Post by Deleted on Dec 26, 2020 18:28:02 GMT -5
A Rapid Response (oncam)
We open up to a view of Tirri lounging on a couch as usual. A half-.drunk bottle of beer on the table next to a near-full ashtray. The Finn seems a bit tipsy, it is saturday after all but the sharpness of his gaze shows that he still has his full mental faculties. And when he speaks, he has a mock comical tone to it.
“Whoa whoa whoa whoa. Damn son, I never thought my random “I’m bored, lets stir some shit up”-tweets would get such a reaction. I mean damn Luther.”
Tirri makes an exaggerated wincing gesture and takes a long drag from his cigarette, letting the smoke billow out from his nose. He sighs and leans forward.
“But first of. Luther. My man Luthie. I’m disappointed. I thought you had managed to grow out of your humble beginnings in this business. I thought you had gone and made something for yourself man. But it turns out you’ve just gone from being a corporate attack dog into being a pussywhipped lapdog. I mean, seriously, should I address my tweeting and my promos to Esme from now on? It’s pretty clear which one of you wears the pants in that relationship. I mean sheesh. Judging from how she went off on me you’d think I pissed on her cereal or something.”
Tirri shrugs, looking a bit confused. But thats all an act as like flipping a switch, he launches onto a full blown tirade. His voice falling and rising perfectly in sync to emhpasize the right things.
“Esme, darlin. As much of a sight for sore eyes you are, you have a lot to learn about the art of the promo. Rewind that promo of yours. Rewatch it. Listen to yourself. You basically made me sound like I’m nothing. Like I’m just some random jobguy who just happened to stumble upon a titlematch. You say I don’t match up to Luthie in anything? Wrestlingwise? I made it to the same match he did by wrestling my way there. Promotional skills? You don’t see a pretty little lady cutting my promos for me do ya? Hell I’ve done a better job promoting Luther than he has, by his own admission. Charisma? There are different kinds of charisma Esme dear. There is the easygoing “This guy is cool”-kind of charisma that I have. And then there is the slimy TV-preacher slash angry austrian with a moustache slash depraved cult leader kind of charisma that your fluffy little dutch poodle possesses. Simply put Esme, you made me look like shit. And guess what? When I beat your little lapdog, he's gonna look even more like shit because of the way you tried to completely bury me.”
And seriously Esme? MY pet dragon? I’m not even sure which one of us should be more offended. Kalinda for your insinuations that she’s my pet, or me for your insinuations that I’d hold such a majestic creature as a pet. I mean, you’ve gotten yourself a dutch thoroughbred sure, but in the real world we don’t keep sentient beings as pets, no matter how cute and adorable they might be. One thing I AM offended by is you talking about cheap rentals. Darlin, I drive a Corvette. A classic ‘69 stingray. That thing has more class and more bang than the two of you combined. You can insult my looks. My intelligence. My inring ability. But insult my car? Darlin, dem’s fightin words like they say down south. But enough about you darlin, you are right about one thing. This is between me and Luthie. So unless you plan on lacing up a pair of boots and step into the ring to back up that trashtalk… Shut up, fuck off and let the wrestlers do the talking.”
There is no theatrics in the last sentence. He says it with a serious face, cracking his knuckles as he does. He sips his beer and takes another drag from his cigarette before continuing.
“Luthie. First off: Next time please leave the pretty lady at home and fight your own battles both verbally and physically. For the supposed next big thing in Uprising, having your wife do the talkin for ya isn’t a good look. Not in the slightest. Grow a pair and stand up for yourself. Failing that, I guess you could always rekindle your partnership with that freak Supreme Machine. Ya know, kinda like back when you two were part of the so called “Gods Among Men” which was nothing but a vanity project of an insecure rich dweeb. I mean, Jenny’s here too! That would be quite a sight if you ask me. Esme leading you down the ring in a collar and leash, right next to Queenie leading the scarred freak. You could even call yourselves the “Pussywhipped boys”.
But seriously. I’ve got a lot of respect for you Luthie. For all your accomplishments. But seeing just how little you’ve changed from the days back in EWC when Stryfe told you to jump and you didn’t even ask how high. I know you hate when people bring old shit back to the surface, and I had no intention of doing it… But seeing how you’ve just traded one master for another mistress just pisses me off. You’re better than that Luthie. You can be your own man! Don’t let anyone, with tits or without tell you otherwise. There is a damn good reason I’ve been making a fortune betting on you. There is a damn good reason I’ve talked you up whenever I could. To SAW. To Marou. Hell to anyone who listens. Because you ARE damn good Luthie. In that ring you are one of the best I’ve ever seen. So to see the talent that you are, being led by the nose like some prize bull is just… sad.”
