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Avoiding PW
Topic Started: Feb 3 2005, 09:24 AM (43 Views)
Martyn
Wrestler
[ *  * ]
The scene opens in a luxurious apartment building of some kind. Royal red carpet adorns the ground. Mounted on one of the walls is a huge widescreen plasma television and a few feet away from it is a luxurious black leather sofa. Not so far away is a mini refrigerator and a large stereo system with speakers placed throughout the entire room. The centrepiece of the room though is most surely the golden belt which is stretched across a long dining table; the Slam! International Championship.

The flush of a toilet is heard and our view is drawn to the left where an antique mahogany door opens. A pair of feet step into view and as we look up we see Martyn Maivia in a red robe with his name embroidered on the chest. His hair is wet and tied back, clearly fresh out of the shower, and a bemused look across his face.


KNOCK KNOCK!

Maivia’s bemused expression turns to one of frustration as he forcefully closes the bathroom door and saunters towards the door from which the knockity-knocking emanated.

Maivia: All right, I’m coming!

An insignificant amount of time passes and Maivia reaches the door. He wraps his hand around the handle before pulling the door open and seeing Richard ‘PW’ Robbins dressed smartly in a suit.

PW: Oh, excuse me. I seem to have caught you at a bad time

Maivia rolls his eyes and sighs discreetly. PW’s politeness has made it difficult for him to be so angry at the disturbance.

Maivia: What is it I can help you with, Richard?

Maivia puts undue emphasis on PW’s name, reflecting the lack of interest in his visit.

PW: I was hoping for an interview before your big match at Déjà vu but its inconvenient right now. I’ll call back later.

Maivia: Fine with me. See you around.

PW nods politely, though understandably frustrated at Maivia’s lack of manners and respect, before turning away and heading back to his locker room. Maivia closes the door with a sigh and ambles to the leather couch before slumping himself onto it comfortably. He looks around the silent room for several minutes before the glint of light off of his Championship belt catches his eye.

Martyn stands up, splaying his arms to their sides in a fatigued stretch as he does so before heading over to the belt. He stares at it for a few seconds before heading a few feet to the refrigerator, his bare feet being absorbed by the plush red carpet. Martyn pulls a glass from a shelf above the fridge before looking inside the undersized cooling device. He pulls out a bottle of bacardi and fills the glass to about a third. He screws the cap back on before placing what remains of the bottle back into the fridge and pulling out a bottle of Coca-Cola. Swiftly, Martyn pours the carbonated drink into the glass and throws the empty bottle away.

Martyn takes a slow route back to the table where the Slam! International Championship is sat. He stands over it, swilling his drink in his hand before taking a deep sip. He lowers the glass and with his free hand brushes through the soul patch on his chin.


Maivia: Since men walked the Earth, they’ve concocted the birth of a deity they could adore. As they drifted throughout, gods continued to sprout until differences now lead them to war.

Maivia shakes his head disappointedly and takes another sip of his drink. He looks down at the International Championship, almost accusing it of being the deity he speaks of in the poem he recites.

Maivia: Countless people have died from the dogmas implied when defending the gods of their lands. Blind religions have cost many souls to be lost with unsanctified blood on their hands.

Images of the Elite flash through Martyn’s head but with another sip of his drink and a shake of the head they are gone.

Maivia: Once it’s all said and done there will be only one who will stand as the Lord above all. With a wave of his hand they will no longer stand as the false gods will crumble and fall.

Maivia finishes his drink and forcefully places the glass on the table next to the International Championship, on which his gaze has remained for several minutes. He nods affirmatively before moving away. He drops the robe and pulls a pair of jeans, which were hanging over the back of the sofa, over his legs. A black shirt is found under the jeans and he pulls it on before buttoning it up. After doing so he drapes the International Championship over his shoulder.

Maivia: The bitter-sweet taste of victory is in my mouth and that is where it’ll stay. I’m the living legend who is giving this title the legacy it deserves once again and Hutch will not be given the chance to spit in its face. His name will not drag my title through the mud. Sayonara Senor Hutch; the future is now and you’re nowhere to be seen!

Martyn runs his hands through his tied back hair, smoothing it down before heading to the door and leaving his hotel room. As he silently walks through the corridor, the scene fades to black.
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