Post by Alexander "The Great" Parise on Jun 7, 2009 19:40:52 GMT -5
The screen pans over to reveal a lone man walking along the corridors of the new Requiem arena. He seems to be taking a tour of the building, getting used to it. He turns a corner and the camera shot changes, revealing a man who is wearing the same grin we saw him with last time.
“So this is Requiem.”
Parise smiles and nods, seemingly able to get used to this.
“I gotta tell ya’, I like what they’ve done with the place. Although it could use a Parise picture, Original Sin picture there, it’ll have to do.”
Parise continues walking along the corridor before he comes to a spot where two hallways intersect and he pulls out a piece of paper and looks at it.
“It’s supposed to be here.”
Parise looks around and glances down the other hallways and then back the way he came from. He begins walking before he is stopped by the sound of a voice to his left.
“Can I help you?”
The janitor walks out with his mop in hand as he wheels it along the ground until he comes to a stop a few feet from Parise.
“Yeah, I was just looking for this place.”
The man takes a sheet of paper Parise was holding and has to squint just to make it out. The man finally lets out a laugh which clearly doesn’t please Parise.
“What? What the hell is so funny?”
“You’re in the basement kid, have fun down there, I don’t think the night shifts even been there yet.”
Parise looks at him, expecting him to be joking, but when he realizes he is telling the truth Parise turns and talks to himself under his breath.
“You gotta be kidding me.”
Parise comes to a door that holds the staircase and heads down to his locker room which is as expected right near the closest intersection. He opens the door which creaks and groans and surprisingly enough his room is in good shape. Parise lets out a small sigh, clearly still not what he was expecting, but it’ll do. He takes a seat on the coach and then smiles. He looks at the camera that had been following him on his journey through the building.
“Nice place. Not much of a step up, but I can live with it. I’m not really a picky guy. I go with what I’m given. If I’m dealt a bad hand, so be it. I’m doing what I do best, and nobody can stop me.”
Parise smiles as he looks over to a table where his Intercontinental Title is already laid out for him. He goes over and picks it up, his deep blue eyes intently focused on the name plate that reads ‘Alexander Parise’.
“So Ladies and Gentlemen, I welcome you all to Requiem is Parise, to a new beginning, one that will surely start off with a bang. A bang that will start with Alexander ‘The Great’ picking up where he left off on Friday Night Anarchy; dominating. See I’m a one of a kind breed, no one else can compete with me, no one else is the same, and no one else ever will be. I’m the man. People can call me what they want, cocky, arrogant, a punk, but whenever I step into that ring, tighten the boots and tape the wrists, there ain’t no way you’re getting away from me. I’ll make you pay for whatever it is you’ve done. Whether it be calling me out, making acquisitions, or just you being cocky, I’ll finish you off.”
Parise smiles as he lies down on his couch with his title right in his face before he lays it across his stomach and puts his arm across his forehead.
“There just ain’t any way to stop me no more, I’ve found my groove, I’m in the zone, this is my ‘forte’ and you can’t bring me off my game. I am by definition excellence, I am ‘that damn good’. But I’m not finished yet, no. When Alexander ‘The Great’ beat the Persians, despite being outnumbered at a ratio of 13 to 1 he didn’t stop, he just kept fighting. He didn’t stop for anything, he knew his potential and he did everything in his power to reach it. Of course, everyone knows just how much he did accomplish in his short life, and that’s what I want to do. That’s what I will do. I’m not gunna be like Ric Flair just staying around till I’m 70 to pick up a pay check, I’m gunna live fast, I’m not gunna let anyone hold me back. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a nice guy, but…. Let me take a quick detour here.”
Parise quickly sits up right, but is just as quick to make sure he doesn’t drop his title.
