Post by "The Welsh Dragon" Dan White on Nov 17, 2012 9:01:07 GMT -4
Salem, Massachusetts.
Quite a fitting place really, for a man of supernatural beliefs to end up fighting. But, sod’s law and all that would inevitably lead Irver Famori to this location.
The camera opens up, not in a hotel room this time, but at Pioneer Village, a local live-in museum based on the puritan era. The ground is soggy, but there is no rain, just a slow dusk falling on a late autumn afternoon.
And here, is where we find our protagonist. Or antagonist, if you prefer. Leaning back against a wooden fence, his hands in the inside pockets of his leather jacket, and without the usual familiar hood that he would choose to cover his face. He appears unfazed by the cold, choosing the sleeveless look. He’s pretty isolated, this being a Sunday afternoon the museum isn’t open, and nobody chooses to keep him company, except for the Meltdown cameraman, of course. And Irver chooses to speak, in that disturbingly deep Eastern European accent of his.
Irver Famori: I do not know what is more ironic. The fact that a bunch of pretenders from over three hundred years ago got strung up for their actions, or for the fact that a town here thrives on its cruel history towards the enchanted. I don’t know, then again we are in America. “Home of the free” they call it. Pah.
Irver spits on the ground in disgust, before glaring into the camera with his dark red eyes.
Irver Famori: If you are an idiot, and being American you probably are, you’ll think that witches are evil, that they were conspiring against the fellow townsfolk and were rightfully hanged for their crimes. Well, you’d be wrong, as expected. You see, the people accused of being a witch at Salem were merely pretenders. The Great Pretenders, you could say. Or martyrs, perhaps. Heh…
He chuckles to himself, looking away as he breaks back into a straight face before resuming to look into the camera.
Irver Famori: And that perhaps is the greatest tragedy of all. You see, all throughout mankind there have been people who are influenced by what isn’t quite what is expected. These are the artefacts that I keep telling you guys about. Well, some aren’t artefacts but blessings and curses as well. And all of this is the reason that you have stories about wishes, witchcraft, alchemy and so-called immortality. Because it’s there! It really does exist! All you have to do is look hard enough and you will find it. But the people of Salem weren’t looking for anything. They weren’t pretenders. I can understand it though. People, probably of an organised religion, unwilling to accept that the blacksmithing of angels and demons are still here on Earth, would rather rid of a mortal than risk dealing with those with some of the greatest powers we’ve ever known.
He closes his eyes, sighing a little.
Irver Famori: But in life, you have red herrings. History brings up inaccuracy all the time. And those poor girls of Salem, well, they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Curious about something that led their lives to end. And that is a true tragedy. It is truly sad that all those years ago, somebody like I used to be before my alteration, would end up dying for something they were interested in. But still, America, “Land of the free”.
Not quite repeating his previous quote, but Irver does have some qualms about the USA. Perhaps it was living behind the Iron Curtain that corrupted him. What won’t help is an anti-capitalist related rant, happening juuuust abooouuut now:
Irver Famori: But the worst thing is the exploitation. You look around at this town and all you see is the glorification of the women who died for believing in something. They are parading that they made martyrs out of people and that’s the most sickening thing of all. You walk around this town and you find shops trying to sell you worthless stones, or fortune telling, or other New Age crap which doesn’t work and believe me, it doesn’t. You have sports teams named the Witches and you even have them playing on the site of the gallows for fuck’s sake. If that doesn’t scream exploitation then I do not know what will. Money, money, money. That’s all this country is interested in. They don’t know that true treasure is out there. One day, perhaps I will enlighten you into my treasures, my blessings and curses. But not today, because we are here in Salem, for a reason. Let us take a walk.
He begins to walk up the path and through the grounds of Pioneer Village, with the camera following him on a side view, his hands still in the jacket pockets.
Irver Famori: So last week, I got thrown into some stupid tag team tournament match with a guy I’d never met before and frankly would like to meet again quite shortly, against a team who had fought before on several occasions and knew how to work with each other. I don’t think it comes as a surprise what the result is. And yes, I am aware that I got pinned. That’s fine, it’s wrestling and it happens. Sons of the South, you may be ignorant hicks but I have to respect you in some way, because you didn’t respect me. You guys have been a tag team for years and clearly winning the Tag Team Titles would mean more to you than it would to me. The hell would I need a belt for, lest with somebody I did not care to team with.
