Post by Killian King on Dec 13, 2015 20:02:41 GMT -5
“A boy's story, is the best story ever told.” - Charles Dickens
New York, New York
“Hey Bub! I know you!” barks the driver as he looks into the rear from his mirror. Killian looks up long enough to acknowledge his recognition before casually glancing out the tinted window once more as the automobile continues to make its way through traffic. . “Yeah, Killian King... When'd you get in Mr. King? I didn't even know you were in town.” The chauffeur, an aged, bulbous man with white hair and withered smiling face reminiscent of Ernest Borgnine laughs to himself. “Ohhhh Killian King in my car. Wait till I tell Eddie!” Killian smirk softly at the excitement of his driver.
“Pull over here please...” A smoky but softly spoken voice, with a masterful and proper English accent accompanying it, gently calls out.
“Absolutely” the driver hurries to make good upon his request. “Hey uh...” he turns around to face his passenger. “Anything else I can get you, while you're in town? Broadway? Ranger tickets?”
“No I'm alright, thank you though...” Killian replied.
But the look of disappointment was overly evident in the eyes of a faced washed over and again by time, as he bit his protruding lip and nodded. Killian's driver simply strives to impress or leave some meaningful mark on his guest's day. Recognizing this, Killian winces before offering up a less somber tiding.
“Tonight... Madame Tussaud's has an opening gala, an unveiling of a wax statue in my likeness. I'm sure they'll take great care to shuffle it somewhere between The Spice Girls, James Bond and Doctor Who. You should come... bring the Mrs.” Killian nods indicating the less then lustrous band upon his driver's ring finger. It's a black tie and A List event, or so I've been assured. I'll make an exception and have you on my guest list... but I need something in return.”
“Sure! Anything you need I'm your guy!” His driver hurriedly assures the man known as “England's Greatest Export”.
“Brilliant... First off pop on over to work and pick up something large enough to transport a large wax figure about...”
A pause with good reason comes over the driver's face, followed by a look of worry.
“You... you plan on stealing your own statue?” He inquires
“What?” Killian snaps back in retort. “No... nothing of the sort.”
The concern on the driver's face fades, returning as Killian continues.
“I plan on nicking the statue of Alan Wallace. It's to be revealed next week when he's in town to host Saturday Night Live. But before that we're going to take it for a ride and pop it off over for a visit on some random street corner in The Bowery...”
The rear door to the black unmarked Cadillac Escalade SUV opens, leaving his driver in a state of mixed emotions as Killian King steps out. Reasonably so... how often is that you get to meet a celebrity, get invited to a premier event and become the accessory to a crime with said accomplice, all in one day? Outside of Las Vegas that is... Killian fixes his tie and presses down any wrinkles there may have formed on his custom tailored suit as he looks around at his surroundings.
New York... it's December, Christmas is steadfastly approaching, the holiday lights have been strung out as far as the eye can see, and yet it's still warm. Mid to low 60's in fact a slight humidity hangs in the air. Hardly Killian's idea of Christmas inclined weather, but it steadily more tolerable than the heat in Los Angeles. Times Square, the major commercial intersection in central Manhattan at the junction of Broadway and Seventh Avenue. Iconified by pop culture as “The Crossroads of the World” and the “The Great White Way”, the ever brightly illuminated hub of the Broadway theater district, one of the world’s busiest pedestrian intersections, and a major center of the world’s entertainment industry.
Times Square acquired its name in 1904 when Albert Ochs, publisher of the New York Times, moved the newspaper’s operations to a new skyscraper on what was then known as Longacre Square. The name stuck, even after the New York Times moved their headquarters across Broadway in 1913. Now Times Square is known around the world as a symbol of the American spirit. Beyond the hustle of countless faces scurrying about over the sidewalks, their arms filled with presents and shopping bags as they rush through life amongst one another. Past the irritating ambiance of passing traffic and car horns blaring as vehicles shuffled in and out, there still seem to linger a hint of the holidays. The ringing of a bell in the name of The Salvation Army, strands of endless holly strung about.
Killian's hand comes up and slowly moves through his raven black locks as he begins to walk down the street.
