Requiem for an Asshole [EOD Week #2 RP #1]
Oct 5, 2021 18:52:37 GMT -5
Mongo the Destroyer, Dave D-Flipz, and 2 more like this
Post by anthonycaffrey on Oct 5, 2021 18:52:37 GMT -5
“You’re right, Dylan. We really are not the same. Since 2019, I’ve grown. And you… well…”
The first thing we see is the smiling face of the Father of FIRESIDE.
“...you’ve shrunk.”
Anthony Caffrey is sitting in the middle of his ring in Philadelphia, now looking out over the rows of empty seats that will be full at the end of the month. He has shed the suit for black and purple tights.
“I miss the old Dylan Black, in that fun little mask, with the pop culture jokes and fourth wall references, a young kid growing up into becoming a man of the people. What I’ve watched in these two years is you sucking your soul out with a straw to become the ‘Dylan Black we have at home’ version of yourself. I changed my ways to become a better person, you changed your ways and sold out to become more marketable. What’s left standing across from me on Sunday is a collection of metallic parts and a lite version of the 2018-2019 model of Anthony Caffrey jackass.”
Caffrey looks down, smirking at himself.
“Let’s do a checklist; we’ll start with a dumbass three-lettered stable featuring ‘violent/violence’ in it -- check -- with two wrestlers who will never match up to your accomplishments. I believe Big Bad Whoever and Darlene ‘will never live up to her dad’ Price fit that billing-- check.”
He keeps a running list on his hand, mockingly checking off as it goes.
“Company you mostly run over-- the King of Hokkaido win proves that, check -- yet, as shown recently in NLW AND FIRESIDE, when you go outside of it, you lose… so that’s also a check. Evilly drinking beverages and doing a smile bit, check. Stewing over one loss for a year… unfortunately, a check. But of course, there's the most obvious one on my list: being a giant asshole.”
His mocking movement gets even bigger.
“CHECK!’
The end of the check movement is a middle finger, which he puts away soon after. The smile dissipates.
“It’s… it’s not as fun to mock you as I thought it was going to be. I think it’s because I can still see you-- stepping into Thunderdome for the second time with you, as you’ve said visiting FIRESIDE recently, I put my body on the line because I wanted to get an 'up-close look' at you. And as I dominated that match, eliminating three guys and turning a monstrous steel cage into my playground, I saw it all. And even though you’ve done all this to yourself… I can still see the kid underneath the mask.”
Caffrey’s hands going all over indicate he’s grappling with a lot of thoughts.
“I now get why women are attracted to the bad boy, I wanna fix you. I wanna stop you, save you. You’re the Messiah of Mayhem, let me be the Messiah of Dylan for just a moment. I made that comparison because I know the life you’re living-- I spent two years doing all of that. I spent two years traveling from city to city getting called horrible names, walking into arenas feeling like everyone was there to watch me get my ass kicked, and sleeping alone with nobody to text or talk to besides the title belt my bed. It’s not worth it.”
His attention is briefly fixated to his side.
“And even though we’re not face-to-face, I can hear you. ‘Anthony, during that time period you beat me, you beat Bobby Barratt, Chris Card, Maverick, the list goes on, and you beat ‘em all. You were one of the best, carving out pieces of your legacy; I’m doing all of this to be a better wrestler, right there with you. How is it not worth it?’”
He gestures for the camera to zoom in on his face.
“Look at me. Come on, get closer.”
The camera finally does.
“The minute you come off the mountaintop, Dylan, the minute there’s no title beside your bed, you realize how little it was all worth. Congratulations, you had your moment in the sun. Now all you have is a nasty sunburn that hurts real, real bad.”
The camera pulls back just a bit. Caffrey takes a few moments to embrace the pain and wallow in it before continuing.
“I think you know this, Dylan. I can see your urgency. That urgency powered you to win the Rumble. The urgency to patch up that giant hole in your soul -- the parts of you you lost to ‘have it all’, to have that shiny Crown you had made -- patching over that hole before you have to gaze into what feels like an unending abyss. You channel that urgency into anger, furious psychopathic insanity, because if you had to look into the mirror, really look at yourself, well, that pain might be worse than anything I could do on Sunday.”
