Not your stepping stone (RP#1 vs Kenzie Rydell)
Aug 5, 2016 3:30:51 GMT -5
KEG and Aurora Knight like this
Post by Damon Graves on Aug 5, 2016 3:30:51 GMT -5
Scene opens on a room painted stark white, a narrow window in the door the only means of looking out. Inside, scuff marks from past inmates’ shoes smeared the walls with pale gray streaks, as a lone inmate sits in the corner of the room on a metal bench, his gray sweatshirt pulled over his face as if he’s trying to shut out the world.
The door to the cell swings open, flooding the room with light from the hallway outside as a young boy with golden brown hair is unceremoniously shoved into the room. He turns around just in time to have the thick steel cell door shut in his face. Through the narrow window, he sees the uniformed guard lock the door. The older man pauses to look at the young boy, shaking his head before walking away.
Inmate: Hey, kid…
The boy turns around toward the sound of the voice calling to him, finding a broad-shouldered, bald-headed Hispanic boy looking at him and nodding, his hand throwing up a peace sign.
Boy: You’re talking to me?
The boy points at his chest with a puzzled expression on his face. His knuckles are worn and scabbed over, the end result of the fight that resulted with the otherwise harmless-looking boy that now stands on the inside of the holding cell.
Inmate: Well, I sure as hell ain’t talkin’ to the fucking guards, cabrón! Better have a seat; this could take a while.
Boy: No shit. This ain’t my first time in here.
Inmate: First time I’ve seen you in here…
Boy: Whatever.
The boy takes up residence in the corner of the room opposite the other inmate, opting to sit huddled in the corner on the unforgivingly cold black floor. Resting his hands on his knees, he just sits there silently, lowering his head so that his hair falls in front of his face.
Inmate: Hey… since we’re gonna be in here a while, I might as well introduce myself. Name’s Rocco.
Boy: Hmph… I’m Damon.
Rocco: So, what’d they bring you in for?
Damon looks at his battered knuckles, then holds them out for Rocco to see.
Damon: Got into a fight with some fuckin’ punk that kept poking at me. I warned the motherfucker to leave me alone, but he kept at it. Finally, I had enough, and I whupped his ass. Next thing I know, I’m getting hauled off for assault.
Rocco: Damn… how old are you, anyway?
Damon: 14. Doesn’t matter… made sure that motherfucker would never bother me again.
Rocco: ….
He looks at Damon, his mouth hanging open in shock. Here was this kid, barely even in high school, thrown behind bars for such a serious crime.
Damon: Hey, you’re the one that asked. Don’t look so shocked. It’s only the fifth time in as many months. I know the routine. I’ll kick around here until my parents come and get me… go to court… then have to do a bunch of odd jobs until I can pay off the court fees.
Damon continues to sit in the corner, but now has his arms crossed so that the back of his hand is facing Rocco. As Rocco looks across the room, he spots a detailed drawing of a horse’s head on the back of his hand, drawn in black pen.
Rocco: Damon… you draw that?
Damon glances casually at his hand before shrugging his shoulders.
Damon: Yeah… why?
Rocco: Because my cousin runs a tattoo shop out in Inglewood. Hard Luck Tattoo; his name’s Joey. They’re looking for a shop boy. But I don’t see you stopping there. You got skills, kid. Couple of years, maybe you can get him to mentor you… you know, become an apprentice.
The door to the holding cell swings open once again, and a guard stands in the doorway with a clipboard in his hand.
Guard: Graves? Damon Graves?
Damon looks up from his spot in the corner, green eyes peeking through his hair.
Damon: Yeah?
Guard: Your parents are here to come get you. Your dad looks pissed as hell, though.
Damon: Yeah, what else is new?
Damon gets up from off the floor, glancing first at Rocco, then at the guard. The guard looks at Damon with a raised eyebrow as he heads for the door.
Rocco: Hey kid…
Damon pauses, turning to look over his shoulder at Rocco. The older boy waves at him as he smiles.
Rocco: Remember what I said. And don’t forget to look up my cousin, okay?
Without saying a word, Damon nods his head and walks out of the cell, the door shutting behind him as the scene cuts away.
