Post by Old Line Jeff on Aug 20, 2022 23:12:46 GMT -5
“Ronnie, I suppose, will have to view this as a, shall we say, necessary evil.”
“I’ve never been able to force myself to feel bad when I’m cruel to the innocent. Innocence, you see, is sort of a minor mental… disorder? Condition? No, I don’t like that. A deliberately chosen ignorance. Yes.”
Daeriq Damien is seated in front of a camera. Standing behind him like a storm cloud, a dark, brooding expression on his face, hair hanging down across his face, his five o’clock shadow emphasizing scowl lines, is Ronnie Long, slowly and methodically massaging his left fist with his right hand.
Damien, for his part, sits with legs akimbo. He must’ve liked fuschia, since today he wears a black suit with a garish fuschia shirt under it. His shoes are shiny black wingtips.
“I’ve spoken, at length, about how Ronnie is not necessarily a self-starter, and Ronnie himself has spoken about how he truly doesn’t like doing bad things to good people, seriously you guys please believe him he isn’t like that!”
Damien laughs.
“Well, as the old cliche about not making omelets without breaking eggs goes, sometimes you have to hurt good people anyway. Which brings us to young Eron Hunter.”
Leaning back, stretching his legs out straight, Damien steeples his fingers together.
“Eron and Ronnie never managed to cross paths back in NPW, which makes this at least a little bit easier - there is no sentimentality to undercut determination and purpose. There’s only W:UK, and nothing between them except a little belt. A secondary strip of gold. Just like the one Ronnie held for a bit in NPW. Just like the one that tanked his career in NPW the split second he touched it.”
“You see, that failure - that specter of ineptitude - is the real enemy here. Not miserable Eron.”
“Hunter is just another Small God. The only difference between him and the ones I beat last week are that he, like me, is self-aware.”
“Almost, Ron, but not entirely. To call back to my original point… Eron Hunter may be a talented wrestler, in fact, he may be too talented for his own good. He is innocent, unlike us, and his talent preserves that innocence.”
Damien interlocks his fingers and bends them back, causing the knuckle joints to crackle.
“Vagabond that he is, he just wanders through his career, unconcerned by the tribulations most would face, because, much like Ronnie here, Eron Hunter is talented enough to fed off most of the challenges that would fell others. He hasn’t felt that adversity that one feels running into a truly superior opponent like a brick wall, time and time again, because he hasn’t - to date.”
Damien lowers his voice at the end of that statement. He sits up straight and leans forward.
“He thinks there’s no shame in losing because he hasn’t lost yet.”
A shark grin on his face.
“He’s a good guy because he’s never faced the kind of adversity that breaks a man on a professional level.”
“Before now.”
“We’re going to change that.”
Damien turns to look over his shoulder. He gives a nod.
Long rubs his hands together. His teeth clench, he breathes heavier.
“If you beat me, Eron Hunter, the sun will rise again.”
“If I beat you, Eron Hunter, the sun will rise again.”
“If Zolothatch summons Cthulu and he eats the arena and leaves a blasted heath where the wrestling ring used to be, the sun will still rise again.”
“The bigger picture will always be the same, Eron. Nothing you, or I, can do, will change that. Sooner or later that rising sun will die, and it will consume the plane we live on in its death throes. The inevitable fate of everything that was ever created is entropy.”
“And that means I decided to stop concerning myself with it, and concern myself only with what is in front of me.”
Another deep breath, and a slow exhalation.
“And what is in front of me, Eron, is not so much you… as it is the specter of that past that I mentioned.”
“How do you think losing to the ReVenants made me feel? How do you think it felt listening to Keith Williams squall in the CWA that he was being disrespected for being forced to interact with the peasants, who were all clearly better than him, to watch him get his ass handed to him, and then lose to his friend Nuwave Jayne Correia in NPW?”
“Yes, that’s going to be a thing forever, whether he’s around or not. Nuwave will live forever. It may even survive the entropy.”
Damien smiles a tight lipped smile and stares at the ground.
“I wish to… scour myself of the memory of that shame. And unfortunately, I’ll have to do it over the body of someone who has done me no true harm. And that, again, Eron… is you.”
“And I…”
Damien chimes in again.
“I am the one who realizes that I cannot forever say to my crown jewel, ‘It’s okay to be mean to that one Ronnie, he deserved it.’ Because some people, like you Eron, don’t deserve it.”
