Post by americangrime on Sept 28, 2021 16:58:49 GMT -5
Graham Baker awakens in a cold sweat, somehow having rolled from the bed at his lodgings somewhere in Osaka, Japan to the hardwood floor below. His eyes scan the room as he slowly comes to, the hangover clinging to the back of his skull blinding him from behind them. He pushes himself up on one arm, which almost buckles, and he admires the scarring on it before finally crumpling to the ground.
The Gaijin Kaiju, always on the verge of death, always as it should be.
Baker rolls himself to the bed, and drags himself up with his functional arm. He slides his hands onto the other side, and drags himself over into the bed itself, laying on his back. He fishes across his nightstand for his phone, which he recovers, and glances at the screen of. His eyebrows immediately narrow, his face scrunches into a sour look, and;
“A tag team match? With Angelo Caito?”
Baker hurls his phone across the room-and, shortly after, hurls the contents of his stomach to the floor. He rests in place for a moment as a concerned hotel staff member knocks, but Baker tells them in certain terms to fuck off for the moment, as the hangover clears. He pulls himself over to a mirror over the desk in the room, and looks at himself.
Bloodshot eyes, pockmarked face, hair pulled back but accumulating the grime and grit of the night before, teeth stained by acid and bile. Baker swills a glass of water from the sink and solves the last one-but the rest will have to do, as his phone rings. He’s got bookings, shortly. Quicker than he can move, really. He grabs a jacket, throws it over his shoulder, and heads into the fuckin’ world, as he always does.
As he always will.
-
“I don’t really give a fuck about this, as far as I’m concerned this is a waste of my fuckin’ time.”
Well, Graham Baker is pissed. Who’s surprised?
“Angelo Caito’s a fuckin’ sack of festering shit, a waste of carbon and testosterone put into a shell that’s gonna do some ranting and raving on the fuckin’ way into this match, probably get his ass knocked out by Havoc or Switch, an’ get sent into the fuckin’ void. I don’t know why DeMarco bothered putting me on the same fuckin’ team as him, because I’ve already got two heaters on this roster, and the moment that Caito starts to step to me, I’m cleaning his fuckin’ clock. I don’t give a shit what you’re doing, how hot you think you are, as far as I’m concerned, you’re in my fuckin’ way of progressin’ up this roster. You’re stoppin’ me from showin’ why they hired Gaijin Kaiju!
But, I’ll bite. I’ll hang pipe here for a minute so I can focus on the fuckin’ competition ahead. Eh, Havoc? Eh, Switch? I’ve run afoul of both of you time an’ time again. Havoc and I stand two and oh across other companies, but this is new territory for both of us. You couldn’t put Mav in the dirt, eh? I totally get it, man, Mav’s a different beast, but I figured a monster like you could put the homie down. I figured you could take advantage of your fuckin’ earned opportunity and capitalize. Shame to see that you haven’t.
Now, you’re curtain-jerkin’ with me an’ Caito an’ Switch. Maybe it’s a punishment, you know? Like you’re getting fed to the Guillotine to get your fuckin’ head lopped off your fuckin’ neck, provide an example of the violence that I’ll provide to the rest of this fuckin’ roster. Skulls caved in, facepaint wiped off on my fuckin’ boot, it’s over for you, my man. It’s finished for you.
And Switch…
Let’s chat about you.
Twig lookin’ motherfucker, you suffered a death at the hands of Mark Hunter an’ crew, but I’ll happily inflict the same death back upon you. You let DeMarco down, cost yourself a variable bastion of opportunities, cost my boys a bastion of opportunities, so you’re gonna feel a death here. I’m going to smash your fuckin’ skull in against the canvas, again an’ again, so the world is certain of what I fuckin’ mean here. Of the fuckin’ violence i’m gonna inflict.
If I were here earlier? Y’all wouldn't have been sent packin’ in embarrassment.
Yet, here we are.”
Baker smiles.
“Grim death awaits all before me, and all stand before the blade of the Guillotine. In no uncertain terms…
….enter the Gaijin Kaiju.”
The Gaijin Kaiju, always on the verge of death, always as it should be.
Baker rolls himself to the bed, and drags himself up with his functional arm. He slides his hands onto the other side, and drags himself over into the bed itself, laying on his back. He fishes across his nightstand for his phone, which he recovers, and glances at the screen of. His eyebrows immediately narrow, his face scrunches into a sour look, and;
“A tag team match? With Angelo Caito?”
Baker hurls his phone across the room-and, shortly after, hurls the contents of his stomach to the floor. He rests in place for a moment as a concerned hotel staff member knocks, but Baker tells them in certain terms to fuck off for the moment, as the hangover clears. He pulls himself over to a mirror over the desk in the room, and looks at himself.
Bloodshot eyes, pockmarked face, hair pulled back but accumulating the grime and grit of the night before, teeth stained by acid and bile. Baker swills a glass of water from the sink and solves the last one-but the rest will have to do, as his phone rings. He’s got bookings, shortly. Quicker than he can move, really. He grabs a jacket, throws it over his shoulder, and heads into the fuckin’ world, as he always does.
As he always will.
-
“I don’t really give a fuck about this, as far as I’m concerned this is a waste of my fuckin’ time.”
Well, Graham Baker is pissed. Who’s surprised?
“Angelo Caito’s a fuckin’ sack of festering shit, a waste of carbon and testosterone put into a shell that’s gonna do some ranting and raving on the fuckin’ way into this match, probably get his ass knocked out by Havoc or Switch, an’ get sent into the fuckin’ void. I don’t know why DeMarco bothered putting me on the same fuckin’ team as him, because I’ve already got two heaters on this roster, and the moment that Caito starts to step to me, I’m cleaning his fuckin’ clock. I don’t give a shit what you’re doing, how hot you think you are, as far as I’m concerned, you’re in my fuckin’ way of progressin’ up this roster. You’re stoppin’ me from showin’ why they hired Gaijin Kaiju!
But, I’ll bite. I’ll hang pipe here for a minute so I can focus on the fuckin’ competition ahead. Eh, Havoc? Eh, Switch? I’ve run afoul of both of you time an’ time again. Havoc and I stand two and oh across other companies, but this is new territory for both of us. You couldn’t put Mav in the dirt, eh? I totally get it, man, Mav’s a different beast, but I figured a monster like you could put the homie down. I figured you could take advantage of your fuckin’ earned opportunity and capitalize. Shame to see that you haven’t.
Now, you’re curtain-jerkin’ with me an’ Caito an’ Switch. Maybe it’s a punishment, you know? Like you’re getting fed to the Guillotine to get your fuckin’ head lopped off your fuckin’ neck, provide an example of the violence that I’ll provide to the rest of this fuckin’ roster. Skulls caved in, facepaint wiped off on my fuckin’ boot, it’s over for you, my man. It’s finished for you.
And Switch…
Let’s chat about you.
Twig lookin’ motherfucker, you suffered a death at the hands of Mark Hunter an’ crew, but I’ll happily inflict the same death back upon you. You let DeMarco down, cost yourself a variable bastion of opportunities, cost my boys a bastion of opportunities, so you’re gonna feel a death here. I’m going to smash your fuckin’ skull in against the canvas, again an’ again, so the world is certain of what I fuckin’ mean here. Of the fuckin’ violence i’m gonna inflict.
If I were here earlier? Y’all wouldn't have been sent packin’ in embarrassment.
Yet, here we are.”
Baker smiles.
“Grim death awaits all before me, and all stand before the blade of the Guillotine. In no uncertain terms…
….enter the Gaijin Kaiju.”