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| Tweet Topic Started: Sep 23 2017, 08:49 PM (198 Views) | |
| Nurse Kinsley | Sep 23 2017, 08:49 PM Post #1 |
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[align=center]![]() She sits in a glass box. One thousand, three hundred and fifty three feet in the air. The glass box protrudes a little over four feet from what was formerly the Sears Tower, and formerly the tallest single building in the United States. Formerly. Currently, it is the Willis Tower and as of May 2013, it's only the second tallest. Nurse Kinsley sits, back pressed against the far transparent wall, her body seeming to hover over the rest of the city of Chicago. Despite the incredible view sprawling out beneath her, her white, vacant eyes don't look out upon the landscape... but instead, focus upward. Skyward. Heavenward. She heaves a heavy sigh into her cracked, bloodstained mask. "June 1st. Nurse Kinsley and Josh Kennedy competed against each other as the first main event of CWC Slaughterhouse. NOT BCW, NOT Blue Collar Wrestling... but the Slaughterhouse. That night, we went out there and we made clear that it wasn't just a name change, it wasn't just branding, it wasn't a corporately backed transformation of logos and a shift in merchandise trajectory designed to draw in a broader audience IT WAS MORE! What some wrestlers struggle to express with a thousand words, we made clear with one meat hook. The game had changed. The world was looking at a different company, a different scene, a different world. We didn't just CLAIM to be hardcore, we didn't just ADVERTISE deathmatch, we LIVED it. Embodied it. Personafied it. July 4th, Slave to the Grind. I won the Underground championship from Jen Stevens and you, Josh Kennedy, you won the King of the Deathmatch title from Silas Subhuman. I don't believe in destiny, Josh, but I do believe our crossing of paths was... inevitable. Two sides of a different coin, yin and yang, whatever hackneyed metaphor you want to slap on it, that was us. That's always been... us. From the moment the word 'Slaughterhouse' was uttered we established that you and I... we're the best. We're the best at what we do, we're the best in this company. We fought and you won. We fought again and I won. You main evented, I main evented, we held a constant struggle but the thing about being the best, Josh is there's only one. Right? There's one gold medal, one first place, one tallest building in the United States. The two best do not exist. There's the best... and second best, and I've spent far too long being satiated by that slightly smaller pedastal. I won the Underground championship, sure, but you became KING. King... KING of the Deathmatch, your greatest victory the main event while mine just introduced it. I warmed everybody up so you could take the night. I got the blood pumping so the sold out crowd could drive home thinking of you, and how great you are. And I was... I was fine with that, because I believed it. You were better than me, and I accepted it. I lived with it. I beat you once, Josh, but it was on a night you were distracted, a night you weren't all... there. I knew it, you knew it, and that human refuse Johnny Vachon knew it because it's exactly what he wanted. He wanted you and the rest of the Filth Parade off your games, he wanted you unhinged, he wanted you weak. And that... that's what I beat that night, an unhinged and weakened Josh Kennedy. Did it count? Yes. Did it matter? Yes. Was I satisfied? No. No god dammit I wasn't. My whole hearted belief that I was only second best, that I had worked my way to exactly the heights I deserved was starting to wear thin. I started to wonder if I could do better. If I could climb... higher. I started to suspect that, perhaps... perhaps I deserved more and if I think I deserve more, Josh, then I take it." She starts to say more, but she pauses. Hesitates. "...And it's nothing against you, Josh. If I'm not the best in this company, if I'm not the one that deserves to be holding that King of the Deathmatch title then it's you. Absolutely, with no uncertainty... you. You're a professional, Josh, a respectable rival and a decent human being and a widely beloved wrestler and now a UWF hall of famer but I think I think I think that's... the problem, Josh." Slowly, she rises. Kinsley bracers herself against the corner, where glass meets glass, and she climbs to her feet. Her