Post by Sebastien Martyr on Mar 21, 2007 21:28:03 GMT -5
(The scene is rather graphic. Blood is being soaked into towels, and gauze. The damage is only superficial, and will not be effecting the man who has been injured. The unique thing is not that Sebastien Martyr is getting stitched up, but who is doing it. The camera then gets wide and the whole scene is seen. Sebastien Martyr is having his face stitched up by... SEBASTIEN MARTYR. With hemostats, he works quickly and efficiently with help from no one. He is almost done, and looks to the camera with a slight smile.)
Martyr: Rough night eh? Yeah, it was the greatest hardcore tag match in NAPW history. Yeah, me and my partners are banged up. But my opponents...
(He takes a zip lock bag from his table, picks up a bloody towel and drops it in. He puts a piece of masking tape, and writes down the name of Prince Darko. Another souvenir, just like the towel with Marcus Chamberlain’s blood.)
Martyr: They seem to be worse for wear. Well it seems that I did what I said I was going to do again. I am correct in predicting the winner of my match. I told Thomas Young that his losing streak would continue. I told Prince Darko what to do... and he chose to lose. I told that over confident bastard... (pauses for fifteen seconds) I told “The Superstar” I’d never respect him... and after taking his best shots, I pinned his ass in HIS MATCH. I don’t like to use profanity but in this situation, with that match... I find almost a need for it. It was a profane match. It wasn’t wrestling, but barbaric actions of desperate men. It was simply put...GLORIOUS. Tommy you will never beat me. You don’t have enough of “it.” What you need to do is go defend that tag belt, and pray Sick Bill trains extra hard to carry you one more match. You are garbage. The first chapter of our history has indeed been written, and whether it is the only chapter... well that’s up to me, not you Mr. Deathrow. You hate to lose, but you are so damn good at it. This week you might lose twice... in the same event. I’m no psychic... but I have a gut“feeling.”
(He stares in the mirror at the cuts from the razor wire. He touches his face, and doesn’t react. Then, he all of a sudden, smiles big.)
Martyr: From a glorious win... the fun doesn’t last long. Now I have twenty nine opponents to occupy my mind for several days. I can get to know each one of them, know their weaknesses, find out what to do to eliminate them... but I’d rather think about me. This is what this whole match is based on... being totally selfish to get exactly what we entered the federation for. I have the opportunity to Sacrifice man after man, and become the next big thing in this promotion. I heard it all week.. the younger members of that locker room, they all want to put on a D! like performance. But just like the commentator pointed out in the last TNF broadcast... as good as the wire to wire performance was, that man lost.
Martyr: Me... Sebastien Martyr plans to put on one “DEVASTATING” performance. This isn’t about almost winning. I’m no scholar, but I do have a good head for things. Yes, I can sew my own face up and not flinch. I can do a lot of amazing things that make mortal men shake their heads. I also know that history likes to repeat itself. I know last year, this new bad ass emerged on the scene right around the time of Sole Survivor. He came in, and he grabbed the brass ring from the odds on favorite. He took the championship shot, won the belt, and dominated for two months. The difference in me and him is only one thing... I’m going to dominate much, much longer. I won’t suffer a string of losses that cause me to quit. I will break that glass ceiling, by throwing every man through it... including the odds on favorite: Simply Beautiful. He can be the odds on favorite and be like D!. I’d rather be devastating. I’d rather be remember for winning.
(He takes another bloody towel and throws it in the trash can. He puts away his stitch kit, and slides it into his bag. He puts the bagged towel of Prince Darko in it too.)
Martyr: No reason to keep my own bloody towel. I can see the scars. I’m not simply beautiful. I’m not the man who calls himself that, I’m not that figuratively nor in anyway possible. I am though... a SURVIVOR. I don’t have time to look up everyone in this match. Hell three are mystery men, who could be from any federation in the world. I simply plan to survive the barrage of attacks, out smart the men who enter the ring with me. It doesn’t matter if I am number one to go in, ten, twenty-two, or if I get twenty nine. It makes no difference. I am destined to be that man left in the middle of the ring, by himself... victorious. Define “survive” for me... go ahead and look it up. It’ll state “to stay alive, or exist,” it’ll say “to continue function or prosper despite odds.” I will prosper despite the odds. I am not the favorite, nor wish to be. This is bigger than eliminating guys with no talent or character from NAPW. This is simply an hour and change, of the most grueling match in NAPW.
