again revealing the source of the noise. The single light accents his physique as he crosses folds his arms across his chest accompanying his cocky, pursed lip, grin.
“That's what you've got huh?”, his eyebrows slightly raise, “A bunch of open mouthed whores fighting for the dick; is this what professional wrestling is? If it is I'll have no problem tossing that championship strap over my shoulder in the Manhattan Center.”
“One man gracious enough to offer fame and opportunity to a world wide pool of professional wrestlers and what comes out of it has been extremely disappointing.” He shrugs, “Call me old school, but I wanted a little passion. A little hype. The bright lights will shine down for one member of Livewire, but if it’s anybody but me I'm really scared for where this fucking place is headed”
He sways his head back and forth, “The same old tired bullshit I've heard from opponents while I own kids playing video games. You're the best, eh? Got a cool nickname? Been around the world wrestling? You were a big deal somewhere else? Cool. Google my fucking name, bro. Search Van Quinn and watch me smack pretty boy bitches across the dome. Watch me chase down world class athletes right before I meet some bubble gum fat gut fuck at the point of attack and make him think he's back in that inner city high school he should've never passed.”
“Facts are facts and the fact is that this game is changing – and what Livewire needs isn't some washed up vet who scares people with knives or a mighty mouse who does monkey rolls. Livewire is fresh, it's hot, it's going to be the talk of the industry – and the name they'll be talking about is Van Quinn, that's me”
At a snap of his fingers suddenly the room lights up, he turns in a circle as the camera angle widens and reveals a wrestling ring with a football field painted on the canvas.
“Brutality. Violence. Athleticism. Chaos. Football or pro wrestling?” he rubs his chin sarcastically stopping to face the camera, “I'm no fucking Brainiac, but I'm pretty sure it's all of the above. The best part about being one of the best athletes on the planet is that everything you train for applies to life. Adversity at every corner ready to kick you down and what do you have to do? Look up, get up, and never give up – and I don't give a fuck if you like me or not but you’ll respect this work ethic. You'll respect every time you get in the ring with the hottest new shit this industry has seen and I'll make sure to hand you your jaw after I rip it off so you can drop it in amazement.”
“They all ask 'Van aren't you nervous?' Hm.” Van rolls his eyes, “Of course I am. I was nervous before every game I ever played, but all it took was the first hit. The first taste of violence left me in a three hour dream that I woke up from afterwards with morning wood because it was a job well done – that’s what passion is by the way, nerds. So that's why I clapped before. I clapped at your piss poor effort to convince me that you deserve this more than I do. I clap at your sob stories or bullshit trash talk that bores anyone who was mildly interested, but that sad clap is your parting gift.”
His hands clap two more times, “I don't fear any one of you traveling circus fucks that go where the next wrestling paycheck is.” Walking towards the ropes he latches on with a grip tight enough that the camera focuses in on his hands and bulging veins before focusing in on Van as he brings his lowered head and fixates it on the camera, “The creativity can come down the road, but right now I’m simply warning Livewire. A man with nothing left to lose is a dangerous man, and I've already hit rock bottom and I'm bouncing like a fucking sling shot to the tippy top, bitch”
