Post by Seth Iser on Apr 6, 2015 18:26:38 GMT -6
It is amazing what follies a man is going to fall into when the weight of expectation is thrust upon them. The line between right and wrong is invisible when this rare type of stress seeps into your cranium. The unreal amount of panic that seems to set in can either make you far more susceptible to a trap that your radar would have otherwise detected...or it transforms you into an unpredictable being...who has the disposition of a rattlesnake due to the paranoia that’s been stirred from within.
I can’t be a hypocrite in saying I’ve never had this happen...it was far more common when I was younger, dumber, and more prone to over thinking matters. The one benefit of being a competitor who didn’t stick with a particular promotion but rather built his skills the hard way is you learn specific little lessons in life. You first learn the hunger of not having anything guaranteed and fighting for every bit of territory you can get...and the feeling of paranoia of what happens if you fail in that goal. You also experience far more...hardships this way that the brain normally doesn’t see if you take a more...traditional path.
It is true that as human beings...we’re resilient beings who are capable of adapting to many situations over time...but the very moment something is thrown right in our face that causes unexpected adversity...or doubt...that’s when this particular weight...this burden falls right on your shoulders. The kind of weight that can crush you from the outside in...or the inside out depending on where it strikes. A weight I’ve often been familiar with in my decade as a wrestler.
And it looks like the franchise of NEW...feels that weight on him. This special stress.
When a man in his mind has to shout through every single success that he’s ever accomplished, no matter how great, it merely shows how shallow the human being truly is. The old saying is a King who often proclaims himself as one...truly isn’t. This unbridled but fragile ego you have to possess when you shout these things over and over again is often guilty of being delusional...being too detached from what actual reality is.
In this respect, Roger Wright’s no better than Glenn Beck.
History often has a bias toward the winners of war and when you look through the past of this company in NEW...history has been damn kind to Roger Wright. Only the truly ignorant would deny his place in history and as I’ve seen first hand multiple times now...there’s been far too many ass kickings that have been delivered that he’s been able to get up from...and strike with that damned Wright Stuff at any point.
But while the past has its influence on the present and future...your accolades years ago have little to do with the situation at hand now.
The moment some people get specific accomplishments...they become no better than the crop of kids that have surfaced in this promotion...they become damn entitled thinking that everything should just be handed to them on a silver platter. They become spoiled, petulant brats who really need a humbling in the worst possible way. The worst part of all is the delusional sheep just soak up all of this propaganda that there’s a new wave or the fact that Roger will once again slay this ‘masked monster’ known as Seth Iser. The problem with this kind of propaganda is that they overlook important facts.
The masked monster that I was died the moment Roger cheated me out of that mask in Boston two years ago...and in its place is a far more calculating human being whose far more dangerous because of it. The pressure of what this cage match, his recent happenings with his brother, and the sight that has to be his own mortality staring him in the face is making him crack in ways he probably didn’t think was possible.
And by the way Roger...I never got my rematch for the World Heavyweight Championship either...but you don’t hear me squawk about it like I’m starved for attention.
Unfortunately for you...while you might create smokescreens to try to hide...or mask what reality actually is...my sole objective as it’s been stated for over a month now is simple. I want to beat you into a bloodied, mangled mess in the middle of that god damned squared circle to properly avenge being cheated out of the end of that particular chapter of my career. You cheated me out of that mask as far as I’m concerned...but as I’ve said...I’ve picked up more tricks these last two years...accomplished a great deal as a professional wrestler myself but the mask itself doesn’t mean a damn thing compared to the feeling of being robbed.
You took the one thing I never thought anyone would...and did so without me feeling any sort of pride because of the vindictive and cheating nature of it. But here I am...these last few weeks seeing you start to lose your own mind when your ego isn’t being inflated, brother. You’re the one starting to crack...and quite frankly Roger...I’m enjoying being the primary reason why you’re the one starting to feel robbed of this respect...this entitlement you think you deserve.
But I’m sure that in your heart you want to clear yourself from how you’ve felt chipped apart the last month now. While you’ve gained the tag titles and your brother...the hopelessness that’s often followed me is now starting to creep into your heart again. This is almost as enjoyable as what I’m going to do to you inside that steel cage...almost. But when that cage door is locked and we’re trapped with each other...you’ll learn one simple fact. Something you would’ve learned if you weren’t...blinded by this expectation and paranoia.
The demons of the past mean far more than the angels of your past...when they eat you whole from the inside out.
