Post by ethanking on Feb 22, 2018 14:54:04 GMT -5
“Alright, children. Let’s all have a little sit-down and talk about something called gratitude.”
Ethan King is leaning on his desk, fingers laced together as he rests his elbows on the table. By his left hand is a pair of quarters, and by his right a blue stuffed dragon baby toy that appears to be a little scorched. The room seems a little more well-lit than it has been previously, though there are still a few shadows playing around the edges of Ethan’s features.
“Last week I tried to be generous. Last week I offered little Tiki Taane the chance to be in a truly great match. I gave him the chance to put on the performance of a lifetime, something that would help him be remembered for the rest of his otherwise insignificant little life. He had the opportunity to do something wonderful, something that – no matter what else he would accomplish until his ignominious death – he would be made immortal for. The chance to share the ring with The King of Combat, and really let our skills make it interesting… better men than him would have killed for such an opportunity.”
He sighs, irritated. “And then… he insulted me. He made me angry by refusing my overly generous gift. I got him a present, and he didn’t even wear it to the ring.”
The camera pans over to a life-size cardboard cutout of Tiki Taane… which has been outfitted with a tutu and a bear mask. It lingers there for a moment before panning back.
“So instead of making sure you’re remembered, Taane… I gave you the burial you showed me you deserve. Maybe your so-lauded pride will comfort you as you slink back to whatever circus you came from. Just don’t act like I didn’t warn you.”
He presses a button on his desk, and a television comes to life behind him. On it is… Ethan King, sitting at the same desk, from his promo last week.
“The hard truth, Taane, is that you're little more than a sideshow attraction to keep the people entertained between the start of the show and the main event.”
Ethan turns off the screen with a broad grin. “See? And if its on TV, that means it has to be true. So let me take this opportunity to stop having to pollute my mind with the past and focus on the future… by saying that Muru?”
Ethan’s face grows serious. “Muru will never win a championship belt again for the rest of his miserable little life."
"Henry! So glad you and I could sit down and enjoy a little chat before you and your family head back off to Nebraska. I hope I'm not late."
Ethan sat down at the table he'd in the restaurant, sitting across from his father in law. Senator Henry Price was wearing his best suit for the meeting, though Ethan could tell at a glance that it had cost less than a third of what Ethan himself had worn to this lunch. There was a light fray around the cuffs and a very slight discoleration over the pockets that revealed how old the suit was, though the Senator had clearly worked to ensure that it stayed in optimal condition.
"You were supposed to be here twenty minutes ago," Henry growled, clearly fighting to keep his demeanor even. "And I live in Oregon."
Ethan smiled and waved it away. "Whatever. Close enough for government work, though I'm sure you know all about that, Henry."
A vein throbbed in Henry's forehead. Ethan smirked and sipped the tepid glass of water that was already waiting for him at the table. Ethan held all the cards, and both of the men knew it. He was under no illusions as to why Henry had come all the way to Boston, nor why he had been so keen to suddenly sit down and enjoy a private meal with his son in law. Ethan always knew when he was looking into the eyes of a desperate man, and that look was made manifest in those of Henry Price.
And there was nothing that Ethan excelled at more than seizing control of desperate men.
"So! Let's skip right past the not-so-pleasantries and get straight to business. I know how valuable a commodity time can be, and I certainly don't want to waste it pretending we like one another. Don't you agree?"
Henry nodded tersely. "Alright. Some up-jumped yuppie is running against me for my seat. I don't know where he came from or how he's managed to get so much support, but he's burying me in press. He's outpacing my campaign's war chest by five to one, and isn't showing any sign of slowing down. The most recent polls..." He looked away as he wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. "The polls aren't looking good. If I'm going to win I'm going to need..."
Ethan's eyes sparkled. "You're going to need campaign donations. Specifically at a caliber you know I can make. Tell me, is this challenger someone from the blues, or did your own party decide to try to oust you?"
Henry refused to make eye contact. "It's my own party. They say he's going to be getting a vote of approval from the house majority leader soon, and if the President weighs in..." he sighed angrily. "How can they do this to an incumbent?"