But Johnny Knuckles, this monologue is about you. A wretched human being. A disgusting, immature person who thinks attacking his partner after the match is an acceptable thing to do. Well, Mr. Knuckles, you had better watch yourself. I have no interest in travelling half the country or whatever to bother finding you on your show while I’m on Meltdown, but you made yourself an enemy last week. And believe me, I will hunt you down. I am not going to let some little Sicilian wannabe guido from New York get the better of me. If you want a fight you can have a fight, wherever you want it I will give you it. As I said, I’m not going to be attacked, especially by something as immature sounding as the Donkey Punch, by some cocksucker trying to win a few cheers. End of. You can say anything you want and if you even choose to reply, I guess I’ll know how it goes. Something about a vampire, or some unfunny wise-crack about a nobody daring to make a challenge against one of the biggest bottlers APW has ever seen. And that would be fine. But I’m going to pre-warn you. If you have the balls to respond to my message, have the balls to respond to my challenge. I hope I will hear from you shortly.
He looks away with distinct disgust in his voice and looks rather disgusted as he turns back, trying to change the subject.
Irver Famori: Tomorrow, on Meltdown. Surprise surprise, another tournament. Seriously, I know I’m new but this new GM has some pretty inane fucking ideas. What is next, the winner of a Battle Royale becomes the new commentator, or something? I don’t know, and I don’t particularly care, because so long as they put me in a match I’ll have a bit of fun with whoever I am fighting. But yes, I win tomorrow and I get put in another match. I win that match and I get to fight the champion. I win THAT match and I get to be the champion of the third best show in APW. I mean, it’s like all my dreams are coming true at once, I will be holding the seventh best singles belt in the company!
He looks at the camera again with his eyebrows raised, clearly showing sarcasm and fake joy.
Irver Famori: People say I am disrespectful towards the titles but this is not true. I simply do not think they are representative of what they are meant to hold. Look at any of those titles. The World Champion. She is only the champion because of a fortuitous draw in the Elimination Chamber. And even then she has not fought everybody possible that deserves a shot at the belt. She might be the World Champion, but that doesn’t mean she’s the best person for the belt. Not at all. It just means she is in the right place at the right time. And that would be the same for me. I’m in this little tournament the General Manager has set up, presumably because he drew my name out of a hat. Or because he knows I turn up on time, whatever. In that case that would quite literally being in the right place at the right time but this isn’t time for little jokes. I do not mind titles and it would be nice to make my wrestling career look a little glossier but I hardly have the time or patience for validation. That is not what I am here for and validation is not something I am interested in.
Having a match that makes people remember? Well, that is a lot better. But whether it is for a title or not it doesn’t matter, because to me I would rather compete in a match that had two, or perhaps more, people fighting in something so passionate and so full of desire that it doesn’t need a silly belt to hype it up or make it any more dramatic. Imagine having something more to fight for than just a material piece of validation. Revenge, or spite, or determination. Anything like that. To be honest, if I was the General Manager I would have set up a league table. Perhaps it’s my heritage, growing up in Poland, but my papa would take me to watch the football. And it was wonderful, seeing the team play everybody. I used to wait every Monday to cut the league table out of the newspaper and stick it up in my room. Every year each team would play each other, and the team who took the most points would win the league. That is perhaps what your champion should be. The best of the best. That is why I never cared for your American sports. The Superbowl can be between a team with a perfect record and a team with a losing conference record and the team with the rubbish record can end up being the champions purely on one game. To me, that isn’t sport.
Well, at least we know he’s from Poland, if nothing else. As per, he quickly changes the subject.
Irver Famori: Perhaps I made a mistake last week. In my first week here, I was so determined to make an impression, not to other people or the fans, but to myself, that I over-indulged myself. I ended up with an opponent so lacklustre it felt like I was fighting a pillow. It disappointed me but more importantly it may have affected my match preparation for last week. I don’t think I had set my mind correctly, and mixed with being tag team partners with a son of a whore, meant that we lost. I think I made a mistake, and that is what contributed to the defeat. But this week, I promise you I will not make the same mistake. I never do. You could say I am like a computer. When I make a mistake I go back and rewrite it again to make sure that it will never happen. Ever. And my opponent this week will know that when we enter the ring tomorrow night.