Scene shifts to a table near the entrance of Ruby’s Diner, where Damon sits by himself. His cell phone in his hand, he waits on the red patent leather seat, staring at the screen as he reads the latest text message. In front of him is a large, steaming cup of black coffee.
Man’s voice: Graves?
Whoa… déjà vu….
Damon Graves?
Damon looks up from his cell phone…
Right on time.
The man walking through the diner’s white double doors stands about as tall as Damon himself, with brown but graying hair that hung over the edges of his earlobes. A short salt and pepper beard covers the lower half of his face, and as Damon catches sight of his eyes, he can immediately spot the resemblance between the man before him and the blonde-haired goddess waiting for him at home.
Damon: You must be Mr. Quinn. Nice to finally meet you. Would you like me to flag down a waitress?
Damon extends a hand to the Quinn patriarch, who shakes it heartily.
Quinn: No need to be so formal, son. If all goes well, you could very well be giving me back my daughter. Go ahead and call me Ian. And I already ate before I drove out here, so I’m good….
Damon gestures for Ian to sit down at the seat across the table from him, which Ian does. Ian’s words don’t sit too well with Damon, as he looks at the elder man with a stern, disapproving expression on his face.
Damon: With all due respect, sir, you were the one that shut her out. And four years is a long time….
Ian: That I know. It’s a decision I’ve been haunted by ever since I made it. The girl must hate me something fierce by now…..
Damon: I don’t know if I’d go THAT far. She’s angry, sure. She feels abandoned, but I don’t think she outright hates you.
Ian: Rory’s always been stubborn; it’s one of the more… unfortunate traits she inherited from me. It’s why I could never bring myself to go after her after… well, I’m sure she’s told you what happened.
Damon: Yeah, and I thank you for sparing me another retelling. Makes me glad the son of a bitch is six feet under.
Ian: He’s dead?
Damon: What, you didn’t know? He got in a bar fight with some biker twice his size… ended up getting his neck snapped.
Ian: Shouldn’t have written a check his ass couldn’t cash.
Damon: You can say that again. But yeah… you can understand why Aurora would be pissed off. And like I said, you constantly calling and hanging up like you had been doing certainly wasn’t helping to fix anything.
Ian: She was just as deep in the wrong as I was. But no parent should ever disown their own child like that, and for that, I’m ashamed of myself. Her mother misses her like crazy, and not a day goes by that she doesn’t give me an earful for it. Leander only talks to me when it’s work related. Orion? Hardly at all. And since you’re the only one that can talk to her, I figured….
Damon: You want me to be the bridge between the two of you. You know, to be honest, this isn’t exactly the way I had always pictured it… meeting my girlfriend’s father, that is. At least, not the way I was raised.
Ian: What do you mean by that?
Damon: The way I was raised, when you found the girl you wanted to spend the rest of your life with, the polite thing to do was first go to her father. Now, I’ll admit I tried to skip that step on a couple of occasions…
Ian: I had a feeling that’s what this was about. How long have you known Rory?
Damon: I know what you’re gonna say. It’s only been a couple of months, and I’m probably crazy for doing this so soon…
Ian: Boy, don’t put words in my mouth. I only knew Lorena for about that same time frame when I proposed to her. Then again, she was a foreign exchange student. If you don’t mind me asking… do you have a ring yet?
Damon reaches into his pocket, pulling out the box that held the ring he had purchased. He opens the box, and immediately Ian frowns, shaking his head.
Damon: What? Is something wrong with it? Because I’ll have you know, she loves this ring… in fact, she thinks I took it to have it engraved.
Ian: I know you bought that with her in mind, son. It’s just that I had always hoped that I’d be able to pass on the ring I gave to my wife when I proposed. But with Leander already married and Orion considering the priesthood, Aurora’s all I’ve got left. Provided she even wants anything to do with me. Anyway, take a look at this, and see if you think she’d rather have it instead…
Ian reaches into his own pocket and pulls out a small, black velvet pouch. Inside is a MASSIVE ruby and diamond ring, set in white gold. Damon sits there with his mouth open, completely awestruck at the heirloom.
