Post by Jules on Sept 7, 2012 7:44:44 GMT -4
I made my way to the meeting with a keen sense of trepidation. Not so much for fear of my personal safety, but because I knew the man I was going to see had changed tangibly since our last meeting. For several months I have been closer and given greater access to the APW Tap Out Champion Julius Farquhar than anyone else in the world. I have been able to observe features of the man’s personality that no other people see; I have observed the machinations of his contrary mind; felt the glow from his moments of kindness and dedication (on all occasions he has called me in to do the interview), and borne the brunt of his darker moods and his selfish whims.
The public perception of the Quintessentially English one is wholly negative; their view is only of those vile and sinister fruits he germinates: his absurd and malevolent racial philosophy; his arrogant and vitriolic rants; his narrow-minded tunnel vision that is dominated by his bouts of megalomania.
However, if one is able to read between the lines what is really there is a thoughtful wrestling whose ambition has no limit; behind his whole persona is a single-mindedness and a determination to be the best, an aspiration towards perfection. That this manifests itself in disagreeable ways, I had always thought much of it could be taken with a pinch of salt. When Julius spoke the audience listened, scoffed and had a object to incite hatred, but when Julius wrestles the world stops and watches because in spite of his many faults, he has always delivered in front of the paying audience, and is recognised as having done as much as anyone to make his name and his reputation an institution on Asylum.
Therefore, as unscrupulous as some his views came across, his record of performance inside the ring boasted innumerable merit. His battles with Phil Atken at Rasslemania, his conquest of Anthony Bailey, demonstrating a man who was committed to the sporting spectacle. However, this all changed as recently as two weeks ago when Julius Farquhar delivered himself to the lowest physical level through his actions at Shockwave. I haven’t spoken to Julius since and today is to be the first opportunity I will have to question him on why he did what he did, and why he saw fit to destroy his sporting credentials.
*
Julius Farquhar was alone in his hotel room, sat in a comfy armchair and looking admiringly at the APW Tap Out Championship belt he cradled in his arms like a freshly sprung infant.
Julius: I will never allow another person to lay their grubby hands upon you, and I will always protect you and keep you gleaming. We were meant to be together forever, and I will never leave you. My precious.
There was a knock at the door, interrupting Julius’ serenading of an inanimate object. The Quintessentially English one raised his head, sighed with no little irritation and summoned the knocker to enter. It was Phil, the APW reporter Julius had adopted as his own, and he was looking nervous.
Julius: Ah, Phillip, good of you to come, old cock.
Phil: No problem, Jules. Although it has been so long since you called upon me, I thought you might be irritated with me for some reason.
Julius: Irritated? Why heavens, no. How could I possibly be irritated with you Phillip, especially when you have given me such good service in recent months. The truth is, I have taken myself on a little holiday this past fortnight.
Phil: A little R & R?
Julius: Why, yes, of course. A little R & R for me and my precious. After my valiant victory at Shockwave, the least I could do was take a holiday and spend some time with that that has become most dear to me.
Phil: Where did you go?
Julius: Well, first we visited Egypt to see the famous Pyramids.
Julius hands Phil a picture of himself at the Pyramids of Giza, holding the Tap Out Championship belt proudly.
Phil: Very nice.
Julius: Quite. Doesn’t my championship belt look so glorious shining in the desert sun?
Phil: Hmmm.
Julius hands Phil another picture.
Julius: From Cairo we flew to New Delhi in India to visit the famous Taj Mahal.
Phil: India, eh? I’ve always wanted to visit the place.
Julius: I would not recommend it: an ungodly land, rightly forsaken by the Empire. Unbearable people puffed out by a most intolerable diet.
Phil: But they produce great tea, right?
Julius snorts and lifts his nose for a second.
Julius: As for that relic they hold so dear, just look at that photograph and how that great mausoleum pales in significance when compared to the magnificence of the Tap Out Championship when it is held by my hands.
Phil: *sceptically* Yeah, that is quite something.
Julius: Anyway, after passing several dreadful days in that last outpost of Hell, I decided to retire to England for a few days of solitude and peace.
Phil: Did you find them?
Julius: Oh quite so. But then life is always so peaceful when you are a wrestling champion, having just staked some villainous vampire whose tried to suck you dry of what is rightfully yours. Did you enjoy my performance at Shockwave?
Phil doesn’t answer immediately, shifts in his seat uncomfortably before a glare from Julius presses him into a response.
Phil: I think it certainly sent some reverberations throughout the wrestling world.