Ethan smirked and gave an exaggerated shrug. "The nerve of these people!"
Henry nodded. "I need your help, Ethan. If you do, I'll... I'll find a way to make it up for you. I can use my influence to..."
Ethan held up a hand, cutting him off. "Stop right there, Henry, you don't need to say anything more. I've already resolved to be investing heavily in this race, you don't need to do any more persuading."
Henry's face broke into an explosion of relief. "You will. Thank god. We should set it up as campaign donations from you personally, not from your company..."
Ethan's expression did not change as he spoke, his skin like a mask as his eyes hardened... turning more predatory and ruthless like that of a shark. "Oh, I'm afraid that would be most hypocritical of me, Senator Price."
There was a long pause as the two men stared at one another before Henry replied. "What... what do you mean?"
Ethan didn't blink. "Well, I mean that it wouldn't be in my interest to donate to two opposing politicians campaigns, would it?"
Henry flustered. "You... you're not telling me you're going to donate to HIM, are you?!"
"Of course not, Senator..." Ethan's smile vanished. "... I'm telling you that I already have. Weeks ago."
"What?! How... how DARE you...!"
"Jack Coldwell is going places, Senator. I plan to see to that. He's young, charismatic, great with kids. He represents the future of your party! The future of government in America. But most importantly..." Ethan indulged himself in a very small grin. "... Most importantly, I'm told he treats his daughter with respect. Let me make this clear to you, Henry. Nobody talks to my wife the way you have. Nobody treats her as anything less than the Queen she is. Your continuing manipulative, abusive behavior towards her has left me absolutely itching to destroy your life and your career. Jack Coldwell was just the most convenient tool."
"You'd sabotage the well-being of your own family?!"
Ethan smirked. "Not my family. Just you. Trust me - once you've lost your race I'll be more than happy to make sure that Alice and Penny are well taken care for. I already have the perfect divorce attorney in mind to represent her once she'll be able to get away from you without worrying about being within the public eye."
Henry's eyes narrowed. "You'll pay for this. Senators make for powerful enemies."
Ethan laughed out loud, enough that the patrons at nearby tables halted their conversations and looked over in surprise at the sudden outburst. "Senators make... please. Mister Price, anyone who's been working for the Government as long as you have knows that Senators don't have any real power. Senators are mouthpeices, puppets for men and women like myself and your eldest daughter. You live and die at the whim of our financial investments, Mister Price, and are more replaceable than a set of batteries. And even if I were mistaken about the power dynamic here? I'm still not concerned... because you won't be a Senator for long."
He leaned back in his chair, letting the words hang for a full minute before snatching up the menu. "So, Henry, what are you hungry for? I think I'll have the duck."
Be the time he looked back over his menu, the seat across from him was empty.
"You're just the little engine that couldn't, aren't you, Muru? You just keep on popping up on peoples radar every few months, talking that good shit about how you're just on the verge of making your next big comeback. And now here you are, just a skip and a jump away from winning the big belt here in Combat Wrestling. I'll admit that you've come farther than I thought you'd be able to. After our first encounter a few weeks back, I didn't think you'd make any sort of a Muru Splash here, and that you'd slink back to wherever it is you come from lick your wounds before trying somewhere else. But your resilience has impressed me, Muru. Not, like... much... but I'm a little bit, mildly impressed. Like when a three-legged cat manages to jump up onto the counter. Like, any normal cat could do it just fine, but because you have such a hard time accomplishing such a simple feat it's cute and kind of endearing."
Ethan's eyes narrow. "But let's get down to brass tacks. Muru... your sun is setting. While you were once the greatest show on Earth - well, I mean, citation needed, but you called yourself that so we'll go with it for now - those days are gone. You used to know a lot of great tricks, in the ring and out, but your wear and tear is starting to show more and more each time you walk into the ring. These days its looking like you're going to be relegated to being that guy the company brings out to make long-time fans smile. A broken down act to appeal only to the nostalgia of the old timers to remind them what it was like when they first started watching wrestling. I can understand how you'd want to stop that. I can see how that might make you... a very desperate man."