The heartland of Phoenix, Arizona has its horrific share of heat but you can’t stay in a damn ghost town like Courtland, Arizona unless you just want to invite yourself into some trouble. The problem with the southwest is even in the heart of night...the heat is absolutely ridiculous. The nightlife however considering the university near by and its destinations even in a fabricated holiday like Easter, makes this a very busy and booming place to be. The scatter of people around would be enough to make an introvert want to withdraw into a shell they never thought they’d use…
“There’s almost as many people here as there are people who have fucked Blair…” Vincent muses before smirking, “Hey, didn’t Roger do that one too many times?”
“And did something far more unforgivable in tainting a kid’s future…” I coldly reply.
“Urk...so she’s not only a gold digger but a horrible mother on top of that? Roger sure knew how to pick them now didn’t he?” I’d pretend to be surprised at his lack of due diligence but...considering how he’s approached this match with you with the wavering lawsuit...I shouldn’t be surprised.” Moretti shakes his head while wiping the sweat from his brow, “Gah. Fucking heat…”
Vincent is ill equipped to deal with the heat considering while not obese...he’s not missed that many meals since he retired from the ring and his choice of attire being the customary black and violent suit combination with a black hat over his silver hair. The lack of any kind of wind doesn’t help with his choice of attire as we glance at some of the larger buildings in the greater Phoenix area. The older buildings that are surrounding us though is what they call Heritage Square. The older brick design is much more prominent compared to the modern sky touching buildings you find elsewhere in this overpopulated city. Even with this mass of people...it’s impossible for me to hide out because I’m getting various looks of disdain or hatred. Where I can just feel their animosity...and you can’t hide from that.
“The joys of being a public figure…” I calmly mutter to myself.
“Duuude...there’s some really good places to eat here…” Moretti drools.
“I’m almost missing the strip clubs now if you’re going to go to food porn instead of actual porn…” I sigh.
“One excursion for food won’t kill you...lighten up for once. You’ve accomplished just about everything in wrestling. Think about having some fun for a change…” Vincent needles.
“You bitch about the heat and then you want food that just burns you the fuck up?” I raise my eyebrow, “Are you out of your damn mind?”
“That and a waitress in a tight uniform serves it to me...that’s part of the payment too you know…” Moretti smiles an absolutely bone chilling and perverted smile.
“Jesus christ…the fuck am I going to do with you?” I sigh, “Fine. One time.”
“Good. Owe you one. We can talk what exactly happened because I did some snooping on what exactly was said…” Vincent answers with a smile.
“This ought to be interesting…” I tap my chin, “So...which one of these buildings is that burger place?”
“This way, “Moretti gestures in front of us.
We start weaving our way on this sidewalk glancing at all the old buildings and dodging the occasional vulgar mouthing at our sight from these ignorant people. With a shrug I do straighten out my red tie on my black and red based suit and while the sunglasses do look odd at first in the night...it helps with the ridiculous car lights that come in that can trigger one of those god damned migraines. After walking about a block we’re in a front of a particular building. The Pappadeaux Seafood Kitchen.
“Here we are…” Vincent beams.
“Dude, seafood?” I raise my eyebrow.
“They serve alligator here…” Vincent chuckles.
“Is this because that one damn gator took your golf ball when you were down in Florida and now you want revenge against their family?” I raise my eyebrow.
“I should’ve beaten the shit out of that gator…” Moretti beams.
“I would’ve paid money to see that and then see the gator rip your damned hand off and see you exchange mechanical highfives and bitch slaps with Chris…” I darkly chuckle.
“Funny guy…” Vincent scowls before we walk into the building.
The smaller, quaint building has been remodeled on the inside to fit what this restaurant would have. The tables seem predominantly filled but there’s no waiting in line thankfully. The lively chatter among the people carries on though I get a couple of odd looks because of the more professional attire. Moretti impatiently waits there while tapping his foot on the floor while I just have my arms crossed in my usual, menacing glance. The type of glance that unnerves many people. I go to work with this by glaring down at one of the waitresses and the moment she feels the weight of that...the sweat starts to pour down her neck a little and she finally turns around and notices us.
“Hi! Table for two?” she puts on her best happy face.
“No, I just wanted to start cloning myself and reserve a table for twenty-two,” Moretti smirks.
“We don’t need twenty-one more Vincent Morettis...one is enough…” I sigh, “But yes...table for two.