“It is required of every man... that the spirit within him should walk abroad among his fellow-men, and travel far and wide; and, if that spirit goes not forth in life, it is condemned to do so after death. A reading Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol... such meaningful deep words left to sink beneath today's memorable holiday excerpts such the likes of 'shitter's full' or 'you'll shoot your eye out!'”
Killian takes a breath, strolling leisurely down the sidewalk. His eyes falling upon an illuminated digital billboard advertising the recently released Krampus film.
“Somewhere we seem to have lost all freezable forms of any higher expectations... a reality where literary classics are striped from libraries, where no one gathers round the hearth and listens to stories of Christmas past. Sir Author Conan Doyle's work replaced with a marathon of Elf... Charles Dickens laid forgotten in order for Ernest to save Christmas...”
Killian King pauses before a set of massive windows. Before him in the heart of Time Square stands a Toys R Us, so monolithic that it contains a full sized indoor Ferris wheel.
“What does this have to do with Monday you ask yourself? Probably nothing... the world's so used to being let down no one seems to care anymore. It's just one mindless indulgence after the next in a futile attempt to fill an endless void.”
Killian shakes his head. 'Her Majesty's Most Beloved Grappler' watches kids running about fighting over toys of all shapes and sizes. A solid wall of UGWC action figures displayed upon a shelf, more than a few disinterested faces sagging sadly as children walk away disheartened with the remaining selection of Quentin Barnes, Dave Rydell, PKA and Jesse Williams action figures. One child manages to notice as his mother drops a Larry action figure into the buggy, waits until she isn't looking and tosses the toy into another transient buggy. The figure there in with it's five superfluous and meaningless but actual soundbites, and action grip proceed into a game of “hot potato” from one basket to another before being tossed into a sales bin.
“It doesn't have to be that way... There's still hope for someone to look up to. There is hope for something better. Last week was a small glimpse at what the future holds. What choice did I have, but to come back and bring an aspect of fathomable hope back to a fed whose next Pay-Per-View consists of the once main event Eden Morgan taking on a forgotten name from yesterday who was less then lack luster then? This is how we leave the fans on what was possibly the best year this fed has ever witnessed?”
Killian licks his lips as he contemplates her future, his fingers slowly parting the hairs of his beard.
“This year we turned the tide... this year we threw everything out the window. This year became survival of the fittest, this was the year the fans got everything that they deserved... this was the era they had been waiting on. And we decide to bring to a close... with Chaos' partner and his bloody fucking side chick fighting over his affection? Are we that daft? Have the fans so little hope left... that this will do?”
Killian's voice trails off for a second as he walks off from the window.
“This was the fucking year that KvK embraced the main event and stepped out of the shadow... and where the fuck is he? I crippled Zane Scott... out of kindness, like a dog that's gone fucking mad. Like Ol' Yellar and he's crawling back into a ring to take on Travis Pierce? Are we taking a piss? Travis fucking Pierce. That's a fucking travesty. What other choice did I have? I mean sure we'll appeal to the gore crowd and draw in some numbers watching two guys set one another on fire... but win or lose neither really a loss. Where the in the bloody hell is Halford?”
Killian begins to grow more and more visibly amused as he walks past countless windows, and restaurants and shops.
“What other choice did I have left? There was talk, sure about me cashing in and going after Wallace again... but that's on Roberts. He earned it... Maybe call it a bit of the holiday charity, but I'm not stealing his thunder. Enjoy that though, my charity isn't often and the holidays don't last forever. So what plausible choice was left then for me to do something no one in this fed's history has ever done before? Capture the only title I've yet to acquire since my arrival... To embark next year as not only The Cross Hemisphere Champion the fans deserve... not only to give each and every one of them something to look forward to... but have captured the coveted Grand Slam in less than a single year's time. ”
Killian sighs softly as he reaches a large crowd of onlookers standing outside, waiting in line. Large neon signs read “BB King's House of Blues”. Killian draws a step back to allow some tourists to pass by.
