Smoldering Ash And Sustained Embers --RSH RP #1

[Roy "The Sorrow" Harlowe (NJC)]

“Come into my parlour said the spider to the fly."

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It’s a Roy Harlowe promo, so there must be some kind of dark and unsettling atmosphere, right? Incorrect, we find ourselves beneath the beaming light of a single lamp that hangs from the ceiling. A collection of moths slowly dance beneath it’s warm glow, circling, forever entwined in the bright luminescent light’s luring gaze. Beneath the spotlight is an empty floor, barren, unkempt, cracked and debris litter the floor. The light begins to flicker, flicker and then fade. The light strobes back to life and beneath the casting brightness of light is Roy “The Sorrow” Harlowe sit down on the floor, his legs crossed tightly as he sits down in a native fashion. He was in his ring gear, his leather coat adorned on his torso, the front zipper zipped up to the collar. His brutalized hockey mask hangs in his hand, clasping the string on the back of the mask that fastens it to his skull.



Roy: “You know, usually...these bits of promotional material open with a spooky setting, something macabre to set the tone and mood of the mind that dwells in this flesh vessel. I don’t need that here today...No, not for Babbling Bobby Barratt. No, I’m afraid the bad news is, we’re not going to get any of that here today."



A look of solemn judgement, as if he expects his viewer to be disappointed. He tosses the hockey mask over his left shoulder. It’s crash into the floor permeating throughout the room with a reverberating clatter.



Roy: “You’re going to get me, the man...not the illusionary shroud I’ve surrounded myself like a malevolent veil to attack the psyche of my opponent before the opening bell even rings. No, no...Bobby doesn’t deserve the theatrics. There’s enough acting coming his camp. Why, you should feel honored Bobby...You’ve disgusted me to pull back my heavy mask of horrors...to show you the true calculated evil that dwells within every fiber of my being."



Tightening his crossed legs, he tilts his neck to the side. His hands slowly glide up his thighs and onto his knees.



Roy: “You do realize that, don’t you Bobby? The moment I heard the word...cut...I knew it. I didn’t want to believe it, but that right there proved the facade for fact. I knew right there, you must have grown comfortable with the despicable fact. Do those not in the know, allow me to pull back the curtain for ya’. Bobby Barratt...isn’t a wrestler. He’s an actor, he’s a sports entertainer, this...all of this."



He says gesturing his hands everywhere, nowhere in particular.



Roy: “This is a fantasy world where he plays Pro-Wrestler, this is nothing more than an acting gig for the fella. And a damn fine actor he is too. He speaks with such captivating conviction, it’s...surreal, really. You had me hook, line and sinker. I had all of these talking points all written down on flash cards and everything. I was going to start it all off like: A stepping stone? You really do watch my work Bobby, way to quote something I said a week ago. Let me ask you a question! Who writes your material? Is it you? You surround yourself with an entourage, I was just wondering when they weren’t powdering your ass if they were writing your weak ass material."


He clenches his fingers into a tightly coiled fist.

Roy: “Hyperion must have been having an off night, there is no logical way that Samoan war horse was defeated by someone suffering from such mental midgetry. Perhaps he too fell for this delusional charade, this eminence front. It’s all just a put on, he’s got us all wrapped around his crooked finger. That...that is his greatest strength. He’s a deceptive charlatan whose taken us all for fools. You’re nothing more than the arachnid in the poem of The Spider and The Fly. All window dressing, no actual substance...just a coniving scavenger."



He shakes his head and dismisses the thought.



Roy: “Alas, I digress. Let’s just get right down to it, peel open your eyes and prick up your ears my dear undignified Champion, I’m going to show you how a real PRO-WRESTLER lays down the words."



An arrogant conniving smirk corners his lips.



Roy: “Let’s start with that, Champ! We wouldn’t want anybody to confuse you with a fighting champion, would we? See, I didn’t ask for a title match. That’s not how these things work, you don’t ask for things in this business. We take things, and we run with them as long and as hard as we can for as long as our bodies can go! On broken legs and spines, the professional wrestler is a creature of endurance and durability. The fact you didn’t put your title on the line just shows the lack of foresight you truly have. Guess where you are, champ of champs? Your fourth on the card...forgive me if I’m wrong, but wouldn’t a glamorized hollywoodphile like yourself want to be...at the top of the card? Don’t you want your names to be shining the biggest and brightest at the end of the night?"



