April 25, 2018, 04:26:51 AM

Author Topic: The Marquis of 4CW  (Read 163 times)

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Offline Marquis

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The Marquis of 4CW
« on: January 08, 2018, 04:24:59 AM »
“Cashe was really fucking cool.”

Canada is the place you go when you want to get your hands dirty with a bit of blood from a few shards of glass. It’s where you go when you want to make to send a message, make a point – to make grown men cry. Canada is the place to steal gold, knock out an old woman and beat a dog into submission with the wooden leg of a chair.

And Canada is the place to meet James Deen.

“You’re talking about him like he’s dead.” Persephone responds. It’s been quite some time since she last saw James; her dropping him off in LA after they both broke into the home of Paul Knight well over a year ago. James’ career in the porn industry has taken off with his branches into anal. Persephone’s career has taken off in her ability to rape people in the ass. They’ve both grown respectfully since then.

James frowns. “Yeah, I know he’s not dead. Yet.”

“Yet?” Persephone questions. James nods, rubbing his palms together for warmth as they sit outside of a home within the near safety of their vehicle. The harsh temperature outside didn’t spare their Los Angeles kissed skin within the car. It’s the dead of night; the cold sticking easily.

“Yeah,” James shrugs, shakily exhaling. “I like to think that I know you better than most, with all things considered. We’ve been friends for a while, right? Wouldn’t you say?”

James looks at Persephone and she nods. “Yeah, we’ve been friends for a good grip, sure.”

“Then I think I can say, without a doubt in my fucking mind? You’re going to murder him in the middle of that ring. I know how you get, the world fucking knows how you get. I imagine this match has everyone holding their breath, just waiting to see when you’re going to snap his neck. And, you know what, that’s kind of trash. Like I said, I really liked him.” James sighs and Persephone shakes her head; looking out the window to see if the dog and it’s owner had retreated inside yet.

The small dog, a Boston Terrier who was very much similar in color and size to Ruthless, was leading it’s owner along. In order for James and Persephone to have the opening to do what they wanted, they needed the streets cleared. She leans her head against the window.

“He killed Ruthless, you know. And Alexander.” She mumbles out, into the night. James doesn’t answer immediately, so she takes that as her opening to continue speaking.

“Yeah, you and tons of other people think he’s a cool dude. More people like him than they could ever like me. He’s always going to have these old friends on his side, people who are just stuck to him because of this retard nostalgia over a time that was much better for all of them.” Persephone sits up straight in her seat. She looks at Deen, with a determined expression; her eyebrows knitting in a growing rage.

“Here’s the thing, though: I don’t fucking care.” Deen’s eyes widen at her words, but he remains silent to allow her the moment. “I don’t fucking care if Jesus Christ himself was on Cashe’s side because at the end of the day, he’s going to fucking pay for everything he’s done. For over a year of dealing with his bullshit, for him not handling my need for a breakup easily, and for him killing the only two things that I actually put some fucking time and love in.” Persephone thinks of how he begged her to make it work, told her that she would come around eventually. She doesn’t know how someone could be so delusional, how he could kill something that symbolized the foundation and strength of their union – and think that it could still work out?

Desperate men, they hold onto hope like that. Persephone? She’s not like him, in the ways that he can just be inserted into everything just because he asked or beg. However, asking or begging, it has never helped him before and, as someone who has never been known to grow, it won’t help him out this time either. The first time he opens his mouth to even try to speak to her, she’s going to kick the rest of his fucking teeth in.

Sally Talfourd give him any advice on that? Persephone wonders.

“He had my dog’s throat slit, I’m going to expose his neck in the middle of that ring and fucking claw my way into him until I’m sated, until painting the entire arena with his blood feels like the revenge I deserve. He’s using this match to buildup his ego, to try and show everyone that he could beat the shit out of an ex just like old times. I’m not any of those fucking bitches, and he should’ve realized that as soon as I stole his shit like the dumb little bitch he is just to come to Canada and fuck Paul Knight over.” Persephone watches, as the dog begins to lead its owner back toward the home. She shakes her head.