“What can nice be defined as? Sure, if you look it up in the definition you’ll find: ‘pleasant or pleasing or agreeable in nature or appearance’…. What the hell is that supposed to mean? I’m sure they could’ve just gotten away with writing Jesus and no one would’ve cared. No one ever cares. Which is why this is a meaningless word. No one is truly nice, because the people who are believed to be nice will have done something ‘mean’ which would’ve made them forever un-nice, thus, there is no nice, there is no good or bad, there’s just middle ground. How can anyone in this company even fool themselves to think they’re nice when they fight for a living? Last time I checked someone who fights is usually exiled from their community or school, not paid hundreds of thousands of dollars to squash some loser.
The more you fight, the more you push yourself over the brink of insanity. I’m wondering if it’s all worth it. I’m wondering if all my opponents even know what they’re doing when their in the ring, staring their opponent down from the other side of the ring. Because when you’re standing there your heart, booming, your hands, shaking, but not me, my heart rate is calm, my hand… steady. Because I’ve evolved, I know what I’m doing in that ring. There’s no wingin’ it, I always have a plan, and look where it’s gotten me.”
Parise sits up and turns on the TV in front of him. He flips through channels for a moment before turning it back off, not interested in anything being broadcasted.
“In this business you’re either too young or too old. You don’t come around anyone who really has experience and is still in their prime. That’s what bothers me about the world today. Everyone expects everything to just be handed down to them. One person to the next, but it all comes from somewhere, and eventually it will reach the point where the top person isn’t getting handed anything down to him. He does it himself. I could lie and say I’ve always done everything the hard way, but that would be a lie. Nobody has. People gradually start working for themselves, and they make themselves famous. You look at some of those rich millionaires and almost all of them were born into it.
I was born in 1979, Tallahassee, Florida. Those were the working man’s days. You worked your way to them top then. The stuff you see today... it just ain’t easy to take its measure. I plan on changing things ‘round here. I’m not gunna let Requiem fall down the same path led by people like Randy Orton and Blade LaVigne. This is a new age. This is the age of Original Sin.”
Parise stands up and he dims the lights. He takes a minute to take in the darker atmosphere before looking at the camera.
“I will not steal a victory. The end and perfection of our victories is to avoid the vices and infirmities of those whom we subdue.”
With that Parise finishes and points to the door. The cameraman is quick to walk backwards out of the room, catching one more look at Alexander ‘The Great’ in the lighting which is covering him in shadows.
End of RP
“So this is Requiem.”
Parise smiles and nods, seemingly able to get used to this.
“I gotta tell ya’, I like what they’ve done with the place. Although it could use a Parise picture, Original Sin picture there, it’ll have to do.”
Parise continues walking along the corridor before he comes to a spot where two hallways intersect and he pulls out a piece of paper and looks at it.
“It’s supposed to be here.”
Parise looks around and glances down the other hallways and then back the way he came from. He begins walking before he is stopped by the sound of a voice to his left.
“Can I help you?”
The janitor walks out with his mop in hand as he wheels it along the ground until he comes to a stop a few feet from Parise.
“Yeah, I was just looking for this place.”
The man takes a sheet of paper Parise was holding and has to squint just to make it out. The man finally lets out a laugh which clearly doesn’t please Parise.
“What? What the hell is so funny?”
“You’re in the basement kid, have fun down there, I don’t think the night shifts even been there yet.”
Parise looks at him, expecting him to be joking, but when he realizes he is telling the truth Parise turns and talks to himself under his breath.
“You gotta be kidding me.”
Parise comes to a door that holds the staircase and heads down to his locker room which is as expected right near the closest intersection. He opens the door which creaks and groans and surprisingly enough his room is in good shape. Parise lets out a small sigh, clearly still not what he was expecting, but it’ll do. He takes a seat on the coach and then smiles. He looks at the camera that had been following him on his journey through the building.
“Nice place. Not much of a step up, but I can live with it. I’m not really a picky guy. I go with what I’m given. If I’m dealt a bad hand, so be it. I’m doing what I do best, and nobody can stop me.”
Parise smiles as he looks over to a table where his Intercontinental Title is already laid out for him. He goes over and picks it up, his deep blue eyes intently focused on the name plate that reads ‘Alexander Parise’.
