Hyorinmaru
Sit Upon The Frozen Heavens
RPs due Oct 2nd 11:59 PM EST
**NO EXTENSIONS**
**NO EXTENSIONS**
R-Awakening: Titus Avison vs Garth Black
- Thread starter Hyorinmaru
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Life is not like Hollywood. Leading characters don’t narrate their thoughts or wear their heart on their sleeve. It’s a lot more complex than that. Black wasn’t even sure if he knew what he wanted or thought himself. He was trying to find his own inspiration for the next few weeks. He didn’t really even know what powered him.
Is it misery or jealousy or verity that fuels this man? Black cut a lonely figure as he walked down the Hollywood Boulevard. The atmosphere was thick with smog, and the sound of car horns penetrated his skull. This tale, the tale from the outset, had been a story of redemption. But redemption from what exactly? The path back to the top had been paved with many potholes and plot holes but the longer Black spent in this vacuous town, the more he realised that the real world isn’t Hollywood.
You see there isn’t a neat beginning, middle and end to every story, and there certainly wasn’t to Black’s. What would the beginning be? When he debuted? When he wrestled on the first ever Ascension? The end of the Second Coming? Coming back from his issues? Coming back again? There just hadn’t been any clear start point, not from his perspective anyway.
If you asked some of the others, some of the people who had watched him, they’d all point to the week before Ascension 98 when he snapped. Three years ago, and yet here he still was, still banging his head against the wall, still not where he rightfully belonged. He had beaten Tyrone Blades. He had beaten Mikey Stormrage. He had beaten Matt Tastic. Kagura was the most recent scalp, but there was something so empty about this run.
Every single one of these wins had left him with the same vacuous sensation that the last has. No purpose, no relief, just a sorry state of affairs that tended towards the insignificant. All of these victories and all of this fanfare hadn’t done it. As he approached the intersection with Vine Street, he looked at his feet and saw the names of the Hollywood luminaries.
And then. An epiphany.
He’d only come here to try and get inside the mind of Titus Avison, but all he had succeeded in doing was getting inside his own. He knew, as he always had done, that he was a superior wrestler to Titus, but he had never faced him, despite being employed for several years concurrently. The simplistic answer would be to say that Titus was avoiding him, but that was not the case, if he was to be honest. The reality was the stars hadn’t aligned, but as he looked at the literal aligned stars at his feet, he realised why he was so angry.
Black was better than them all on his day and he’d risen above them all, every last one of them, but nobody ever really spoke of him. He wasn’t like these stars on the floor, the Marlon Brandos, the Al Pacinos, the Ronald Reagans. No, he was the fringe. He was the supporting cast. He was the match of the night, but never the headline attraction. Why? I guess he’d never really enamoured himself to those that make these decisions, and the events of the last three years had only sought to certify that, but there was the fundamental truth that would forever come back to him – he had not cemented his legacy in this company.
He had beaten the greats but there was never ever any passion. A dispassionate quest for gold or tangible assets, but never any feeling. He was the best in the world at what he did, but the audience saw a mercenary, a killer. He wasn’t a tormenter of people, but he wasn’t a hero either. Garth Black was a man who had never been the first to do anything. Nor the last. Nor the only. He was successful, but there was absolutely nothing so remarkable about his career that he would live in eternity. Being the remarkable did not mean being remembered.
As the penny dropped, he began to realise where this repressed rage had come from. Titus Avison deserved everything he was being given and it all came down to the event before the Ascension 98 change of attitude in Garth Black. That event was a huge PPV in 2015, but it was not the Kingdom Come coronation of Titus that was the problem, it was the Lethal Lottery.
That night, in a manner that Garth Black had long since come to realise was the norm, the plans had changed. Yet another of the ‘heroes’ who are part of WZCW history walked out on this company in the middle of a storyline. Goodbye Chris KO, see you inexplicably above Black on the card when you come back. And so yet again plans changed. That night, Black was scheduled to fight Johnny Scumm, a footnote in the annals of history. Barely a footnote, barely a thorn in Black’s side, and yet Black had beaten him time and again but there was a score to finally settle.
But KO had walked out with the title, and all of a sudden there was something on the line. Scumm fluked a victory over Black, literally falling into the win, and Black, who had entered the evening unprepared an unmotivated was denied the Eurasian Championship. The next major show, Titus destroyed Scumm, just as Black had several times and began the longest and most storied reign in this history of the company.
But Titus had already written his name in lights. He had already become woven into the fabric of the history of the WZCW organisation. And here he was again, adding to his legacy. Adding to his legacy. Adding to his legacy. Where is Black’s legacy? Where is Black’s chance? Titus stole Black’s rightful place and maintained it and made an even bigger name for himself and even more money. That should have been Black. It should have been Black beating Scumm. It should have been Black holding the gold, instead he ended up facing Abel Hunnicutt on that Kingdom Come.