Caffrey takes a deep breath.
“Unfortunately for you, just as true now as it will be five days from now, the keyword in that sentence is ‘might’.”
Caffrey gestures towards the environment around him.
“We’ll get to that -- but being honest, you think you’re angry, Dylan? Take a look around. Passionate anger built this Empire; it bought the Hearth, gave me the drive to open my own company for millions of deserving fans and wrestlers, and will drive me all the way through the process of winning End of Days and making Spike Kane a transitional champion. I’ve got two wolves inside of me, just like you. The difference -- one I can’t teach you before Sunday, is that I’ve figured out how to make sure the best one always gets fed even on days when I’m feeding the worst. It’s called ‘doing the right thing’.”
Caffrey has said the phrase enough times lately that it would make a great t-shirt, but you can tell in his eyes that he means it.
“Here, here it means giving you this advice before we get in the ring. I know who the fuck your dad is, I know you don’t have a reliable source of good advice. For me, doing the right thing today means stopping you from doing the wrong thing, or at the very least... giving you a warning, so you can pull your head out of your ass, and limit the damage you’ve done before people just label you an angry, violent, asshole.”
Caffrey shakes his head, looking obviously uncomfortable.
“I just know you’re not going to listen to me though. Can’t say I didn’t try, but… man. I saw you, I know. That hole in our scorecard you’ve vowed to patch up as well… I know we’ll still be in the ring on Sunday, but Dylan, as you choose to shutout a reality you do not wish to accept, I do have one question for you. You might have to turn the volume up to properly hear it...”
Caffrey stands up, walking closer to the camera. He gestures for turning up the volume on his opponent’s device of choice.
“...do you realize what match you’re in on Sunday? What kind of match, really?”
The look on Caffrey’s face indicates that the other wolf inside has begun to howl.
“In those four matches... the concept was either you make me submit, or you keep me down for a three count. And in those four matches, you couldn’t get the job done. So Dylan, if four times in a row, you couldn’t keep me down for a three count, how the fuck are you gonna keep me down for a ten count?”
Caffrey flashes ten fingers.
“I know I’m gonna beat you, Dylan. People will think that means a lack of respect for your skills -- quite the opposite. I’ve observed everything, your monkey’s paw worth of sacrifices seemingly did grant you the ability to be better. I spent that year watching you travel the world, reigning over everyone before walking into my company. You beat a murderer’s row of talents and it seemingly would never end, resuming right after a temporary blip like nothing had ever gone wrong. But just like at A Very AWF Christmas, the moment you walked into the top company in the world for an X-Crown Match, you walked out with nothing but your tail between your legs.”
The Purple Emperor seems to have checked into the Hearth.
“You can lift more than me, you’re faster than me, you’ve got three metal limbs… but I still have the same things going for me I had the day I first arrived, when it was you as the #1 ranked wrestler vs. me, lowly little seventeen. Your brain may not be as mushy as I said it was... but I’m still smarter than you, I still work harder than you, and I’m still more dedicated than you.”
Caffrey brings up a finger to make a counterpoint. For once, it’s not his middle.
“And while yes, congratulations, you played yourself in order to successfully become a ‘better’ wrestler… I’ve become the better man, and on Sunday, that’s why I’m going to become the last man standing.”
Caffrey takes a firm stance in the center of the ring.
“On Sunday, every time you knock me down, I’ll be getting back up to be an inspiration for the wrestlers on my roster to do great things, to strive for more. I'll be getting back up for the thousands of people in that arena and the millions more rooting for me around the world. I'll be getting back up for more than just me. Can you say the same?"
The showman smile isn't there-- the grin on Caffrey's face is genuine.
"You can't. These people give me motivation, give me the fuel to take the extreme warfare of the Messiah of Mayhem and his dumbshit friends. Bring them all, figure out wherever the you left the Blacklight, because truth be told, you're going to have to knock me unconscious to win this. If I can recognize where I am, if I can hear the fans, I'm getting back up. And all I have to do is what I specialize in, what I've done throughout my career: render a man incapable of standing."
