Oppression: Triple H vs. Mr. Cartwright

[Dominic Reynolds]

Triple H vs. Mr. Cartwright

We seen these two men fight to a draw two weeks ago on Raw, last week we seen Cartwright pull off a win over Robin. Now management has given him the chance to keep his roll going by getting another opportunity to match with Triple H, the only man who has given him any real challenge so far since coming to Thy WWE.

[Triple H [T] -Mexi]

Every man comes to a conclusion that they must fight for more than just to beat someone but they must also fight to prove their worth. Some people feel pressed like they are under the rule of others or facing someone in their life they don’t think they can beat. Well a word that goes with being held down or even held back by another or one’s own mind would be called Oppression. That word is one of very powerful meaning because oppression has been around since the dawn of time.

It’s a word that is seemingly playing on the minds of many men involved within their matches for THY WWE. There is big matches happening at the Pay per View and some are truly hyped to be blockbusters. One of those matches lined up is none other than Triple H verses Mr. Cartwright as their last match wound up in a draw between the two men, it was a battle that never got a conclusion. Triple H has not been seen on THY WWE since that match but agreed to face Cartwright at Oppression whether it be out of wanting to prove that he is the dominant force or to prove that there is no one that he can’t go toe to toe with in the wrestling business. Triple H has been iconic throughout his wrestling career; he has garnished titles and been one who has been in brutal matches that has basically shortened his career. These days he tries to prove and maintain the same kind of power and dominance he once had. The King of Kings himself knows that he is not getting any younger and staying in shape seems just a tad more harder. Although he has fallen back a few times he still seems to prove himself among his peers and the younger guys that he is still The Game and that he is still that damn good. Shaping his career around the power and aggression from an era long since faded Triple H is like the old pack leader still going strong and proving that you cannot take the fight out of anyone no matter what comes to be. Triple H has seen cage matches, he has seen street fights, he has seen hell in a cells, he has seen elimination chambers. What a man does throughout his career can define him, the way he works around others can defined him. The Pay per View before him is called oppression and Triple H has always refused to be oppressed and buried under the coat tails of anyone else. No Triple H diverged his own road and made his destiny sealed in stone. Going from a lowly unknown that was called Terra Ryzing then came up from that to stand before everyone to look on high as The King of Kings. It is a story to show how far one can go and that they too can reach heights that one day seem impossible. Triple H may not be the top man in THY at the moment but every step he is taking he wants to prove that the dominance factor which has ruled his in ring career is there. Not wanting to back down, never stepping away, and always driving into every match full force. The King of Kings looks to show Mr. Cartwright how a true king enters battle.

The scene comes back to Triple H’s locker room, he is taping up his wrist as he is looking into a mirror. The silhouette of his face is seen in the mirror but mostly covered by his hair as he slowly wraps his hand a little. The look of the room makes Triple H appear rugged and rough within his own physique like a very athletic mountain man.
[The King of Kings] Triple H: “The very fact here proves sometimes you have to do something more than once to get it right. The reason I stand in the back of this locker room just goes to show you that nothing is ever done properly in one try. Every year, every month, and every day in my career I busted my ass to get where I am. I busted it day in and day out. From the doors of unknown high school gyms to the former halls of WCW then to what was known as WWE. Now I walk in this threshold of a company similar. I stand in the presence of a place known as THY WWE. I may not be the guy with the belt, I may not be the guy who everyone wants to call upon. But I am the guy who has done this long enough to know that nothing ever comes easy, The paths we take are the paths we make, I’m solidifying mine tonight in this match with Cartwright. I’m solidifying my legacy, my career with another match. As this tape wraps about my hand will be used to strike down another foe, another man whom I want to prove that I can beat. I am not washed up, I am not too old for this business. I am just someone that has the experience to roll with what all the years have brought upon me. Does this match signify something? Does this match truly mean that one man will move forward as if it was destiny? No what this match means is who is better. A few weeks ago myself and Mr. Cartwright came to a match that was a draw, we came to a match that only signified that we were both on a level playing field.”
Triple H finished taping his hand up then opening and closing it a few times. Sitting down on steel chair still before the same mirror and his face was not really seen behind his hair. Slowly Triple H reached down and slid his knee pats up on both legs, his words were hallow and low as he spoke in the room.

