Post by Chris Jericho on Apr 21, 2009 18:09:04 GMT -5
*The room lights up, and in the center of it is the One Man Main Event, Chris Jericho. He smirks a bit, and then looks down to his left arm, off screen. He then stares right back into the camera. He lifts his arm up, and clutched in his grip is the old FCW-WWE Title. Chris Jericho is still in the name plate. He stares into the camera for a few more seconds, waiting for the impact to set in. The fans tumult with ridiculous cheers.*
Jericho: Do you see this? Can you all see what this is out there? This is the FCW-WWE Title. This is my life. The last time me and this belt were together, it was glossed over the plate, my tears smearing it. I was beside myself in anger, sadness, fear. Not only was I worried about how to provide for my family, but I was also truely, deeply saddened that the FCW was going down hill. Checks weren't coming in. People were dropping left and right. I couldn't stay there. There was nowhere to go, though. FCW had taken down Titan Sports/WWE, and consumed TNA as well. There was nowhere in the pro wrestling world for me to go.
*Jericho looks down at the belt, a small smile on his face. He places the belt on a table to his right, going slow, taking extra care of the prescious belt.*
Jericho: So I did the only thing I could do. I had to sell some merchandise to get some money together. My wife worked off of that cash to provide for herself and the kids, while I hunted vigorously for a job. I landed quickly in Paul Heyman's new federation, Long Live ECW. It was fun for a while, working with a bunch of washed up former extremists. Sabu has lost his marbles. Dreamer is depressed. Justin Credible isn't so incredible anymore, and quite frankly, the whole ordeal was making me really depressed. I couldn't be Chris Jericho. I couldn't kick ass, and both my in ring abilities and my microphone abilities took the hit. The ray of sunshine, or moonshine rather, came in the form of Rob Van Dam.
*Jericho looks up, smiling greater, the sorrow of his events wiping away.*
Jericho: Things weren't working out in LLECW. Rob pointed me in the direction of a new federation. A small, but rapidly growing locale out of Florida. Rob said the pay was good, the action was good, and the fans were good. It sounded like a way to make money for me. But I had a small problem. Somewhere along the lines, I had forgotten how to do my job. I could no longer be Chris Jericho. The sane ones left in ECW, my friends, even my family could see it. I wasn't the same. I was something different. That difference showed in my new home: Honor Championship Wrestling. Im sure you've all heard of it. The one that went down in the big embezzling scandal? Well this is my side of things before the scandal.
*Jericho's smile continues to grow, but it fades again when he resumes.*
Jericho: In order to perform well in the ring, I had to not be me, if that makes any sense. This angry, depressed, dangerous side of me had taken full form in HCW. Jack Rapture-the embodied version of how I was feeling was born. I cut my hair into a mohawk. I dyed it black. I had to paint my face to hide who I really was. I carried around a bat with "Petunia" spraypainted on it. I used it in all matches, when I wasn't destroying the competition with the new finisher I had devised: Eternal Rest. It was the one thing I wanted at that point in my life. Rest. Peace. It sounds like I should've called the Undertaker. So anyways, my first week in, I was in a battle royal. I didn't win, but I was definately impressive. So impressive in fact, that the management offered me a bonus and a contract backstage. I took the incentive bonus, 15 Grand, but held off on the contract. Good thing too.
*Jericho chortles to himself, and continues.*
Jericho: So the next few weeks roll by. I begin to win matches left and right, and the management sees a star. They don't like me persay, but they like the money I could make. They thought it would be good to offer me a match against their Mid-Level Champion, called the International Champion. I beat him in about a minute. So then they devised this five man elimination match, and the winner would win this briefcase, which he coud use to cash in his shot for a world title, similar to the Money in the Bank. Needless to say, I won the match, and instantaneously I was back. Jack Rapture had died. Jericho came back alive, right after that bell. It was then I realized I was in trouble. What would they think when Jack Rapture stopped hitting people with bats, stopped being the evil, apathetic beast he was? Even more, what would they think if Jericho turned up? I was so unsure of what to do with myself.