Ian: I’d really like to keep this in the family, Damon. Would you consider this ring instead? If it helps, Aurora used to always play with it when she was little. She said it made her feel like a princess. In fact, she called it “Mommy’s Princess Ring.”
Damon: Say no more. This will be perfect. Oh, Harley’s gonna lose her shit when she sees this…..
Ian: “Harley?”
Damon: Harley Quinn is her favorite comic book character… she rides a Harley…. Fits, don’t you think?
Ian: I haven’t read a comic book in decades. My father used to say “those rags will rot your mind”, so I’d just go over to my best friend’s house and read them there. But that’s beside the point, Damon. What’s important is that even though I’ve only seen her on television a couple of times, I can tell by the look on her face when you two are together that you’ve captured her heart, much more so than that bastard she…
Damon: Whoa, Ian. I get the picture. No sense in beating a dead horse…
Ian: More like a dead horse’s ass….
Damon nearly spits out his drink.
Damon: Damn it! You nearly made me choke, Ian….
Ian: But the look on your face was worth it. Anyway, I want to thank you for meeting me and listening to a foolish old man….
Damon: C’mon, don’t start with that. We’ll get things back on track with you and Aurora; it’s just going to take some time….
Ian stands up and sticks out his hand. Damon rises and grasps it in his own, giving him a firm handshake.
Ian: I need to get going. Have a few appointments I need to take care of…
Damon: Completely understandable, Ian. Give your wife my regards. Oh, and if you want to be there when I propose, let me know.
Ian: I certainly will…
Ian heads for the door, and after leaving for the bill, so does Damon.
Scene cuts to a nondescript storefront on a corner lot. In the very corner of our field of vision street signs denoting that the store sits on the corner of Pine and Broadway. Other nearby businesses displays verbiage that tells us that we are in downtown Long Beach, California. From around the corner, Damon walks up to the front door, keys in one hand and a manila envelope in the other.
Damon: You know, I’ve been looking at my Twitter feed lately, and everywhere I look, I see the same hashtag, over and over again. #BlameAveryMiles. Why is it raining outside? #BlameAveryMiles. Why does my milk taste funny? #BlameAveryMiles. Why is my life an absolute nightmare? #BlameAveryMiles. Why does it burn when I pee? #BlameAveryMiles. I could keep going, but you get the point.
Hell, if I wanted to, I could jump on the bandwagon myself and ask: Why does the wrestling world think that Aurora Knight and I winning the NGW Tag Team belts was a joke? #BlameAveryMiles. But the truth is, it wasn't his fault at all. He could have simply abandoned the belts the same way Levi Daugherty did, and we would have had to face someone else to fill the vacancy. But he was enough of a man to step in the ring with us and defend the belts.
But he did it by himself.
The person he reached out to for help left him hanging, twisting around like a tumbleweed in the desert when he needed that person the most.
That person is why there's a footnote next to our victory, a lingering doubt about its legitimacy. That is the person whom I will face at Vendetta. .
That person is Kenzie Rydell.
Damon unlocks the door and opens it. But instead of stepping inside, he leans against the doorjamb.
Damon: Kenzie, to me, you are the living, breathing definition of disappointment. You disappointed the AoD by trying to toughen up and failing miserably. We had the Angel of Hatred, the Angel of Shadow, the Angel of Rebellion, the Angel of Chaos, and lastly, we had the Angel of Forgiveness. Guess which one stuck out?
(Singing ) One of these things is not like the other ones…. One of these things just SUCKS!
But your little turd de force didn't end there…
Skip ahead to Las Vegas and City of Sin. This was your night, Kenzie. You had not one, but TWO championship opportunities. You had the chance to shine like a star, but instead, you squandered shots that other, more worthy people would have killed for. You completely flaked out on the Tag Team championships, and when you showed up for your bout against Queen Thundercunt, you were so soused, you made KEG look like a fucking teetotaler.