“Right this way,” she gestures, still with that plastic smile you’re almost required to have to take this job.
The two of us follow the blonde woman as Moretti looks at her assets...literally in that uniform. She immediately feels his specific stare as every perverse thought about her round ass pops into my companion’s mind. If anyone put my daughter through that shit...I’d do what every good father from West Virginia would and that’s knock the living piss out of them with my fists. We do find an empty booth here and she picks up the empty glasses and washes off the table with the cloth swiftly before we take our seats.
“Something to drink?” she raises her eyebrow as she pulls out her pen and paper.
“Water’s good for me,” I reply on autopilot.
“I’ll just have a Dr. Pepper for once…” Moretti shrugs, “Too much work means nothing alcoholic you know.”
“Coming right up…” she calmly offers before handing us the menus, “Take your time.”
She starts to walk off and Vincent takes a moment to stare at her assets one more time in that tight uniform. The moment I open the menu though...with all these unusual delicacies and dinner choices...I know this’ll hurt the wallet. Vincent I knew spent lavishly but...god damn. This tab might make the fifty dollar steak we had one time seem tame if he goes out of control here. The other thing is...all these variations of shrimp and crab...clams. Seafood choices.
“This is...different.” I rub my temple unable to hide my discomfort at the prices and primary food choices, “And expensive as fuck. I might’ve spent plenty of time in Japan but I always frequented the ramen places because I didn’t make much money.”
“Yeah I’m trying the gator…” Moretti beams absentmindedly.
“Why am I not surprised? You always hold grudges…” I manage half of a smile.
“You should talk…” Vincent darts his eyes down before his eyes light up, “Oh that’s right..”
Vincent’s expression gets serious as the waitress swiftly returns with our two drink choices. Her first instinct was to give me the soda due to me being the taller man though I immediately pass the drink off to Moretti to correct the mistake for her and she calmly hands me the water and swiftly I gulp some down to help my dry throat. Call it a side effect of speaking so often with a microphone at this point...the weakness of my voice and my throat at times.
“Ready to order?” she questions.
“Bring on the Gator with the shrimp on the side,” Moretti quickly replies with enthusiasm.
“I see…” she jots that down before turning to me with her probing blue eyes, “And you?”
“Still looking,” I answer despondently.
“I’ll return…” she starts to walk off.
Vincent sees her off a second time here while I just twirl the cup of water in my left hand slowly out of impatience while half heartedly skimming the menu with nothing appealing to me. Doesn’t help that I’m not actually hungry. Plus I haven’t had seafood in years as part of this whole diet thing you do as a wrestler. I can feel Moretti’s serious expression after he’s done ogling at the blonde server girl’s ass.
“Roger wants you to have the mask back.” Vincent scowls.
“What?” I raise my eyebrow baffled.
“That was my reaction…” Moretti shrugs, “After those wasted dollars for the consultation I’d assume...and the order just to do that? Trying to scramble up your brain I’d guess. Maybe throw a curveball.”
“Just makes me want to kick his ass far worse now...because he almost seems too sure and too smug he’s already won just because he’s so far up in the clouds in the past.” I pause, “There’s always a place for the past and it might shape you into what decisions you make...but it doesn’t mean dick when we’re staring across from each other with the steel cage surrounding us, Vincent. This is going to be far different than any other match we’ve ever had against each other...and yet he’s thinking it’ll be the same...with the same forgone conclusion.”
“That worked so well for Mike Park when he came here, right?” Moretti chuckles.
“He ain’t wrestled sense…” I answer coldly, “Same place I’m putting Roger at by the end of it all. I’m not here to torment him verbally while torturing him slowly and making that one mistake. I’m just going to put him in such a compromising position in that damned ring that I’ll never have to worry about him again. That’s what’ll happen in that cage and I don’t think he fully understands the weight of the words I said. We’re going to keep going...until one of us can’t go anymore. Period.”
“WHAT THE FUCK!” a man’s yell interupts our conversation.
I turn my head to the sound of that voice and it looks like an elder gentleman is soaked with a drink judging by the empty pitcher on the floor near his table...and he’s shrieking at everyone that can hear him about his suit and flipping out about it. With a rub of my temple I just stand up from my seat and walk toward the situation...the waitress already feels awful about it and she’s getting chewed out.
“You dumb cunt! You shouldn’t have your job here a---” the man rambles on.
“You made your point. Move on.” I order, “You’re disturbing other patrons.”
