| Cavity; Character Development | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Jun 5 2016, 12:52 AM (33 Views) | |
| NOTHING | Jun 5 2016, 12:52 AM Post #1 |
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The Purveyor of HATE
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Let's skirt the issue Of discipline Let's start an illusion With hand and pen Read the words And start again Accept the gift of sin April 15, 2001 Gund Arena Cleveland, Ohio NOTHING sits alone -- in his ring gear after doing battle with Azazel -- in a dressing room which has seen better days. Several of the rusted locker doors are twisted and hanging at odd angles. The overhead fluorescent lighting casts a sickly, pale yellow light onto "The Harbinger of HATE" who finds himself holding an ice pack on his neck alone on a wooden bench. The only sound is the flickering and buzzing of the light overhead mixed with the slow, deliberate breathing of NOTHING. Maybe this is just the way he likes it; though he is waging a war in the NYSWF with Spiral, Julian Dreamwalker, and Sean Boden standing by his side, perhaps these moments of quiet reflection are what help fuel the twisted mind of NOTHING. Of course, as The Purveyor will remind you often - nothing lasts forever. We begin to hear footsteps in the distance, echoing down a long hallway toward the locker room. NOTHING begins to perk up and look toward the entrance while slowly placing the ice pack on the seat beside him. He rolls his neck in that familiar way, loosening himself up to square off with whoever it is belongs to those footsteps. He rises from his seat and clenches his fists, bringing them up to his chest. The adrenaline is pumping through his body as he begins to rock in place, the footsteps louder and closer. Closer. Louder. Closer. NOTHING is on guard as the door to the locker room swings open and in walks... his brother, and President and Owner of the NYSWF, Corey Collins. NOTHING lets out an almost disappointed sigh - either disappointed to see his brother or disappointed at a lost opportunity to fight. He drops his hands to his side, now able to let his guard down. Corey, on the other hand, puts his arms out to the side and walks toward his brother with a mile-wide grin on his face. He's going in for a hug - but NOTHING plants a hand in the center of his chest. "Just hold it right there, brother." He gently pushes Corey back a step or two. "Wouldn't want to mess up that fancy little suit of yours." Corey puts his hands up as if to concede defeat and NOTHING sits back down on the bench. He sharply snatches the ice pack back up and places it at the base of his neck. He looks up at his brother who has begun to walk in small circles around the locker room. "I'm guessing you didn't just stop in to say hello?" Corey stops and immediately turns toward his brother. He shoots him another ear-to-ear grin and points both fingers in Pru's direction. "You're gonna love this." Pru Collins sighs heavily. Something tells us that he's been on the receiving end of these types of conversations before and isn't thrilled to add one more to the list. "I know that when you say that, you don't mean it. And I know that it means it's going to be something that makes me want to knock some of your teeth out." "Not this time, Pru! This time I think I've got myself a real winner on our hands." NOTHING stops icing his neck and places his hands in his lap, still clutching the ice pack. He looks up at his brother and shrugs. "I'm sure you do. Go ahead - lay it on me." Corey moves in and sits on the bench next to his brother. The two couldn't be more different; even under the disruptive flickering of the light overhead we can see the contrasts between these two. Corey, decked out in what he surely believes is a designer suit sporting a short blond haircut, stubble that would make Kiefer Sutherland proud, and a cheshire grin. Pru, still drenched in sweat and in his ring gear with jet black hair pushed back revealing smooth pale skin, a sharp jaw, and eyes done up in black eyeliner and eyeshadow. Corey sits with his hands pressed palm to palm in front of his mouth as he looks to the floor, carefully plotting the hard sell he's about to lay on his brother. After a few moments of silence he brings his hands apart, claps them together, and begins rubbing them together. He looks at his brother again with a half grin and begins to speak. "You know things are crazy around here lately. We've got so much going on - Haven, Serena, Storm, Adonis, you and I... the family is really hitting big with audiences all over the place." NOTHING scoffs at his brother and shakes his head. "Yeah... family." "Right right - and that's what I'm hear to talk about. I think we need to shake things up a bit. Maybe rattle the foundations, right? Shake up the roots of the ole family tree!" At this moment, we see perhaps a world-record level eye roll from Pru who is clearly fed up with his brother. "Come on, man! What's the deal with you and all of this fake family bullshit?? Why does everything have to be so needlessly complex with you? Can't we all just go out to the ring, make enemies and allies, and fight until someone comes out on top?" Corey stands up and waves his hands in the air, seemingly waving off the thought his brother just had. "Nobody wants to see that! They want to be entertained on another level, Pru - they want to see drama, betrayal, mystery, twists and turns at every corner! They want intrigue!" Corey turns back toward Pru and gives him the patented Collins Double Finger Point again - "And that's exactly what we're going to give to them." "When is enough gonna be enough? You've got this whole confusing thing with Haven going on already. This bizarre set of family ties with Jack Adonis. Now you've even brought in Jonathan Storm to act as our cousin? Where do y-" "Ah-hah! And that's just it! He's the one!" NOTHING is stopped dead in his tracks and visibly confused. He furrows his brow at his brother and asks bluntly, "What the hell are you talking about, Corey?" Corey shoots his open hands into the air in what could be misconstrued as a "coming to Jesus" moment. He