But maybe I'm completely wrong and you're just going through a slump. Maybe it is like you’ve said, and you’ve learned from your most recent, RIDICULOUS mistakes. Maybe you really have pulled your head out of your ass and have decided to get your shit together. Somehow, I highly doubt it. Now Aurora… she’d probably be one of the first to tell me that I’m wrong about you; that you’ve wised up. And for all I know, that may be true. But I’m the type of man that won’t believe it until I actually see it with my own eyes. And even then, I still won’t give a fuck. You and Aurora may be on somewhat friendly terms, but to me, you’re less significant than a wet fart.
Face it, Kenzie. there’s not a single member of the NGW roster that would consider you a threat. And yet, you keep trying to convince anyone who will listen that you’ve embraced your imperfections and that you can look in the mirror and live with what you see there. Sister, if you can condone mediocrity, that’s your problem, not mine. When I look in the mirror, the reflection staring back at me challenges me to do better, strive to be the best. I may stumble along the way, but I will get back up, dust myself off, and learn not to make the same mistakes that I have in the past. The road to my destiny may never have an actual end, but along the way, i KNOW that I will only get better with each step I take.
At Vendetta, don't get your hopes up about reversing your downward spiral into the crapper, because I’m gonna be the one that plant my foot square in the middle of your forehead and stomp away until you’re all the way at the bottom of the toilet bowl. All I have to do after that is flush you down the drain… and hopefully out of NGW. I’ll even jiggle the handle… just in case.
You may be looking at this match as a springboard into another shot at the Five Lakes Championship, but right now, that title isn't my main concern. Ashleigh Grimes already offered me a shot, and I turned her down. A) I would rather concentrate on putting some prestige back on the Tag Team belts, and B) I'm not going to play her stupid fucking game.
No, this match isn't about any of that. It's about correcting a mistake that's been lingering way too long around NGW… you.
It was a mistake for Corey Bull to ever even THINK about bringing you into the AoD, it was a mistake for Devlin Scott to offer you a contract, hell, it was a mistake for your daddy not to pull out in time.
But all of that gets taken care of in New Orleans, Kenzie. Down there, they have a saying that they hold dear: Laissez les bon temps rouler.. let the good times roll. Sadly for you, the only thing rolling out of Vendetta is gonna be your empty frigging head, right after I knock it off of your goddamned shoulders.
Damon finally steps inside the empty store. He goes to close the door, but about halfway, he pauses and turns back to the camera.
Damon: Just one more disappointment…..
He turns away from the camera and shuts the door as the scene fades out.
The door to the cell swings open, flooding the room with light from the hallway outside as a young boy with golden brown hair is unceremoniously shoved into the room. He turns around just in time to have the thick steel cell door shut in his face. Through the narrow window, he sees the uniformed guard lock the door. The older man pauses to look at the young boy, shaking his head before walking away.
Inmate: Hey, kid…
The boy turns around toward the sound of the voice calling to him, finding a broad-shouldered, bald-headed Hispanic boy looking at him and nodding, his hand throwing up a peace sign.
Boy: You’re talking to me?
The boy points at his chest with a puzzled expression on his face. His knuckles are worn and scabbed over, the end result of the fight that resulted with the otherwise harmless-looking boy that now stands on the inside of the holding cell.
Inmate: Well, I sure as hell ain’t talkin’ to the fucking guards, cabrón! Better have a seat; this could take a while.
Boy: No shit. This ain’t my first time in here.
Inmate: First time I’ve seen you in here…
Boy: Whatever.
The boy takes up residence in the corner of the room opposite the other inmate, opting to sit huddled in the corner on the unforgivingly cold black floor. Resting his hands on his knees, he just sits there silently, lowering his head so that his hair falls in front of his face.
Inmate: Hey… since we’re gonna be in here a while, I might as well introduce myself. Name’s Rocco.
Boy: Hmph… I’m Damon.
Rocco: So, what’d they bring you in for?
Damon looks at his battered knuckles, then holds them out for Rocco to see.
Damon: Got into a fight with some fuckin’ punk that kept poking at me. I warned the motherfucker to leave me alone, but he kept at it. Finally, I had enough, and I whupped his ass. Next thing I know, I’m getting hauled off for assault.
Rocco: Damn… how old are you, anyway?
Damon: 14. Doesn’t matter… made sure that motherfucker would never bother me again.