“He’s trying to play me out to be a fucking punk when he’s been the one acting like a coward since day one when it’s come to me. No more of that worthless, petty shit. No more of him with his underhanded comments acting like he’s the one that’s been wronged. I drop one promo and the dude is already bitching, so just imagine once I drop this one.” Persephone frowns. “I’m going to kick his fucking ass, make him bleed for what he’s done and move the fuck on. This match? This isn’t the match to lose.”

“I feel like you’ve said that before,” James says, breathing air into his palms; his eyes trained and watching as the lights go off. “You’ve probably said that plenty of times, in the past. This isn’t the one to lose, everyone thinks the same thing, you know? Cashe is probably thinking the same thing too.”

“But this isn’t going to work out in Cashe’s favor.” Persephone reaches down, grabbing something off the ground and looking down at it. “Everything in his life falls apart one way or another, and this is just going to be one more instance of him being faced with an everlasting failure that he’s going to threaten retirement over. Win or lose, I’m still going to be kicking the next day. If he loses? He’s going to be shattered completely and it’s that type of inner progression that makes me superior.” Persephone places the object over her head, revealing it to be a ski mask. She looks at James, glaring before he rolls his eyes and puts one on himself.

“Cashe is the same fucking person that he was over a year ago, and me? I’ve gotten better, stronger and smarter. I can beat him, there’s no fucking reality in which I lose this match unless, by the almighty grace of God himself, Cashe sees himself as the victor – showing that all his stupid bitching over Twitter finally earned him something other than some fake risky asses.” Persephone gets out of the car, the cold air hitting her immediately and unforgivingly; her not bundled up well enough to shield her from the cold. She leaves the door open, looking around. James stays inside.

“Have you changed? At all? Is that why we’re here now? It seems all very familiar, Persephone.” James pouts, trying to remain warm by crawling into a fetal position of some sorts within the driver’s seat. Persephone leans down to glare at him through the open door.

“This isn’t repetition, James. Canada doesn’t relate strictly toward one event, don’t be an arrogant fucking ditz like Cashe thinking Japan only revolves around him and everything that occurred within our relationship simply because of location. This is a whole country, this is reflection. Now, get the fuck out of the car, you already know what it is, my kid.” Persephone slams the car door shut, watching as James exits the vehicle. He looks at her, a smile on his face.

“Repetition or not, we really need to stop meeting this way. You’re in Canada to watch Bryan fight Eli, remember? Thought we would be getting some coffee together, maybe catching aa dinner or some shit. Maybe me meeting Bryan and making sure you guys aren’t going to go out together in some murder-suicide pact. Didn’t think we would be doing this, breaking into another fucking house.” James complains, as he follows Persephone to the window of the home they were planning to break into. She grins at James.

“Cashe wants to visit graves, I figured we might as well visit his first one.”

Persephone doesn’t break the window, as she did over a year ago. Instead, she just simply opens it. Sometimes to get through a window, that’s all you have to do. Cashe could tell all about that, even though his reaction to her actually doing it might suggest anything but simplicity.

Persephone looks back at James, taking off the mask because there’s nothing to hide here. It’s all bare, it’s in the open. She turns and climbs through the window, James following behind her.

$|-|-|-|$|-|-|-|$

The home is empty. That’s the first thing you notice upon entering; the silence didn’t strictly belong to the dead of night, but the absence of life occupying the lot. Persephone looks around, her eyes adjusted to the dark and she finds her way to turn on the heat as James closes the window behind him, looking at Persephone incredulously as she messes with the thermostat. She ignores his stare, beginning to speak.

“This is it, this is the match that everyone has been waiting for since the beginning of October. Unlike you, I know how to build this all up. Unlike you, throwing absolute bullshit together back to back, I’m planning out my words as carefully as possibly. I want this all to reach you, with all the clarity I can muster up. I want you to understand the one thing that I’m trying to communicate against all of the hundred things that you’re bitching about and attempting to make correct:

You’re going to lose this match.”