They couldn’t even be bothered to roll Holmes out.
The more Black thought about it, the more Titus epitomised everything that had held him back and everything that had held him down over the last 9 years. He doesn’t deserve it. Black should have been the one to hold the Eurasian, but he should also have been the reluctant saviour of the company. Nobody had suffered at the hands of Cooper and his lackeys more, yet when it came down to it, where did the company turn? Tyrone and Titus, the buriers extraordinaire.
Titus was a fraud and the fans had started to fall back for it again. He claims to be a box office attraction, yet he’s there every week beating some young hopeful. Black was different. Black was pay to see, and if you didn’t want to pay to see him, then you could watch young talent develop on Ascension instead. Or watch it be eviscerated by Titus. Titus used to get it, but now he’s flogging the dead horse. The straight to DVD sequel of an illustrious career, while Black is still Box Office only.
Black was done with being a footnote, and if he couldn’t join the list of greats, he was going to beat them. Where would this story end? Well that’s just it, it won’t. Life isn’t like a Hollywood picture. It’s brutal and its cruel and it just keeps going. Black didn’t want championships, he didn’t want accolades, he wanted to make sure that nobody ever forgot him. It was clear to him that he was never going to be put in the pantheon of greats, despite having been around for a lot longer than some of them. But the time had come for him to take a chisel and carve his name on the temple for them, because they were never going to do it themselves.
Every fibre of his being was now focussed on trying to write his name in the stars. But in order to be the brightest star in the sky he was going to have to extinguish some others. Inspired, he walked into Hollywood Discount Hardware supplies and bought two tins of paint a roller and a brush.
He returned onto the Boulevard and carried on walking down the Walk of Fame. As he walked over the leading lights of the golden age, he made sure he slammed his foot as hard as he could, hoping to shatter the concrete beneath his feet, but to no avail. It was going to be harder than he thought and he was going to have to approach it a lot more directly.
Finally, after stepping on Mickey Mouse, Michael Jackson and Hulk Hogan, whoever that was, he found the star he’d been looking for. Titus Avison Movies. He opened his tin of black paint and rolled it over Titus’ star, in front of an incredulous group of onlookers, and some Japanese tourists, who took photos of the whole thing. Some people in checked shirts and Converse discussed how it was powerful street art, designed to show the suppression of women in the workplace.
But Black was deaf to it all. He stood admiring his work briefly, and once the black paint had dried over what used to be Titus Avison’s star on the Walk of Fame, he got out his brush, opened the white paint and painted his own name.
This wasn’t the beginning of his story, and it certainly wasn’t the end. But, life is not like Hollywood, and Titus Avison was about to learn that lesson the hard way.
Is it misery or jealousy or verity that fuels this man? Black cut a lonely figure as he walked down the Hollywood Boulevard. The atmosphere was thick with smog, and the sound of car horns penetrated his skull. This tale, the tale from the outset, had been a story of redemption. But redemption from what exactly? The path back to the top had been paved with many potholes and plot holes but the longer Black spent in this vacuous town, the more he realised that the real world isn’t Hollywood.
You see there isn’t a neat beginning, middle and end to every story, and there certainly wasn’t to Black’s. What would the beginning be? When he debuted? When he wrestled on the first ever Ascension? The end of the Second Coming? Coming back from his issues? Coming back again? There just hadn’t been any clear start point, not from his perspective anyway.
If you asked some of the others, some of the people who had watched him, they’d all point to the week before Ascension 98 when he snapped. Three years ago, and yet here he still was, still banging his head against the wall, still not where he rightfully belonged. He had beaten Tyrone Blades. He had beaten Mikey Stormrage. He had beaten Matt Tastic. Kagura was the most recent scalp, but there was something so empty about this run.
Every single one of these wins had left him with the same vacuous sensation that the last has. No purpose, no relief, just a sorry state of affairs that tended towards the insignificant. All of these victories and all of this fanfare hadn’t done it. As he approached the intersection with Vine Street, he looked at his feet and saw the names of the Hollywood luminaries.
And then. An epiphany.
He’d only come here to try and get inside the mind of Titus Avison, but all he had succeeded in doing was getting inside his own. He knew, as he always had done, that he was a superior wrestler to Titus, but he had never faced him, despite being employed for several years concurrently. The simplistic answer would be to say that Titus was avoiding him, but that was not the case, if he was to be honest. The reality was the stars hadn’t aligned, but as he looked at the literal aligned stars at his feet, he realised why he was so angry.
Black was better than them all on his day and he’d risen above them all, every last one of them, but nobody ever really spoke of him. He wasn’t like these stars on the floor, the Marlon Brandos, the Al Pacinos, the Ronald Reagans. No, he was the fringe. He was the supporting cast. He was the match of the night, but never the headline attraction. Why? I guess he’d never really enamoured himself to those that make these decisions, and the events of the last three years had only sought to certify that, but there was the fundamental truth that would forever come back to him – he had not cemented his legacy in this company.
