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You Don't Know Anything; vs Willmott/NOTHING....featuring ????
Topic Started: May 15 2016, 11:31 AM (24 Views)
Lunatikk Crippler

William West sits at the bar.

It’s well past closing time. The bottle of Jack is untouched in front of him.

The mask makes it hard to drink.

The bone. The teeth and fangs. The way the light dances upon it.

Lunatikk Crippler looks more like a spectre each day. And Ray Willmott has certainly given his all to make him an actual spectre.

We can’t read Crippler’s expression, but he sits solemnly. Hands folded in front of him on the bar. Not even bothering to look up into the camera.

You…..you think you have everything figured out, don’t you, Ray?

You think Pru and I have been in cahoots for this entire time? That I knew he was coming?

That I’ve been trying to help him succeed?

It was pure coincidence, Ray, that NOTHING was in the ring opposite you

You don’t know anything, Ray. You think you do, but you don’t. If you did, your professional life wouldn’t be consumed with my destruction.

Which, I admit, sounds a little hypocritical on my end.

But let’s look at who betrayed who, here.

You were gone for YEARS, Ray. Happily living your life, not giving three shits, two damns, or a single flying FUCK about the friends you left behind, mourning you.

Then you stroll into the EWA like nothing happened. I didn’t get a “Sorry” or some other fake apology. I didn’t get your excuses or your empathy.

I cried for you, Ray. Because you were my FRIEND.

You cried for no one. You didn’t care about those you “left behind” one bit.

Your betrayals started almost a decade ago, Ray, and you didn’t happen to see it.

You don’t know anything.

Then you come out, you have your new friends. Your new family. Your new Hierarchy. You chose to side with garbage like X-Calibur and Goeren and Mirage, who has seemingly already flown the EWA coop, leaving his fucking WIFE to clean up after him. You have some delusional boy named Deacon.

These are the guys YOU CHOSE to watch your back, Ray. To ride with. To fight with.

Where the fuck were they at Asylum de los Muertos?

That’s right. Tending to THEIR OWN PERSONAL AFFAIRS, not willing to give you the helping hand you needed when I was pummeling you into oblivion.

You thought they were gonna be there for you, but when the metallic scent of success is lingering under their greedy noses, or in Goeren’s case, his nose buried in a white, powdery mound or some used up snatch, they left you. Abandoned you.

They forgot about little, bitty Hotpants and left you to fend for yourself, when you physically COULD NOT DO IT.

You thought you knew what you were getting into, Ray, when you signed up to be X-Calibur’s BITCH.

You don’t know anything.

I was your friend, Ray. I would have stuck by you, through ANYTHING. Some prick ready to bash your brains in? I’d have come to aid you. Even if it meant getting my skull cracked in the process.

But you didn’t CARE. You wanted the name “Ray Willmott” up in lights one more time. Relive those glory days when you were scoring World Championships, and then scoring WITH World Championships.

Those days in the NWF and before when you warred with Alexander Harmston. Took him to his limit. Beyond his limit. Made him serve you to his monster bodyguard in order to just beat you, Ray.

Those days in the NYSWF when you dominated HATE.

Like that time you and I faced off for your NYSWF Television title, and the number one contendership. And you dominated me to the point that the referee had no choice but to….award me the title and the title shot.

Or the time you kissed enough ass to actually get the World Title shot before I did? And beat my despicable brother for that gold.

And then you and I faced off for the NYSWF’s Holy Grail, Ray.

And I made you TAP OUT.

And I made you LEAVE the NYSWF.

In tears.

You totally dominated me, Ray.

You don’t know anything.

And you’re sitting there, probably thinking about who exactly I’m bringing to this little “gathering of old pals”.

This “set-up” you’re preparing yourself for.

Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t.

Guess you’ll find out soon, huh?

As for who I’m bringing to the dance, Ray?

If you have been paying that much attention to Pru or to myself?

You’d already fucking KNOW.

But?


You don’t know anything.


Moonlight filters through the window in the back room of the bar, highlighting the features of William West behind the grim visage of his protective mask. There’s a subtle darkening in the eyes of West. It seems to grow day by day, an encroaching rage…something pushing up through the soil of his heart. This is not the Crippler that the fans once loved. West…is different now. Darker. Colder. A man with merciless intent and the desire to leave a lasting mark on the EWA landscape.The camera, fixed solely on William West, finally pans out.

West is not alone.

West removes his mask. He fills a glass and knocks back a shot of dark whiskey and then immediately pours himself another. His knuckles grip the glass hard, whitened and scarred over from numerous wars. The man that sits with West is draped in shadows, only his hand showing in the moonlight, the digits gloved in thin gray leather. The guest swirls a glass filled with absinthe, bringing it up to unseen lips and draining the noxious green wormwood liquor in seconds.

West and his guest remain quiet for a moment, contemplative of approaching events.

West: “Do you think they have any idea what’s coming?”

West cocks his head, the moonlight catching on that protective mask, turning his face into something that resembles a half-skull.

“Not yet.”

The guest pauses. It seems a grin forms in the shadows that eat up his face, but it’s impossible to know for sure.

“But they will.”

We fade.
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