“Who are yo---” he goes to say before he notices my intimidating frame, “Oh…”
“Not so mouthy now are ya?” I sneer.
The man mutters in a texan accent and judging by his slightly pudgy appearance and the cowboy hat with the blue t-shirt on...unless he’s carrying a weapon he’s no physical threat to me at all and he knows it, too. He then sighs before I just calmly walk back over to my table and Moretti is looking at me like his mouth is about ready to drop. There’s also some disappointment in that I might not have used physical force but...he’ll get over that and I don’t need an actual lawsuit on top of the bullshit game Roger played with my mask.
“Hypocrites. Each of’m,” I sneer, “Roger, that jackass. Riot. Park. All of’m. Especially those that just clutch onto the past that only they want to look at and disrespect the layers of the past that doesn’t benefit them unless they think it has a gain to them. That’s a disrespect to my legacy more than anything now...this little game he’s playing with the mask. But it’s merely a pebble on top of a mountain of sins he’s committed in his lifetime.”
“It used to be that important to you but now?” Moretti raises his eyebrow.
“Moved on, Vincent. Nobody stays in stasis forever. It’s something Roger has forgotten while he’s tried to keep himself there on his own successes. Just means he’s going to end up getting broken and hurt...and it’s going to happen by my hands, Vincent.” I calmly glare before I lighten my face slightly, “But that’s tomorrow...just right now...the hell am I going to do about this menu for food?”
Vincent shrugs nonchalantly as I aim to deliberately drift away from the conversation choice of Roger Wright...the man who I’ve more or less been linked to the moment I dropped him on his head at Tension in Texas two years ago with my Deprivation DDT. The past is what it is...and even two years ago I can see how different of a wrestler...of a fighter I’ve become the moment I lost our Justice encounter and learned all these new tricks.
The face that I had hid for my own protection...is its own weapon if you learn how to use and master it. You give people the right look...and you can probe just about anything from their minds while not revealing anything about your own nature or reasons behind it. It’s a unique way of masking intentions and manipulation and one you have to live by in order to survive in society every day. But even when you have to manipulate others...the truth always comes out.
And the truth is...Roger and I will forever be linked...and his face is burned into my memory.
On and off the last...two years now I’ve thought about different ways to destroy Roger...not from behind the mask...but by being a human being. Monsters...masked monsters are something humans create to feel better about themselves so they can declare themselves the good guy...and use that as their reasoning and basis behind every heinous action they’ve ever done. Roger’s done this many times the last couple of months with the kid he had with Blair and with my old mask.
The difference is Roger...while people make you out to be the good guy thinking I’m the monster...I’m no monster. I’m the worst of humanity.
Father Nathan, our world champion, had grilled me about how people have so much pride...telling me what I already knew but also how much envy that was in my heart. The envy of wanting a normal life...the kind of envy that I can’t ever purge myself of no matter how many accomplishments I gain or whatever good deed I may have done. Life isn’t fair as I said to Riot...and it damn sure wasn’t fair to me by villifying all of my actions...and cleansing your demonic ones. It ain’t fair Roger.
Never is.
But I guess it isn’t fair to think you’re walking into a fight with the man you beat two years ago and expect the same kind of battle to play out in your brain. You build up the same mental defenses you conjured up when I verbally berated you with every punch I delivered while you kept willing yourself on and then you find out you’re fighting a different man. While there’s similarities one can easily pick up...there’s too many differences as well. Differences that you glossed over far too much.
Different reasons for me...to brutalize you.
And while you make all your plans about your future with the tag championship in your possession and hope to make right with your sibling...that hope is going to be ripped away when the reality and unfairness of the situation comes in all in your mind. You whined about no rematch for the world title and your lack of respect. How can you claim those things when you don’t respect what’s in front of you...and don’t respect the man that’s going to grind your forehead until it looks like raw hamburger in that steel cage?
History will write our tail Roger...unkindly for you when I’m finished with the job inside that steel cage...and it damn sure isn’t fair. It still won’t be fair that we’re linked...even if that’s the nature of wrestling...but I’ll at least have this solis of something happening to you when I leave you a broken, mangled heap.
My unmasked, scarred face will torment your mind and frequent your nightmares forever when I put you out of this industry for good. Just like your face tormented my brain on and off these last two years when you have proven to be a thief...and a disrespectful jackass who now...because of his attitude has no place in this wonderful world we call wrestling.
This is the result of you crumbling from all of this different pressure that you’ve never felt in your life.