Martyr: I’ve survived more things than you people could ever imagine. I’ve lived around non-survivors, and I visit there graves from time to time. I am an outcast from this world. Men who say what they believe, dress in a dark manner, we get stereotyped. Why don’t I eat bat heads, and take part in Satanic rituals? Actual fans ask me these things. They want to know why I’m not what they picture a “goth” to be. Well sunshine, I’m not a goth. I’m horror, and you’ve been told this before. I don’t need Satan on my side, because I’m greater than he is at this point in time. I have the ability to make men suffer with my own hands, or with mind games. Intern Pete is suffering from me right now, and I never touched him. Tommy Deathrow is suffering tonight, and I DID touch him. I Sacrificed him for the good of NAPW. I’m a little sad that by the time he makes it to the match at Sole Survivor he might not have much left. I however have tons left. I have so much fortitude, football stadiums couldn’t hold it. I survive because of it. This match is the story of my life. The whole world against a man who thinks, acts, dresses, believes differently than the rest. They don’t want me to represent the company as “the man.” They would rather someone else do it.
Martyr: That is a shame. I now must go out there, no fan support, no peer support, nothing at all to support me but my will, fortitude and instincts and just SURVIVE. NAPW... I got a feeling I can survive anything you bring. All of you in that match, you need to raise your alert level. A homicidal bomb is on the radar, and it’s name is Martyr. That bomb is going to explode, and eliminate everyone in it’s path. Toronto is the destination, and come HELL OR HIGH WATER... Sebastien Martyr is going to survive.
(Sebastien Martyr gathers his bags and exits the room. The camera follow him to his car, a black Dodge Magnum. He throws his stuff in the back of it.)
Martyr: You guys looking for something else? What I say here not suffice? OK.. Well the next time you see me I’ll be Toronto, but not the Toronto you know. I’ll be in a dark alley soaking up the atmosphere. The Canadian answer to New York City. I’ll go there and I’ll prepare myself for the hell that awaits me. I’ll mingle with the people, I’ll take in the culture. That city is more like home than Moose Jaw, and Regina will ever be. The mere fact that I’m still standing here is a testament to my survival. This country isn’t built for me. It’s not rough enough, not jagged enough. I’m going to find that part of Toronto, and it will harden me up for the task at hand. It’s time to get back to what fuels me. It’s time to replenish my mind, body and soul. Survival... no one in this company can ever do that better than me.
(Fade to black after the Dodge pulls off, with the camera focusing in on the plate on the back. It simply says “martyr.”)
Martyr: Rough night eh? Yeah, it was the greatest hardcore tag match in NAPW history. Yeah, me and my partners are banged up. But my opponents...
(He takes a zip lock bag from his table, picks up a bloody towel and drops it in. He puts a piece of masking tape, and writes down the name of Prince Darko. Another souvenir, just like the towel with Marcus Chamberlain’s blood.)
Martyr: They seem to be worse for wear. Well it seems that I did what I said I was going to do again. I am correct in predicting the winner of my match. I told Thomas Young that his losing streak would continue. I told Prince Darko what to do... and he chose to lose. I told that over confident bastard... (pauses for fifteen seconds) I told “The Superstar” I’d never respect him... and after taking his best shots, I pinned his ass in HIS MATCH. I don’t like to use profanity but in this situation, with that match... I find almost a need for it. It was a profane match. It wasn’t wrestling, but barbaric actions of desperate men. It was simply put...GLORIOUS. Tommy you will never beat me. You don’t have enough of “it.” What you need to do is go defend that tag belt, and pray Sick Bill trains extra hard to carry you one more match. You are garbage. The first chapter of our history has indeed been written, and whether it is the only chapter... well that’s up to me, not you Mr. Deathrow. You hate to lose, but you are so damn good at it. This week you might lose twice... in the same event. I’m no psychic... but I have a gut“feeling.”
(He stares in the mirror at the cuts from the razor wire. He touches his face, and doesn’t react. Then, he all of a sudden, smiles big.)
Martyr: From a glorious win... the fun doesn’t last long. Now I have twenty nine opponents to occupy my mind for several days. I can get to know each one of them, know their weaknesses, find out what to do to eliminate them... but I’d rather think about me. This is what this whole match is based on... being totally selfish to get exactly what we entered the federation for. I have the opportunity to Sacrifice man after man, and become the next big thing in this promotion. I heard it all week.. the younger members of that locker room, they all want to put on a D! like performance. But just like the commentator pointed out in the last TNF broadcast... as good as the wire to wire performance was, that man lost.
