Post by Damian Payne on Mar 7, 2014 17:45:40 GMT -5
[We fade in to a dark room, the only light coming from three large windows along the wall. The windows cast into the room a reflected, pale light, revealing a long table sitting in the middle. The dark wood of the table subtly reflects the streetlight in the room, as we see Damian Payne sitting on the table, staring outside. His feet rest on one of the many chairs around the table, his arms resting on his knees. Payne wears black cargo pants and a blue shirt, the hood over his head. We had expected to see some of the streetlight in his eyes, but instead all we behold is a dark glare, focused out the window. As we follow his eyes, we can see out the window that we are about four stories up in some inner-city building. There appears to be some kind of event occurring across the street, as even in the middle of the night, the entire building is lit up. The window Payne stares through is pelted by repeated sheets of rain, obscuring the light of the building, and reflecting it sideways. Payne’s gaze is firm, his expression solid.]
Damian Payne: And I proclaimed, very simply, that I was here to save them. And it wasn’t enough - and they didn’t want to listen.
[Payne reaches up as he ducks his head, pulling off the hood of his shirt and staring into the camera with his dark, bottomless eyes. We can see a few obvious scratches along Payne’s forehead and cheek, all the way up to his hairline. Payne’s gaze now focuses into the camera, his voice echoing in the small room, solid and composed.]
Damian Payne: The very President of this company couldn’t see the justice that I sought to restore. You see, my dear audience, it was a week ago that I started my quest to cleanse this company of its weak and decrepit to make way for an era of glory. I thought the world had listened, and by now I have learned what a silly assumption that was. The people, the company: they no longer look for an echelon of competition: no, they settle for the circus that brings them ratings. Who needs athletes like Drew Stevenson and MJ Bell when you have clowns like Scott Syren and Roach? The choices of the front office: the choices of the spectators become clear, and it disgusts me. I turn my head away in hopes that when I look again such heresy will be forgotten - and I find myself disappointed over and over again. My fight last week: that fight was for an opportunity to wrestle for the OCW Central championship. My results: I am exactly where I had intended to be.
[Payne hangs his head a bit, breaking his dark eye contact. The camera moves to his side as Payne’s open eyes stare into the ground. A drop falls from Payne’s nose: and we are unaware of whether it is a tear or a bead of sweat: the darkness covering too much of his eyes and forehead to know for sure. But we see the bottom of his face, as the sides of his mouth slowly rise into a smile. Payne raises his head, and we see nothing but the calm, satisfied expression we are accustomed to seeing from Payne.]
Damian Payne: Yet from the beginning, I knew the odds I faced. Fair enough: the ignorance in this league is more profound than I could have ever imagined. But that vision of competition, that ideal of an arena void of the comedy acts and children’s games that I saw so long ago is a treasure: a dream so sacred that all the wrath I must endure to attain it will seem so very small in the end. That beauty: that paradise, that perfection is a prize worth the very harshest fight to claim. No matter how many times I am knocked down by those who have become comfortable in the mediocre, it is my vision of that glory that inspires me to rise. To this day, that very hope refuels itself daily in the vision of paradise. I will fight: I will fight until I have scourged this place of every last trace of the scum that so ignorantly pollutes it.
[Payne’s smile rises as he stares directly into the camera, the glint of light from the outside finding no place in his eyes. In Payne’s face we see the shadows to the raindrops against the window, and we are somehow comforted by its obscurity. Payne continues to speak with the calm intensity he has used this entire time. Every bit of his presence, nothing more then his resolve, is locked and unmoving.]
Damian Payne: And that starts with you, Mario Maurako & Pryde. Years from now, people will see the list of former stars of OCW and remember you as nothing but a mistake, that is, if you are remembered at all. How will I remember you? I will remember you as the unluckiest guys in the world; even before our match has taken place, even before the imminent beating you know you will receive. The fact is boys, you know that come this Monday, you will be outclassed by Drew Stevenson and myself. He's hungry - I'm pissed off - you guys are in trouble!
[Payne shakes his head in pity, his cold smile intact. The light from outside shines onto his face, and glints across his hair as the raindrops make strange shadows along the wall. Payne pauses, his eyes moving with the camera as he leans forward. When he begins to speak again, it is quiet, almost like a whisper, yet with the intensity of his previous tone intact.]
Damian Payne: And there is one other thing, Ian Bishop: one other glaring fact that separates us, and it is this very attribute that I take most pride in distinguishing myself from you. You see, Bitchop: the biggest difference between us is my humility: by ability to realize that title shots should only go to those who have truly earned them. Yet I have enough humility and respect for the OCW Central championship to know that if I truly ever deserved such a match, then it will have been given to me. You see, I can fight week in, and week out, seeking respect as a competitor. If I don’t have a wrestler’s respect, I can beat them up, over and over, until I do. The belt would christen me as the warrior I have always aspired to be, but if it is over a league without any pride, without any competition, without any legitimacy, as the league now appears to be, the reign means nothing. The fact that scum like you could ever even touch that belt makes it lose a great amount of its lustre. My fight runs deeper then any little piece of hardware. I am not shallow like you, Ian Bishop: I have an existence and a mission that means so much more. Right now you’re scratching your head trying to figure out how anything could mean more then your precious struggle for legitimacy. Perhaps all of my breath is wasted trying to explain such concepts to fools like you.
