Set In Stone (F4TF RP 2)
Sept 13, 2021 16:03:27 GMT -5
Dave D-Flipz, Frank Windsor, and 2 more like this
Post by robriot on Sept 13, 2021 16:03:27 GMT -5
“What do you know of history, Primal? What do you know of culture, and of mythology, and of legend?”
It's Rob Riot who speaks. You'd know that northern English burr of an accent anywhere. As pictures appear on your screen to accompany his words, we find ourselves in a museum. It doesn't matter which one - they're almost all the same when it comes down to it. Riot is standing next to a large, naked statue of a man, designed in the classical Roman style. It's either stone or marble and clearly ancient. The statue is posed in a typically flamboyant Roman style, which Riot attempts to imitate for a moment before dismissing the idea and crossing his arms.
"When I look at you, I see little more than a beast. But now I've heard you speak, and speak properly. There's a mind in the monster, is there not? That's what you're trying to tell me and what you intend to show me. The mind of the beast. Well, my clever monster, do you know who this is?"
Riot gestures up at the statue. It could be any one of a number of Roman gods, save for one detail. As Riot directs the camera to pan around the sculpture’s head, we notice something new. It’s anatomically perfect in every other way, but it has two heads. That whittles the number of potential candidates down to just one.
"For the sake of time, I'll just tell you. For Primal, and for those of you without an education, this fine fellow is Janus. The Roman god of beginnings and endings. The god of doorways and of transitions. He's the god of passages and frames. He's the reason January is called January. More importantly for you and I though, Primal, he's the god of duality."
Riot reaches into his tweed jacket and produces something from within it. It’s an old, battered-looking ‘V for Vendetta’ style Guy Fawkes mask with the letter ‘J’ spraypainted on it in a vivid, neon shade of green. He briefly holds it up against his face. It’s a perfect fit.
"A long time ago, in a wrestling promotion far, far away, I used to wear this mask. I used to call myself 'The J-Man.' It stood for 'The Janus Man.' I used to tell people there were two sides to me. The well-spoken sophisticate, and the beast that hid behind the mask. Without the mask, I was a wrestler. With it, I was something darker. Something crueller. I was a warrior, sent to rain down punishment on those who offended me. Rob Riot could hurt you, but the J-Man could do things that made you wish you'd never been born. Then, one day…"
Riot lowers the mask, slowly and deliberately.
“... I did away with the mask. I realised I was lying to myself. There weren’t two personas in me. There never were. It was all one man. I didn’t need to take off the mask to regain my empathy, or my compassion, or my mercy. I didn’t need to put it on to do evil things. The worst, most inhumane and unpleasant parts of myself - the parts that scared me - are there all the time. The mask was just a way of allowing myself to blame my worst deeds on someone else. I’ve been brave enough to embrace that truth, Primal. For all your pretty words and lengthy explanations, you’re yet to find the courage to do the same. You’re still labouring under the misapprehension that you, too, are Janus.”
He holds the mask up again, showing the painted side to the camera.
“By showing me two different sides to yourself, I think you’re trying to frighten me. On the one hand, you tell me that you don’t know who I’m dealing with. That Timeless is the face of the operation, and you’re - and I quote - ‘the meat monster.’ The brawn. I think you’d like to believe that yourself, but you gave the game away almost immediately.”
He turns the mask over in his hands, now displaying the other side.
"You simultaneously want me to believe that your mask is no mask at all. It's your real face. A face with a mouth that spits words like 'fractious' and 'farcical.' A face that declares itself to be the very essence of humanity. A meat monster wouldn't try to throw a thesaurus at me, Primal. You're not complex. You're confused. You want me to be afraid of the monster, but I think it's you who's afraid of it. Afraid that it's all you really are. That's why you're trying to impress me with your expanded vocabulary. You want me to see something more than an angry prisoner of the flesh trapped behind a mask. What I see is a creature so consumed by self-loathing that it tries to deny its own existence."
Riot drops the mask to the ground and kicks it. It skitters away across the polished floor.
"There's a lot happening beneath the surface in NPW. You know it, and I know it. You told me that you're the future, but you don't know what the future holds, and you can't control it any more than you can control the past. I, on the other hand, have crystal clear vision. I know that whatever may or may not be happening with the men and women of this roster, the Galactic Sex Pirates, or anything else, Rob Riot and Frank Windsor will walk out of Honour with the tag team championships. Beyond that, the future isn't set in stone. Not for me, not for you, and not for anybody else. But then again…"
He turns abruptly and charges for the statue, throwing himself against it and knocking it off its plinth. It crashes to the hard floor, undoubtedly sustaining considerable damage in the process.
