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The Difference Between Dragons and Dregs; vs. Disturbed (11/04/12)
Topic Started: Nov 5 2012, 12:32 AM (196 Views)
Eric Donavan
Member Avatar
Irish Dragon
[ * ]
"We have no patience with other people's vanity because it is offensive to our own." – Francois de La Rochefoucauld




Somewhere outside of our viewing rage we hear the cacophonic roar of a mass of humanity. Yelling at the top of their lungs and stomping their feet, fueled by something we can’t see but infused with an excitement both dark and exciting. The noise comes from somewhere above where the camera starts up this time around, leaving the collection of exclamations and revelry to echo all about the dingy room in which our subject currently sits. Dim lights barely illuminate the crisscrossing pipes running just beneath the ceiling much less the floor below it although moisture dripping from the ancient cylinders and collecting in murky puddles on the cracked concrete catch a bit of the light. And as they fail to properly bring light to the periphery so do they reduce the man sitting on a rickety wooden bench to a moving shadow.

He’s so peaceful in his motions right now that you wouldn’t put him in any other state than serene. Practiced motions wrap the base of each finger and thumb in white athletic tape. The adhesive is drawn taut after each turn and soon wraps each hand and wrist a few inches below the palm. His half-masked face looks up as a shifting step from the cameraman causes him to slip and belt out a curse into the damp air of the room. A white-toothed smile splits the man’s lips open and he shakes his head with a soft laugh. A few more tight revolutions and he puts the strip connected to the roll between his teeth and rips it free, smoothing out the remnant around his appendage.


Eric Donavan
“You should be more attentive. Events like this don’t splurge on five-star accommodations.”

We get a slightly better view of the Irish Dragon from the side. He’s wearing a pair of black workout pants with fire-colored piping up the sides of the legs. Knotted drawstrings hang loose from the center of the waist and after he finishes wrapping each hand he bends over to lace and tie the red strands woven through the black Otomix wrestling shoes he wears. Whether because of the moisture in the room or physical preparation the bare torso of Eric glows with a thin sheen of perspiration. His dark hair is drawn into a thin braid that reaches halfway down his back, pulled tight against his scalp. He rises to his feet and flexes his hands a bit, getting used to the tightness of the tape while he addresses the camera.

Eric Donavan
“I would’ve thought, Disturbed, that since it took you eight days to find a camera and the gumption to open your fly catcher to spout off a retort to me that you’d have something important to say. You know, maybe something that makes me question my position in this match or that even makes a lick of sense. But you’re just every other sandbagging peon who waits to the last minute to open up, hoping that getting the last word will give you the edge you need: You’re delusional. You’re praying that I’ll slip up somehow and you’ll have an opening to work with. Well sorry to burst your bubble, hoss, but the only think you did by flapping your gums was dig your hole a little deeper.”

Heavier steps match the lighter ones of Eric as he walks away from the bench and toward a section of the room that was previously out of sight. Hanging from a heavy chain connected somewhere around or beyond the pipes above is a black, taped-and-patched heavy bag. At one point it was probably a nice piece…a 100lb bag of professional grade. Now it was barely worth being a hand-me-down. Eric walks up to it, running his fingers along the rough exterior and listening to the soft steel clinking together as the bag sways.

Eric Donavan
“It’s a shame, really. For a moment when I saw that you’d uploaded a little something for the world to see, I had hope. I really did. For a few blissful seconds it seemed that the Irish Dragon had lit a fire under your ass and gotten you to step up for the first time in God knows how long. More fool me, I guess.”

The laughter is drier now, a bit more mirthless. Eric steps back from the bag and raises his hands, uncorking a stiff right jab that sends the bag to swinging. A left to the ‘body’ follows, then a right cross and a left hook that sends the bag swinging out almost to the end of its chain. Eric catches it when it returns and stills it, shaking his head. The four impacts have sent dust into the air but he doesn’t pay it any mind.

Eric Donavan
“What we got instead is the same tripe you’ve been preaching for the past several months, no doubt. And you wonder why you’re languishing on the lower end of the card. Well, wonder no fucking more. It’s because you’re a damn loser, Disturbed, and the sooner you accept that the better off everyone else will be. If only because acceptance will give you less reason to whine like a bitch about how you’re being overlooked and underappreciated. Spare me.”

Taking lighter shots now to keep the bag from flying off into the dark somewhere, Eric moves laterally around the bag, striking with jabs and body shots while he addresses his opponent.