[The King of Kings] Triple H: “I’ve been in battles with few men that could move with me move for move. I’ve been in few matches where I was left without my hand raised or my body broken upon the mat. It’s not everyday you find another man that can tolerate the same abuse as you can and it’s not every day that you can find someone that is on the level of your own ability. I’ve been up and down a lot in my career, I’ve been the last man standing and the only man down. Mr. Cartwright earned my respect in our last match, I wanted to end him, I wanted to end the streak that strove him to be so powerful. Now here we are again going to try and figure out which man is more defined to walk out of the ring as the winner. I’ve been down the ramp more than a dozen times in my career possibly thousands but the same chill goes down your spine no matter if it is a house show, televised, or even Pay per View. This walk to face someone you know may be able to take you down, or that you may actually beat them is intense. Walking into this sort of match is like walking into yourself, it’s that question of can I still do this? Am I still capable of the same power that once flowed through me that made me who I am? But I never doubt my ability as a performer what I look into is the retrospect of is did I learn something from all I have done. How much have I really evolved beyond all the titles, all the near career ending matches. What really out of all those defined me as The Game, as The King of Kings, and as damn best in this business today? What defined me was being able to show it to everyone. But what I took from it over the years comes into play tonight and may be my key into beating Cartwright. But will it happen? I’m going to walk out like I have every day of my career and sure as hell show the crowd why I have come to be known as The Cerebral Assassin.”

Triple H finished sliding the left knee brace up, and had it in place. Standing up as his boots were already on, he shook both legs out making sure they were not stiff. After that he reached over to a table grabbing a bottled water walking out of the locker room. He took a few sips and then poured it over his head wetting down his hair a little to leave him half a bottle of water. Triple H made his way down the hall letting the camera crew follow behind him as he walked.

[The King of Kings] Triple H: “One step closer, another step forward, and another foot headed toward a night considered to be like destiny. You know back in ancient times a Roman Gladiator would strap up what little armor he was given over his chest, he would probably be given a worn shield and a near rusted weapon to wield. They would walk out into the arena and fight for their lives either against soldiers, animals, or other gladiators. Tonight I am a fallen King made to walk around the common grounds of which I once came from. I am to battle as a Gladiator, to battle as a man who has lost his place among the hierarchy of power. Now as a warrior once more I battle to reclaim each step, I battle as a Gladiator for the crowd to back whether I want them to or not. Like a man of those times it was fighting for survival and respect. Sure these days our lives are not on the line but it has become a state of Evolution, nothing can stay the same forever, hell we as men cannot last forever. But while our bodies are capable of moving, while our minds are capable of coherent thought we have the right to do as we please and make the world take notice. Gladiators of a modern era, warriors to still have the fans reaction with only few actions. Things have become different over the progression over time but that frenzy for violence and satisfaction still resides in the ever merciless eyes of the spectators. But those of us here now do it because we enjoy it, Cartwright last time I wanted to end you, last time I said I was set on destroying you. But with respect held close in my chest for you I am going to walk down to that ring, get inside of it and lock up with you for a match that may in fact steal the show. Lights overhead, dominance on our minds, and..”

Triple H would let the camera circle around him, his head finally rose up as his eyes were just seen through the strands past his hair. He looked to the camera that was recording him, the lock of focus was fierce and would devastate the eyes of a normal man.

[The King of Kings] Triple H: “Intensity in our eyes. Men crave to find themselves in a match like this Cartwright, men want to face someone who is seemingly their equal. You’ve striven to be at this level, I spent my entire life to rise to this level and hold it. Sure one day my name may be on a slate for Hall of Fame, yours could be there as well. And in our careers that are looked upon in THY WWE the men of tomorrows wrestling will look unto us and follow in similar fashion what we created. We may not be artists or great composers Cartwright but to people wrestling is memorable, we shape the future and I sure hell am looking forward to shaking the future of THY WWE here tonight in that very ring pasts the curtain with you. I’ve asked it a hundred times of are you ready? I’ve said this also a hundred times. I will show you why I am That Damn Good!”

Triple H picked up the water bottle and took off the camera catching his back as “Time to Play The Game” by Motorhead cranked out the P.A. system. Triple H walked out through the curtain to wrestle within a match he called destiny.