Julius: I could not agree more. Let it be remarked that it was the day the Tap Out Championship arrived at the elite playing table, the day when Julius Farquhar gave wrestling credibility once again in slaying that monstrous beast TJ. Ha! It seems the giant had no soul after all.
Julius chuckles quietly to himself, full of self-satisfaction.
Phil: About that? What happened at Shockwave?
Julius sits bolt upright.
Julius: What happened? Well, have you not observed, old boy? It was I, Julius Farquhar, that was declared winner before the watching world.
Phil: I know you were declared the winner, but can you really sit there and say that you won.
Julius: Winning is a perception, old chap. But, alas, I wish not to broach this topic. Everything I have to say will said where it should said and at a time fitting for such matters. I did not summon you to discuss the past, but only to project ourselves into the future.
Phil looks through his notes, looks up and utters a single name.
Phil: Jason Kash.
Julius smiles, then bursts into a display of excited agitation.
Julius: Yes, Jason Kash. Finally, I feel we have come full circle. Since the day I walked into Asylum this predator has surveyed and desired a singular prey: Jason Kash. Alas, it has come some moons too late because it was I who should have taken that World Championship belt away from him, not that hypocritical scoundrel Anthony Bailey.
Phil: So you’re pleased with this match against a man who is a multiple time World Champion, as well as the first man to complete an Asylum ‘Grand Slam’ and only the second man in the history of APW to achieve such a feat. Not to mention the first and only wrestler to inflict a serious and damaging defeat to Michael Callahan.
Julius: All of that and more – yes! Although speaking of World Championships, I see that my eternal adversary, Mr. Reginald Schmidt, has seen fit to neglect my presence on the roster and deny me my rightful and long overdue shot at the World Championship belt.
Phil: You’re talking about your exclusion from the Elimination Chamber qualifying matches.
Jules: I am indeed. First Test For The Best, and now this. It is a scandal that speaks of the vilest villainy. Nevertheless! One must not brood too long of the depressing details and the frightful whims of tyrants. I must press on and opportunity knocks this week I face Jason Kash.
Phil: So, you’re-
Jules: QUIET! Speak only when spoken to, my fellow, and the time has passed for your senseless gibbering.
Phil slumps in his seat as Jules unloads.
Jules: Jason Kash, fate, destiny, predestination, whether you believe in any of these things matters not, but know this, I was born to face down and destroy men of your ilk. It is the spirit of victory that flows through and galvanises the blood inside my veins. My kind and your kind we were destined to meet on the plain of battle to determine one thing: superiority.
Jules: Whether you adhere to or accept the historical inevitability of these events, what you cannot deny is that you face a challenge this Sunday like no other you have faced. Not because I have a stronger man or a wiser man, it is not because I am studious where you are passionate, it is not because I wrestle with my brain while you flounder with uncalculated and brutish methods, but because I am a man who rides with the spirit of betterment. For centuries my people have reigned supreme over those less able than us, we driven civility and sophistication into the hearts of the weak for as long as a the hallowed throne of England has prevailed.
Jules: You are a man of violence no doubt, and would not be so bold as to downplay the callousness of your villainy, but know this about me: I AM A DESTINY!
Jules: It was my right to face you eight months ago, but I have had to watch patiently while lesser men like Chaz Dillinger, Nathaniel Havok, Johnny Knuckles and Alioth Starre were given opportunity after opportunity to squander. I call this injustice; you call it merit, but then it does not surprise me that a weak king would do all he can to see to it that his throne were defended only against a flaccid enemy. But here I stand, proud, erect and determined to penetrate deep inside you, to pound away at your defences and break down your back door so that the relentless march of my army of soldiers you are powerless to prevent swarming all over and tearing away at your innards.
Jules: This Sunday, Jason Kash, is not just about a match between two men are not just philosophically, but genetically opposed; it is more than just a battle of nature in the finest Darwinian traditions; this Sunday it will be a moment of vindication for me, for the Quintessentially English, and the great Quintessentially English Empire.
Jules: You may be the most decorated wrestler in the history of Asylum, and no words I can say will ever take that away, but this Sunday the world will watch as the ‘Grand Slam’ Champion is broken bit by bit into a thousand pieces. You are the man of violence around here, well then I am the man of conquest. Your belt says there are no bounds to your barbarism, well mine says I break wrestlers for a living. This belt I hold tells the world that I don’t use weapons to bring victory, that I do not measure success by spilling blood, this belt I hold tells the world that there is nobody in this business who can make men yield with their bare hands better than I do. That is what I do for a living, Jason Kash, I force the wrestlers in the world into a state of uncompromising vulnerability, I make the world’s greatest warrior’s turn against every instinct in their soul: I make them tap, quit, give up and yield to another man’s power – MINE!