Eric Donavan
“While you were playing in the mud where your kind belongs over the last eight days, I’ve been getting ready for our match. While you’ve been doubting whether or not you should go ahead and push the record button on that camera, whether it’s worth it to push the send button and get your little diatribe to the bosses in time to make the evening news, I’ve been gearing up to destroy you. And I will destroy you, Disturbed. Building you up and trying not to make you look like the ass you are is out the window. Nothing I could say, no compliments I could offer, will make you less of a worthless disappointment. So instead, I’m going to do the same thing I did last time. I’m going to call it like I see it and to hell with whatever consequences you think you can muster. Your being denigrated like the slime you are has been a long time coming and I’m out of patience where it comes to your bullshit.

But to make it easier for you, I’m going to start by filling in some blanks. Your address to me had more holes in it than the Saints’ defense. So, as I’ve had to do innumerable times in the past with other opponents, I’m going to have to set you straight. Don’t bother thanking me.”

His pace of moving about and blasting the bag with brutal strikes doesn’t falter for a moment. The camera follows him thanks to some well-placed transitions, keeping the message nice and concise.

Eric Donavan
“Let’s talk first about why you’re even within sniffing distance of a place in the Six-Pack Challenge, Disturbed. It’s because management is tossing you a bone. The less reason you have to go brutalizing employees backstage and throwing a bitch fit is less reason they have to worry about insurance claims and lawsuits. Not because you were in the match last year, as you might think, so ditch that ego. Unlike you I earned my spot in this match. Yeah, you’re still standing and you’re still fighting. That’ll end Sunday night. The only person pushing you aside is me…and I’m going to do a hell of a lot more than just push, hoss.

A little credit where it’s due, though: you have a firm grasp of the obvious. No, I have not won a title here in NEW yet while you’ve won both the Television Championship and the Tag Team Championship. But remind us all when the last time you held those titles was? With the former it was over almost two years ago and you held it for, what, six weeks? What’s that, three shows? Wow…dominance incarnate. Let’s move on to the Tag Team Championship. Over TWO years ago for that one. Two years, Disturbed. And you held them for six weeks. Considering that it was RAW you were teaming with to win those titles it’s no wonder that you got your hands on them. He carried your ass to that title reign. Since then he’s been dominant and you’ve been languishing in near-obscurity. The fact that I’ve yet to wear gold here is a technicality. The fact that you haven’t worn any in almost two years is evidence of ineffectiveness.

Management isn’t holding you down…YOU’RE holding you down. You’re an oversized child who can’t handle adversity and you make your displeasure known attacking those you perceive as weaker. And all the precious accolades you like to remind us of every time you open your mouth are way behind the statue of limitations. You talk with pride about being people who aren’t even on the active roster anymore, people who a large number of the fans have probably forgotten already. What have you done lately, Disturbed? Who have you beaten? What kind of championship reigns have you had? The answers are nothing, no one and none. That simplifies that.”

Off-camera, the noises get louder for a few moments, then quiet down considerably. Eric looks up for a moment with curiosity in his eyes. A heavy door opens out of sight and a gruff voice bellows down a set of stairs toward the Irish Dragon, saying something that sounds like “five minutes” but it’s hard to discern over the din. Eric seems to understand, though, and halts his battering of the bag. Stopping it with a hand, he turns to the camera with a harsh grin.

Eric Donavan
“You keep bitching to the masses about how you beat these people and find yourself lower on the card, claiming that you’re being passed over. Did you ever consider for a millisecond that maybe you’re lower on the card because you can’t hang? So you beat a few guys that went on to bigger and better things. Boo-fucking-hoo, you big baby. Those same people had the desire to improve and to push harder. They worked for their shots and they got them. You keep doing the same damn thing every week, from your work in the ring to your words in front of the camera. That’s the definition of insanity: doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. They worked at it. They fought, perspired and bled for it. You went through the motions. You put yourself in this spot but perish forbid you accept responsibility for being a lazy bastard. No, it’s the company’s fault. That’s so much easier for you to handle.

I guess the thought never crossed your mind that you should lace ‘em up a little tighter and work a little harder, huh? Guess it never dawned on you that maybe pushing yourself harder and fighting to get yourself noticed with a little more gusto might be the cure to what ails your career. That’s why you’re at the bottom, Disturbed…and why men like me are on their way up. Did you see me crying and bitching when Tombstone beat me the first time we went round-and-round? Hell no. I congratulated the man on a great match and went out the following show and ended a career. And that match with the Television Champion was so impressive that they booked it again, Disturbed. You want to focus on my losing? That’s fine. But answer me this: when was the last time that you impressed someone like that? When was the last time that through a loss you get the fans on their feet clamoring for another go-round with one of the most dominant champions in this company? Tell you what, since you did me the courtesy, I’ll give YOU a second to answer THAT one.”

Eric holds up his hand and taps his wrist, checking the ‘watch’ there to see if it’s even working. Then he lowers his arm and smirks in that devilish way he had.

