Post by fowler on Nov 11, 2022 6:06:07 GMT -5
After addressing the camera Fowler makes his way through the industrial unit and catches up with Rob Riot, who is now sat inside the Ford Cortina. Fowler looks at his world title taking pride of place on the car and pats it affectionately before climbing into the car.
He looks at Riot and smiles.
“You know where to take me now.”
Riot starts the car and the two screech away in the bright yellow Ford.
They head off down city streets, both smiling to themselves as they share the occasional joke or comment about an attractive woman they pass along the way. Eventually Riot stops outside of a very grand old looking theatre.
It's the Empire Theatre in Liverpool.
Fowler slowly climbs out of the car, as people on the street come over to admire the bizarre sight of an old 80’s car with title belts attached to it.
Fowler just slips past them and into the theatre, making his way through the entrance hall into the lower stalls and down onto the stage.
The auditorium is empty, but a spotlight has been left on centre stage, which Fowler walks straight into.
He looks around, takes a deep breath and readies himself as though he is about to deliver one of Shakespeare’s great soliloquies.
“The whole world is a stage, and we are but the players upon it.
Some of us play our parts well, whilst others fail to live up to the expectations of the audience.
Donzig.”
Fowler pauses as the name echoes around the empty space. His eyes seem to follow it as it bounces around the stalls.
“Donzig. That little piece of business that you setup the other day was amusing, for what it was. Getting all the people at home to believe that the common people of this great country despise the Bastards and don’t know who I am.
It was a clever little skit, but one which lacked conviction, and as players on this stage that is one of the most important emotions to portray. You see those people said exactly what you wanted them to say, but in truth does it even really matter Donzig?
What do you think we are? Athletes?
Well we’re certainly athletic, some more than others.
Are we real fighters? Willing to take blood and maybe even life.
Well we definitely fight battles and give of our bodies for our art.
You want to know what we really are? We’re just entertainers.
You see Donzig that is all any of us are. You look at the next person you see out there in the world, they are playing a part. A part they have constructed for themselves.
We have constructed parts for ourselves too Donzig. In our little play we are professional wrestlers, good ones too. My part is that of the best professional wrestler in the world, one who proudly carries the world heavyweight title upon his shoulders.
You play the part of the sour psychopath who just wants to see the world plunged into chaos.
Together we move upon our stage, playing out our parts and following the plot.
Question.
Who controls the plot?
Every great story, every play or film has a writer or even a team of writers who decide how the story goes and how it ends.
I could wax lyrical about this but let me instead just be frank. The Bastards control this story Donzig.
We are the writers of the greatest narrative to ever be played out.
You see we have our own long and winding stories that converged to become one, and since that day the whole world has followed along with our story. Other’s have tried to imitate it, like every mediocre work of fantasy since JRR Tolkien penned The Lord of the Rings.
You all try to imitate but nothing can compare to the narrative that we write.
But there is another issue that you face Donzig. And I mentioned it earlier, it’s conviction.
You see, I just don’t believe you Donzig. The words that come out of your mouth, the troupe that you have follow you around, it’s comedy or even worse pantomime to me.
You play on cliché and regurgitate character that I have seen played out a thousand different times by a thousand different men and women. Every time it’s been bland and boring, and every new time it becomes even less impactful.
You’re some great dark entity, are you? You are some ancient evil from beyond this plane that should be feared?
You’re Sauron?
You’re Voldemort?
You’re Dracula?
You’re Psychotic Goth?
You’re Nocturnal?
You might not recognise the last name, but he too wrestled, and he too played the character you decide to wear. But you know what, he had fucking conviction.
Regardless you get my point.
That’s what makes us different Donzig. I’m not playing a monster or an angel, or a dentist. I’m just me. I am playing Billy Fowler, the greatest professional wrestler on the planet and your world champion.
You say that you don’t need titles, they’re just ash and smoke…
You are…
A fucking LIAR!!
Why else would you obsess over me and my friends? Why else would you pursue us like an orphan who stares wantingly into the eyes of every couple who come to visit but always pass him by?
You do it because you want what we have, conviction and credibility. Those title belts outside, they give us that credibility, they show the world that we really mean what we say.
You desire what we have Donzig, but let me give you a plot spoiler. You will never, ever be able to take from The Bastards.
Because no one believes that you can.”
The stage hits blackout.