He lets the words hang in the air, almost seeming to savor them like wine. "That desperation has fed you a lie. It tells you that as your sun sets, it's not too late. It tells you that there's time to grab Apollo's chariot and drive that fucker back across the sky. It's a beautiful dream. An appealing mirage appearing through the haze to inspire a man dying of thirst to crawl just a little bit further."
He tilts his head back, looking down his nose at the camera as he slowly smirks. "You were an idiot to listen to the lie, Muru. You're trying to grab that chariot, but everyone knows that chariots became obsolete a long, long time ago. The only place they belong is in a museum.
Just like you, Muru."
He stands and walks around his desk. "They say that desperate men become stronger, but that's a lie that people with power use to keep people with no power quiet. You may well have bought into the lie that people with no chance will somehow be underestimated to victory. TV will tell you over and over stories about people with no real chance to win somehow manage to pull through and win when nobody thought they would. It makes for a great movie - everyone loves an underdog.
The truth about underdogs is that desperation usually exists because you have nothing left. Desperation means you're predictable. When you have no real chance to win, that doesn't secretly mean you have the advantage. You've convinced yourself time and again that you're peppy little underdog story will win you through to a big comeback and one last run of glory before the end of your career... but you're living a fantasy. This is the real world, and it's time for you to wake up."
He tilts his head to the side. "All that being an underdog means... is that you're beneath me, and you're a dog. And dogs don't get to wear belts, Muru."
He pulls out a leash with a chain collar. "Dogs wear these."
The camera shifts, going down near the floor and looking up at Ethan as he reaches down and fixes the collar around it, focusing on him and the leash reaching from the screen to his hand. He smirks down at the camera for a moment.
"You should have ran after I beat you in the first Main Event of Combat Wrestling. You should have realized that your comeback would never happen here. You might have had a lot of tricks once, but now? Now there's only three that matter. I just hope you're not too old to learn them - because they're all you're good for now:
Sit.
Beg.
He chuckles cruelly. "Roll... Over."
Ethan King is leaning on his desk, fingers laced together as he rests his elbows on the table. By his left hand is a pair of quarters, and by his right a blue stuffed dragon baby toy that appears to be a little scorched. The room seems a little more well-lit than it has been previously, though there are still a few shadows playing around the edges of Ethan’s features.
“Last week I tried to be generous. Last week I offered little Tiki Taane the chance to be in a truly great match. I gave him the chance to put on the performance of a lifetime, something that would help him be remembered for the rest of his otherwise insignificant little life. He had the opportunity to do something wonderful, something that – no matter what else he would accomplish until his ignominious death – he would be made immortal for. The chance to share the ring with The King of Combat, and really let our skills make it interesting… better men than him would have killed for such an opportunity.”
He sighs, irritated. “And then… he insulted me. He made me angry by refusing my overly generous gift. I got him a present, and he didn’t even wear it to the ring.”
The camera pans over to a life-size cardboard cutout of Tiki Taane… which has been outfitted with a tutu and a bear mask. It lingers there for a moment before panning back.
“So instead of making sure you’re remembered, Taane… I gave you the burial you showed me you deserve. Maybe your so-lauded pride will comfort you as you slink back to whatever circus you came from. Just don’t act like I didn’t warn you.”
He presses a button on his desk, and a television comes to life behind him. On it is… Ethan King, sitting at the same desk, from his promo last week.
“The hard truth, Taane, is that you're little more than a sideshow attraction to keep the people entertained between the start of the show and the main event.”
Ethan turns off the screen with a broad grin. “See? And if its on TV, that means it has to be true. So let me take this opportunity to stop having to pollute my mind with the past and focus on the future… by saying that Muru?”
Ethan’s face grows serious. “Muru will never win a championship belt again for the rest of his miserable little life."
"Henry! So glad you and I could sit down and enjoy a little chat before you and your family head back off to Nebraska. I hope I'm not late."
