Post by devonslayton on Oct 13, 2021 8:26:30 GMT -6
{The screen cuts to the backstage area of the First Interstate Arena in Billings Montana, where we see none other than the newest member of the Millennium Wrestling Enterprise roster walking towards the camera, occasionally dabbing at his face as the attack on the former world champion is clearly evident as he is bleeding solidly from his nose and when he notices the camera, Devon wipes some blood from his nose before looking down at the bloody smears on his left glove before shaking his head disgustedly and tossing the rag that he’d been using to wipe the excess blood with down to the ground in equal disgust before looking back up at the camera}
Devon: You know that after twenty years of being in this sport, I’m beginning to find chair shots to be incredibly cliché’. I mean seriously, Dante, you and your little band of mouth breathers honestly think that taking a freaking *chair* to me after a match is going to break me...make me run back to my home in Tokyo and never come back here to the MWE??
{Devon smiles a bloody smile once more}
Devon: Dante, I have done more damage to *myself* than you and those two little mouth breathers that you call “flunkies” could ever try to think about doing. I spent a year on the fucking shelf after watching all of the muscles in my own right leg practically UNRAVEL and I still came back to this sport and as Tank or anyone else can tell you…
{Devon then motions at his lean, muscular body with a definite sense of pride in his accomplishment}
Devon: A lot better than I was before the injury. An injury, I might I add, that I got from pushing myself to limits that you can’t even begin to comprehend because that is the sign of a true *KING* of professional wrestling, Dante, and you did this whole attack on me just because I came to help Tank and Dusty a couple of days back? Well shit son, if this is the best that you can come up with for me sticking my nose into your “business” then I guess we'll just have to see what your supposed A game is huh?
You see, Dante, back when I was apart of a stable called the Dominion a few years back, some crackhead of an announcer gave me that title of “Black Savior” and it was because it was a play off of my old title of the “Black King” and once the Dominion was done and broke up, I never once called myself that...but the commentators love that shit...but if you want to call me a “rude boy”, then I’m fine with that as well.
{Devon stops talking as he wipes some more of blood from his face and then holds it up for the camera to see}
Devon: You want to know the really fucked up part of all of this, Dante? You’re wanting to play this kind of game, blood for blood, and you’re choosing to play it against a man who comes from a family where we play this game at fucking family gatherings, man! I’m a *SLAYTON*...and that means you’re playing against a crazy mother fucker with nothing to lose and trust me when I say that I’ve got *NOTHING* to lose.
Once, I had everything a man could ever want.
But then someone made a decision and all that went away in an instant, forcing me to look at the ashes of my life and realize that it was time for me to share my darkest days with everyone. Point being is that if you want to play this game with me, rude boy, and you want to play it blood for blood, then you need to understand exactly who the fuck you’re playing with.
I’ve got Tank backing me, the biggest and baddest mother fucking Austrian Oak in the entire forest of European greats backing me just like he knows that I’ve got his back. And I’ve got Dusty’s back too now, don’t know the kid yet but I see a lot of potential in him.
And what do you have?
Some little tripe trope that’s named for a perfume and a guy who so is bland that he chose the name “Commas Oxford” for the sake of fuck! And this is really what you want to call a “Tribe” for the sake of conquest, then I suggest that you’d be better off walking away from this game, lest I turn you into the second coming of Milli Vanilli.
See you in Allentown, kids.
{Devon gives the camera one last bloody smile before he walks off, the screen cutting to black as he goes}
Devon: You know that after twenty years of being in this sport, I’m beginning to find chair shots to be incredibly cliché’. I mean seriously, Dante, you and your little band of mouth breathers honestly think that taking a freaking *chair* to me after a match is going to break me...make me run back to my home in Tokyo and never come back here to the MWE??
{Devon smiles a bloody smile once more}
Devon: Dante, I have done more damage to *myself* than you and those two little mouth breathers that you call “flunkies” could ever try to think about doing. I spent a year on the fucking shelf after watching all of the muscles in my own right leg practically UNRAVEL and I still came back to this sport and as Tank or anyone else can tell you…
{Devon then motions at his lean, muscular body with a definite sense of pride in his accomplishment}
Devon: A lot better than I was before the injury. An injury, I might I add, that I got from pushing myself to limits that you can’t even begin to comprehend because that is the sign of a true *KING* of professional wrestling, Dante, and you did this whole attack on me just because I came to help Tank and Dusty a couple of days back? Well shit son, if this is the best that you can come up with for me sticking my nose into your “business” then I guess we'll just have to see what your supposed A game is huh?
You see, Dante, back when I was apart of a stable called the Dominion a few years back, some crackhead of an announcer gave me that title of “Black Savior” and it was because it was a play off of my old title of the “Black King” and once the Dominion was done and broke up, I never once called myself that...but the commentators love that shit...but if you want to call me a “rude boy”, then I’m fine with that as well.
{Devon stops talking as he wipes some more of blood from his face and then holds it up for the camera to see}
Devon: You want to know the really fucked up part of all of this, Dante? You’re wanting to play this kind of game, blood for blood, and you’re choosing to play it against a man who comes from a family where we play this game at fucking family gatherings, man! I’m a *SLAYTON*...and that means you’re playing against a crazy mother fucker with nothing to lose and trust me when I say that I’ve got *NOTHING* to lose.
Once, I had everything a man could ever want.
But then someone made a decision and all that went away in an instant, forcing me to look at the ashes of my life and realize that it was time for me to share my darkest days with everyone. Point being is that if you want to play this game with me, rude boy, and you want to play it blood for blood, then you need to understand exactly who the fuck you’re playing with.
I’ve got Tank backing me, the biggest and baddest mother fucking Austrian Oak in the entire forest of European greats backing me just like he knows that I’ve got his back. And I’ve got Dusty’s back too now, don’t know the kid yet but I see a lot of potential in him.
And what do you have?
Some little tripe trope that’s named for a perfume and a guy who so is bland that he chose the name “Commas Oxford” for the sake of fuck! And this is really what you want to call a “Tribe” for the sake of conquest, then I suggest that you’d be better off walking away from this game, lest I turn you into the second coming of Milli Vanilli.
See you in Allentown, kids.
{Devon gives the camera one last bloody smile before he walks off, the screen cutting to black as he goes}