“The Finnish Phenom” Tuhoa Valo. I have to admit I have taken an interest in you. I am always going to be interested in a human from a fellow legitimate Russia-hating nation who happens to have landed in the same wrestling promotion as I. And I say legitimate because you Americans have no right to hate Russians like the Polish or the Finnish. No right whatsoever. But back to you, Valo. I have been watching your matches over the last couple of weeks and I have to say, I have been very…I do not know the word….nonplussed? Nonplussed, at your performances. You had the chance to win Number One Contendership for the North American Title against Logan Alexander, and you tapped out. You tapped, in the middle of the ring. To me, that is not the sign of a strong person. But then last week, you managed to defeat a person called Krunk Williams. With a name like that I’m not surprised, but you were able to counter him and bring him down for the pin. I was very impressed with your performance last week.
However the thing I noticed about you? Is last week you refused to acknowledge that you tapped out to Williams. Now, THAT is the true sign of a weak person, somebody that will not admit something they did. It is a great shame to tap out. I admit, I have had to tap out before. But you don’t lose honour in doing so. What is the point in continuing to fight when you know you cannot escape and your body is becoming more and more injured? No, tapping out is not a dishonour but allowing yourself to get injured is. It is a stupid, crass thing to do and that’s why tomorrow night I’ll enjoy great pleasure in locking you into a submission hold time and time again. Because you are either going to have to tap, when you have already made it clear that you will be ashamed of tapping out. That, or you’re going to injure yourself by not tapping out, and unnecessarily destroying something that you aren’t going to own forever. Why the hell would you want to do that?
He begins to get a little more passionate.
Irver Famori: I have never met you but your rudeness and self-righteousness means I’ll enjoy nothing more than making you scream like a pig tomorrow night. I am going to make sure you endure pain like you’ve never experienced it before, and then we’ll see who taps out and who embarrassingly cries foul play. Smashing your head into the ground wouldn’t even be a joy for me, because I wouldn’t get the satisfaction of your eyes weeping, or your tongue screaming so hard it basically rips from your mouth, or hearing your muscles and bones slowly crack and tear. And I wouldn’t get the satisfaction of impaling your head into the ground and watching you convulse on the floor like a lame child. I wouldn’t get the satisfaction of watching them strap your neck into a brace as they feed your knocked out body full of oxygen. No, what I am going to see tomorrow night is pain. No more, no less. And that is my testament…
He glares at the camera one final time, allowing that sinister, evil smile to flash up across his face, before the camera slowly fades to black on this very intimate monologue…
Quite a fitting place really, for a man of supernatural beliefs to end up fighting. But, sod’s law and all that would inevitably lead Irver Famori to this location.
The camera opens up, not in a hotel room this time, but at Pioneer Village, a local live-in museum based on the puritan era. The ground is soggy, but there is no rain, just a slow dusk falling on a late autumn afternoon.
And here, is where we find our protagonist. Or antagonist, if you prefer. Leaning back against a wooden fence, his hands in the inside pockets of his leather jacket, and without the usual familiar hood that he would choose to cover his face. He appears unfazed by the cold, choosing the sleeveless look. He’s pretty isolated, this being a Sunday afternoon the museum isn’t open, and nobody chooses to keep him company, except for the Meltdown cameraman, of course. And Irver chooses to speak, in that disturbingly deep Eastern European accent of his.
Irver Famori: I do not know what is more ironic. The fact that a bunch of pretenders from over three hundred years ago got strung up for their actions, or for the fact that a town here thrives on its cruel history towards the enchanted. I don’t know, then again we are in America. “Home of the free” they call it. Pah.
Irver spits on the ground in disgust, before glaring into the camera with his dark red eyes.
Irver Famori: If you are an idiot, and being American you probably are, you’ll think that witches are evil, that they were conspiring against the fellow townsfolk and were rightfully hanged for their crimes. Well, you’d be wrong, as expected. You see, the people accused of being a witch at Salem were merely pretenders. The Great Pretenders, you could say. Or martyrs, perhaps. Heh…
He chuckles to himself, looking away as he breaks back into a straight face before resuming to look into the camera.
Irver Famori: And that perhaps is the greatest tragedy of all. You see, all throughout mankind there have been people who are influenced by what isn’t quite what is expected. These are the artefacts that I keep telling you guys about. Well, some aren’t artefacts but blessings and curses as well. And all of this is the reason that you have stories about wishes, witchcraft, alchemy and so-called immortality. Because it’s there! It really does exist! All you have to do is look hard enough and you will find it. But the people of Salem weren’t looking for anything. They weren’t pretenders. I can understand it though. People, probably of an organised religion, unwilling to accept that the blacksmithing of angels and demons are still here on Earth, would rather rid of a mortal than risk dealing with those with some of the greatest powers we’ve ever known.