“I don’t care.”
“And he has to learn not to care either.”
“I’ve never been able to force myself to feel bad when I’m cruel to the innocent. Innocence, you see, is sort of a minor mental… disorder? Condition? No, I don’t like that. A deliberately chosen ignorance. Yes.”
Daeriq Damien is seated in front of a camera. Standing behind him like a storm cloud, a dark, brooding expression on his face, hair hanging down across his face, his five o’clock shadow emphasizing scowl lines, is Ronnie Long, slowly and methodically massaging his left fist with his right hand.
Damien, for his part, sits with legs akimbo. He must’ve liked fuschia, since today he wears a black suit with a garish fuschia shirt under it. His shoes are shiny black wingtips.
“I’ve spoken, at length, about how Ronnie is not necessarily a self-starter, and Ronnie himself has spoken about how he truly doesn’t like doing bad things to good people, seriously you guys please believe him he isn’t like that!”
Damien laughs.
“Well, as the old cliche about not making omelets without breaking eggs goes, sometimes you have to hurt good people anyway. Which brings us to young Eron Hunter.”
Leaning back, stretching his legs out straight, Damien steeples his fingers together.
“Eron and Ronnie never managed to cross paths back in NPW, which makes this at least a little bit easier - there is no sentimentality to undercut determination and purpose. There’s only W:UK, and nothing between them except a little belt. A secondary strip of gold. Just like the one Ronnie held for a bit in NPW. Just like the one that tanked his career in NPW the split second he touched it.”
“You see, that failure - that specter of ineptitude - is the real enemy here. Not miserable Eron.”
“Hunter is just another Small God. The only difference between him and the ones I beat last week are that he, like me, is self-aware.”
“Almost, Ron, but not entirely. To call back to my original point… Eron Hunter may be a talented wrestler, in fact, he may be too talented for his own good. He is innocent, unlike us, and his talent preserves that innocence.”
Damien interlocks his fingers and bends them back, causing the knuckle joints to crackle.
“Vagabond that he is, he just wanders through his career, unconcerned by the tribulations most would face, because, much like Ronnie here, Eron Hunter is talented enough to fed off most of the challenges that would fell others. He hasn’t felt that adversity that one feels running into a truly superior opponent like a brick wall, time and time again, because he hasn’t - to date.”
Damien lowers his voice at the end of that statement. He sits up straight and leans forward.
“He thinks there’s no shame in losing because he hasn’t lost yet.”
A shark grin on his face.
“He’s a good guy because he’s never faced the kind of adversity that breaks a man on a professional level.”
“Before now.”
“We’re going to change that.”
Damien turns to look over his shoulder. He gives a nod.
Long rubs his hands together. His teeth clench, he breathes heavier.
“If you beat me, Eron Hunter, the sun will rise again.”
“If I beat you, Eron Hunter, the sun will rise again.”
“If Zolothatch summons Cthulu and he eats the arena and leaves a blasted heath where the wrestling ring used to be, the sun will still rise again.”
“The bigger picture will always be the same, Eron. Nothing you, or I, can do, will change that. Sooner or later that rising sun will die, and it will consume the plane we live on in its death throes. The inevitable fate of everything that was ever created is entropy.”
“And that means I decided to stop concerning myself with it, and concern myself only with what is in front of me.”
Another deep breath, and a slow exhalation.
“And what is in front of me, Eron, is not so much you… as it is the specter of that past that I mentioned.”
“How do you think losing to the ReVenants made me feel? How do you think it felt listening to Keith Williams squall in the CWA that he was being disrespected for being forced to interact with the peasants, who were all clearly better than him, to watch him get his ass handed to him, and then lose to his friend Nuwave Jayne Correia in NPW?”
“Yes, that’s going to be a thing forever, whether he’s around or not. Nuwave will live forever. It may even survive the entropy.”
Damien smiles a tight lipped smile and stares at the ground.
“I wish to… scour myself of the memory of that shame. And unfortunately, I’ll have to do it over the body of someone who has done me no true harm. And that, again, Eron… is you.”
“And I…”
Damien chimes in again.
“I am the one who realizes that I cannot forever say to my crown jewel, ‘It’s okay to be mean to that one Ronnie, he deserved it.’ Because some people, like you Eron, don’t deserve it.”
“I don’t care.”
“And he has to learn not to care either.”