Martyr: Me... Sebastien Martyr plans to put on one “DEVASTATING” performance. This isn’t about almost winning. I’m no scholar, but I do have a good head for things. Yes, I can sew my own face up and not flinch. I can do a lot of amazing things that make mortal men shake their heads. I also know that history likes to repeat itself. I know last year, this new bad ass emerged on the scene right around the time of Sole Survivor. He came in, and he grabbed the brass ring from the odds on favorite. He took the championship shot, won the belt, and dominated for two months. The difference in me and him is only one thing... I’m going to dominate much, much longer. I won’t suffer a string of losses that cause me to quit. I will break that glass ceiling, by throwing every man through it... including the odds on favorite: Simply Beautiful. He can be the odds on favorite and be like D!. I’d rather be devastating. I’d rather be remember for winning.
(He takes another bloody towel and throws it in the trash can. He puts away his stitch kit, and slides it into his bag. He puts the bagged towel of Prince Darko in it too.)
Martyr: No reason to keep my own bloody towel. I can see the scars. I’m not simply beautiful. I’m not the man who calls himself that, I’m not that figuratively nor in anyway possible. I am though... a SURVIVOR. I don’t have time to look up everyone in this match. Hell three are mystery men, who could be from any federation in the world. I simply plan to survive the barrage of attacks, out smart the men who enter the ring with me. It doesn’t matter if I am number one to go in, ten, twenty-two, or if I get twenty nine. It makes no difference. I am destined to be that man left in the middle of the ring, by himself... victorious. Define “survive” for me... go ahead and look it up. It’ll state “to stay alive, or exist,” it’ll say “to continue function or prosper despite odds.” I will prosper despite the odds. I am not the favorite, nor wish to be. This is bigger than eliminating guys with no talent or character from NAPW. This is simply an hour and change, of the most grueling match in NAPW.
Martyr: I’ve survived more things than you people could ever imagine. I’ve lived around non-survivors, and I visit there graves from time to time. I am an outcast from this world. Men who say what they believe, dress in a dark manner, we get stereotyped. Why don’t I eat bat heads, and take part in Satanic rituals? Actual fans ask me these things. They want to know why I’m not what they picture a “goth” to be. Well sunshine, I’m not a goth. I’m horror, and you’ve been told this before. I don’t need Satan on my side, because I’m greater than he is at this point in time. I have the ability to make men suffer with my own hands, or with mind games. Intern Pete is suffering from me right now, and I never touched him. Tommy Deathrow is suffering tonight, and I DID touch him. I Sacrificed him for the good of NAPW. I’m a little sad that by the time he makes it to the match at Sole Survivor he might not have much left. I however have tons left. I have so much fortitude, football stadiums couldn’t hold it. I survive because of it. This match is the story of my life. The whole world against a man who thinks, acts, dresses, believes differently than the rest. They don’t want me to represent the company as “the man.” They would rather someone else do it.
Martyr: That is a shame. I now must go out there, no fan support, no peer support, nothing at all to support me but my will, fortitude and instincts and just SURVIVE. NAPW... I got a feeling I can survive anything you bring. All of you in that match, you need to raise your alert level. A homicidal bomb is on the radar, and it’s name is Martyr. That bomb is going to explode, and eliminate everyone in it’s path. Toronto is the destination, and come HELL OR HIGH WATER... Sebastien Martyr is going to survive.
(Sebastien Martyr gathers his bags and exits the room. The camera follow him to his car, a black Dodge Magnum. He throws his stuff in the back of it.)
Martyr: You guys looking for something else? What I say here not suffice? OK.. Well the next time you see me I’ll be Toronto, but not the Toronto you know. I’ll be in a dark alley soaking up the atmosphere. The Canadian answer to New York City. I’ll go there and I’ll prepare myself for the hell that awaits me. I’ll mingle with the people, I’ll take in the culture. That city is more like home than Moose Jaw, and Regina will ever be. The mere fact that I’m still standing here is a testament to my survival. This country isn’t built for me. It’s not rough enough, not jagged enough. I’m going to find that part of Toronto, and it will harden me up for the task at hand. It’s time to get back to what fuels me. It’s time to replenish my mind, body and soul. Survival... no one in this company can ever do that better than me.
(Fade to black after the Dodge pulls off, with the camera focusing in on the plate on the back. It simply says “martyr.”)