She flips on a light within the living room, illuminating the space and bringing everything together. Frames liter the walls, smiles on the face of a child through various stages of growing up; a woman with him in some pictures, her own wedding decorating the wall as she is adorned in her dress near a African American man. James speaks up.

“Wait, are you talking to me, or is this a promo?”

Persephone shakes her head.

“I’m not having a match with you James, so this is a fucking promo, okay?”

James puts his hand up in defense, turning away and walking the large house in search for the kitchen.

“Whatever, I’m going to the kitchen to grab something to eat. I didn’t get to chance to have dinner since I was under the impression an old friend of mine wanted to take me out to grab something to eat. Silly me, how could I be so fucking dumb. Of course she made it about herself.”

James moves along and Persephone rolls her eyes, shaking her head once again with a growing smile on her face.

“Everyone seems to be under the impression that I make things about myself, but that’s only because they haven’t seen you at your glory. Jason Cashe is fucking great at making things about him and that can be shown in a variety of things, right down to the fact that you dropped two promos back to back with no intention of a back and forth simply because, I would say, you don’t give a shit about this fucking match.

It’s just another instance of you feeling like you’re the most important person in the mix; just another moment of you disrespecting me and it’s fine, you can talk about my personal life. You can go ahead and say whatever the fuck you want to make yourself feel better, but when it comes to this fucking match?

I’m not going to let you win. I’m not going to let you breathe.

I’ve wanted this match for months and you spit in the face of the idea of it, you’re getting zero fucking mercy from me.”


Persephone paces around the living room mindlessly as she speaks, nothing catching her eyes immediately as she continues to talk furiously. Then, something crosses her mind and she smiles with the shake of her head.

“Johnny Evil wanted to drop his promos back to back when facing you, do you remember? Good to see you take something out of someone else’s handbook, because I thought it was going to be nothing but shitting and eating.

Oh wait, no. That’s all it fucking was, actually. Color me surprised, Jason Cashe is doing bare minimum for this match in the same way he does for everything else in his life.”


Persephone stops speaking when she comes across a photo, she picks it up and flashes it to the camera.

“This is your ex-wife, Cashe. In a nice little picture with your son and her new husband. Do you remember how that fell apart? You cheated and she left you, and she went all the way to fucking Canada to get away from you. Her son? Has his new black daddy and it looks like the two of them are doing fine without you.”

Persephone places the photo down and shrugs.

“It’s something to shoot for, a life without you. Building a fucking home out of everything you’ve tried to destroy because if you’re not happy, no one should be. The last time they were properly mentioned in a promo, they were depicted falling from the sky and hitting a pair of towers – the same towers a man fell off of, feeding your sick obsession with splattering impacts.”

Persephone turns toward the camera.

“But I’m just here to tell you that they’re fine without you. The boy probably doesn’t even remember his deadbeat father in the wake of a new one. The woman, your ex-wife, has clearly moved on and is serving her gumbo to someone else. Nothing you’ve ever said to them, all that love that you once had for them, never fucking mattered.

Don’t you see, Jason? You don’t fucking matter.”


James Deen walkes into the room, right at that moment as he looks to say something with what appears to be a ham sandwich in his hands. He shuts his mouth immediately, though; eating as he watches her speak.

“You’ve spent your entire career, your entire fucking life, playing up your importance without anything to fucking show for it. You’ve held a title here and there, anyone can fucking say that in 4CW because this is where the best come to fucking show off their scars.

And as soon as the new blood started to pile in, it was easy for you to fall behind. You don’t have what it fucking takes anymore. You didn’t have what it took back then to raise up a child and have a family and not be a piece of shit for once just so you can put everything you could into overdosing prostitutes and watching your body guard fuck sex dolls – and you don’t have what it takes to survive in this harsh environment. The empty compliments you give out aren’t going to save you from anyone, and it’s not going to fucking spare you here either.

