Post by Alexander "The Great" Parise on Jul 26, 2009 0:41:36 GMT -5
The scene slowly opens at Last Resort to the inadequate basement locker room of Alexander ‘The Great’ Parise. The walls are decorated by pictures and posters of Alexander ‘The Great’, both versions. Some portraits co-exist, sharing separate victories of the two men, but both great none the less. After the cameraman finishes his tour of the room he turns and focuses in on the man leaning back on his undistinguished sofa, his eyes staring a hole through the wall in front of him. The cameraman slowly walks around the room, keeping his distance from the World Champion as he finally gets in front of him. After a long moment of Parise ignoring the camera he snaps out of his trance-like state and his eyes meet the camera. Parise squeaks a small smirk as he stands up and turns his back on the camera.
“And so it begins. The battle for control of FCW is beginning to get underway, and yet the wheels aren’t even in motion yet. Each one of us has come out and talked about how we will be victorious, but quite frankly no one except for me has the facts to back it up. See I’ve faced Edge, twice, and I’ve won on both occasions, I’ve faced Gimmick and once again, I won, but with Randy Orton he has not had the…privilege to face me yet, but he has lost to Edge, not something any man should take pride in. There is one other thing these men have in common despite all paling in comparison to Alexander ‘The Great’; they all put themselves above the race of men. They all talk about themselves as if they have been sent down to do God’s work, better yet they think they are God’s among men, and there is only one man who can put them in their respective places, and that man will be present at Last Resort.”
Alexander pours himself a drink of scotch before he downs it in a few seconds. He puts the glass back down on the counter that is accumulating inches of dust, clearly showing that it hasn’t been cleaned in months. Parise swallows once again, clearing his throat so he can speak.
“No matter how hard we try to put ourselves above this corrupt race we are all a part of it, we have all succumb to the vices of man; selfishness, greed, cruelty, and above all, the desire for power. So I would like to tell you all the story of the creation of man, by Prometheus. Prometheus and Epimetheus were spared imprisonment in Tatarus because they had not fought with their fellow Titans during the war with the Olympians. They were given the task of creating man. Prometheus shaped man out of mud, and Athena breathed life into his clay figure.”
Parise pours himself another glass, but hesitates. He then pushes it away before sitting down on a stool in front of the counter. He takes a deep breath, ready to continue, but he delays for a moment, enjoying the comfort that is silence. Finally he decides to continue on with his story, not wanting to loose his train of thought.
“Prometheus had assigned Epimetheus the task of giving the creatures of the earth their various qualities, such as swiftness, cunning, strength, fur, wings. Unfortunately, by the time he got to man Epimetheus had given all the good qualities out and there were none left for man. So Prometheus decided to make man stand upright as the gods did and to give them fire.
To punish man, Zeus had Hephaestus create a mortal of stunning beauty. The gods gave the mortal many gifts of wealth. He then had Hermes give the mortal a deceptive heart and a lying tongue. This creation was Pandora, the first women. A final gift was a jar which Pandora was forbidden to open. Thus, completed Zeus sent Pandora down to Epimetheus who was staying amongst the men. Prometheus had warned Epimetheus not to accept gifts from Zeus but, Pandora's beauty was too great and he allowed her to stay. Eventually, Pandora's curiosity about the jar she was forbidden to open became irresistible. She opened the jar and out flew all manors of evils, sorrows, plagues, and misfortunes. However, the bottom of the jar held one good thing - hope.”
Parise smiles as he lets the last few words out, not wanting to take a break in the story, but he regains his breath quickly to continue.
“That hope has lived on through centuries and centuries, but it’s been mutilated, corrupted. Men have deformed that hope, from it creating arrogance, and self-righteousness, there’s nothing left for people to fight for, hatred has consumed this world, and nobody wants to do anything about it.”
Alexander hops back over his couch and sits down; he gets ready to speak but waits for the camera to be positioned in front of him.
“This world is disgusting, when you have a child the first thing you have to teach them is not to get into cars with strangers, or don’t accept their candy. There’s evil above all there is sin and it disgusts me. Alas, I should focus more on the disgusting and evil human beings that lie in my path, not the ones I can’t do anything about. But first I just have one other thing on my chest. Alexander ‘The Great’s’ vision of a united world was unprecedented. I needed to match his accomplishments, and so began my path to conquest. Conquest not of men, but of the evils that beset them.”