Ethan sat down at the table he'd in the restaurant, sitting across from his father in law. Senator Henry Price was wearing his best suit for the meeting, though Ethan could tell at a glance that it had cost less than a third of what Ethan himself had worn to this lunch. There was a light fray around the cuffs and a very slight discoleration over the pockets that revealed how old the suit was, though the Senator had clearly worked to ensure that it stayed in optimal condition.
"You were supposed to be here twenty minutes ago," Henry growled, clearly fighting to keep his demeanor even. "And I live in Oregon."
Ethan smiled and waved it away. "Whatever. Close enough for government work, though I'm sure you know all about that, Henry."
A vein throbbed in Henry's forehead. Ethan smirked and sipped the tepid glass of water that was already waiting for him at the table. Ethan held all the cards, and both of the men knew it. He was under no illusions as to why Henry had come all the way to Boston, nor why he had been so keen to suddenly sit down and enjoy a private meal with his son in law. Ethan always knew when he was looking into the eyes of a desperate man, and that look was made manifest in those of Henry Price.
And there was nothing that Ethan excelled at more than seizing control of desperate men.
"So! Let's skip right past the not-so-pleasantries and get straight to business. I know how valuable a commodity time can be, and I certainly don't want to waste it pretending we like one another. Don't you agree?"
Henry nodded tersely. "Alright. Some up-jumped yuppie is running against me for my seat. I don't know where he came from or how he's managed to get so much support, but he's burying me in press. He's outpacing my campaign's war chest by five to one, and isn't showing any sign of slowing down. The most recent polls..." He looked away as he wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. "The polls aren't looking good. If I'm going to win I'm going to need..."
Ethan's eyes sparkled. "You're going to need campaign donations. Specifically at a caliber you know I can make. Tell me, is this challenger someone from the blues, or did your own party decide to try to oust you?"
Henry refused to make eye contact. "It's my own party. They say he's going to be getting a vote of approval from the house majority leader soon, and if the President weighs in..." he sighed angrily. "How can they do this to an incumbent?"
Ethan smirked and gave an exaggerated shrug. "The nerve of these people!"
Henry nodded. "I need your help, Ethan. If you do, I'll... I'll find a way to make it up for you. I can use my influence to..."
Ethan held up a hand, cutting him off. "Stop right there, Henry, you don't need to say anything more. I've already resolved to be investing heavily in this race, you don't need to do any more persuading."
Henry's face broke into an explosion of relief. "You will. Thank god. We should set it up as campaign donations from you personally, not from your company..."
Ethan's expression did not change as he spoke, his skin like a mask as his eyes hardened... turning more predatory and ruthless like that of a shark. "Oh, I'm afraid that would be most hypocritical of me, Senator Price."
There was a long pause as the two men stared at one another before Henry replied. "What... what do you mean?"
Ethan didn't blink. "Well, I mean that it wouldn't be in my interest to donate to two opposing politicians campaigns, would it?"
Henry flustered. "You... you're not telling me you're going to donate to HIM, are you?!"
"Of course not, Senator..." Ethan's smile vanished. "... I'm telling you that I already have. Weeks ago."
"What?! How... how DARE you...!"
"Jack Coldwell is going places, Senator. I plan to see to that. He's young, charismatic, great with kids. He represents the future of your party! The future of government in America. But most importantly..." Ethan indulged himself in a very small grin. "... Most importantly, I'm told he treats his daughter with respect. Let me make this clear to you, Henry. Nobody talks to my wife the way you have. Nobody treats her as anything less than the Queen she is. Your continuing manipulative, abusive behavior towards her has left me absolutely itching to destroy your life and your career. Jack Coldwell was just the most convenient tool."
"You'd sabotage the well-being of your own family?!"
Ethan smirked. "Not my family. Just you. Trust me - once you've lost your race I'll be more than happy to make sure that Alice and Penny are well taken care for. I already have the perfect divorce attorney in mind to represent her once she'll be able to get away from you without worrying about being within the public eye."
Henry's eyes narrowed. "You'll pay for this. Senators make for powerful enemies."