looks blessed. Enlightened. Filled with the glory of someone almighty. "He's the one, Pru! Jonathan Storm... is the lost Collins brother." NOTHING has heard enough. His furrowed brow turns to a frankly exhausted expression. He whips the ice pack hard against the lockers with enough force that it rips upon impact with the rusted and bent doors. "Oh, you gotta be fucking kidding me--" "Not at all! Think about it, Pru -" Pru stands up and stares into his brother's eyes. Corey backpedals a step or two but stops once he regains his composure. He straightens out his suit and Pru addresses him. "I am thinking about it, Corey. I've thought about every insane choice you've made around here lately. I've thought about the phony family tree, the batshit storylines... I've got a god damn spreadsheet to keep this all straight! A spreadsheet! Just so I can remember who my fake brothers, cousins, nephews, uncles, great grandfathers all are. And now you want me and everyone else to believe that there's just been this long-lost Collins boy out there the whole time?! What's insane is that I do it all, Corey! I do it all for you, man! To fulfill whatever dream or fantasy it is that you're trying to live out by building the most dysfunctional family anyone has ever seen. What the hell is the endgame here?" Corey is taken aback. He looks downright confused. But then, the grin that makes you want to clean his clock crawls back across his face. He raises his right hand up and rubs his thumb against his fingers in the universal sign for money. "The endgame is fame, brother - fame and fortune. Making that fat cash and buying those big houses. Making sure that whatever actual families we have will be taken care of down the line." Corey's expression grows serious and he sounds almost sincere as he continues. "It's about getting those ratings, Pru. Being the hottest show in town and the hottest thing on TV. Making sure that all eyes are on you, me, and the rest of the roster each and every week. Getting those pay-per-view buyrates and breaking attendance records all over the globe. It's about our future, man. So who cares if we have to fuck with our past a little bit to make a brighter future for ourselves? What's it really matter in the end?" Pru, having been tensed from head to toe while staring a hole through his brother slowly begins to relax. He closes his eyes and bows his head, shaking it before bringing his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose with his fingers. He turns and takes a couple of steps away from his brother. He opens his eyes, now obscured by his hair, and we see conflict within him. He pushes his hair back and lifts his head while continuing to stand with his back to his brother. "You know I'd do anything for you, Corey. Anything. I've already done more ridiculous garbage in the NYSWF than I would have ever dreamed of doing, and the only reason I did any of it is because you're my brother. My only brother. My real brother. If this is really what you want, man..." He pauses and lets the weight of the decision carry through him before continuing. He turns to face his brother once more. "If this is what you want -- then fine. We can do it. But it's gotta stop soon, Corey. It has to stop somewhere. Because, if it doesn't, something's gonna start to crack - you, me, this company... it can't last on this bullshit forever." Corey reaches out and places a hand on his brother's shoulder. "I know, Pru. Let's just let this one ride out and we'll get centered again once it all blows over. But for now... I think this is what's best for all of us." Corey pulls his brother in and hugs him. Pru stands with his arms at his side not giving anything in response. Corey gives him a couple of good slaps on the back before letting go. NOTHING, staring daggers at his brother and his elated grin, stands silent for a moment. He remains silent and walks past his brother, slightly bumping into him as he exits the locker room. Corey staggers back a step and straightens out his suit then peers over his shoulder to make sure his brother is leaving. After a moment, and making sure he's out of earshot, he quickly steps to the back wall of the locker room. Panning over to follow him, we see that he is walking toward a pay phone attached to the wall. He reaches into his pocket, deposits a quarter, and quickly dials a number. He impatiently taps his foot as the phone on the other side rings and once it picks up he springs to life. "Hey heeeey, Jon Storm! My main man! I have got some great news for you... brother." May 31, 2016 Quicken Loans Arena Cleveland, Ohio NOTHING sits alone -- in his ring gear after doing battle with Grace Goeren -- in a sleek and modern dressing room. Gone are the days of slowly rusting metal lockers in favor of large cubbies made of rich wood. The brightly lit room allows us to see each red mark on the body of "The Harbinger of HATE" who finds himself holding an ice pack on his chest alone on a wooden bench. There is noise all around. Other Warriors in the background in adjoining dressing rooms are preparing for or recovering from their matches yet NOTHING sits in solitary. Maybe this is just the way he likes it; though he is waging a war in the EWA with Indrid Calder and Lunatikk Crippler standing by his side, perhaps these moments of quiet reflection are what help fuel the twisted mind of NOTHING. Of course, as The Purveyor will remind you often - nothing lasts forever. We hear the buzzing of a cell phone vibrating and NOTHING turns toward his gear bag sitting on the floor next to him. He begins to dig through before pulling out his phone. The name on the screen reads "Corey Collins" and the picture to go along with it is of an aged former President of the NYSWF. NOTHING begins to perk up as he stares down at the phone. "Time to check in, I guess." He rolls his neck in that familiar way, loosening himself up to make himself comfortable. He swipes to answer the phone and brings it to his ear. "Hey, brother - how you holding up?" As the two Collins boys begin to converse, we fade to black. |
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10:51 AM Jul 11