Parise looks up to the tiled roof, trying to count the number of cracks and holes in the poor excuse for protection from the despicable human beings above. Despite the fact that his head is titled up his cheeks are visibly pushed out, showing evidence of a signature smirk.
“James, I let you take your luxurious room, I sat back in the basement and let you feed off of my skill, even now I put up with your ignorant lies, I let you take all the fame, I even supported the propaganda bull shit you fed everyone, even yourself, why? Because I was young, foolish, but I was taught to fight my own battles, and I’m a pretty good judge of character, I knew what you were planning from day one. I let you think of yourself as a God, even if under some twisted logic you were the leader I was your guide, I was the one who kept you in line, I’m the only reason you have the chance you have today. I never wanted to show you for the corrupt soldier you were, but you have left me with no choice. I tried to help you but I failed, and now I have no choice but to end this.”
Parise’s eyes meet the World Title that sits on his table in front of him. He smiles and goes to grab it but hesitates. He then leans back down in the couch, continuing.
“Edge, you preach about things that are better left untouched. You know nothing about what it takes to win, and what pain is. Sure, you’ve been in the business the longest, but that’s just more time for you to demonstrate your cowardice. That’s all you are. Your meager efforts to do anything on the contraire have failed on many occasions, and the only thing you will ever be remembered as is the guy who couldn’t secure his place in history, which I guess means you won’t be remembered at all. When people think back to Last Resort people won’t think of Edge’s petty attempts to win, no, they will only think of Alexander ‘The Great’s’ triumphant victory over his opponents. Edge I can assure you that if it comes down to you and I you won’t pull any last minute rabbits out of the hat, you won’t shock anyone with a miraculous counter, but you will take your rightful place as second best, and just one more thing, you pride yourself on being a ‘new Edge’ an animal, but just remember this; Men get the luxury of being pinned, animals get put down.”
Parise lets out a small chuckle as he finally grabs the title, staring into it with his dark blue eyes, which are nearly impossible to be read. He turns the title so it is facing the camera as he speaks.
“How bad do you want this, Orton? How far would you be willing to go to get the job done? From what I’ve seen so far your talents are limited. You won’t last in this Double Jeopardy match; your skills in the ring are the weakest out of any of us and you have not showed any long-term skills thus far. But one thing I was intrigued by was that you said you would have to rely on your ‘superior mental acumen’ than normal. This came as a shock considering, what was it, Compressed Cranium Syndrome? That doesn’t exactly sound like the person with that illness would be superior in any way. Randy I don’t care for your petty insults, saying that I brought the entire flagship program of FCW down, despite the fact that we have everyone’s favorite father-son duo to blame for that little mishap. But I have nothing to be defensive about. See the only thing I’ve heard from you and Edge is that either Gimmick or I will be too tired to go on after our match, but what if I can? What if I’m not tired, what if I’m full of energy? It seems neither of you have prepared for that situation, and you can’t give any facts that you will beat me. You’re not the big match kinda guy, you didn’t deserve to beat James when you first won the title, and then you lost it on your first defense. Randy the only legacy you will leave behind will be that of an overconfident tenuous child who simply didn’t have what it takes, which is why you will inevitably lose to me.”
Parise lets out one last twisted smirk as he drops the title down onto his shoulder before letting out a moody sigh.
“And that all brings us back down to one man, again; James ‘Jimmy’ Gimmick. The twisted former ‘mentor’ of mine. I honestly don’t know what else to say about this man. He’s long been pushed over the brink of insanity, and there’s no redemption for him. And quite frankly I think he likes the idea that he can’t be saved, that he’ll be locked up taking his meds every day at 4 o’clock. I think due to some convoluted fantasy he is waiting for that, because being locked up would give his life a purpose, he would be able to feel good just for a day without a mental break, no longer would he have to worry about true success. In an asylum James would have constant supervision people would have to look at him, monitor him, observe him, all these things he longs for the fans to do, James you need the attention, you need to be watched, it’s what makes you like the rest of them: disgusting. Me? I’m a man of simple pleasures. I don’t care for being locked up in the nut house. I just do what I want, and what I want right now is to be remembered as the man who ended the legacy of Jimmy Gimmick. When people think of FCW right now they think of Gimmick, but after tonight they will think of Gimmick losing touch after losing, once again, to his protégée, to his apprentice, disciple, whichever word you people use to describe me will be lost in the annals of history, and what will replace it will be the fearless, soldier, leader, that is Alexander ‘The Great’.”