Rocco: ….
He looks at Damon, his mouth hanging open in shock. Here was this kid, barely even in high school, thrown behind bars for such a serious crime.
Damon: Hey, you’re the one that asked. Don’t look so shocked. It’s only the fifth time in as many months. I know the routine. I’ll kick around here until my parents come and get me… go to court… then have to do a bunch of odd jobs until I can pay off the court fees.
Damon continues to sit in the corner, but now has his arms crossed so that the back of his hand is facing Rocco. As Rocco looks across the room, he spots a detailed drawing of a horse’s head on the back of his hand, drawn in black pen.
Rocco: Damon… you draw that?
Damon glances casually at his hand before shrugging his shoulders.
Damon: Yeah… why?
Rocco: Because my cousin runs a tattoo shop out in Inglewood. Hard Luck Tattoo; his name’s Joey. They’re looking for a shop boy. But I don’t see you stopping there. You got skills, kid. Couple of years, maybe you can get him to mentor you… you know, become an apprentice.
The door to the holding cell swings open once again, and a guard stands in the doorway with a clipboard in his hand.
Guard: Graves? Damon Graves?
Damon looks up from his spot in the corner, green eyes peeking through his hair.
Damon: Yeah?
Guard: Your parents are here to come get you. Your dad looks pissed as hell, though.
Damon: Yeah, what else is new?
Damon gets up from off the floor, glancing first at Rocco, then at the guard. The guard looks at Damon with a raised eyebrow as he heads for the door.
Rocco: Hey kid…
Damon pauses, turning to look over his shoulder at Rocco. The older boy waves at him as he smiles.
Rocco: Remember what I said. And don’t forget to look up my cousin, okay?
Without saying a word, Damon nods his head and walks out of the cell, the door shutting behind him as the scene cuts away.
Scene shifts to a table near the entrance of Ruby’s Diner, where Damon sits by himself. His cell phone in his hand, he waits on the red patent leather seat, staring at the screen as he reads the latest text message. In front of him is a large, steaming cup of black coffee.
Man’s voice: Graves?
Whoa… déjà vu….
Damon Graves?
Damon looks up from his cell phone…
Right on time.
The man walking through the diner’s white double doors stands about as tall as Damon himself, with brown but graying hair that hung over the edges of his earlobes. A short salt and pepper beard covers the lower half of his face, and as Damon catches sight of his eyes, he can immediately spot the resemblance between the man before him and the blonde-haired goddess waiting for him at home.
Damon: You must be Mr. Quinn. Nice to finally meet you. Would you like me to flag down a waitress?
Damon extends a hand to the Quinn patriarch, who shakes it heartily.
Quinn: No need to be so formal, son. If all goes well, you could very well be giving me back my daughter. Go ahead and call me Ian. And I already ate before I drove out here, so I’m good….
Damon gestures for Ian to sit down at the seat across the table from him, which Ian does. Ian’s words don’t sit too well with Damon, as he looks at the elder man with a stern, disapproving expression on his face.
Damon: With all due respect, sir, you were the one that shut her out. And four years is a long time….
Ian: That I know. It’s a decision I’ve been haunted by ever since I made it. The girl must hate me something fierce by now…..
Damon: I don’t know if I’d go THAT far. She’s angry, sure. She feels abandoned, but I don’t think she outright hates you.
Ian: Rory’s always been stubborn; it’s one of the more… unfortunate traits she inherited from me. It’s why I could never bring myself to go after her after… well, I’m sure she’s told you what happened.
Damon: Yeah, and I thank you for sparing me another retelling. Makes me glad the son of a bitch is six feet under.
Ian: He’s dead?
Damon: What, you didn’t know? He got in a bar fight with some biker twice his size… ended up getting his neck snapped.
Ian: Shouldn’t have written a check his ass couldn’t cash.
Damon: You can say that again. But yeah… you can understand why Aurora would be pissed off. And like I said, you constantly calling and hanging up like you had been doing certainly wasn’t helping to fix anything.