And the truth is...I’m enjoying every second...of this and will finally have for the first time in my life...a moment of peace...when all of these things I’ve subjected into your brain crush you for good.
Couldn’t happen to a nicer hypocrite.
I can’t be a hypocrite in saying I’ve never had this happen...it was far more common when I was younger, dumber, and more prone to over thinking matters. The one benefit of being a competitor who didn’t stick with a particular promotion but rather built his skills the hard way is you learn specific little lessons in life. You first learn the hunger of not having anything guaranteed and fighting for every bit of territory you can get...and the feeling of paranoia of what happens if you fail in that goal. You also experience far more...hardships this way that the brain normally doesn’t see if you take a more...traditional path.
It is true that as human beings...we’re resilient beings who are capable of adapting to many situations over time...but the very moment something is thrown right in our face that causes unexpected adversity...or doubt...that’s when this particular weight...this burden falls right on your shoulders. The kind of weight that can crush you from the outside in...or the inside out depending on where it strikes. A weight I’ve often been familiar with in my decade as a wrestler.
And it looks like the franchise of NEW...feels that weight on him. This special stress.
When a man in his mind has to shout through every single success that he’s ever accomplished, no matter how great, it merely shows how shallow the human being truly is. The old saying is a King who often proclaims himself as one...truly isn’t. This unbridled but fragile ego you have to possess when you shout these things over and over again is often guilty of being delusional...being too detached from what actual reality is.
In this respect, Roger Wright’s no better than Glenn Beck.
History often has a bias toward the winners of war and when you look through the past of this company in NEW...history has been damn kind to Roger Wright. Only the truly ignorant would deny his place in history and as I’ve seen first hand multiple times now...there’s been far too many ass kickings that have been delivered that he’s been able to get up from...and strike with that damned Wright Stuff at any point.
But while the past has its influence on the present and future...your accolades years ago have little to do with the situation at hand now.
The moment some people get specific accomplishments...they become no better than the crop of kids that have surfaced in this promotion...they become damn entitled thinking that everything should just be handed to them on a silver platter. They become spoiled, petulant brats who really need a humbling in the worst possible way. The worst part of all is the delusional sheep just soak up all of this propaganda that there’s a new wave or the fact that Roger will once again slay this ‘masked monster’ known as Seth Iser. The problem with this kind of propaganda is that they overlook important facts.
The masked monster that I was died the moment Roger cheated me out of that mask in Boston two years ago...and in its place is a far more calculating human being whose far more dangerous because of it. The pressure of what this cage match, his recent happenings with his brother, and the sight that has to be his own mortality staring him in the face is making him crack in ways he probably didn’t think was possible.
And by the way Roger...I never got my rematch for the World Heavyweight Championship either...but you don’t hear me squawk about it like I’m starved for attention.
Unfortunately for you...while you might create smokescreens to try to hide...or mask what reality actually is...my sole objective as it’s been stated for over a month now is simple. I want to beat you into a bloodied, mangled mess in the middle of that god damned squared circle to properly avenge being cheated out of the end of that particular chapter of my career. You cheated me out of that mask as far as I’m concerned...but as I’ve said...I’ve picked up more tricks these last two years...accomplished a great deal as a professional wrestler myself but the mask itself doesn’t mean a damn thing compared to the feeling of being robbed.
You took the one thing I never thought anyone would...and did so without me feeling any sort of pride because of the vindictive and cheating nature of it. But here I am...these last few weeks seeing you start to lose your own mind when your ego isn’t being inflated, brother. You’re the one starting to crack...and quite frankly Roger...I’m enjoying being the primary reason why you’re the one starting to feel robbed of this respect...this entitlement you think you deserve.
But I’m sure that in your heart you want to clear yourself from how you’ve felt chipped apart the last month now. While you’ve gained the tag titles and your brother...the hopelessness that’s often followed me is now starting to creep into your heart again. This is almost as enjoyable as what I’m going to do to you inside that steel cage...almost. But when that cage door is locked and we’re trapped with each other...you’ll learn one simple fact. Something you would’ve learned if you weren’t...blinded by this expectation and paranoia.
The demons of the past mean far more than the angels of your past...when they eat you whole from the inside out.