And eat right so you have no shitty excuses this time, you pussy.

You used to talk me up, say that I was one of the most talented individuals to walk through the doors of 4CW, but you’ve taken that all back in the same way that I have. Difference is, I am actually the shit and you can fucking ask your mother what she thinks while you stay collecting losses unless you have a tag partner backing you up.

And in leaving you, I’m realizing just how fucking good I am. Is that why you’re so bitter that I’m going after titles now? It’s only a little while until I get my hands on some gold once again with you on your knees hoping someone will throw you into another four way for a chance at glory. Please, though, continue to bitch about my newfound motivation and watch it take me places that you can no longer reach.

Watch it lead me to a fucking win against you.”


Persephone takes the sandwich from Deen; taking a bite as she makes her way to climb up the stairs; crumbs flying as she speaks.

“It’s really fucking pathetic and I’ve said that before, but that’s all you really are. A pathetic hypocrite.

But should I even be surprised anymore? This is coming from the guy who said that after he lost the XTV Championship, he would never go after another title again. Since we’re taking most of our information from Twitter, how about I bring that shit up? How about I bring up the fact that you’ve been nothing but a lying bitch to yourself and everyone else who has had to put up with your desperate grasps at relevance?

The night you lost the XTV Championship, your last singles title, marked just another moment in time that you couldn’t back up all the shit you were spewing out of your mouth at record fucking speeds. You worked hard, in building up this bullshit blood bringing type of matche that Laughlin took and made his own by defeating you for it. Everything you built, shattered and fell to your feet to show you that you aren’t as fucking good as you think you are.

You should’ve left it there, kept your fucking word like a man. Instead, we’ve had to deal with Cashe’s name unfairly slapped onto championship matches for no fucking reason other than Wallace just loves you too much to tell you no. You ask for it, you fucking get it. The losses pile on, but it doesn’t matter; Cashe wants his shot, Cashe is going to get it without any questions ask.

You didn’t deserve to go after the 4CW Championship.

You didn’t deserve all the shits you ever got at the Pride Title and all those months ago in that match with Williams and Genie, you didn’t deserve to be in that fucking ring with me.

Every opportunity given to me has been earned, it’s never just me asking for whatever the fuck I want and getting it because no one can suck dick as well as you can. This is coming from the girl who has apparently only gotten this far from getting on her knees, so count yourself a fucking professional, pal.”


Persephone enters the boy’s room; certificates and trophies decorating the space; bed neatly made and, yes, it’s a blessing his father isn’t in his life. She keeps that in mind, as she places an envelope on the bed and exits the room. She can hear the television playing downstairs. She begins to make her way down.

“I left a little something for your son, some money and tickets to come see your ass get kicked, actually. This is all it is, at the end of the day. Take away the personal shit, it’s just a match. Still, I know he’s not going to come see. I know he doesn’t care enough to make the trip to watch a man that he most likely despises, if he remembers, get beat down once again by me.

Which, before I forget, you're right; I am Queef. I’m the girl who raped you, the girl who you reversed your vasectomy for, the girl who you opened your asshole for just so I could fuck it in the name of Conor McGregor. The girl who has made you my bitch constantly.

But I’m also Persephone. I was rocking Petty Cash before you decided that’s what you wanted to become. I’m a fucking talent that you will never be able to touch, the woman who is just going to make you another former champion beaten and put to rest on my list. I’m the woman who is going to give the eulogy at your funeral, I’m the one who’s going to win this match.

I’m the Marquis of 4CW and this Adrenaline, I’m going to fucking remind you of that fact.”


She turns off the television, looking at James with a glare.

“Time for us to go, asshole. We can grab some food, if you want. Also, quick question, want to take over my Twitter for a little bit?”

Persephone flashes James a broad smile as he shakes his head.