He closes his eyes, sighing a little.
Irver Famori: But in life, you have red herrings. History brings up inaccuracy all the time. And those poor girls of Salem, well, they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Curious about something that led their lives to end. And that is a true tragedy. It is truly sad that all those years ago, somebody like I used to be before my alteration, would end up dying for something they were interested in. But still, America, “Land of the free”.
Not quite repeating his previous quote, but Irver does have some qualms about the USA. Perhaps it was living behind the Iron Curtain that corrupted him. What won’t help is an anti-capitalist related rant, happening juuuust abooouuut now:
Irver Famori: But the worst thing is the exploitation. You look around at this town and all you see is the glorification of the women who died for believing in something. They are parading that they made martyrs out of people and that’s the most sickening thing of all. You walk around this town and you find shops trying to sell you worthless stones, or fortune telling, or other New Age crap which doesn’t work and believe me, it doesn’t. You have sports teams named the Witches and you even have them playing on the site of the gallows for fuck’s sake. If that doesn’t scream exploitation then I do not know what will. Money, money, money. That’s all this country is interested in. They don’t know that true treasure is out there. One day, perhaps I will enlighten you into my treasures, my blessings and curses. But not today, because we are here in Salem, for a reason. Let us take a walk.
He begins to walk up the path and through the grounds of Pioneer Village, with the camera following him on a side view, his hands still in the jacket pockets.
Irver Famori: So last week, I got thrown into some stupid tag team tournament match with a guy I’d never met before and frankly would like to meet again quite shortly, against a team who had fought before on several occasions and knew how to work with each other. I don’t think it comes as a surprise what the result is. And yes, I am aware that I got pinned. That’s fine, it’s wrestling and it happens. Sons of the South, you may be ignorant hicks but I have to respect you in some way, because you didn’t respect me. You guys have been a tag team for years and clearly winning the Tag Team Titles would mean more to you than it would to me. The hell would I need a belt for, lest with somebody I did not care to team with.
But Johnny Knuckles, this monologue is about you. A wretched human being. A disgusting, immature person who thinks attacking his partner after the match is an acceptable thing to do. Well, Mr. Knuckles, you had better watch yourself. I have no interest in travelling half the country or whatever to bother finding you on your show while I’m on Meltdown, but you made yourself an enemy last week. And believe me, I will hunt you down. I am not going to let some little Sicilian wannabe guido from New York get the better of me. If you want a fight you can have a fight, wherever you want it I will give you it. As I said, I’m not going to be attacked, especially by something as immature sounding as the Donkey Punch, by some cocksucker trying to win a few cheers. End of. You can say anything you want and if you even choose to reply, I guess I’ll know how it goes. Something about a vampire, or some unfunny wise-crack about a nobody daring to make a challenge against one of the biggest bottlers APW has ever seen. And that would be fine. But I’m going to pre-warn you. If you have the balls to respond to my message, have the balls to respond to my challenge. I hope I will hear from you shortly.
He looks away with distinct disgust in his voice and looks rather disgusted as he turns back, trying to change the subject.
Irver Famori: Tomorrow, on Meltdown. Surprise surprise, another tournament. Seriously, I know I’m new but this new GM has some pretty inane fucking ideas. What is next, the winner of a Battle Royale becomes the new commentator, or something? I don’t know, and I don’t particularly care, because so long as they put me in a match I’ll have a bit of fun with whoever I am fighting. But yes, I win tomorrow and I get put in another match. I win that match and I get to fight the champion. I win THAT match and I get to be the champion of the third best show in APW. I mean, it’s like all my dreams are coming true at once, I will be holding the seventh best singles belt in the company!
He looks at the camera again with his eyebrows raised, clearly showing sarcasm and fake joy.
Irver Famori: People say I am disrespectful towards the titles but this is not true. I simply do not think they are representative of what they are meant to hold. Look at any of those titles. The World Champion. She is only the champion because of a fortuitous draw in the Elimination Chamber. And even then she has not fought everybody possible that deserves a shot at the belt. She might be the World Champion, but that doesn’t mean she’s the best person for the belt. Not at all. It just means she is in the right place at the right time. And that would be the same for me. I’m in this little tournament the General Manager has set up, presumably because he drew my name out of a hat. Or because he knows I turn up on time, whatever. In that case that would quite literally being in the right place at the right time but this isn’t time for little jokes. I do not mind titles and it would be nice to make my wrestling career look a little glossier but I hardly have the time or patience for validation. That is not what I am here for and validation is not something I am interested in.