The heartland of Phoenix, Arizona has its horrific share of heat but you can’t stay in a damn ghost town like Courtland, Arizona unless you just want to invite yourself into some trouble. The problem with the southwest is even in the heart of night...the heat is absolutely ridiculous. The nightlife however considering the university near by and its destinations even in a fabricated holiday like Easter, makes this a very busy and booming place to be. The scatter of people around would be enough to make an introvert want to withdraw into a shell they never thought they’d use…
“There’s almost as many people here as there are people who have fucked Blair…” Vincent muses before smirking, “Hey, didn’t Roger do that one too many times?”
“And did something far more unforgivable in tainting a kid’s future…” I coldly reply.
“Urk...so she’s not only a gold digger but a horrible mother on top of that? Roger sure knew how to pick them now didn’t he?” I’d pretend to be surprised at his lack of due diligence but...considering how he’s approached this match with you with the wavering lawsuit...I shouldn’t be surprised.” Moretti shakes his head while wiping the sweat from his brow, “Gah. Fucking heat…”
Vincent is ill equipped to deal with the heat considering while not obese...he’s not missed that many meals since he retired from the ring and his choice of attire being the customary black and violent suit combination with a black hat over his silver hair. The lack of any kind of wind doesn’t help with his choice of attire as we glance at some of the larger buildings in the greater Phoenix area. The older buildings that are surrounding us though is what they call Heritage Square. The older brick design is much more prominent compared to the modern sky touching buildings you find elsewhere in this overpopulated city. Even with this mass of people...it’s impossible for me to hide out because I’m getting various looks of disdain or hatred. Where I can just feel their animosity...and you can’t hide from that.
“The joys of being a public figure…” I calmly mutter to myself.
“Duuude...there’s some really good places to eat here…” Moretti drools.
“I’m almost missing the strip clubs now if you’re going to go to food porn instead of actual porn…” I sigh.
“One excursion for food won’t kill you...lighten up for once. You’ve accomplished just about everything in wrestling. Think about having some fun for a change…” Vincent needles.
“You bitch about the heat and then you want food that just burns you the fuck up?” I raise my eyebrow, “Are you out of your damn mind?”
“That and a waitress in a tight uniform serves it to me...that’s part of the payment too you know…” Moretti smiles an absolutely bone chilling and perverted smile.
“Jesus christ…the fuck am I going to do with you?” I sigh, “Fine. One time.”
“Good. Owe you one. We can talk what exactly happened because I did some snooping on what exactly was said…” Vincent answers with a smile.
“This ought to be interesting…” I tap my chin, “So...which one of these buildings is that burger place?”
“This way, “Moretti gestures in front of us.
We start weaving our way on this sidewalk glancing at all the old buildings and dodging the occasional vulgar mouthing at our sight from these ignorant people. With a shrug I do straighten out my red tie on my black and red based suit and while the sunglasses do look odd at first in the night...it helps with the ridiculous car lights that come in that can trigger one of those god damned migraines. After walking about a block we’re in a front of a particular building. The Pappadeaux Seafood Kitchen.
“Here we are…” Vincent beams.
“Dude, seafood?” I raise my eyebrow.
“They serve alligator here…” Vincent chuckles.
“Is this because that one damn gator took your golf ball when you were down in Florida and now you want revenge against their family?” I raise my eyebrow.
“I should’ve beaten the shit out of that gator…” Moretti beams.
“I would’ve paid money to see that and then see the gator rip your damned hand off and see you exchange mechanical highfives and bitch slaps with Chris…” I darkly chuckle.
“Funny guy…” Vincent scowls before we walk into the building.
The smaller, quaint building has been remodeled on the inside to fit what this restaurant would have. The tables seem predominantly filled but there’s no waiting in line thankfully. The lively chatter among the people carries on though I get a couple of odd looks because of the more professional attire. Moretti impatiently waits there while tapping his foot on the floor while I just have my arms crossed in my usual, menacing glance. The type of glance that unnerves many people. I go to work with this by glaring down at one of the waitresses and the moment she feels the weight of that...the sweat starts to pour down her neck a little and she finally turns around and notices us.
“Hi! Table for two?” she puts on her best happy face.
“No, I just wanted to start cloning myself and reserve a table for twenty-two,” Moretti smirks.
“We don’t need twenty-one more Vincent Morettis...one is enough…” I sigh, “But yes...table for two.
“Right this way,” she gestures, still with that plastic smile you’re almost required to have to take this job.