[Mr. Cartwright Edgar Parker]

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"Any so-called material thing that you want is merely a symbol: you want it not for itself, but because it will content your spirit for the moment."
- Mark Twain

Mr. Cartwright Edgar Parker, Esquire's white gloved hand pushed the phonograph needle down on the record. Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart's "Lacrimosa" started playing out through the room, the notes of the young genius interpreted by the orchestra and then slung about in a glorious harmony.
There were many things one could say about the composer, and there were many things that one could say about his work. But for his Requiem Mass in D Minor, very few words could sum up all of the emotion that it hosted--haunting, ominous, mournful...and epic. The genius had written the music for his death in ways only a genius could, signifying the end of his reign in music. An tragedy in which only suitable emotion would be despair.
And yet, for Mr. Cartwright Edgar Parker (Esquire), it was the best song to play, considering what was going through his mind. He was thinking of the end of another reign at the moment--and how best to topple the kings.

"Mr. Hunter Hearst Helmsley, sir. Triple H. The King of Kings. The Cerebral Assassin. The Game. You have many titles, sir, a fact weighing heavily upon the mighty size of your groin. It is said that the more titles a man carries with him, the greater his penis size, with which he can utilize as a makeshift club when his fists are insufficient for people. Though I suppose you have your sledgehammer, which also works perfectly well in slapping people left and right until their faces look not dissimilar to Mr. Leftfoot's."

He smiled as he walked across the room, several squares of paper in his hand. He sifted through them, shuffling them like a deck of cards.
On his mind at the moment was a belt.
Not just any belt, though. A championship belt.
Not just a championship belt, either. Championship belts. More than one, more than "a"--there were plenty. Enough for the dogs to come home.
Mr. Cartwright Edgar Parker (Esquire) had downloaded several pictures off the internet, printing them out. He stood in front of a corkboard, pinning the pictures up one by one. Tag team championship, Thy WWE championship, and other belts. One after the other, up on the board, the metal pins attaching them to the cork and hanging them there.

"Glorious, aren't they? Glittering, shiny, and reflective, all the prerequisites of a desirable spot of nothing important. Here I am, perhaps more fitting of my previous nome-de-clature than anything, attracted to such mere piles of metal and leather and happy and very-interesting-ness. Who is one to deny their value, that hundreds of people would fight over such things for the most trivial of reasons?"

First order of business: Determine how many belts there were in Thy WWE. Check. He had every single printed out and attached to this corkboard as a sort of hit-list.
Second order of business: Determine who had the belts. Determine who was wearing what, and what they did in order to overcome them. Uncheck. This PPV would be an excellent opportunity for such--scout out one of the people wearing a belt and watch them fight.
Third order of business. ...heh. That would be determined later on.

"And then, of course, comes the mandatory order of business. The trash-talk. The defamation of character, utilizing mean-spirited words and other such nasty terms in order to make people feel inadequate and bad about themselves. Hopefully, the fact that we called them a 'doodie-head' lingers with them even to the ring, where they stumble about in self-doubt. Their mind, occupied and tormented: 'Am I in fact a doodie-head? Has my entire existence been wasted on doing things inappropriate for such a doodie-headed person? Why do I continue to pursue this silly path of career for the sake of my head in the shape of a doodie?'. And then the other person comes in to hit them and they collapse in pain and ow. It's really quite unfortunate."

Mr. Cartwright Edgar Parker (Esquire) walked away from the corkboard, heading over to a mini-fridge and opening it up, pulling out a bottle of wine. It was a dark porto, fresh from 2001. Not terribly old, but enough for flavor.

"But I wish to break this chain of negativity and nastiness! Because, simply put, what we say to each other really has absolutely no affect on the other person, does it? In fact, I dare say that I could call your mother a cactus who molested the sun's anal discharges, and you would brush it off. Along the same line, you could lie and say I'm anything less than a paragon of all things swell and nifty who births stylish top hats appropriate for female adornment in new and interesting ways with every step, and I would brush it off. Not just because it's a lie, because I am that, but also because I have very little care as to your opinion of me. Along the same lines, no matter what announcement I bring to the masses to enlighten their eyes and open up their closed minds, you likely have very little care as to my opinion of you."

He poured a small amount into a wineglass, taking it and then standing up tall with a grin.

"And so, I'm going to try an experiment, Mr. Helmsley. Tonight, as much as it pains me, I'm going to spend this entire session complimenting you. I hope that my compliments, much like my ice-skating, cut through things so deep that they reach an alternate universe version of you currently sulking at the moment and perk you up. And then that alternate universe version of you would head back to his job of bagging groceries with a fresh vigor. Instead of tearing you down, I'm going to inspire you to do better. That way, instead of being bland, our match will be fantastic. Like the little squeals of children when they get a lolly for being good at the dentist."