Ian: She was just as deep in the wrong as I was. But no parent should ever disown their own child like that, and for that, I’m ashamed of myself. Her mother misses her like crazy, and not a day goes by that she doesn’t give me an earful for it. Leander only talks to me when it’s work related. Orion? Hardly at all. And since you’re the only one that can talk to her, I figured….
Damon: You want me to be the bridge between the two of you. You know, to be honest, this isn’t exactly the way I had always pictured it… meeting my girlfriend’s father, that is. At least, not the way I was raised.
Ian: What do you mean by that?
Damon: The way I was raised, when you found the girl you wanted to spend the rest of your life with, the polite thing to do was first go to her father. Now, I’ll admit I tried to skip that step on a couple of occasions…
Ian: I had a feeling that’s what this was about. How long have you known Rory?
Damon: I know what you’re gonna say. It’s only been a couple of months, and I’m probably crazy for doing this so soon…
Ian: Boy, don’t put words in my mouth. I only knew Lorena for about that same time frame when I proposed to her. Then again, she was a foreign exchange student. If you don’t mind me asking… do you have a ring yet?
Damon reaches into his pocket, pulling out the box that held the ring he had purchased. He opens the box, and immediately Ian frowns, shaking his head.
Damon: What? Is something wrong with it? Because I’ll have you know, she loves this ring… in fact, she thinks I took it to have it engraved.
Ian: I know you bought that with her in mind, son. It’s just that I had always hoped that I’d be able to pass on the ring I gave to my wife when I proposed. But with Leander already married and Orion considering the priesthood, Aurora’s all I’ve got left. Provided she even wants anything to do with me. Anyway, take a look at this, and see if you think she’d rather have it instead…
Ian reaches into his own pocket and pulls out a small, black velvet pouch. Inside is a MASSIVE ruby and diamond ring, set in white gold. Damon sits there with his mouth open, completely awestruck at the heirloom.
Ian: I’d really like to keep this in the family, Damon. Would you consider this ring instead? If it helps, Aurora used to always play with it when she was little. She said it made her feel like a princess. In fact, she called it “Mommy’s Princess Ring.”
Damon: Say no more. This will be perfect. Oh, Harley’s gonna lose her shit when she sees this…..
Ian: “Harley?”
Damon: Harley Quinn is her favorite comic book character… she rides a Harley…. Fits, don’t you think?
Ian: I haven’t read a comic book in decades. My father used to say “those rags will rot your mind”, so I’d just go over to my best friend’s house and read them there. But that’s beside the point, Damon. What’s important is that even though I’ve only seen her on television a couple of times, I can tell by the look on her face when you two are together that you’ve captured her heart, much more so than that bastard she…
Damon: Whoa, Ian. I get the picture. No sense in beating a dead horse…
Ian: More like a dead horse’s ass….
Damon nearly spits out his drink.
Damon: Damn it! You nearly made me choke, Ian….
Ian: But the look on your face was worth it. Anyway, I want to thank you for meeting me and listening to a foolish old man….
Damon: C’mon, don’t start with that. We’ll get things back on track with you and Aurora; it’s just going to take some time….
Ian stands up and sticks out his hand. Damon rises and grasps it in his own, giving him a firm handshake.
Ian: I need to get going. Have a few appointments I need to take care of…
Damon: Completely understandable, Ian. Give your wife my regards. Oh, and if you want to be there when I propose, let me know.
Ian: I certainly will…
Ian heads for the door, and after leaving for the bill, so does Damon.
Scene cuts to a nondescript storefront on a corner lot. In the very corner of our field of vision street signs denoting that the store sits on the corner of Pine and Broadway. Other nearby businesses displays verbiage that tells us that we are in downtown Long Beach, California. From around the corner, Damon walks up to the front door, keys in one hand and a manila envelope in the other.
Damon: You know, I’ve been looking at my Twitter feed lately, and everywhere I look, I see the same hashtag, over and over again. #BlameAveryMiles. Why is it raining outside? #BlameAveryMiles. Why does my milk taste funny? #BlameAveryMiles. Why is my life an absolute nightmare? #BlameAveryMiles. Why does it burn when I pee? #BlameAveryMiles. I could keep going, but you get the point.
