Post by Evan De Parker on May 27, 2012 9:42:22 GMT -4
A brilliant flash of light, a mix of milk-white and gold floods our scene. It’s enough to make us recoil. An experienced film student or camera manager may recognize the effect as a result of removing the lens while focusing on the sun.
We focus rather quickly however, on the face of Evan Envi. There’s little story to be told on the man’s face, but if you asked Evan, he’d give you a novel. Despite the emptiness currently found in his eyes, there is nothing but contempt, quivering around somewhere in his gut, preparing to be unleashed.
Evan opens his mouth as if to speak, but holds up a finger, motioning for the audience to pause. He pushes himself up to his feet and backs away from the camera, giving us a view of Evan from his waist up. He lifts his shirt, a plain navy-colored V-neck, up to his sternum. Here, we see a rather large bruise on the right side of his ribcage… It’s a sickening shade of purple, with a black outline-- the fair skin surrounding it tainted with a mild shade of yellow from the mix of applied iodine and natural stress on the skin.
Evan turns now so that his back faces the camera. He has another series of bruises, though considerably smaller in size and more forgivable in their appearance. He drops his shirt and turns, dropping down onto his couch, giving the camera an irritated look.
”Yarmouth is not a professional wrestler. Yarmouth is a savage that should be running around somewhere out in the-- the damn Amazon or something, eating other men like steaks.”
Inexplicably, a half-smile crosses Envi’s face and he laughs loudly for a few seconds. He claps a hand over his own heart and shakes his head.
”And of course he would find himself in professional wrestling. It seems that every few years, once of these guys comes around… A big guy. A talented monster that the company thinks is gonna be good for business… Somebody with such aggression in their hearts and such a sense of ruthlessness that it eventually casts this dark cloud over the company-- and I’ll tell you why.
“Because all the while, there are people like me. The little guys. The ones that work their ass off twice as hard to get half as much. The ones that aren’t quite as rare as behemoths like Yarmouth.”
Evan’s smile fades once again and he points one single, accusing finger into the lens as if it were the face of the number one contender to his North American Title.
”And we’re the ones that will do anything and everything we can to get that W over the big guys. When that keeps happening, your monster doesn’t look like so much of a monster anymore. And with that comes a loss of appeal, and a deficit for business. It’s only a matter of time before somebody locates your weakness and every guy in the back knows exactly how to take you out. When it comes to Yarmouth…”
Evan pauses again and shakes his head, redirecting his statement.
”When it comes to you, Yarmouth, I’m that guy that’s gonna expose you and humiliate you. In fact, I already know your biggest weakness, and it’s Jason Royce, the most pompous bigot I’ve seen step foot in an arena in my five years of doing this damn gig.
“Apparently I’m the only person who sees something wrong with Yarmouth being told when he’s allowed to speak, when he’s allowed to eat, when he’s allowed to walk, sleep, shit-- it’s a little sketchy. And the guy he answers to is a man that tells Yarmouth to damage his brain by head butting foreign objects, and the same man that beats him. You think Royce is responsible for any portion of Yarmouth’s minimal success?
“Yarmouth, do you think Royce is responsible for what you’ve done in Action Packed Wrestling? Because it seems to me that you’re doing all the work and Royce hasn’t helped you improve a damn bit. Without you, he doesn’t collect a paycheck from APW. None. But… Here he is, beating you and degrading you, and you go off and make him some money. And excuse me if I sound offensive, but I think you need to hear this. I think everybody needs to hear this.
“You are a slave, Yarmouth, and it’s two-thousand-fucking-twelve. And you’re gonna get stepped on real quick in this business if you think you’re gonna make it in the main event when another man owns you. If you had any sense of dignity and you wanted to progress at all, you’d dump that sack of shit right now and you’d come join me in the main event and give everybody the match of a lifetime. Not Terry Marvin against whoever else they’re throwing in my main event-- but the REAL show-- the REAL main event, the North American Championship.”
Evan lifts his chin upward, casting a condescending look into the lens. It’s slowly but surely that his lips part and a grin makes its way across his features. He chuckles again and looks down, shaking his head in order to hide his amusement.