He had beaten the greats but there was never ever any passion. A dispassionate quest for gold or tangible assets, but never any feeling. He was the best in the world at what he did, but the audience saw a mercenary, a killer. He wasn’t a tormenter of people, but he wasn’t a hero either. Garth Black was a man who had never been the first to do anything. Nor the last. Nor the only. He was successful, but there was absolutely nothing so remarkable about his career that he would live in eternity. Being the remarkable did not mean being remembered.
As the penny dropped, he began to realise where this repressed rage had come from. Titus Avison deserved everything he was being given and it all came down to the event before the Ascension 98 change of attitude in Garth Black. That event was a huge PPV in 2015, but it was not the Kingdom Come coronation of Titus that was the problem, it was the Lethal Lottery.
That night, in a manner that Garth Black had long since come to realise was the norm, the plans had changed. Yet another of the ‘heroes’ who are part of WZCW history walked out on this company in the middle of a storyline. Goodbye Chris KO, see you inexplicably above Black on the card when you come back. And so yet again plans changed. That night, Black was scheduled to fight Johnny Scumm, a footnote in the annals of history. Barely a footnote, barely a thorn in Black’s side, and yet Black had beaten him time and again but there was a score to finally settle.
But KO had walked out with the title, and all of a sudden there was something on the line. Scumm fluked a victory over Black, literally falling into the win, and Black, who had entered the evening unprepared an unmotivated was denied the Eurasian Championship. The next major show, Titus destroyed Scumm, just as Black had several times and began the longest and most storied reign in this history of the company.
But Titus had already written his name in lights. He had already become woven into the fabric of the history of the WZCW organisation. And here he was again, adding to his legacy. Adding to his legacy. Adding to his legacy. Where is Black’s legacy? Where is Black’s chance? Titus stole Black’s rightful place and maintained it and made an even bigger name for himself and even more money. That should have been Black. It should have been Black beating Scumm. It should have been Black holding the gold, instead he ended up facing Abel Hunnicutt on that Kingdom Come.
They couldn’t even be bothered to roll Holmes out.
The more Black thought about it, the more Titus epitomised everything that had held him back and everything that had held him down over the last 9 years. He doesn’t deserve it. Black should have been the one to hold the Eurasian, but he should also have been the reluctant saviour of the company. Nobody had suffered at the hands of Cooper and his lackeys more, yet when it came down to it, where did the company turn? Tyrone and Titus, the buriers extraordinaire.
Titus was a fraud and the fans had started to fall back for it again. He claims to be a box office attraction, yet he’s there every week beating some young hopeful. Black was different. Black was pay to see, and if you didn’t want to pay to see him, then you could watch young talent develop on Ascension instead. Or watch it be eviscerated by Titus. Titus used to get it, but now he’s flogging the dead horse. The straight to DVD sequel of an illustrious career, while Black is still Box Office only.
Black was done with being a footnote, and if he couldn’t join the list of greats, he was going to beat them. Where would this story end? Well that’s just it, it won’t. Life isn’t like a Hollywood picture. It’s brutal and its cruel and it just keeps going. Black didn’t want championships, he didn’t want accolades, he wanted to make sure that nobody ever forgot him. It was clear to him that he was never going to be put in the pantheon of greats, despite having been around for a lot longer than some of them. But the time had come for him to take a chisel and carve his name on the temple for them, because they were never going to do it themselves.
Every fibre of his being was now focussed on trying to write his name in the stars. But in order to be the brightest star in the sky he was going to have to extinguish some others. Inspired, he walked into Hollywood Discount Hardware supplies and bought two tins of paint a roller and a brush.
He returned onto the Boulevard and carried on walking down the Walk of Fame. As he walked over the leading lights of the golden age, he made sure he slammed his foot as hard as he could, hoping to shatter the concrete beneath his feet, but to no avail. It was going to be harder than he thought and he was going to have to approach it a lot more directly.
Finally, after stepping on Mickey Mouse, Michael Jackson and Hulk Hogan, whoever that was, he found the star he’d been looking for. Titus Avison Movies. He opened his tin of black paint and rolled it over Titus’ star, in front of an incredulous group of onlookers, and some Japanese tourists, who took photos of the whole thing. Some people in checked shirts and Converse discussed how it was powerful street art, designed to show the suppression of women in the workplace.
But Black was deaf to it all. He stood admiring his work briefly, and once the black paint had dried over what used to be Titus Avison’s star on the Walk of Fame, he got out his brush, opened the white paint and painted his own name.
This wasn’t the beginning of his story, and it certainly wasn’t the end. But, life is not like Hollywood, and Titus Avison was about to learn that lesson the hard way.
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