Eric Donavan
“Time’s up. The answer is no. You can’t do what I do in or out of the ring. In that ring I force my opponents to step up or else I’ll make them look bad and tear down everything they’ve worked for. I make them fight for their lives if they’re going to have a hope of defeating me. The dominant, undefeated Tombstone walks with a limp now thanks to yours truly. The man had to damn near break my neck to save his title. Losing happens. There’s no avoiding it. I’ve lost my share before coming here and I’ll lose more while I’m here. It’s all in how you look at it and how you use it. You use it as a reason to bitch and moan. I use it as a reason to make my next opponent suffer, to redeem myself by destroying the next poor soul signed to meet me. Why don’t you go scare up the Gentleman Boxer and ask him what it’s like to face a redemption-seeking Irish Dragon, Disturbed. Maybe the answer you get will keep you from opening your big mouth again and embarrassing yourself even more.

You keep expecting everything to be handed to you and that’s not the way the business works. I, for one, am sick of your conspiracy theories. When I make it into the Six-Pack Challenge it will be because I earned it by stomping a hole in your face…not because of some management favor. And if by some chance I don’t put down Stall and take the strap, then I’ll earn another shot. It’s that simple. That’s just another difference between you and me. It’s called work ethic. Look it up. Stall might be the King of the Assholes but when he steps in the ring he gets it done. You making claims about him doing the same thing as you and getting rewarded is just more sour grapes. It’s pathetic. Just like you.”

Making a negligent gesture, Eric turns and heads for the steps from which the interrupting message of earlier came. The camera follows but stops mid-way up the steps, the door slamming shut before it. The scene dissolves away and we find out where the source of that noise from earlier was coming from. Standing in round, tattered cage surrounded by a few hundred shouting onlookers are three men. One of them is Eric, shaking himself out while half-listening to someone standing near his side of the cage. The six-and-a-half foot Irishman, red-haired and pale as you would except, is saying something to the Irish Dragon but we can’t make it out over the din. A black-shirted, thick-set fellow stands in the middle of the cage, presumably as some kind of official. As for the third, he’s a big, burly, tattooed bastard with a mean look in his eye and several scars on his face. He gives Eric a death glare as the cage door slams shut behind him.

The Irishman, recognized as Declan O’Farrell now, says one last thing to Eric with a grin on his lips. Eric smirks in response and cracks his knuckles while the black-garbed official looks between the two men. With the gesture of lowering his arm, he sets this underground and obviously unsanctioned bare-knuckle brawl in motion. Eric starts circling the cage with his eyes on Tattoo Man who pounds his fists into his palms, shouting threats at the man in front of him. Easily heard over the lowered din, Eric speaks via voice-over.


Voice of Eric Donavan
“At least if you’d gotten pinned in your match you would have been a meaningful part of the outcome. Instead you were off being the same useless afterthought that you usually are while Wildebeest pinned the man that you swore you would ensure didn’t win the match. Funny…seems like Wildebeest beat you to the punch there, eh? And you have the gall to try and call me on losing? Spin it however you want but the bottom line is you did nothing to prove you even deserved to be in the match in the first place. I, meanwhile, put on a match that was voted Match of the Night by the NEW Era faithful. In losing, Disturbed, I earned a qualifying match for a shot at the World Heavyweight Championship. You just did what you always do, which is disappoint, while I excelled.”

The tattooed monster takes a few wild swings at Eric, who dodges and ducks out of the way with a smirk on his face. A few jabs and a right hand to the ribs sends the bigger man back, snarling in anger. Eric taunts him to come forward again as his voice cuts through the action.

Voice of Eric Donavan
“Go ahead and take me lightly if that helps you sleep a little better before the show goes down. Drop some more names of people who don’t even compete in this company anymore. Do whatever it takes to make you feel for a few moments that you have guts, that you have the fortitude to survive me. But before you get too deep into your delusions, you need to recognize some facts: six matches into my career in NEW Era and I’m already in the running for the World Heavyweight Championship. One opponent I put on the shelf for a good, long time and a champion who I gave a limp. Match of the Night at Fear Itself, number seven in the Top Ten, a top contender to the North American and Television Championships…need I go on?”

The crowd’s rattling the cage, roaring and shaking the chain-link prison as Eric and Tattoo Man keep going at it. The Irish Dragon takes a few licks but gives them back in spades. His opponent is wearing bruises and has some blood coming from his lip as he comes at Eric again with heavy shots. He clinches Eric when he’s allowed in too close and shoves him against the cage, headbutting him stiffly. The official shoves Tattoo Man back as Eric shakes his head, feeling the effects.