Caffrey makes the same gesture as he does during his entrance -- snapping an ankle like a twig.
"See you Sunday, asshole."
The camera fades with Anthony Caffrey ready for a war, standing defiantly.
The first thing we see is the smiling face of the Father of FIRESIDE.
“...you’ve shrunk.”
Anthony Caffrey is sitting in the middle of his ring in Philadelphia, now looking out over the rows of empty seats that will be full at the end of the month. He has shed the suit for black and purple tights.
“I miss the old Dylan Black, in that fun little mask, with the pop culture jokes and fourth wall references, a young kid growing up into becoming a man of the people. What I’ve watched in these two years is you sucking your soul out with a straw to become the ‘Dylan Black we have at home’ version of yourself. I changed my ways to become a better person, you changed your ways and sold out to become more marketable. What’s left standing across from me on Sunday is a collection of metallic parts and a lite version of the 2018-2019 model of Anthony Caffrey jackass.”
Caffrey looks down, smirking at himself.
“Let’s do a checklist; we’ll start with a dumbass three-lettered stable featuring ‘violent/violence’ in it -- check -- with two wrestlers who will never match up to your accomplishments. I believe Big Bad Whoever and Darlene ‘will never live up to her dad’ Price fit that billing-- check.”
He keeps a running list on his hand, mockingly checking off as it goes.
“Company you mostly run over-- the King of Hokkaido win proves that, check -- yet, as shown recently in NLW AND FIRESIDE, when you go outside of it, you lose… so that’s also a check. Evilly drinking beverages and doing a smile bit, check. Stewing over one loss for a year… unfortunately, a check. But of course, there's the most obvious one on my list: being a giant asshole.”
His mocking movement gets even bigger.
“CHECK!’
The end of the check movement is a middle finger, which he puts away soon after. The smile dissipates.
“It’s… it’s not as fun to mock you as I thought it was going to be. I think it’s because I can still see you-- stepping into Thunderdome for the second time with you, as you’ve said visiting FIRESIDE recently, I put my body on the line because I wanted to get an 'up-close look' at you. And as I dominated that match, eliminating three guys and turning a monstrous steel cage into my playground, I saw it all. And even though you’ve done all this to yourself… I can still see the kid underneath the mask.”
Caffrey’s hands going all over indicate he’s grappling with a lot of thoughts.
“I now get why women are attracted to the bad boy, I wanna fix you. I wanna stop you, save you. You’re the Messiah of Mayhem, let me be the Messiah of Dylan for just a moment. I made that comparison because I know the life you’re living-- I spent two years doing all of that. I spent two years traveling from city to city getting called horrible names, walking into arenas feeling like everyone was there to watch me get my ass kicked, and sleeping alone with nobody to text or talk to besides the title belt my bed. It’s not worth it.”
His attention is briefly fixated to his side.
“And even though we’re not face-to-face, I can hear you. ‘Anthony, during that time period you beat me, you beat Bobby Barratt, Chris Card, Maverick, the list goes on, and you beat ‘em all. You were one of the best, carving out pieces of your legacy; I’m doing all of this to be a better wrestler, right there with you. How is it not worth it?’”
He gestures for the camera to zoom in on his face.
“Look at me. Come on, get closer.”
The camera finally does.
“The minute you come off the mountaintop, Dylan, the minute there’s no title beside your bed, you realize how little it was all worth. Congratulations, you had your moment in the sun. Now all you have is a nasty sunburn that hurts real, real bad.”
The camera pulls back just a bit. Caffrey takes a few moments to embrace the pain and wallow in it before continuing.
“I think you know this, Dylan. I can see your urgency. That urgency powered you to win the Rumble. The urgency to patch up that giant hole in your soul -- the parts of you you lost to ‘have it all’, to have that shiny Crown you had made -- patching over that hole before you have to gaze into what feels like an unending abyss. You channel that urgency into anger, furious psychopathic insanity, because if you had to look into the mirror, really look at yourself, well, that pain might be worse than anything I could do on Sunday.”
Caffrey takes a deep breath.
“Unfortunately for you, just as true now as it will be five days from now, the keyword in that sentence is ‘might’.”