Jules: That is what is in store for you, Jason Kash – relentless aggression and no mercy – and when I am through with you, it will not be just the quitting I will demand of you, but I will put you on your knees and force you to PAY HOMAGE!
The scene fades.
The public perception of the Quintessentially English one is wholly negative; their view is only of those vile and sinister fruits he germinates: his absurd and malevolent racial philosophy; his arrogant and vitriolic rants; his narrow-minded tunnel vision that is dominated by his bouts of megalomania.
However, if one is able to read between the lines what is really there is a thoughtful wrestling whose ambition has no limit; behind his whole persona is a single-mindedness and a determination to be the best, an aspiration towards perfection. That this manifests itself in disagreeable ways, I had always thought much of it could be taken with a pinch of salt. When Julius spoke the audience listened, scoffed and had a object to incite hatred, but when Julius wrestles the world stops and watches because in spite of his many faults, he has always delivered in front of the paying audience, and is recognised as having done as much as anyone to make his name and his reputation an institution on Asylum.
Therefore, as unscrupulous as some his views came across, his record of performance inside the ring boasted innumerable merit. His battles with Phil Atken at Rasslemania, his conquest of Anthony Bailey, demonstrating a man who was committed to the sporting spectacle. However, this all changed as recently as two weeks ago when Julius Farquhar delivered himself to the lowest physical level through his actions at Shockwave. I haven’t spoken to Julius since and today is to be the first opportunity I will have to question him on why he did what he did, and why he saw fit to destroy his sporting credentials.
*
Julius Farquhar was alone in his hotel room, sat in a comfy armchair and looking admiringly at the APW Tap Out Championship belt he cradled in his arms like a freshly sprung infant.
Julius: I will never allow another person to lay their grubby hands upon you, and I will always protect you and keep you gleaming. We were meant to be together forever, and I will never leave you. My precious.
There was a knock at the door, interrupting Julius’ serenading of an inanimate object. The Quintessentially English one raised his head, sighed with no little irritation and summoned the knocker to enter. It was Phil, the APW reporter Julius had adopted as his own, and he was looking nervous.
Julius: Ah, Phillip, good of you to come, old cock.
Phil: No problem, Jules. Although it has been so long since you called upon me, I thought you might be irritated with me for some reason.
Julius: Irritated? Why heavens, no. How could I possibly be irritated with you Phillip, especially when you have given me such good service in recent months. The truth is, I have taken myself on a little holiday this past fortnight.
Phil: A little R & R?
Julius: Why, yes, of course. A little R & R for me and my precious. After my valiant victory at Shockwave, the least I could do was take a holiday and spend some time with that that has become most dear to me.
Phil: Where did you go?
Julius: Well, first we visited Egypt to see the famous Pyramids.
Julius hands Phil a picture of himself at the Pyramids of Giza, holding the Tap Out Championship belt proudly.
Phil: Very nice.
Julius: Quite. Doesn’t my championship belt look so glorious shining in the desert sun?
Phil: Hmmm.
Julius hands Phil another picture.
Julius: From Cairo we flew to New Delhi in India to visit the famous Taj Mahal.
Phil: India, eh? I’ve always wanted to visit the place.
Julius: I would not recommend it: an ungodly land, rightly forsaken by the Empire. Unbearable people puffed out by a most intolerable diet.
Phil: But they produce great tea, right?
Julius snorts and lifts his nose for a second.
Julius: As for that relic they hold so dear, just look at that photograph and how that great mausoleum pales in significance when compared to the magnificence of the Tap Out Championship when it is held by my hands.
Phil: *sceptically* Yeah, that is quite something.
Julius: Anyway, after passing several dreadful days in that last outpost of Hell, I decided to retire to England for a few days of solitude and peace.
Phil: Did you find them?
Julius: Oh quite so. But then life is always so peaceful when you are a wrestling champion, having just staked some villainous vampire whose tried to suck you dry of what is rightfully yours. Did you enjoy my performance at Shockwave?
Phil doesn’t answer immediately, shifts in his seat uncomfortably before a glare from Julius presses him into a response.
Phil: I think it certainly sent some reverberations throughout the wrestling world.
Julius: I could not agree more. Let it be remarked that it was the day the Tap Out Championship arrived at the elite playing table, the day when Julius Farquhar gave wrestling credibility once again in slaying that monstrous beast TJ. Ha! It seems the giant had no soul after all.
Julius chuckles quietly to himself, full of self-satisfaction.
Phil: About that? What happened at Shockwave?
Julius sits bolt upright.