He takes a small sip, then clears his throat.

"Mr. Hunter Hearst Helmsley, sir, esquire, lord, the valiant, the grand, the mighty, the powerful, the great, the etc, the neat, the swell, the man-person who can take on lions with his ears. I have heard great and mighty tales about him, such as how his body is roughly 90% muscle and how every time he speaks a kitten is born from a mother and finds its way into the hands of a giggling child. Perhaps that is why his wife married him, so that she could start more conversations and produce more happiness in the world with kittens and children. Perhaps that is also why she deigned herself to succumb to his charms, bearing him children--to provide children so that kittens could wander to them. The possibilities are endless!"
"Along the same lines, I'm familiar with the idea of the height of his accomplishments in the history of wrestling. A height that could only be matched if Mt. Everest sat atop the Empire State Building, which sat atop those really really really tall ladders used in libraries to real books on the top shelf, which sat atop a spaceship resting sideways, which sat atop a hawk flying at a height just barely surpassing the Earth's atmosphere. And in the spaceship would be two gentlemen having wine. Because, like them, Mr. Hunter Hearst Helmsley is a gentleman, and every gentleman's accomplishments should be accentuated with a fine wine."

He takes another lengthy sip, closing his eyes in pleasure at the drink. "Aaah. Like just now. A good drink for a good man."

Mr. Cartwright Edgar Parker (Esquire) lifted up his glass, then started heading over to the coatrack next to the door. On it were several coats, but most notably was a protruding top-hat.
He took the top-hat and lifted it up, glancing it over. "I'm sure I could put this top-hat in this fantasy somewhere. Ever since Robin mentioned me wearing it, which I do not, I purchased one. It really is quite a classy item, appropriate for a gentleman to adorn in various classy situations. And simply wearing it makes someone have at least 55.555551% more class."

He lifts it up to rest on his head. "If I were any classier, I'd need a monocle." He then pulled a monocle out of his pocket to rest against his eye. "Oh wait, here it is! Wish granted. And I can assure you, Mr. Helmsley, you are at LEAST this classy, if not more so. You are classy enough to have a class dedicated to being classy, in your name. It is called the Hunter Hearst Helmsley Class of being Classy like a Motherfucker."

He paused and then set the monocle down (though kept the top hat on), then put the wineglass down on the table.
"Now, tell me, Mr. Helmsley. Do you feel the least bit different after all of that? No? Of course you don't. If anything, you probably feel very confused. 'Why is this strange and strangely handsome man complimenting me like so? Aren't we supposed to be enemies?'"
He smiled. "Of course we are, Mr. Helmsley. We're enemies in a competition with each other. We're striving towards the same goal, and we have the same general ideas in mind. But you know what? I've become utterly apathetic as to the people in this business." He shrugs and reclines back, getting into his chair and leaning back. "I've made my mention in this, I've made my place and I've made my mark...and now it's time to make my move. MY move. My move from me and me alone."

He tilts his head. "You probably want to win, don't you? You want to overcome me. You want to beat me. For this moment, for this spot in time, our feelings are mutual. You want to win, and I want to win. But why do you want to win? Why do you want to overcome me? Look deep into yourself--this goes beyond simply 'I'm not scared of you' and 'I want to prove myself'. The first time you met, you said you were not scared of me. Not scared of me! Like I'm some sort of danger to the federation and some sort of danger to other people!"
"Mr. Hunter Hearst Helmsley, I believe you see me as a threat. And for that, I'm honored. Because I'm going to be a threat to this federation. I have a mission in mind, and I'm going to start it at Oppression."

He grins widely, tilting his head the other direction. "...but as for you? You are quite an interesting man, Mr. Helmsley. You've made an impact in my mind. I think I'm going to let you have an annul in history, here. You've made your mark as the first man who actually made me stumble in my undefeated streak. Well, tonight? I'm going to permit you the ability to end my undefeated streak. I'm going to lose to you, Mr. Helmsley. We are going to face each other, and you will have the honor of the first man who actually defeated Mr. Cartwright Edgar Parker, Esquire."

He tipped his top-hat. "Consider it my gift to you, before I tear this place up."

[Vince McMahon]

This is going to be hard to judge XD. Great job guys!