“I refuse to let this year slip away so effortlessly into the oblivion of what it could have been, and rather than watch the fans consume anything less then awe inspiring I indeed interjected myself into this event. For that gentlemen... you're welcome. ”
Killian's face drops and he slowly looks back into the camera. It returns with a smug looking curl of his lips and raised brow. A smile turns up the corners of Killian’s mouth. Killian inhales deeply as he looks around, noticing an ever increasingly large crowd has gathered outside the address of Times Square Studios, where normally 'Good Morning America' is filmed. The crowd begins to applaud in unison as a man takes the stage. Killian watches from across the street, a smirk slithering slowly across his lips.
“Everything I do... I bring it to the highest level. I do so... for my fans and for my own self. UGWC asked my publicist for a forward for use in their program, leading into our match. And just like each and every one of my matches. I take it to that next level...”
As Killian breaks away the man across the street hushes the crowd. Acclaimed English author Neil Gaiman who has come to perform a memorable dramatic reading from New York Public Library's own rare copy of "A Christmas Carol," which includes edits and prompts Charles Dickens wrote in his own hand for his unique public readings 150 years ago. Dressed in full costume Gaiman has come to perform the classic tale as its great author intended, however he has an even rarer astonishment ready for the fans awaiting.
“Before... I descend into Charles Dickens classic, I would care greatly to share with you all the first reading of an epic tale... the verse of what is only the beginning of glorious and storied career...”
The crowd begins to applaud.
“I give to you the ballad of one Killian King...”
A hush falls over the crowd, struck silent in awe.
“In the beginning... There was nothing. A dreary emptiness to a floundering career. Alan Wallace was stuck... spinning his wheels into the doldrums that had become his life's work. Content with his enemies' sloppy seconds and hand me down victories, he withered into a darkness that he could not know the depth of. But it was the hand of a watchful friend that would drag the wouldbe world champion from the layers of pig shit that he had blanketed himself with. In this moment the world as we know it would first lay eyes upon the man known as Killian King.
He was a gift to us as much as he was to Alan Wallace, securing their first Tag Team Championship... and giving to the world the era of Sex and Violence. But as the caterpillar must lay down and become the butterfly so, too, must a metamorphosis take place and bring with it the divide of two brothers to spread their reigns. A new Wallace was born, be it this one with driven purpose and force given onto him by his roguish brother.
The Syndicate was formed and with it a new brethren court would be forged. Their success was legendary... an army that could not be stopped. They would conquer all that was put before them, and it wasn't long until Killian King would set his sights on the land of savages. The steely Black Knight would venture into the wilds of chaos that was once reserved for the likes of barbarians, cut throats and the inhumane creatures that haunted the halls. Killian would climb that dark imposing mountain and take the title from the troll that claimed himself to be king. In his stead the first of their kind rose up from the realm of the dead... a spectre of hardcore past. Try as Jet Somers might he too failed in the presence of Killian who brought nobility to a ruthless world.
Unbroken and restless, our champion, the first of his name, would descend from his throne and give his kingdom, once wild back to those he had taken it from, now that he had brought order and tamed its most savage.
Then... his allies... they fell into madness. Their minds polluted by their own poisons would drift into the endless abyss that is jealousy. And like the hand of a loving father Killian King... did strike upon them and put them in their places. It was in his kindness that he refilled his brother's purpose. Killian reminded Vain of what it was to lose all he had, as he took from Eden and he their coveted World Championship.
Lastly... sickness of the mind had taken his ally in Zane. And like the kind and gentle hand of an owner whose dog has become rabid, Killian ended the career of Zane Scott, by snapping his leg. This was as much mercy as anyone could give. Now... heading into Horizons, on what could be the end of the greatest year that wrestling fans have ever witnessed... the powers that be threaten to appease us with a mediocre display of challenges... to rob us of what should be the end of all endings, the encore that we deserve... and Killian King has heard your cries of help, and a reason to still hope is upon us.
This week, Killian King ascends a ladder... and climbs his way into history. If wrestling has a Valhalla... then at Horizons, Killian King will climb up... and kick the bloody fucking door down.”
The crowd bursts into a cheer as Neil Gaiman looks up from his work, closing the insert from the official Horizons program. Killian in the distance nods to him over the applaud of the crowd. Before looking one last time upon the camera and giving a wink.
“You're welcome.” [/p]