Julius: What happened? Well, have you not observed, old boy? It was I, Julius Farquhar, that was declared winner before the watching world.
Phil: I know you were declared the winner, but can you really sit there and say that you won.
Julius: Winning is a perception, old chap. But, alas, I wish not to broach this topic. Everything I have to say will said where it should said and at a time fitting for such matters. I did not summon you to discuss the past, but only to project ourselves into the future.
Phil looks through his notes, looks up and utters a single name.
Phil: Jason Kash.
Julius smiles, then bursts into a display of excited agitation.
Julius: Yes, Jason Kash. Finally, I feel we have come full circle. Since the day I walked into Asylum this predator has surveyed and desired a singular prey: Jason Kash. Alas, it has come some moons too late because it was I who should have taken that World Championship belt away from him, not that hypocritical scoundrel Anthony Bailey.
Phil: So you’re pleased with this match against a man who is a multiple time World Champion, as well as the first man to complete an Asylum ‘Grand Slam’ and only the second man in the history of APW to achieve such a feat. Not to mention the first and only wrestler to inflict a serious and damaging defeat to Michael Callahan.
Julius: All of that and more – yes! Although speaking of World Championships, I see that my eternal adversary, Mr. Reginald Schmidt, has seen fit to neglect my presence on the roster and deny me my rightful and long overdue shot at the World Championship belt.
Phil: You’re talking about your exclusion from the Elimination Chamber qualifying matches.
Jules: I am indeed. First Test For The Best, and now this. It is a scandal that speaks of the vilest villainy. Nevertheless! One must not brood too long of the depressing details and the frightful whims of tyrants. I must press on and opportunity knocks this week I face Jason Kash.
Phil: So, you’re-
Jules: QUIET! Speak only when spoken to, my fellow, and the time has passed for your senseless gibbering.
Phil slumps in his seat as Jules unloads.
Jules: Jason Kash, fate, destiny, predestination, whether you believe in any of these things matters not, but know this, I was born to face down and destroy men of your ilk. It is the spirit of victory that flows through and galvanises the blood inside my veins. My kind and your kind we were destined to meet on the plain of battle to determine one thing: superiority.
Jules: Whether you adhere to or accept the historical inevitability of these events, what you cannot deny is that you face a challenge this Sunday like no other you have faced. Not because I have a stronger man or a wiser man, it is not because I am studious where you are passionate, it is not because I wrestle with my brain while you flounder with uncalculated and brutish methods, but because I am a man who rides with the spirit of betterment. For centuries my people have reigned supreme over those less able than us, we driven civility and sophistication into the hearts of the weak for as long as a the hallowed throne of England has prevailed.
Jules: You are a man of violence no doubt, and would not be so bold as to downplay the callousness of your villainy, but know this about me: I AM A DESTINY!
Jules: It was my right to face you eight months ago, but I have had to watch patiently while lesser men like Chaz Dillinger, Nathaniel Havok, Johnny Knuckles and Alioth Starre were given opportunity after opportunity to squander. I call this injustice; you call it merit, but then it does not surprise me that a weak king would do all he can to see to it that his throne were defended only against a flaccid enemy. But here I stand, proud, erect and determined to penetrate deep inside you, to pound away at your defences and break down your back door so that the relentless march of my army of soldiers you are powerless to prevent swarming all over and tearing away at your innards.
Jules: This Sunday, Jason Kash, is not just about a match between two men are not just philosophically, but genetically opposed; it is more than just a battle of nature in the finest Darwinian traditions; this Sunday it will be a moment of vindication for me, for the Quintessentially English, and the great Quintessentially English Empire.
Jules: You may be the most decorated wrestler in the history of Asylum, and no words I can say will ever take that away, but this Sunday the world will watch as the ‘Grand Slam’ Champion is broken bit by bit into a thousand pieces. You are the man of violence around here, well then I am the man of conquest. Your belt says there are no bounds to your barbarism, well mine says I break wrestlers for a living. This belt I hold tells the world that I don’t use weapons to bring victory, that I do not measure success by spilling blood, this belt I hold tells the world that there is nobody in this business who can make men yield with their bare hands better than I do. That is what I do for a living, Jason Kash, I force the wrestlers in the world into a state of uncompromising vulnerability, I make the world’s greatest warrior’s turn against every instinct in their soul: I make them tap, quit, give up and yield to another man’s power – MINE!
Jules: That is what is in store for you, Jason Kash – relentless aggression and no mercy – and when I am through with you, it will not be just the quitting I will demand of you, but I will put you on your knees and force you to PAY HOMAGE!
The scene fades.