“...even the past doesn’t have to be set in stone when you really put your mind to it.”
It's Rob Riot who speaks. You'd know that northern English burr of an accent anywhere. As pictures appear on your screen to accompany his words, we find ourselves in a museum. It doesn't matter which one - they're almost all the same when it comes down to it. Riot is standing next to a large, naked statue of a man, designed in the classical Roman style. It's either stone or marble and clearly ancient. The statue is posed in a typically flamboyant Roman style, which Riot attempts to imitate for a moment before dismissing the idea and crossing his arms.
"When I look at you, I see little more than a beast. But now I've heard you speak, and speak properly. There's a mind in the monster, is there not? That's what you're trying to tell me and what you intend to show me. The mind of the beast. Well, my clever monster, do you know who this is?"
Riot gestures up at the statue. It could be any one of a number of Roman gods, save for one detail. As Riot directs the camera to pan around the sculpture’s head, we notice something new. It’s anatomically perfect in every other way, but it has two heads. That whittles the number of potential candidates down to just one.
"For the sake of time, I'll just tell you. For Primal, and for those of you without an education, this fine fellow is Janus. The Roman god of beginnings and endings. The god of doorways and of transitions. He's the god of passages and frames. He's the reason January is called January. More importantly for you and I though, Primal, he's the god of duality."
Riot reaches into his tweed jacket and produces something from within it. It’s an old, battered-looking ‘V for Vendetta’ style Guy Fawkes mask with the letter ‘J’ spraypainted on it in a vivid, neon shade of green. He briefly holds it up against his face. It’s a perfect fit.
"A long time ago, in a wrestling promotion far, far away, I used to wear this mask. I used to call myself 'The J-Man.' It stood for 'The Janus Man.' I used to tell people there were two sides to me. The well-spoken sophisticate, and the beast that hid behind the mask. Without the mask, I was a wrestler. With it, I was something darker. Something crueller. I was a warrior, sent to rain down punishment on those who offended me. Rob Riot could hurt you, but the J-Man could do things that made you wish you'd never been born. Then, one day…"
Riot lowers the mask, slowly and deliberately.
“... I did away with the mask. I realised I was lying to myself. There weren’t two personas in me. There never were. It was all one man. I didn’t need to take off the mask to regain my empathy, or my compassion, or my mercy. I didn’t need to put it on to do evil things. The worst, most inhumane and unpleasant parts of myself - the parts that scared me - are there all the time. The mask was just a way of allowing myself to blame my worst deeds on someone else. I’ve been brave enough to embrace that truth, Primal. For all your pretty words and lengthy explanations, you’re yet to find the courage to do the same. You’re still labouring under the misapprehension that you, too, are Janus.”
He holds the mask up again, showing the painted side to the camera.
“By showing me two different sides to yourself, I think you’re trying to frighten me. On the one hand, you tell me that you don’t know who I’m dealing with. That Timeless is the face of the operation, and you’re - and I quote - ‘the meat monster.’ The brawn. I think you’d like to believe that yourself, but you gave the game away almost immediately.”
He turns the mask over in his hands, now displaying the other side.
"You simultaneously want me to believe that your mask is no mask at all. It's your real face. A face with a mouth that spits words like 'fractious' and 'farcical.' A face that declares itself to be the very essence of humanity. A meat monster wouldn't try to throw a thesaurus at me, Primal. You're not complex. You're confused. You want me to be afraid of the monster, but I think it's you who's afraid of it. Afraid that it's all you really are. That's why you're trying to impress me with your expanded vocabulary. You want me to see something more than an angry prisoner of the flesh trapped behind a mask. What I see is a creature so consumed by self-loathing that it tries to deny its own existence."
Riot drops the mask to the ground and kicks it. It skitters away across the polished floor.
"There's a lot happening beneath the surface in NPW. You know it, and I know it. You told me that you're the future, but you don't know what the future holds, and you can't control it any more than you can control the past. I, on the other hand, have crystal clear vision. I know that whatever may or may not be happening with the men and women of this roster, the Galactic Sex Pirates, or anything else, Rob Riot and Frank Windsor will walk out of Honour with the tag team championships. Beyond that, the future isn't set in stone. Not for me, not for you, and not for anybody else. But then again…"
He turns abruptly and charges for the statue, throwing himself against it and knocking it off its plinth. It crashes to the hard floor, undoubtedly sustaining considerable damage in the process.
“...even the past doesn’t have to be set in stone when you really put your mind to it.”