*Jericho looks down solemnly, but his gleaming white smile appears again, and he laughs out loud.*
Jericho: And thats when I got the conference call from R.M. Voglur. FCW had been salvaged, reunited and re-established. I was told tons of huge names were returning, and though it was a fledgling once more, the pay would be much larger than that of a region based promotion. So with extrapolating jubilation I hopped up from the HCW Locker room bench, a huge smile on my face. I walked right up to the richest son of a bitch in the lockeroom, and I sold him my title shot. That assclown dropped another 15,000 right there. I scooped up the cash, and walked out. The HCW owner was entering his car, and I shouted to him, "I quit!" He tried to exit the vehicle, but I smashed his windshield with the bat and left it, burying Jack Rapture forever.
*Jericho goes over to a dresser, and pulls out a shirt. Its an old FCW-RAW shirt with Triple H and Jericho face to face at the top, with Shawn Michaels, The Undertaker, Raven, Booker T, Wizz Kid, Umaga and many others underneath. He puts it on and turns back to the camera. He lifts up his boot and begins lacing up.*
Jericho: Dear old FCW, you've saved my life! I flew home as fast as I could, dropped the good news, and flew out to the FCW Headquarters. I dropped by the arena, returning for all you beautiful fans, and then headed backstage to meet and greet, and in classic FCW Fashion, turmoil began. I was already familiar with R.M. Voglur, being that we signed a contract at the headquarters, but I had my first run in with Vince Osborn. He stated that I would be surprised, that I was beneath some new kid. That got me fired up. Undertaker got right back on my case, the imbasile he always was. Thankfully two people with brains, John Cena and Mr. Kennedy shut up the naysayers, and all is well again. I return to action this week, and I hope you all understand the fact that to me, this isn't about winning or losing. To me its about being the champion night in and night out, belt or no belt, cheer or no cheer. I am a true Champion, a Lion at Heart some would say. So FCW, get ready for the second coming of Jericho.
*Jericho finishes with his boots and turns to the door, ready to head out. The scene fades. *
END OF RP.
Jericho: Do you see this? Can you all see what this is out there? This is the FCW-WWE Title. This is my life. The last time me and this belt were together, it was glossed over the plate, my tears smearing it. I was beside myself in anger, sadness, fear. Not only was I worried about how to provide for my family, but I was also truely, deeply saddened that the FCW was going down hill. Checks weren't coming in. People were dropping left and right. I couldn't stay there. There was nowhere to go, though. FCW had taken down Titan Sports/WWE, and consumed TNA as well. There was nowhere in the pro wrestling world for me to go.
*Jericho looks down at the belt, a small smile on his face. He places the belt on a table to his right, going slow, taking extra care of the prescious belt.*
Jericho: So I did the only thing I could do. I had to sell some merchandise to get some money together. My wife worked off of that cash to provide for herself and the kids, while I hunted vigorously for a job. I landed quickly in Paul Heyman's new federation, Long Live ECW. It was fun for a while, working with a bunch of washed up former extremists. Sabu has lost his marbles. Dreamer is depressed. Justin Credible isn't so incredible anymore, and quite frankly, the whole ordeal was making me really depressed. I couldn't be Chris Jericho. I couldn't kick ass, and both my in ring abilities and my microphone abilities took the hit. The ray of sunshine, or moonshine rather, came in the form of Rob Van Dam.
*Jericho looks up, smiling greater, the sorrow of his events wiping away.*
Jericho: Things weren't working out in LLECW. Rob pointed me in the direction of a new federation. A small, but rapidly growing locale out of Florida. Rob said the pay was good, the action was good, and the fans were good. It sounded like a way to make money for me. But I had a small problem. Somewhere along the lines, I had forgotten how to do my job. I could no longer be Chris Jericho. The sane ones left in ECW, my friends, even my family could see it. I wasn't the same. I was something different. That difference showed in my new home: Honor Championship Wrestling. Im sure you've all heard of it. The one that went down in the big embezzling scandal? Well this is my side of things before the scandal.