stagger, her sway, suggest less than full sobriety. She runs a gloved hand through her dyed red locks, freeing her pale face to the viewer. "I've spent... an unhealthy majority of my career finding the cracks in peoples' facades. I strip the layers from a human mask, one at a time... and I get a fucked up kind of pleasure from revealing the monsters underneath. False bravado. Avarice. Selfishness. Heroes transform into the dregs of society under my microscope but you..." She shakes her head, slowly. "You're a strange case, Josh Kennedy. Most people driven to this lifestyle, pressed into the realm of light tubes and flaming tables, are harboring some ungodly blackness beneath the flash and flare. You have calloused hands, but not a speck of grime under your nails. You have scars but I'd almost venture to say you don't deserve them. I can say with full confidence that I do deserve... everything, every ounce, every inch, of the horrors committed upon my person. Every burn, every wound, I earned. I'm not exaggerating when I say I've lost COUNT of how many bodies I've mutilated, how many careers I've ended, how many people I've hurt, and I'll never fully repent for what I've done but I continue, CONTINUE to put myself into this position--cage matches, ladder matches, Taipei death matches--because it's the BEST! I CAN! DO!" Her voice, even muffled by the mask, reverberates inside the glass box. "It's the closest I'll ever come. Singers from John Lennon to Seal have composed ballads about... about making your own heaven. I believe... I believe we have to make our own hell. I've watched... I've watched better people than me pack up and leave. Eddy Poe. Dona Rotten. They escaped. They're working cleaner, safer, happier places where they don't spend every week wondering if THIS IS IT! IF THIS IS SHOW, THIS SHOW WILL BE THE ONE THAT KILLS ME! THIS MATCH, THIS WILL BE THE ONE WHERE I DIE IN THE FUCKING RING and you ...I'm not going to pretend... I'm not going to delude myself into thinking I'm saving you by taking that title from you, Josh. It's just... it's slowly occurred to me that in an absolute freak show like this, the KING, the KING of the god damn DEATHMATCH, the CREATURE ON TOP needs to be every bit the creature of those below. That target on your back, that siren's call to every mutant, every screaming brute, every vomiting drunk and every sick accident that crawls its way from the dark... that pile of sins should be mine to bear. You beat me, once, as a wrestler... Josh. You beat me as a competitor, a rival, a warrior, but this isn't war. This isn't the battlefield. This isn't a matter of honor, this isn't the stakes of a game this this is the Slaughterhouse. And on the plane of bloodthirsty beasts you are not my superior, Josh Kennedy. In the scope of things less than whole, in the gravity of violent acts and heartless decisions I am untouchable. This building used to be the tallest building in the United States, but it's not anymore... but do you know what overcame it? Do you know what dethroned it? Do you know what turned the best... into the second best? The One World Trade Center in New York City." Though the mask hides her face, one can feel her smiling beneath it. "That... that's what provoked a civilization to overcome this great triumph. Tragedy. The anguish, the bitterness, the inherent hate and confusion inflicted by a tragedy and I... I am, if nothing else in this forsaken universe, what I am IS a FUCKING TRAGEDY. I see you with respect, Josh, I see you as something noble, something admirable, but I've spent too long seeing you as a kindred spirit when frankly we couldn't be any more different. I think in your heart of hearts, you're as close to a good person as such a fantastical concept allows but you sit on a throne reserved FOR FAR LESS, JOSH! You are a man, Josh Kennedy, but you wear the crown of an ANIMAL! And I'm going to take it. I'm going to snatch it from your head. You're the better wrestler, Josh. I think I can admit that. But this is the Slaughterhouse, and it doesn't need... a wrestler. It needs a butcher a killer a fiend. And all of those... I can be. I'll be the greatest tragedy this industry has ever seen. The tragedy that belt has been waiting for. The King of the Deathmatch on her throne of miserable failures. Not the greatest wrestler but the least visited headstone. Nurse Harlow Kinsley." [/align] |
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