Tirri stands up and starts pacing back and forth. A very familiar sight for anyone who has seen even a single Tirri-promo in the months that have passed.
“You’re right in that we’ve never had our paths crossed despite being in the same places. But guess what that has given me? Time to observe. Time to watch. To learn. I was there, sitting on the ringside as a color guy when you were racking up wins as the Icons champ. I was there watching from beyond the curtain as you made your stand as the world champ. For all the years I’ve spent in and out of the public eye, you’re one of the few I’ve kept tabs on no matter where I went. Or where you went. Because you and I… we’re not that different. We’re both foreigners in a strange land. We’re both weighed down by the burdens of our pasts. We’re both far better than anyone has ever given us credit for. But we are also so very different in so many ways. While you’ve gone from place to place gathering gold around your waist like a bloody magpie, I’ve gone from one disappointment to another. You are a rich and powerful man while I am just another guy in the locker room. I am a journeyman, you are the franchise star. But guess what that also means? You’re more vulnerable than I am.”
He stops and looks at the camera, giving and exaggerated nod to emphasize what he said before continuing.
“Yeah. You are. You got a reputation to look after. I don’t. You beat me, well gee whiz everyone knew that would happen. I beat you? Holy shit the over-the-hill drunk fuck just beat Luther Fucking Thunder. You have weaknesses Luthie. I don’t. I am a lone wolf. I am a journeyman. I work alone. I’ve never remain in one place for long. I am immune to things that hurt you like a motherfucker. You? You have a glaring weakness. In your mistress. The one who holds your leash. I’ve never needed anyone to do my talking for me. Or my wrestling. Or my merchandising. Or my contract signing. All my successes are my own. And so are all my failures. But you. For a man of your stature she is a weakness. And you know just as damn well as I do just how dark and disturbing the underbelly of this business of ours is. Every time she goes infront of a camera. Every time she leads you to the ring like the good puppy you are… She is at risk. Because as long as she is out there… well yanno, Accidents, they happen.
I’m not saying I would do anything. But this business is full of shady characters. You chief among them. I’ve seen in my years in this business amongst other things: A yakuza crime lord. A fucking vampire clan. An honest-to-god-Nazi. I’ve seen rapists. I’ve seen pedos, I’ve seen murderers. Arsonists. Sadistic bastards who make the latest additions to the Uprising roster look like Mr. Rogers in comparison. As long as you have someone you care about you are opening yourself up for a blow you cannot recover from. So for your own sake, leave the pretty lady at home. Be a man and fight your own fight and fight it alone. Even an 18-year old rookie fought alone. Talked alone. Stood up for herself without the help of a foulmouthed ill-tempered bitch. And I know you can do Luthie. You might not know it yourself but I’ve seen enough of you to know you can. So I hope that by Coronation you’ve regrown the pair I know you have Luthie and sent the pretty lady packing. Because if you haven’t, I might have to take action and send her packing myself.”
Its clear he knows exactly what a threat like that entails. But he doesn’t care. He turns to face the camera and sits down on the armrest of his couch.
“And like you so graciously reminded me, Kalinda is in that match too. Even more reason to leave Esmers at home. See, Pinky operates on a different set of rules from you and I Luthie. She is from a world completely of her own. I managed to survive her once. And I can do it twice. Hell put me in a one on one match with her and I’m certain I can beat her three times out of five. But you Luthie? You never were the greatest at thinking on your feet. At improvising. Probably caused by over a decade of being led around in a leash like a good puppy. She will baffle you. She will confuzzle you. And given half a chance? She will beat you.
Pinky, I know you hate triple threats just as much as I do. And I promise I won’t let Moshie get away scot free from the whining fit he went on. But we’re in a triple threat again. No way around it. I know just how good you are. How dangerous you are. And know what Pinky? I’m looking forward to facing you again. Because the rush of grabbing a win by the skin of your teeth is a rush like no other. To be challenged, to be pushed to your limits and triumphing. That is a helluva drug in itself. So Pinky, I look forward to fighting you yet again at Revolution 4.”
And just like that, Tirri flicks his cigarette butt at the camera like it was a toothpick or something and using a remote on the couch, shuts down the recording.