[Payne stands, and pulls his hood over his head and he turns on his heel and walks for the door. His hand reaches out for the door as he pushes it open. As Payne exits, the door slowly closing, we hear his calm, solid voice summarize all that we have heard.]
Damian Payne: But that’s what makes the struggle worthwhile: in the face of adversity, my triumph is glorious.
Damian Payne: And I proclaimed, very simply, that I was here to save them. And it wasn’t enough - and they didn’t want to listen.
[Payne reaches up as he ducks his head, pulling off the hood of his shirt and staring into the camera with his dark, bottomless eyes. We can see a few obvious scratches along Payne’s forehead and cheek, all the way up to his hairline. Payne’s gaze now focuses into the camera, his voice echoing in the small room, solid and composed.]
Damian Payne: The very President of this company couldn’t see the justice that I sought to restore. You see, my dear audience, it was a week ago that I started my quest to cleanse this company of its weak and decrepit to make way for an era of glory. I thought the world had listened, and by now I have learned what a silly assumption that was. The people, the company: they no longer look for an echelon of competition: no, they settle for the circus that brings them ratings. Who needs athletes like Drew Stevenson and MJ Bell when you have clowns like Scott Syren and Roach? The choices of the front office: the choices of the spectators become clear, and it disgusts me. I turn my head away in hopes that when I look again such heresy will be forgotten - and I find myself disappointed over and over again. My fight last week: that fight was for an opportunity to wrestle for the OCW Central championship. My results: I am exactly where I had intended to be.
[Payne hangs his head a bit, breaking his dark eye contact. The camera moves to his side as Payne’s open eyes stare into the ground. A drop falls from Payne’s nose: and we are unaware of whether it is a tear or a bead of sweat: the darkness covering too much of his eyes and forehead to know for sure. But we see the bottom of his face, as the sides of his mouth slowly rise into a smile. Payne raises his head, and we see nothing but the calm, satisfied expression we are accustomed to seeing from Payne.]
Damian Payne: Yet from the beginning, I knew the odds I faced. Fair enough: the ignorance in this league is more profound than I could have ever imagined. But that vision of competition, that ideal of an arena void of the comedy acts and children’s games that I saw so long ago is a treasure: a dream so sacred that all the wrath I must endure to attain it will seem so very small in the end. That beauty: that paradise, that perfection is a prize worth the very harshest fight to claim. No matter how many times I am knocked down by those who have become comfortable in the mediocre, it is my vision of that glory that inspires me to rise. To this day, that very hope refuels itself daily in the vision of paradise. I will fight: I will fight until I have scourged this place of every last trace of the scum that so ignorantly pollutes it.
[Payne’s smile rises as he stares directly into the camera, the glint of light from the outside finding no place in his eyes. In Payne’s face we see the shadows to the raindrops against the window, and we are somehow comforted by its obscurity. Payne continues to speak with the calm intensity he has used this entire time. Every bit of his presence, nothing more then his resolve, is locked and unmoving.]
Damian Payne: And that starts with you, Mario Maurako & Pryde. Years from now, people will see the list of former stars of OCW and remember you as nothing but a mistake, that is, if you are remembered at all. How will I remember you? I will remember you as the unluckiest guys in the world; even before our match has taken place, even before the imminent beating you know you will receive. The fact is boys, you know that come this Monday, you will be outclassed by Drew Stevenson and myself. He's hungry - I'm pissed off - you guys are in trouble!
[Payne shakes his head in pity, his cold smile intact. The light from outside shines onto his face, and glints across his hair as the raindrops make strange shadows along the wall. Payne pauses, his eyes moving with the camera as he leans forward. When he begins to speak again, it is quiet, almost like a whisper, yet with the intensity of his previous tone intact.]
Damian Payne: And there is one other thing, Ian Bishop: one other glaring fact that separates us, and it is this very attribute that I take most pride in distinguishing myself from you. You see, Bitchop: the biggest difference between us is my humility: by ability to realize that title shots should only go to those who have truly earned them. Yet I have enough humility and respect for the OCW Central championship to know that if I truly ever deserved such a match, then it will have been given to me. You see, I can fight week in, and week out, seeking respect as a competitor. If I don’t have a wrestler’s respect, I can beat them up, over and over, until I do. The belt would christen me as the warrior I have always aspired to be, but if it is over a league without any pride, without any competition, without any legitimacy, as the league now appears to be, the reign means nothing. The fact that scum like you could ever even touch that belt makes it lose a great amount of its lustre. My fight runs deeper then any little piece of hardware. I am not shallow like you, Ian Bishop: I have an existence and a mission that means so much more. Right now you’re scratching your head trying to figure out how anything could mean more then your precious struggle for legitimacy. Perhaps all of my breath is wasted trying to explain such concepts to fools like you.
[Payne stands, and pulls his hood over his head and he turns on his heel and walks for the door. His hand reaches out for the door as he pushes it open. As Payne exits, the door slowly closing, we hear his calm, solid voice summarize all that we have heard.]
Damian Payne: But that’s what makes the struggle worthwhile: in the face of adversity, my triumph is glorious.
