Post by mattknox on Dec 7, 2021 21:18:12 GMT -5
Polarizing wherever he went, even down to his own flesh and blood, tension and ire were no strangers to Matthew Knox. Nor were the late nights that were birthed from their unholy, torturous pairing.
He took a sip of the bourbon sloshing within the glass he gripped with his right hand, the cigarette between index and middle finger raising to take its place a mere millisecond after its departure. The faint burn of the liquor mixed with that of the non-filter Camel brought about the lightest, most toxic of satisfactions. Punctuated by the noxious fumes he released through his nostrils, polluting the ocean air.
Captain Planet may never forgive the sin.
A chuckle at the joke no one was around to hear. Because of course, by his own design and to his own demise, Matthew Knox was alone tonight. Sat within a chair he dragged from his dining room table out to the sands down the hill from his back door. The pacific roared a mocking laughter at his destructive nature as he sat there with a bottle of Bourbon between his feet, eyes staring out upon its endless expanse.
Misery loved his company, as the years had shown. Tonight’s suffering? A succulent spread of Paternal crisis, the questioning of his own loyalties, and the influence of monsters on men. Ever since his faithful return in June of 2020 after all those years trying to kill himself with chemical vices he had paved a road to both damnation and glory hand in hand with it.
And now? Now he was determined to be carried out upon his shield, and take as many others with him as possible.
Between being the champion of Pro Wrestling Valor, joining the ‘True Society’ of Project Honor, and now a much more personal war for Sin City Wrestling? He would no doubt get what he so desired.
Or so he thought.
The opponents for his inaugural, and return matches respectively within SCW and Project Honor had a combined win record of precisely Dick. It almost felt insulting, given the game he was after. Given the exit he desir--no, DEMANDED of the universe that had refused to give him anything else.
A sneer, he knocked back the last of the brandy in the glass and stood from his seat, He reached down to grab the bottle, setting to refill it as his mind turned to the spark of tonight’s self loathing.
He’d only barely found out about their relationship, but truth be told he felt a special bond with the blonde Strader woman the moment he laid eyes upon her. Near a year on, and after meeting most of the rest of her family, he came to find out her entire existence was thanks to him and her mother being horny teenagers at a kegger in Northern California while everyone prepared for the doomsday of Y2K.
And in record time, he’d gotten her to hate him.
And he was really trying for the other thing.
Guess that's what hurt.
Part of him reasoned that it was a simple case of her being too damn much like him. Stubborn, prideful, absolutely Cardinal when it came to her opinions on people and events. And she held a grudge.
God, did she hold a grudge.
Another long sip of the bitter, yet somehow distinctly sweet brown liquid. Another hiss at the burn.
Another bit of hurt numbed.
And of course, aside from the troll on his horizon...he knew that Vegas needed him. Arrogant as it sounded, there were accounts that desperately needed settling. Fights that were never properly had that needed to be done before the curtain finally drew upon hm. Wrongs needing to be made right.
A friend straying from their path.
He couldn’t allow that. Not when their righteousness was all that kept the other one clinging to even the tiniest shred of the straight and narrow.
A venomous smirk cracks his pale lips, a scoff warmed by liquor and a thought cold as ice.
Once again, him loving something was going to lead to years being taken off a life that was already half over.
He wished things could be simple all around, like his overcomplicated return to the dear departed Rock Johnson’s company, Project Honor. Another pull off the brandy as the memory of Johnson’s demise flashed through his headset again. He had no idea what was being planned, his contact with True Society mostly bare and limited to Robi…
In truth, he felt it was something to pocket and play later on. Leverage for an opportunity or an escape. Maybe a way to get her and her sister away from the wreckage if it ever got too much.
But, for now? He’d just focus on the task at hand which was…again, insulting. A clusterfuck tag match to defend a singles title from ‘talent’ that should be vying just to maintain their employment status. No win to be found between the three of them. Frankly it was depressing as much as it was insulting..
Well, best save that for the camera.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.
“Daddy’s home.”
The camera cuts on to find Matt Knox, seated atop a ladder and staring down the camera. He has a purge mask rested upon his knee as he lets a devilish smirk cross his features.
“I didn’t miss a damn thing here…I had hoped that DeMarco would be around So I could slap the stupid from between his ears….but it’s like Mick Jagger said, ‘Man, these three asshats i’m fighting for my re-debut are fucking jokes.”
Matthew slides from the ladder, landing deftly on his feet as he begins pacing around the large, empty dark room. He brings his hands up, steepling his fingers as his gait goes wide, a chuckle rolling from his chest.
“Words like that…they’re not going to endear me, are they? That’s fine..I’m not here for anyone to like me. I’m not here to mend any fences that I destroyed on my way out. I’m not even here for any titles..I’ve got my twenty pounds of gold. I’m validated, self assured and….better. True, to myself and to those who matter..”
“So, why am I here? Ego. Fucking ego and friendship. That 1-2 record in a place that pretty openly disliked me, had roster members talking about me but never to me because they’re spineless fucks who play with matches and think themselves Kings when they’re little more than jesters….Couldn’t let it stand. So, i’m back, ready to right the wrongs and rip the forked tongues from the yellow-bellied vipers of Project Honor.”
“And my first set of snakes?? Winless. Garden snakes, if that. So absolutely toothless and inconsequential, the gophers punk them. Childish barbs aside though, I will give credit where it’s due. Whatever you’ve done, whoever’s palms you greased for a title shot…Good on you. That’s impressive. I mean, I had one win and got a title shot at Elena Dedraca’s 20 pounds of silver in an Elimination Chamber with…two empty pods…”
“Where someone….bowed out because their bruised ego and minor injuries meant more than the opportunity at a title that would be the crown jewel of the company…” He stopped, his face cringing a bit “The more things change, the more they stay the same huh? Although, at least Myojin earned the opportunity he refused. I reiterate, you three? You’ve barely earned a paycheck from what I can tell.”
He comes back to the ladder, setting himself down and crossing his legs.
“That all being said, here’s me taking my shots and, don’t worry boo birds i’m not asking for title shots. I don’t give a shit about any of the silver and gold here….what I do give a shit about? Proving that my first go around was, indeed, a fluke…all around. Much as a few people have embittered me, I want Project Honor to flourish and go down as one of the greatest companies in the Industry’s history…”
“And what better way to help, than by putting on five star bangers against the best you have to offer and the enemies of True Society all at once? So, here’s the short list…Arik, give them the creepy perv look and make it happen. Ozymandias. Long. Myojin. Hunter….Either I leave an impression and settle ridiculous beefs long past their expiration date, or you lot have twitter material for all of 2022.”
“But, shifting back to the matter at hand…I mean, what’s really left to say? You have three people who hold titles across this and many other promotions defending a title that, frankly, is below the pay grade of the absolute beast of a woman who holds it against a group of people who barely look qualified to hold hands….My presence, hell, Druscilla’s presence? Feels like overkill…”
“However, I will gladly use them to remind the world of just who the fuck I am…”
“I am RAZE.”
“I am RUIN…”
“I am….The original Motherfuckin’ Friend of Fairweather…”
A childish cackle, as the camera slowly fades to black