The two of us follow the blonde woman as Moretti looks at her assets...literally in that uniform. She immediately feels his specific stare as every perverse thought about her round ass pops into my companion’s mind. If anyone put my daughter through that shit...I’d do what every good father from West Virginia would and that’s knock the living piss out of them with my fists. We do find an empty booth here and she picks up the empty glasses and washes off the table with the cloth swiftly before we take our seats.
“Something to drink?” she raises her eyebrow as she pulls out her pen and paper.
“Water’s good for me,” I reply on autopilot.
“I’ll just have a Dr. Pepper for once…” Moretti shrugs, “Too much work means nothing alcoholic you know.”
“Coming right up…” she calmly offers before handing us the menus, “Take your time.”
She starts to walk off and Vincent takes a moment to stare at her assets one more time in that tight uniform. The moment I open the menu though...with all these unusual delicacies and dinner choices...I know this’ll hurt the wallet. Vincent I knew spent lavishly but...god damn. This tab might make the fifty dollar steak we had one time seem tame if he goes out of control here. The other thing is...all these variations of shrimp and crab...clams. Seafood choices.
“This is...different.” I rub my temple unable to hide my discomfort at the prices and primary food choices, “And expensive as fuck. I might’ve spent plenty of time in Japan but I always frequented the ramen places because I didn’t make much money.”
“Yeah I’m trying the gator…” Moretti beams absentmindedly.
“Why am I not surprised? You always hold grudges…” I manage half of a smile.
“You should talk…” Vincent darts his eyes down before his eyes light up, “Oh that’s right..”
Vincent’s expression gets serious as the waitress swiftly returns with our two drink choices. Her first instinct was to give me the soda due to me being the taller man though I immediately pass the drink off to Moretti to correct the mistake for her and she calmly hands me the water and swiftly I gulp some down to help my dry throat. Call it a side effect of speaking so often with a microphone at this point...the weakness of my voice and my throat at times.
“Ready to order?” she questions.
“Bring on the Gator with the shrimp on the side,” Moretti quickly replies with enthusiasm.
“I see…” she jots that down before turning to me with her probing blue eyes, “And you?”
“Still looking,” I answer despondently.
“I’ll return…” she starts to walk off.
Vincent sees her off a second time here while I just twirl the cup of water in my left hand slowly out of impatience while half heartedly skimming the menu with nothing appealing to me. Doesn’t help that I’m not actually hungry. Plus I haven’t had seafood in years as part of this whole diet thing you do as a wrestler. I can feel Moretti’s serious expression after he’s done ogling at the blonde server girl’s ass.
“Roger wants you to have the mask back.” Vincent scowls.
“What?” I raise my eyebrow baffled.
“That was my reaction…” Moretti shrugs, “After those wasted dollars for the consultation I’d assume...and the order just to do that? Trying to scramble up your brain I’d guess. Maybe throw a curveball.”
“Just makes me want to kick his ass far worse now...because he almost seems too sure and too smug he’s already won just because he’s so far up in the clouds in the past.” I pause, “There’s always a place for the past and it might shape you into what decisions you make...but it doesn’t mean dick when we’re staring across from each other with the steel cage surrounding us, Vincent. This is going to be far different than any other match we’ve ever had against each other...and yet he’s thinking it’ll be the same...with the same forgone conclusion.”
“That worked so well for Mike Park when he came here, right?” Moretti chuckles.
“He ain’t wrestled sense…” I answer coldly, “Same place I’m putting Roger at by the end of it all. I’m not here to torment him verbally while torturing him slowly and making that one mistake. I’m just going to put him in such a compromising position in that damned ring that I’ll never have to worry about him again. That’s what’ll happen in that cage and I don’t think he fully understands the weight of the words I said. We’re going to keep going...until one of us can’t go anymore. Period.”
“WHAT THE FUCK!” a man’s yell interupts our conversation.
I turn my head to the sound of that voice and it looks like an elder gentleman is soaked with a drink judging by the empty pitcher on the floor near his table...and he’s shrieking at everyone that can hear him about his suit and flipping out about it. With a rub of my temple I just stand up from my seat and walk toward the situation...the waitress already feels awful about it and she’s getting chewed out.
“You dumb cunt! You shouldn’t have your job here a---” the man rambles on.
“You made your point. Move on.” I order, “You’re disturbing other patrons.”
“Who are yo---” he goes to say before he notices my intimidating frame, “Oh…”
“Not so mouthy now are ya?” I sneer.