Ethan laughed out loud, enough that the patrons at nearby tables halted their conversations and looked over in surprise at the sudden outburst. "Senators make... please. Mister Price, anyone who's been working for the Government as long as you have knows that Senators don't have any real power. Senators are mouthpeices, puppets for men and women like myself and your eldest daughter. You live and die at the whim of our financial investments, Mister Price, and are more replaceable than a set of batteries. And even if I were mistaken about the power dynamic here? I'm still not concerned... because you won't be a Senator for long."
He leaned back in his chair, letting the words hang for a full minute before snatching up the menu. "So, Henry, what are you hungry for? I think I'll have the duck."
Be the time he looked back over his menu, the seat across from him was empty.
"You're just the little engine that couldn't, aren't you, Muru? You just keep on popping up on peoples radar every few months, talking that good shit about how you're just on the verge of making your next big comeback. And now here you are, just a skip and a jump away from winning the big belt here in Combat Wrestling. I'll admit that you've come farther than I thought you'd be able to. After our first encounter a few weeks back, I didn't think you'd make any sort of a Muru Splash here, and that you'd slink back to wherever it is you come from lick your wounds before trying somewhere else. But your resilience has impressed me, Muru. Not, like... much... but I'm a little bit, mildly impressed. Like when a three-legged cat manages to jump up onto the counter. Like, any normal cat could do it just fine, but because you have such a hard time accomplishing such a simple feat it's cute and kind of endearing."
Ethan's eyes narrow. "But let's get down to brass tacks. Muru... your sun is setting. While you were once the greatest show on Earth - well, I mean, citation needed, but you called yourself that so we'll go with it for now - those days are gone. You used to know a lot of great tricks, in the ring and out, but your wear and tear is starting to show more and more each time you walk into the ring. These days its looking like you're going to be relegated to being that guy the company brings out to make long-time fans smile. A broken down act to appeal only to the nostalgia of the old timers to remind them what it was like when they first started watching wrestling. I can understand how you'd want to stop that. I can see how that might make you... a very desperate man."
He lets the words hang in the air, almost seeming to savor them like wine. "That desperation has fed you a lie. It tells you that as your sun sets, it's not too late. It tells you that there's time to grab Apollo's chariot and drive that fucker back across the sky. It's a beautiful dream. An appealing mirage appearing through the haze to inspire a man dying of thirst to crawl just a little bit further."
He tilts his head back, looking down his nose at the camera as he slowly smirks. "You were an idiot to listen to the lie, Muru. You're trying to grab that chariot, but everyone knows that chariots became obsolete a long, long time ago. The only place they belong is in a museum.
Just like you, Muru."
He stands and walks around his desk. "They say that desperate men become stronger, but that's a lie that people with power use to keep people with no power quiet. You may well have bought into the lie that people with no chance will somehow be underestimated to victory. TV will tell you over and over stories about people with no real chance to win somehow manage to pull through and win when nobody thought they would. It makes for a great movie - everyone loves an underdog.
The truth about underdogs is that desperation usually exists because you have nothing left. Desperation means you're predictable. When you have no real chance to win, that doesn't secretly mean you have the advantage. You've convinced yourself time and again that you're peppy little underdog story will win you through to a big comeback and one last run of glory before the end of your career... but you're living a fantasy. This is the real world, and it's time for you to wake up."
He tilts his head to the side. "All that being an underdog means... is that you're beneath me, and you're a dog. And dogs don't get to wear belts, Muru."
He pulls out a leash with a chain collar. "Dogs wear these."
The camera shifts, going down near the floor and looking up at Ethan as he reaches down and fixes the collar around it, focusing on him and the leash reaching from the screen to his hand. He smirks down at the camera for a moment.
"You should have ran after I beat you in the first Main Event of Combat Wrestling. You should have realized that your comeback would never happen here. You might have had a lot of tricks once, but now? Now there's only three that matter. I just hope you're not too old to learn them - because they're all you're good for now:
Sit.
Beg.
He chuckles cruelly. "Roll... Over."