With that Parise drops back and closes his eyes, allowing the title belt to slide down from his shoulder onto the couch. Silence once again engulfs the room, causing Parise to let out a calm smile. The ready Alexander ‘The Great’ sits, patiently awaiting his chance to prove himself, again.
End of RP
“And so it begins. The battle for control of FCW is beginning to get underway, and yet the wheels aren’t even in motion yet. Each one of us has come out and talked about how we will be victorious, but quite frankly no one except for me has the facts to back it up. See I’ve faced Edge, twice, and I’ve won on both occasions, I’ve faced Gimmick and once again, I won, but with Randy Orton he has not had the…privilege to face me yet, but he has lost to Edge, not something any man should take pride in. There is one other thing these men have in common despite all paling in comparison to Alexander ‘The Great’; they all put themselves above the race of men. They all talk about themselves as if they have been sent down to do God’s work, better yet they think they are God’s among men, and there is only one man who can put them in their respective places, and that man will be present at Last Resort.”
Alexander pours himself a drink of scotch before he downs it in a few seconds. He puts the glass back down on the counter that is accumulating inches of dust, clearly showing that it hasn’t been cleaned in months. Parise swallows once again, clearing his throat so he can speak.
“No matter how hard we try to put ourselves above this corrupt race we are all a part of it, we have all succumb to the vices of man; selfishness, greed, cruelty, and above all, the desire for power. So I would like to tell you all the story of the creation of man, by Prometheus. Prometheus and Epimetheus were spared imprisonment in Tatarus because they had not fought with their fellow Titans during the war with the Olympians. They were given the task of creating man. Prometheus shaped man out of mud, and Athena breathed life into his clay figure.”
Parise pours himself another glass, but hesitates. He then pushes it away before sitting down on a stool in front of the counter. He takes a deep breath, ready to continue, but he delays for a moment, enjoying the comfort that is silence. Finally he decides to continue on with his story, not wanting to loose his train of thought.
“Prometheus had assigned Epimetheus the task of giving the creatures of the earth their various qualities, such as swiftness, cunning, strength, fur, wings. Unfortunately, by the time he got to man Epimetheus had given all the good qualities out and there were none left for man. So Prometheus decided to make man stand upright as the gods did and to give them fire.
To punish man, Zeus had Hephaestus create a mortal of stunning beauty. The gods gave the mortal many gifts of wealth. He then had Hermes give the mortal a deceptive heart and a lying tongue. This creation was Pandora, the first women. A final gift was a jar which Pandora was forbidden to open. Thus, completed Zeus sent Pandora down to Epimetheus who was staying amongst the men. Prometheus had warned Epimetheus not to accept gifts from Zeus but, Pandora's beauty was too great and he allowed her to stay. Eventually, Pandora's curiosity about the jar she was forbidden to open became irresistible. She opened the jar and out flew all manors of evils, sorrows, plagues, and misfortunes. However, the bottom of the jar held one good thing - hope.”
Parise smiles as he lets the last few words out, not wanting to take a break in the story, but he regains his breath quickly to continue.
“That hope has lived on through centuries and centuries, but it’s been mutilated, corrupted. Men have deformed that hope, from it creating arrogance, and self-righteousness, there’s nothing left for people to fight for, hatred has consumed this world, and nobody wants to do anything about it.”
Alexander hops back over his couch and sits down; he gets ready to speak but waits for the camera to be positioned in front of him.
“This world is disgusting, when you have a child the first thing you have to teach them is not to get into cars with strangers, or don’t accept their candy. There’s evil above all there is sin and it disgusts me. Alas, I should focus more on the disgusting and evil human beings that lie in my path, not the ones I can’t do anything about. But first I just have one other thing on my chest. Alexander ‘The Great’s’ vision of a united world was unprecedented. I needed to match his accomplishments, and so began my path to conquest. Conquest not of men, but of the evils that beset them.”
Parise looks up to the tiled roof, trying to count the number of cracks and holes in the poor excuse for protection from the despicable human beings above. Despite the fact that his head is titled up his cheeks are visibly pushed out, showing evidence of a signature smirk.