”But you? You won’t do that. You don’t have it in you, and I don’t think you’ve got the brain capacity to realize that you could further your career.”
Without warning, Evan slams a fist down onto the table. His face is beat red and he jumps up to his feet, glaring into the camera. In what had to have been less than a second, Evan had gone from giggly to furious.
”YOU’RE AN IDIOT! YOU COULD HAVE PUT YOUR CHAMPION ON THE SHELF! But you don’t even care at all…”
Evan lifts up his V-neck again, turning his damaged ribs toward the lens.
”LOOK what you did! Bruised ribs you son of a bitch! And that’s not something that I’m going to take lying down. I’ve never been that guy and you’ve made a huge mistake if you thought I was going to be used as an example-- as some sort of stepping stone toward the North American Title. You’re not gettin’ it.”
Evan looks down, toward the floor for a second and instantly his anger subsides. The redness seems to flush out of his face in rapid time as he reaches downward and pulls up the large North American Championship belt. He throws it over his shoulder and spends several seconds just staring at it… Gazing into the reflection.
He brushes a finger over the nameplate, brushing off any pieces of dust or filth there may have been. He turns to the lens again.
”We’re not going to have this argument here. We’re gonna have it on Monday night on Meltdown. I may not be able to outfight you, but I can CERTAINLY out-maneuver… Our-wrestle you completely. And we’ll settle that discussion in the ring.
“But I’m going to explain to you why I’m gonna be coming after you as hard as I will be on Monday. Because this, Yarmouth? This belt right here represents success. I was already getting noticed before I won it, but this… This basically cements my legacy here in APW. This ensures that I’m not going anywhere anytime soon… This is the middle finger to everybody that said I was gonna be out the door in the month. This is the exclamation point to my career thus far. This is the precursor to my future Undisputed Championship.”
Evan lowers the belt again, at his feet, and looks up at the camera with an eyebrow raised. He leans back on the couch and throws his hands up.
”And I know you’re not going anywhere either. Because you’ve got a lot to prove to everybody that’s ever doubted you’d even get a title shot. And you’ve got a lot to prove to yourself. THAT, my friend, is gonna take a while. And I have no sympathy… You’re a man that really doesn’t know what, or who he is yet. And it’s sad.
“I know you envy me. My freedom. My three different residencies. My six vehicles. My private jet. My success. I know that’s the real reason you came after me like that… You’re asking too much of yourself though. Not everybody is born as good as Evan Envi.”
Evan shrugs and a look of guilt-- maybe a look of humanity crosses his face.
”And admittedly, not everybody is born into money like I was. I was already born with the tools to succeed… Most importantly, an understanding and supportive family.”
Evan smirks again. That sickening grin is once again on his lips.
”And that’s where you messed up, isn’t it? You were an orphan… With nobody there pushing you, and nobody acting as a proverbial safety net every time you fall.
“I’ll do something I don’t normally do, and I’ll pat myself on the back. I was so damn good as a youngster that I didn’t fall that much. But when I did, I had people telling me that no matter how long it took, I was gonna have to get my ass back up. And I did, every time. And I always come back ten times better. Unluckily for you, this is the best I’ve ever been. And you took it upon yourself to mess with me, and ambush me, and embarrass me.
“You WILL fall on Monday Night Meltdown, Yarmouth, as I’m sure you’ve fallen many times before. And you have no safety net now, just like you had no safety net as a child, you damn orphan. Every time you fell, you had to will yourself to get back on your feet. And I commend you. I respect that. I respect that you have some backbone and you wanna hurt people.
“But I won’t be that guy. I am not an example. And you’ll learn that real quick when I retain my title on Monday and you fall harder than you’ve ever fallen before. Who’s gonna pick you up this time, Yarmouth?”
Evan’s face, for the second time of the evening, is drained of all emotion in a matter of seconds. His features are as cold as they were when we were introduced to the scene. His jaw tightens and he tilts his head slightly to the side. He shrugs once more and repeats the question to his opponent.
”Who?”
We abruptly fade to black as Evan’s final words echo through the darkness.