*Jericho's smile continues to grow, but it fades again when he resumes.*
Jericho: In order to perform well in the ring, I had to not be me, if that makes any sense. This angry, depressed, dangerous side of me had taken full form in HCW. Jack Rapture-the embodied version of how I was feeling was born. I cut my hair into a mohawk. I dyed it black. I had to paint my face to hide who I really was. I carried around a bat with "Petunia" spraypainted on it. I used it in all matches, when I wasn't destroying the competition with the new finisher I had devised: Eternal Rest. It was the one thing I wanted at that point in my life. Rest. Peace. It sounds like I should've called the Undertaker. So anyways, my first week in, I was in a battle royal. I didn't win, but I was definately impressive. So impressive in fact, that the management offered me a bonus and a contract backstage. I took the incentive bonus, 15 Grand, but held off on the contract. Good thing too.
*Jericho chortles to himself, and continues.*
Jericho: So the next few weeks roll by. I begin to win matches left and right, and the management sees a star. They don't like me persay, but they like the money I could make. They thought it would be good to offer me a match against their Mid-Level Champion, called the International Champion. I beat him in about a minute. So then they devised this five man elimination match, and the winner would win this briefcase, which he coud use to cash in his shot for a world title, similar to the Money in the Bank. Needless to say, I won the match, and instantaneously I was back. Jack Rapture had died. Jericho came back alive, right after that bell. It was then I realized I was in trouble. What would they think when Jack Rapture stopped hitting people with bats, stopped being the evil, apathetic beast he was? Even more, what would they think if Jericho turned up? I was so unsure of what to do with myself.
*Jericho looks down solemnly, but his gleaming white smile appears again, and he laughs out loud.*
Jericho: And thats when I got the conference call from R.M. Voglur. FCW had been salvaged, reunited and re-established. I was told tons of huge names were returning, and though it was a fledgling once more, the pay would be much larger than that of a region based promotion. So with extrapolating jubilation I hopped up from the HCW Locker room bench, a huge smile on my face. I walked right up to the richest son of a bitch in the lockeroom, and I sold him my title shot. That assclown dropped another 15,000 right there. I scooped up the cash, and walked out. The HCW owner was entering his car, and I shouted to him, "I quit!" He tried to exit the vehicle, but I smashed his windshield with the bat and left it, burying Jack Rapture forever.
*Jericho goes over to a dresser, and pulls out a shirt. Its an old FCW-RAW shirt with Triple H and Jericho face to face at the top, with Shawn Michaels, The Undertaker, Raven, Booker T, Wizz Kid, Umaga and many others underneath. He puts it on and turns back to the camera. He lifts up his boot and begins lacing up.*
Jericho: Dear old FCW, you've saved my life! I flew home as fast as I could, dropped the good news, and flew out to the FCW Headquarters. I dropped by the arena, returning for all you beautiful fans, and then headed backstage to meet and greet, and in classic FCW Fashion, turmoil began. I was already familiar with R.M. Voglur, being that we signed a contract at the headquarters, but I had my first run in with Vince Osborn. He stated that I would be surprised, that I was beneath some new kid. That got me fired up. Undertaker got right back on my case, the imbasile he always was. Thankfully two people with brains, John Cena and Mr. Kennedy shut up the naysayers, and all is well again. I return to action this week, and I hope you all understand the fact that to me, this isn't about winning or losing. To me its about being the champion night in and night out, belt or no belt, cheer or no cheer. I am a true Champion, a Lion at Heart some would say. So FCW, get ready for the second coming of Jericho.
*Jericho finishes with his boots and turns to the door, ready to head out. The scene fades. *
END OF RP.