We open up to a view of Tirri lounging on a couch as usual. A half-.drunk bottle of beer on the table next to a near-full ashtray. The Finn seems a bit tipsy, it is saturday after all but the sharpness of his gaze shows that he still has his full mental faculties. And when he speaks, he has a mock comical tone to it.
“Whoa whoa whoa whoa. Damn son, I never thought my random “I’m bored, lets stir some shit up”-tweets would get such a reaction. I mean damn Luther.”
Tirri makes an exaggerated wincing gesture and takes a long drag from his cigarette, letting the smoke billow out from his nose. He sighs and leans forward.
“But first of. Luther. My man Luthie. I’m disappointed. I thought you had managed to grow out of your humble beginnings in this business. I thought you had gone and made something for yourself man. But it turns out you’ve just gone from being a corporate attack dog into being a pussywhipped lapdog. I mean, seriously, should I address my tweeting and my promos to Esme from now on? It’s pretty clear which one of you wears the pants in that relationship. I mean sheesh. Judging from how she went off on me you’d think I pissed on her cereal or something.”
Tirri shrugs, looking a bit confused. But thats all an act as like flipping a switch, he launches onto a full blown tirade. His voice falling and rising perfectly in sync to emhpasize the right things.
“Esme, darlin. As much of a sight for sore eyes you are, you have a lot to learn about the art of the promo. Rewind that promo of yours. Rewatch it. Listen to yourself. You basically made me sound like I’m nothing. Like I’m just some random jobguy who just happened to stumble upon a titlematch. You say I don’t match up to Luthie in anything? Wrestlingwise? I made it to the same match he did by wrestling my way there. Promotional skills? You don’t see a pretty little lady cutting my promos for me do ya? Hell I’ve done a better job promoting Luther than he has, by his own admission. Charisma? There are different kinds of charisma Esme dear. There is the easygoing “This guy is cool”-kind of charisma that I have. And then there is the slimy TV-preacher slash angry austrian with a moustache slash depraved cult leader kind of charisma that your fluffy little dutch poodle possesses. Simply put Esme, you made me look like shit. And guess what? When I beat your little lapdog, he's gonna look even more like shit because of the way you tried to completely bury me.”
And seriously Esme? MY pet dragon? I’m not even sure which one of us should be more offended. Kalinda for your insinuations that she’s my pet, or me for your insinuations that I’d hold such a majestic creature as a pet. I mean, you’ve gotten yourself a dutch thoroughbred sure, but in the real world we don’t keep sentient beings as pets, no matter how cute and adorable they might be. One thing I AM offended by is you talking about cheap rentals. Darlin, I drive a Corvette. A classic ‘69 stingray. That thing has more class and more bang than the two of you combined. You can insult my looks. My intelligence. My inring ability. But insult my car? Darlin, dem’s fightin words like they say down south. But enough about you darlin, you are right about one thing. This is between me and Luthie. So unless you plan on lacing up a pair of boots and step into the ring to back up that trashtalk… Shut up, fuck off and let the wrestlers do the talking.”
There is no theatrics in the last sentence. He says it with a serious face, cracking his knuckles as he does. He sips his beer and takes another drag from his cigarette before continuing.
“Luthie. First off: Next time please leave the pretty lady at home and fight your own battles both verbally and physically. For the supposed next big thing in Uprising, having your wife do the talkin for ya isn’t a good look. Not in the slightest. Grow a pair and stand up for yourself. Failing that, I guess you could always rekindle your partnership with that freak Supreme Machine. Ya know, kinda like back when you two were part of the so called “Gods Among Men” which was nothing but a vanity project of an insecure rich dweeb. I mean, Jenny’s here too! That would be quite a sight if you ask me. Esme leading you down the ring in a collar and leash, right next to Queenie leading the scarred freak. You could even call yourselves the “Pussywhipped boys”.
But seriously. I’ve got a lot of respect for you Luthie. For all your accomplishments. But seeing just how little you’ve changed from the days back in EWC when Stryfe told you to jump and you didn’t even ask how high. I know you hate when people bring old shit back to the surface, and I had no intention of doing it… But seeing how you’ve just traded one master for another mistress just pisses me off. You’re better than that Luthie. You can be your own man! Don’t let anyone, with tits or without tell you otherwise. There is a damn good reason I’ve been making a fortune betting on you. There is a damn good reason I’ve talked you up whenever I could. To SAW. To Marou. Hell to anyone who listens. Because you ARE damn good Luthie. In that ring you are one of the best I’ve ever seen. So to see the talent that you are, being led by the nose like some prize bull is just… sad.”