He shakes his head and wags his finger.



Roy: “No, you didn't think about that. You let yourself be thrown in the middle of the card, great work, chump. Way to ensure your title is seen as the epitome of this umbrella company. I get that though, don’t want to be embarrassed at the end of the show. Don’t want that last thought to be of you failing. Way to let Jack Diamond and Maverick not only insult you with a second hand challenge, but you let them take what’s supposed to be YOUR main event. I’m going to take that as a slight of disrespect. You don’t want our match to be main event, you let it be thrown in the purgatory of the midcard. But, I don’t think that’s it, I don’t think you have the intelligence to insult me in such a fashion. I think the real reason is plainly obvious...You’re afraid. And I don’t mean of my other worldly effects...That’s the persona. You fear the athlete beneath that. You give me your respect, and for that I’m humbly honored...but don’t think for a second just because this match isn’t for the title...that I won’t be taking it from you in the future."



He snickers, scoffs even.



Roy: “You came at me expecting a madman, and instead...you found a God of unarmed combat. I’m all about the deception, the mind games, the meticulous need to tap into the psychological horror that dwells inside the mind of my opponent. I harness that fear, it feeds my engine’s need for sorrow. I thrive on that look in my opponent’s eyes as they head to the ring. "You will soon know loss, and that loss will torments you through your sleepless nights, the anatomy of your nightmares will be plague by the Sorrow I will create. You hope hatred might someday replace the pain, but it never goes away. It makes a man hideous, inside and out. Won’t you let me scar you with that pain? That’s what a true fighting champion needs...horrors...untold horrors that haunt him. See, you could beat me and then you’ll probably just move on with your life Wouldn't you agree? You’d put me right into your rear view as soon as you would, wouldn’t you? See...I won’t let you forget me, I’ll make sure...I’ll make sure to maim you just right."

He licks his thumb as he rubs his eyebrows with the slathered saliva.

Roy: “One thing is for sure...There’s a sense of pride involved in this match. You want to show the world you won’t be taken by surprise by some upstart rookie whose pulled a few wins. I’m sure you don’t want the beginning of your prestigious championship reign to be marred with a blemish. A loss to me? The way you’ve painted me out to be...Hmph, that would really damage your ego, wouldn’t it? When I get you into that squared circle, my violent devotion and desire will come forth. My humanity won't return. You. Me. We'll have no place to run, nowhere to hide. And that's why I'll show you my Sorrow! That Sorrow will breed and fester in your mind, like a swarm of locusts devouring every inch of your resolve. I live to see your confidence fade...I will push you beyond that limit."

His face twists in a malignant grin.

Roy: “I wonder what it will take to beat you...to break you...to defeat you. Will you be an underwhelming parasite whose title works overtime to make them relevant? Then maybe I’ll only need tweezers and match. Man of your caliber and compensating tendencies, I’m sure your familiar with a pair of tweezers."

He says making a jerk motion with his closed right hand.

Roy: ”Will you surprise me and be the glorious champion of fighting spirit that I so hope for? Will I meet an overacting camerawhore hungry for another serving of fifteen minutes of fame? I want what you brought Hyperion. I want what drove you to the top of the card. I want to see what makes you great...and I want to take it from you. I want to bend it over my knee and watch your spine bend, fold and break beneath my might. I want to see your suffering wash over you like a wave of sadness….then I will inject you with a lethal dose of unbearable agony. I will rip your fingers back, I will tear at your nostrils, and I will claw out and hollow out your eyes."



He slowly twists his fingers like an eagle claw and makes a scooping motion with his hands.



Roy: “It will be lovely..it will be divine. I will bask and bathe in your blood, I will watch you lament the decision of ever accepting my challenge. Because you can name drop every XHF alumni, you can play schoolyard bully with your sophomoric attacks at my character. I will attack you on every strength you stand on, I will tear all of them away from you and prove to you that I belong at your echelon. I didn’t come here for this match to make you a stepping stone."

He narrows his eyes deep into lens.

Roy: “I came here to make an example out of you."

His brow furrows deep onto his gaze.

Roy: “You’re going to be my work of art...a promise of what’s to come in my future. I will decorate the world in my Sorrow, and I will look into their pained faces…”

He’s all smiles, wide and toothy.

Roy: “And I will love it."

Suddenly he sinks into the floor and the light flicker, flicker, fades.

--END--