“James, I let you take your luxurious room, I sat back in the basement and let you feed off of my skill, even now I put up with your ignorant lies, I let you take all the fame, I even supported the propaganda bull shit you fed everyone, even yourself, why? Because I was young, foolish, but I was taught to fight my own battles, and I’m a pretty good judge of character, I knew what you were planning from day one. I let you think of yourself as a God, even if under some twisted logic you were the leader I was your guide, I was the one who kept you in line, I’m the only reason you have the chance you have today. I never wanted to show you for the corrupt soldier you were, but you have left me with no choice. I tried to help you but I failed, and now I have no choice but to end this.”
Parise’s eyes meet the World Title that sits on his table in front of him. He smiles and goes to grab it but hesitates. He then leans back down in the couch, continuing.
“Edge, you preach about things that are better left untouched. You know nothing about what it takes to win, and what pain is. Sure, you’ve been in the business the longest, but that’s just more time for you to demonstrate your cowardice. That’s all you are. Your meager efforts to do anything on the contraire have failed on many occasions, and the only thing you will ever be remembered as is the guy who couldn’t secure his place in history, which I guess means you won’t be remembered at all. When people think back to Last Resort people won’t think of Edge’s petty attempts to win, no, they will only think of Alexander ‘The Great’s’ triumphant victory over his opponents. Edge I can assure you that if it comes down to you and I you won’t pull any last minute rabbits out of the hat, you won’t shock anyone with a miraculous counter, but you will take your rightful place as second best, and just one more thing, you pride yourself on being a ‘new Edge’ an animal, but just remember this; Men get the luxury of being pinned, animals get put down.”
Parise lets out a small chuckle as he finally grabs the title, staring into it with his dark blue eyes, which are nearly impossible to be read. He turns the title so it is facing the camera as he speaks.
“How bad do you want this, Orton? How far would you be willing to go to get the job done? From what I’ve seen so far your talents are limited. You won’t last in this Double Jeopardy match; your skills in the ring are the weakest out of any of us and you have not showed any long-term skills thus far. But one thing I was intrigued by was that you said you would have to rely on your ‘superior mental acumen’ than normal. This came as a shock considering, what was it, Compressed Cranium Syndrome? That doesn’t exactly sound like the person with that illness would be superior in any way. Randy I don’t care for your petty insults, saying that I brought the entire flagship program of FCW down, despite the fact that we have everyone’s favorite father-son duo to blame for that little mishap. But I have nothing to be defensive about. See the only thing I’ve heard from you and Edge is that either Gimmick or I will be too tired to go on after our match, but what if I can? What if I’m not tired, what if I’m full of energy? It seems neither of you have prepared for that situation, and you can’t give any facts that you will beat me. You’re not the big match kinda guy, you didn’t deserve to beat James when you first won the title, and then you lost it on your first defense. Randy the only legacy you will leave behind will be that of an overconfident tenuous child who simply didn’t have what it takes, which is why you will inevitably lose to me.”
Parise lets out one last twisted smirk as he drops the title down onto his shoulder before letting out a moody sigh.
“And that all brings us back down to one man, again; James ‘Jimmy’ Gimmick. The twisted former ‘mentor’ of mine. I honestly don’t know what else to say about this man. He’s long been pushed over the brink of insanity, and there’s no redemption for him. And quite frankly I think he likes the idea that he can’t be saved, that he’ll be locked up taking his meds every day at 4 o’clock. I think due to some convoluted fantasy he is waiting for that, because being locked up would give his life a purpose, he would be able to feel good just for a day without a mental break, no longer would he have to worry about true success. In an asylum James would have constant supervision people would have to look at him, monitor him, observe him, all these things he longs for the fans to do, James you need the attention, you need to be watched, it’s what makes you like the rest of them: disgusting. Me? I’m a man of simple pleasures. I don’t care for being locked up in the nut house. I just do what I want, and what I want right now is to be remembered as the man who ended the legacy of Jimmy Gimmick. When people think of FCW right now they think of Gimmick, but after tonight they will think of Gimmick losing touch after losing, once again, to his protégée, to his apprentice, disciple, whichever word you people use to describe me will be lost in the annals of history, and what will replace it will be the fearless, soldier, leader, that is Alexander ‘The Great’.”
With that Parise drops back and closes his eyes, allowing the title belt to slide down from his shoulder onto the couch. Silence once again engulfs the room, causing Parise to let out a calm smile. The ready Alexander ‘The Great’ sits, patiently awaiting his chance to prove himself, again.
End of RP