Hell, if I wanted to, I could jump on the bandwagon myself and ask: Why does the wrestling world think that Aurora Knight and I winning the NGW Tag Team belts was a joke? #BlameAveryMiles. But the truth is, it wasn't his fault at all. He could have simply abandoned the belts the same way Levi Daugherty did, and we would have had to face someone else to fill the vacancy. But he was enough of a man to step in the ring with us and defend the belts.
But he did it by himself.
The person he reached out to for help left him hanging, twisting around like a tumbleweed in the desert when he needed that person the most.
That person is why there's a footnote next to our victory, a lingering doubt about its legitimacy. That is the person whom I will face at Vendetta. .
That person is Kenzie Rydell.
Damon unlocks the door and opens it. But instead of stepping inside, he leans against the doorjamb.
Damon: Kenzie, to me, you are the living, breathing definition of disappointment. You disappointed the AoD by trying to toughen up and failing miserably. We had the Angel of Hatred, the Angel of Shadow, the Angel of Rebellion, the Angel of Chaos, and lastly, we had the Angel of Forgiveness. Guess which one stuck out?
(Singing ) One of these things is not like the other ones…. One of these things just SUCKS!
But your little turd de force didn't end there…
Skip ahead to Las Vegas and City of Sin. This was your night, Kenzie. You had not one, but TWO championship opportunities. You had the chance to shine like a star, but instead, you squandered shots that other, more worthy people would have killed for. You completely flaked out on the Tag Team championships, and when you showed up for your bout against Queen Thundercunt, you were so soused, you made KEG look like a fucking teetotaler.
But maybe I'm completely wrong and you're just going through a slump. Maybe it is like you’ve said, and you’ve learned from your most recent, RIDICULOUS mistakes. Maybe you really have pulled your head out of your ass and have decided to get your shit together. Somehow, I highly doubt it. Now Aurora… she’d probably be one of the first to tell me that I’m wrong about you; that you’ve wised up. And for all I know, that may be true. But I’m the type of man that won’t believe it until I actually see it with my own eyes. And even then, I still won’t give a fuck. You and Aurora may be on somewhat friendly terms, but to me, you’re less significant than a wet fart.
Face it, Kenzie. there’s not a single member of the NGW roster that would consider you a threat. And yet, you keep trying to convince anyone who will listen that you’ve embraced your imperfections and that you can look in the mirror and live with what you see there. Sister, if you can condone mediocrity, that’s your problem, not mine. When I look in the mirror, the reflection staring back at me challenges me to do better, strive to be the best. I may stumble along the way, but I will get back up, dust myself off, and learn not to make the same mistakes that I have in the past. The road to my destiny may never have an actual end, but along the way, i KNOW that I will only get better with each step I take.
At Vendetta, don't get your hopes up about reversing your downward spiral into the crapper, because I’m gonna be the one that plant my foot square in the middle of your forehead and stomp away until you’re all the way at the bottom of the toilet bowl. All I have to do after that is flush you down the drain… and hopefully out of NGW. I’ll even jiggle the handle… just in case.
You may be looking at this match as a springboard into another shot at the Five Lakes Championship, but right now, that title isn't my main concern. Ashleigh Grimes already offered me a shot, and I turned her down. A) I would rather concentrate on putting some prestige back on the Tag Team belts, and B) I'm not going to play her stupid fucking game.
No, this match isn't about any of that. It's about correcting a mistake that's been lingering way too long around NGW… you.
It was a mistake for Corey Bull to ever even THINK about bringing you into the AoD, it was a mistake for Devlin Scott to offer you a contract, hell, it was a mistake for your daddy not to pull out in time.
But all of that gets taken care of in New Orleans, Kenzie. Down there, they have a saying that they hold dear: Laissez les bon temps rouler.. let the good times roll. Sadly for you, the only thing rolling out of Vendetta is gonna be your empty frigging head, right after I knock it off of your goddamned shoulders.
Damon finally steps inside the empty store. He goes to close the door, but about halfway, he pauses and turns back to the camera.
Damon: Just one more disappointment…..
He turns away from the camera and shuts the door as the scene fades out.