Tirri stands up and starts pacing back and forth. A very familiar sight for anyone who has seen even a single Tirri-promo in the months that have passed.
“You’re right in that we’ve never had our paths crossed despite being in the same places. But guess what that has given me? Time to observe. Time to watch. To learn. I was there, sitting on the ringside as a color guy when you were racking up wins as the Icons champ. I was there watching from beyond the curtain as you made your stand as the world champ. For all the years I’ve spent in and out of the public eye, you’re one of the few I’ve kept tabs on no matter where I went. Or where you went. Because you and I… we’re not that different. We’re both foreigners in a strange land. We’re both weighed down by the burdens of our pasts. We’re both far better than anyone has ever given us credit for. But we are also so very different in so many ways. While you’ve gone from place to place gathering gold around your waist like a bloody magpie, I’ve gone from one disappointment to another. You are a rich and powerful man while I am just another guy in the locker room. I am a journeyman, you are the franchise star. But guess what that also means? You’re more vulnerable than I am.”
He stops and looks at the camera, giving and exaggerated nod to emphasize what he said before continuing.
“Yeah. You are. You got a reputation to look after. I don’t. You beat me, well gee whiz everyone knew that would happen. I beat you? Holy shit the over-the-hill drunk fuck just beat Luther Fucking Thunder. You have weaknesses Luthie. I don’t. I am a lone wolf. I am a journeyman. I work alone. I’ve never remain in one place for long. I am immune to things that hurt you like a motherfucker. You? You have a glaring weakness. In your mistress. The one who holds your leash. I’ve never needed anyone to do my talking for me. Or my wrestling. Or my merchandising. Or my contract signing. All my successes are my own. And so are all my failures. But you. For a man of your stature she is a weakness. And you know just as damn well as I do just how dark and disturbing the underbelly of this business of ours is. Every time she goes infront of a camera. Every time she leads you to the ring like the good puppy you are… She is at risk. Because as long as she is out there… well yanno, Accidents, they happen.
I’m not saying I would do anything. But this business is full of shady characters. You chief among them. I’ve seen in my years in this business amongst other things: A yakuza crime lord. A fucking vampire clan. An honest-to-god-Nazi. I’ve seen rapists. I’ve seen pedos, I’ve seen murderers. Arsonists. Sadistic bastards who make the latest additions to the Uprising roster look like Mr. Rogers in comparison. As long as you have someone you care about you are opening yourself up for a blow you cannot recover from. So for your own sake, leave the pretty lady at home. Be a man and fight your own fight and fight it alone. Even an 18-year old rookie fought alone. Talked alone. Stood up for herself without the help of a foulmouthed ill-tempered bitch. And I know you can do Luthie. You might not know it yourself but I’ve seen enough of you to know you can. So I hope that by Coronation you’ve regrown the pair I know you have Luthie and sent the pretty lady packing. Because if you haven’t, I might have to take action and send her packing myself.”
Its clear he knows exactly what a threat like that entails. But he doesn’t care. He turns to face the camera and sits down on the armrest of his couch.
“And like you so graciously reminded me, Kalinda is in that match too. Even more reason to leave Esmers at home. See, Pinky operates on a different set of rules from you and I Luthie. She is from a world completely of her own. I managed to survive her once. And I can do it twice. Hell put me in a one on one match with her and I’m certain I can beat her three times out of five. But you Luthie? You never were the greatest at thinking on your feet. At improvising. Probably caused by over a decade of being led around in a leash like a good puppy. She will baffle you. She will confuzzle you. And given half a chance? She will beat you.
Pinky, I know you hate triple threats just as much as I do. And I promise I won’t let Moshie get away scot free from the whining fit he went on. But we’re in a triple threat again. No way around it. I know just how good you are. How dangerous you are. And know what Pinky? I’m looking forward to facing you again. Because the rush of grabbing a win by the skin of your teeth is a rush like no other. To be challenged, to be pushed to your limits and triumphing. That is a helluva drug in itself. So Pinky, I look forward to fighting you yet again at Revolution 4.”
And just like that, Tirri flicks his cigarette butt at the camera like it was a toothpick or something and using a remote on the couch, shuts down the recording.