The man mutters in a texan accent and judging by his slightly pudgy appearance and the cowboy hat with the blue t-shirt on...unless he’s carrying a weapon he’s no physical threat to me at all and he knows it, too. He then sighs before I just calmly walk back over to my table and Moretti is looking at me like his mouth is about ready to drop. There’s also some disappointment in that I might not have used physical force but...he’ll get over that and I don’t need an actual lawsuit on top of the bullshit game Roger played with my mask.
“Hypocrites. Each of’m,” I sneer, “Roger, that jackass. Riot. Park. All of’m. Especially those that just clutch onto the past that only they want to look at and disrespect the layers of the past that doesn’t benefit them unless they think it has a gain to them. That’s a disrespect to my legacy more than anything now...this little game he’s playing with the mask. But it’s merely a pebble on top of a mountain of sins he’s committed in his lifetime.”
“It used to be that important to you but now?” Moretti raises his eyebrow.
“Moved on, Vincent. Nobody stays in stasis forever. It’s something Roger has forgotten while he’s tried to keep himself there on his own successes. Just means he’s going to end up getting broken and hurt...and it’s going to happen by my hands, Vincent.” I calmly glare before I lighten my face slightly, “But that’s tomorrow...just right now...the hell am I going to do about this menu for food?”
Vincent shrugs nonchalantly as I aim to deliberately drift away from the conversation choice of Roger Wright...the man who I’ve more or less been linked to the moment I dropped him on his head at Tension in Texas two years ago with my Deprivation DDT. The past is what it is...and even two years ago I can see how different of a wrestler...of a fighter I’ve become the moment I lost our Justice encounter and learned all these new tricks.
The face that I had hid for my own protection...is its own weapon if you learn how to use and master it. You give people the right look...and you can probe just about anything from their minds while not revealing anything about your own nature or reasons behind it. It’s a unique way of masking intentions and manipulation and one you have to live by in order to survive in society every day. But even when you have to manipulate others...the truth always comes out.
And the truth is...Roger and I will forever be linked...and his face is burned into my memory.
On and off the last...two years now I’ve thought about different ways to destroy Roger...not from behind the mask...but by being a human being. Monsters...masked monsters are something humans create to feel better about themselves so they can declare themselves the good guy...and use that as their reasoning and basis behind every heinous action they’ve ever done. Roger’s done this many times the last couple of months with the kid he had with Blair and with my old mask.
The difference is Roger...while people make you out to be the good guy thinking I’m the monster...I’m no monster. I’m the worst of humanity.
Father Nathan, our world champion, had grilled me about how people have so much pride...telling me what I already knew but also how much envy that was in my heart. The envy of wanting a normal life...the kind of envy that I can’t ever purge myself of no matter how many accomplishments I gain or whatever good deed I may have done. Life isn’t fair as I said to Riot...and it damn sure wasn’t fair to me by villifying all of my actions...and cleansing your demonic ones. It ain’t fair Roger.
Never is.
But I guess it isn’t fair to think you’re walking into a fight with the man you beat two years ago and expect the same kind of battle to play out in your brain. You build up the same mental defenses you conjured up when I verbally berated you with every punch I delivered while you kept willing yourself on and then you find out you’re fighting a different man. While there’s similarities one can easily pick up...there’s too many differences as well. Differences that you glossed over far too much.
Different reasons for me...to brutalize you.
And while you make all your plans about your future with the tag championship in your possession and hope to make right with your sibling...that hope is going to be ripped away when the reality and unfairness of the situation comes in all in your mind. You whined about no rematch for the world title and your lack of respect. How can you claim those things when you don’t respect what’s in front of you...and don’t respect the man that’s going to grind your forehead until it looks like raw hamburger in that steel cage?
History will write our tail Roger...unkindly for you when I’m finished with the job inside that steel cage...and it damn sure isn’t fair. It still won’t be fair that we’re linked...even if that’s the nature of wrestling...but I’ll at least have this solis of something happening to you when I leave you a broken, mangled heap.
My unmasked, scarred face will torment your mind and frequent your nightmares forever when I put you out of this industry for good. Just like your face tormented my brain on and off these last two years when you have proven to be a thief...and a disrespectful jackass who now...because of his attitude has no place in this wonderful world we call wrestling.
This is the result of you crumbling from all of this different pressure that you’ve never felt in your life.
And the truth is...I’m enjoying every second...of this and will finally have for the first time in my life...a moment of peace...when all of these things I’ve subjected into your brain crush you for good.
Couldn’t happen to a nicer hypocrite.