Voice of Eric Donavan
And what about you, Disturbed? At Vindication you got slapped down by Erickson, ate defeat in the form of The Good Doctor and were a non-factor in the North American Championship match at Fear Itself, barely worthy of an honorable mention. Your talk is as big as your body but your ability to back it up is non-existent. You’re not moving up on the anymore. Hell, you’re not even moving down. You’re stagnating…and there’s nothing worse than that. At this point, you’ve talked yourself so far down and eaten so many crippling defeats that even putting on the match of your life before I kick your molars into the tenth row Sunday night won’t get you anywhere. Time to face facts: you’re not on my level. This won’t be one of those cases where you beat me and I ascend despite you. I’m going to leave you as a bloody pile and step over what remains of you to make my way to the top. As it should be. As it WILL be.”

Without question there’s betting going on in the crowd and the natives who put money on Tattoo Man are getting restless. The big fellow feigns being injured from a stiff right to the jaw by Eric and the official keeps him back while the tattooed monster staggers to the corner. He comes roaring back however, wielding a half-full whiskey bottle slipped him by a supporter through a hole in the cage. Eric sees it coming just in the nick, dodging the swings before finally blocking a swing with his left hand. The bottle breaks against his taped hand, shattering it and dousing Eric’s arm in cheap rotgut, the rest of which puddles on the floor.

Voice of Eric Donavan
“How many times have you unleashed the same spiel? Talked about how you’re the last of the originals or some shit? Five? Ten? Twenty? And you wonder why you aren’t getting anywhere. I’ve eaten my words many times in my career and it has made me better every time out, the adversity of tasting defeat and fighting through it to improve. You? You use it as an excuse, trying to throw years-old accomplishments in everyone’s faces long after they stopped caring.”

The tape protected him from the broken glass but the spray of droplets into his eyes has Eric momentarily out of sorts. Tattoo Man gets a couple of free shots including a big one to the gut and an uppercut that sends Eric back against the cage. He evades a punch that sees the bigger man’s taped fist rake the metal but has to drop low as a high left almost takes his head off. Knelt down, his right hand inadvertently in the puddle of booze left by the recently-broken bottle, Eric comes up with a blistering uppercut and a left hook that almost knocks the big man down. Someone doesn’t take kindly to this and throws a lit cigar into the cage…and it lands in the puddle of whiskey.

Voice of Eric Donavan
“You’re the last of a dying breed and Sunday I’m going to render you extinct. The time of cowering meatheads who expect the world to bow to them without proving themselves is done. I never threatened to end your career, Disturbed, but it’s sounding more and more like a good idea now that I think about it. And deep in the back of your mind you know I can do it. Everyone’s seen me do it once. Doing it again would be no problem.”

Eric picks up the stogie and uses it to ignite his liquor-soaked, taped hands. His opponent looks on in curious shock as Eric does this, then recoils as the Irish Dragon comes at him with a twisted grin on his face. Tattoo Man does his best to retreat and fight back but seeing the lengths to which Eric would go to win has him spooked. A pair of shots to the stomach and side has him screeching in pain as the impact plus the burning has him all but cowed. The speed of the scene slows down as Eric cracks him with a right hand to the jaw, the effect beautifully violent.

Voice of Eric Donavan
“Considered yourself damned, Disturbed. Your new rise to the top stops with me. But I’m not going to kill you to make it happen. Even though you’re going to wish you were dead by the time I’m done. And just in case you're wondering, this is just my way of letting off a little steam. Don't mistake it as me trying to impress you because you're not worth the effort. Sometimes I just feel the need to ditch the rules and bash someone's skull in in a no-frills environment. If you end up like this fat fool just did, you'll be able to consider yourself fortunate.”

Tattoo Man goes down and Eric mounts him, firing alternating rights and lefts to the head and face, continuing the assault until the official pulls him back and declares him the winner. He shoves his hands into a nearby bucket of water to put out the fire as Declan enters the cage to raise his friend’s arm.

Voice of Eric Donavan
“Call me on my temporary shortcomings all you want. You brag about being here since the start and you have two abbreviated title reigns to show for it and nothing of worth accomplished in over a year. In a mere fraction of that time I’m vying for a title you’ve barely got within sniffing distance of. I suggest you think before you open your mouth again. Wait till the very last moment if you want. But think before you press that button and put your face on the air again. Because I’ve already said my piece…and all your words will amount to is more fuel for my fire, a fire that will burn you down to nothing Sunday night. Welcome to the future, Disturbed…a future where NEW Era doesn’t have anything for you except pain.”

The last image we get is one of Eric and Declan in the middle of the cage, the former’s hands still smoking as we fade to black.
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Twitter: @NEWIrishDragon

NEW Record: 28-11-2
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1x NEWEra World Heavyweight Champion: 11/03/13-12/15/13
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