Caffrey gestures towards the environment around him.
“We’ll get to that -- but being honest, you think you’re angry, Dylan? Take a look around. Passionate anger built this Empire; it bought the Hearth, gave me the drive to open my own company for millions of deserving fans and wrestlers, and will drive me all the way through the process of winning End of Days and making Spike Kane a transitional champion. I’ve got two wolves inside of me, just like you. The difference -- one I can’t teach you before Sunday, is that I’ve figured out how to make sure the best one always gets fed even on days when I’m feeding the worst. It’s called ‘doing the right thing’.”
Caffrey has said the phrase enough times lately that it would make a great t-shirt, but you can tell in his eyes that he means it.
“Here, here it means giving you this advice before we get in the ring. I know who the fuck your dad is, I know you don’t have a reliable source of good advice. For me, doing the right thing today means stopping you from doing the wrong thing, or at the very least... giving you a warning, so you can pull your head out of your ass, and limit the damage you’ve done before people just label you an angry, violent, asshole.”
Caffrey shakes his head, looking obviously uncomfortable.
“I just know you’re not going to listen to me though. Can’t say I didn’t try, but… man. I saw you, I know. That hole in our scorecard you’ve vowed to patch up as well… I know we’ll still be in the ring on Sunday, but Dylan, as you choose to shutout a reality you do not wish to accept, I do have one question for you. You might have to turn the volume up to properly hear it...”
Caffrey stands up, walking closer to the camera. He gestures for turning up the volume on his opponent’s device of choice.
“...do you realize what match you’re in on Sunday? What kind of match, really?”
The look on Caffrey’s face indicates that the other wolf inside has begun to howl.
“In those four matches... the concept was either you make me submit, or you keep me down for a three count. And in those four matches, you couldn’t get the job done. So Dylan, if four times in a row, you couldn’t keep me down for a three count, how the fuck are you gonna keep me down for a ten count?”
Caffrey flashes ten fingers.
“I know I’m gonna beat you, Dylan. People will think that means a lack of respect for your skills -- quite the opposite. I’ve observed everything, your monkey’s paw worth of sacrifices seemingly did grant you the ability to be better. I spent that year watching you travel the world, reigning over everyone before walking into my company. You beat a murderer’s row of talents and it seemingly would never end, resuming right after a temporary blip like nothing had ever gone wrong. But just like at A Very AWF Christmas, the moment you walked into the top company in the world for an X-Crown Match, you walked out with nothing but your tail between your legs.”
The Purple Emperor seems to have checked into the Hearth.
“You can lift more than me, you’re faster than me, you’ve got three metal limbs… but I still have the same things going for me I had the day I first arrived, when it was you as the #1 ranked wrestler vs. me, lowly little seventeen. Your brain may not be as mushy as I said it was... but I’m still smarter than you, I still work harder than you, and I’m still more dedicated than you.”
Caffrey brings up a finger to make a counterpoint. For once, it’s not his middle.
“And while yes, congratulations, you played yourself in order to successfully become a ‘better’ wrestler… I’ve become the better man, and on Sunday, that’s why I’m going to become the last man standing.”
Caffrey takes a firm stance in the center of the ring.
“On Sunday, every time you knock me down, I’ll be getting back up to be an inspiration for the wrestlers on my roster to do great things, to strive for more. I'll be getting back up for the thousands of people in that arena and the millions more rooting for me around the world. I'll be getting back up for more than just me. Can you say the same?"
The showman smile isn't there-- the grin on Caffrey's face is genuine.
"You can't. These people give me motivation, give me the fuel to take the extreme warfare of the Messiah of Mayhem and his dumbshit friends. Bring them all, figure out wherever the you left the Blacklight, because truth be told, you're going to have to knock me unconscious to win this. If I can recognize where I am, if I can hear the fans, I'm getting back up. And all I have to do is what I specialize in, what I've done throughout my career: render a man incapable of standing."
Caffrey makes the same gesture as he does during his entrance -- snapping an ankle like a twig.
"See you Sunday, asshole."
The camera fades with Anthony Caffrey ready for a war, standing defiantly.