“So Ladies and Gentlemen, I welcome you all to Requiem is Parise, to a new beginning, one that will surely start off with a bang. A bang that will start with Alexander ‘The Great’ picking up where he left off on Friday Night Anarchy; dominating. See I’m a one of a kind breed, no one else can compete with me, no one else is the same, and no one else ever will be. I’m the man. People can call me what they want, cocky, arrogant, a punk, but whenever I step into that ring, tighten the boots and tape the wrists, there ain’t no way you’re getting away from me. I’ll make you pay for whatever it is you’ve done. Whether it be calling me out, making acquisitions, or just you being cocky, I’ll finish you off.”
Parise smiles as he lies down on his couch with his title right in his face before he lays it across his stomach and puts his arm across his forehead.
“There just ain’t any way to stop me no more, I’ve found my groove, I’m in the zone, this is my ‘forte’ and you can’t bring me off my game. I am by definition excellence, I am ‘that damn good’. But I’m not finished yet, no. When Alexander ‘The Great’ beat the Persians, despite being outnumbered at a ratio of 13 to 1 he didn’t stop, he just kept fighting. He didn’t stop for anything, he knew his potential and he did everything in his power to reach it. Of course, everyone knows just how much he did accomplish in his short life, and that’s what I want to do. That’s what I will do. I’m not gunna be like Ric Flair just staying around till I’m 70 to pick up a pay check, I’m gunna live fast, I’m not gunna let anyone hold me back. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a nice guy, but…. Let me take a quick detour here.”
Parise quickly sits up right, but is just as quick to make sure he doesn’t drop his title.
“What can nice be defined as? Sure, if you look it up in the definition you’ll find: ‘pleasant or pleasing or agreeable in nature or appearance’…. What the hell is that supposed to mean? I’m sure they could’ve just gotten away with writing Jesus and no one would’ve cared. No one ever cares. Which is why this is a meaningless word. No one is truly nice, because the people who are believed to be nice will have done something ‘mean’ which would’ve made them forever un-nice, thus, there is no nice, there is no good or bad, there’s just middle ground. How can anyone in this company even fool themselves to think they’re nice when they fight for a living? Last time I checked someone who fights is usually exiled from their community or school, not paid hundreds of thousands of dollars to squash some loser.
The more you fight, the more you push yourself over the brink of insanity. I’m wondering if it’s all worth it. I’m wondering if all my opponents even know what they’re doing when their in the ring, staring their opponent down from the other side of the ring. Because when you’re standing there your heart, booming, your hands, shaking, but not me, my heart rate is calm, my hand… steady. Because I’ve evolved, I know what I’m doing in that ring. There’s no wingin’ it, I always have a plan, and look where it’s gotten me.”
Parise sits up and turns on the TV in front of him. He flips through channels for a moment before turning it back off, not interested in anything being broadcasted.
“In this business you’re either too young or too old. You don’t come around anyone who really has experience and is still in their prime. That’s what bothers me about the world today. Everyone expects everything to just be handed down to them. One person to the next, but it all comes from somewhere, and eventually it will reach the point where the top person isn’t getting handed anything down to him. He does it himself. I could lie and say I’ve always done everything the hard way, but that would be a lie. Nobody has. People gradually start working for themselves, and they make themselves famous. You look at some of those rich millionaires and almost all of them were born into it.
I was born in 1979, Tallahassee, Florida. Those were the working man’s days. You worked your way to them top then. The stuff you see today... it just ain’t easy to take its measure. I plan on changing things ‘round here. I’m not gunna let Requiem fall down the same path led by people like Randy Orton and Blade LaVigne. This is a new age. This is the age of Original Sin.”
Parise stands up and he dims the lights. He takes a minute to take in the darker atmosphere before looking at the camera.
“I will not steal a victory. The end and perfection of our victories is to avoid the vices and infirmities of those whom we subdue.”
With that Parise finishes and points to the door. The cameraman is quick to walk backwards out of the room, catching one more look at Alexander ‘The Great’ in the lighting which is covering him in shadows.
End of RP