Having a match that makes people remember? Well, that is a lot better. But whether it is for a title or not it doesn’t matter, because to me I would rather compete in a match that had two, or perhaps more, people fighting in something so passionate and so full of desire that it doesn’t need a silly belt to hype it up or make it any more dramatic. Imagine having something more to fight for than just a material piece of validation. Revenge, or spite, or determination. Anything like that. To be honest, if I was the General Manager I would have set up a league table. Perhaps it’s my heritage, growing up in Poland, but my papa would take me to watch the football. And it was wonderful, seeing the team play everybody. I used to wait every Monday to cut the league table out of the newspaper and stick it up in my room. Every year each team would play each other, and the team who took the most points would win the league. That is perhaps what your champion should be. The best of the best. That is why I never cared for your American sports. The Superbowl can be between a team with a perfect record and a team with a losing conference record and the team with the rubbish record can end up being the champions purely on one game. To me, that isn’t sport.
Well, at least we know he’s from Poland, if nothing else. As per, he quickly changes the subject.
Irver Famori: Perhaps I made a mistake last week. In my first week here, I was so determined to make an impression, not to other people or the fans, but to myself, that I over-indulged myself. I ended up with an opponent so lacklustre it felt like I was fighting a pillow. It disappointed me but more importantly it may have affected my match preparation for last week. I don’t think I had set my mind correctly, and mixed with being tag team partners with a son of a whore, meant that we lost. I think I made a mistake, and that is what contributed to the defeat. But this week, I promise you I will not make the same mistake. I never do. You could say I am like a computer. When I make a mistake I go back and rewrite it again to make sure that it will never happen. Ever. And my opponent this week will know that when we enter the ring tomorrow night.
“The Finnish Phenom” Tuhoa Valo. I have to admit I have taken an interest in you. I am always going to be interested in a human from a fellow legitimate Russia-hating nation who happens to have landed in the same wrestling promotion as I. And I say legitimate because you Americans have no right to hate Russians like the Polish or the Finnish. No right whatsoever. But back to you, Valo. I have been watching your matches over the last couple of weeks and I have to say, I have been very…I do not know the word….nonplussed? Nonplussed, at your performances. You had the chance to win Number One Contendership for the North American Title against Logan Alexander, and you tapped out. You tapped, in the middle of the ring. To me, that is not the sign of a strong person. But then last week, you managed to defeat a person called Krunk Williams. With a name like that I’m not surprised, but you were able to counter him and bring him down for the pin. I was very impressed with your performance last week.
However the thing I noticed about you? Is last week you refused to acknowledge that you tapped out to Williams. Now, THAT is the true sign of a weak person, somebody that will not admit something they did. It is a great shame to tap out. I admit, I have had to tap out before. But you don’t lose honour in doing so. What is the point in continuing to fight when you know you cannot escape and your body is becoming more and more injured? No, tapping out is not a dishonour but allowing yourself to get injured is. It is a stupid, crass thing to do and that’s why tomorrow night I’ll enjoy great pleasure in locking you into a submission hold time and time again. Because you are either going to have to tap, when you have already made it clear that you will be ashamed of tapping out. That, or you’re going to injure yourself by not tapping out, and unnecessarily destroying something that you aren’t going to own forever. Why the hell would you want to do that?
He begins to get a little more passionate.
Irver Famori: I have never met you but your rudeness and self-righteousness means I’ll enjoy nothing more than making you scream like a pig tomorrow night. I am going to make sure you endure pain like you’ve never experienced it before, and then we’ll see who taps out and who embarrassingly cries foul play. Smashing your head into the ground wouldn’t even be a joy for me, because I wouldn’t get the satisfaction of your eyes weeping, or your tongue screaming so hard it basically rips from your mouth, or hearing your muscles and bones slowly crack and tear. And I wouldn’t get the satisfaction of impaling your head into the ground and watching you convulse on the floor like a lame child. I wouldn’t get the satisfaction of watching them strap your neck into a brace as they feed your knocked out body full of oxygen. No, what I am going to see tomorrow night is pain. No more, no less. And that is my testament…
He glares at the camera one final time, allowing that sinister, evil smile to flash up across his face, before the camera slowly fades to black on this very intimate monologue…
