Post by Teo Blaze on Jun 19, 2016 11:22:15 GMT -5
"We know what we are, but know not what we may be." -Shakespeare
The scene opens with a blinding flash of white light, the screen bathed in a radiant flash of nigh-unbearable brightness, an oppressive flash of neon white that threatens to envelop the viewer, to drown out everything else.
Yet slowly, mercifully, the vision comes into focus, the white light shrinks smaller and smaller until it is little more than a circle against a blue desert sky. The camera slowly pans down to a dusty desert floor as the scene becomes ever more clear. The viewer is now presented with a small but lively desert town. The brightness of the sun reflects off of mirrored windows, specially commissioned to keep out the heat.
But it does no good, the summer sun is relentless, issuing forth the type of heat that peels wallpaper, the oppressive, sweltering summer heat that causes birds to drop from the sky and water fountains to give up. The camera passes slowly along the street, every few steps displaying another poor citizen, a man or woman drenched with sweat, going about their daily lives in spite of the heat. A heavy woman on a bench, slowly fanning herself, an ice cream man with his head inside of his own freezer.
A dog and a cat drinking from the same bowl.
The heat does crazy things to people, what can I say?
And in the midst of all this, the next to unbearable summer sun, there in the center of town, sits salvation. With a pink neon sign and a blaring jukebox, it displays the words every single soul wants to see on this kind of day.
The scene inside the bar is night and day compared to the scene outside. While the outside world displayed only an exhausted populace, the moisture wrung from them like dishrags by the summer sun, the inside is roaring, a mishmash of howls, cheers, and raucous applause. And above it all, the clinking of beer glasses keeps a chaotic tempo.
Pretty waitresses in short skirts give fake smiles to drunken faces and metal taps hiss, issuing forth the precious amber into frosted mugs. In this bar, the heat is all but a forgotten memory.
No, this bar has its own problems.
They say that when something is about to happen, the feeling of a room changes. While it would be ludicrous to suggest that one can predict the future, there is a certain feeling, a certain apprehension that takes over a crowd.
Like someone has lit the fuse on a powder keg, and all they can do is watch it go off. Any single one could snuff it out with ease, but nobody wants to take the risk.
This is the feeling that swept over the patrons of this bar when one of the rather pretty waitresses bent over a corner table to clear a very loud group’s drinks. As the short skirt (one of the shortest there in fact) rode slowly up her thigh as she reached to the end of the table to collect the empty mugs, a leathery and blistered hand reached out, grabbing the girl right where one shouldn’t.
The girl didn’t even have time to think, to process, in an instant, with one motion she stood up and tattooed a slap across the face of her lecher, a scintillating snap ringing throughout the bar as she did so.
In an instant, the room changed. Even the jukebox seemed to fall silent. All eyes immediately were on these two individuals. The girls hands shot to her face, clasping her cheeks in surprise at what she had just done, as the man in the bench slowly rose to his feet.
The man in question could hardly be called that, gorilla would be a more accurate phrase. Slowly running his fingers over his bearded face as he stood, right on the spot where the girl had connected. His eyebrows lowered as a hungry smile came over his face.
The girl stood before him like a frightened bird, paralyzed by fear as the man rose up to his full height, chest puffed out. She had emasculated him, had insulted him, and now she was going to pay for it.
Drunken Man: Now chica, I’m going to give you two options.
The man’s voice bubbles forth like tar from the back of his throat as he eyes the pretty thing before him.
Drunken Man: Now either I am going to do to you what you just did to me….
He raises his hand quickly, causing the girl to issue a squeak of terror as she flinches.
Drunken Man: Or you’re going to say you’re sorry.
The girl’s wide eyes stare up at her attacker, still half paralyzed by fear, she manages in a stammering voice…
Girl: I’m…sorry.
Drunken Man: Hmm….I’m not quite convinced. If you were truly sorry…
The hungry smile returns as the man’s hand goes to his hips.
Drunken Man: You’d give me a kiss.
The girl’s eyes widen as she looks at the crowd, though the whole bar’s eyes are upon her, they are paralyzed by fear of the large man. She darts her head back and forth as he reaches out the same leathery hand towards her shoulder.
: Hey Ugly.The gorilla turns his head angrily around as the insult touches his ears, looking now upon what would certainly soon be a dead man.
In the confusion, almost no one noticed as out from the crowd stepped a new face. His eyes obscured behind blood red lenses.
Teddy Blaze: Now I know that it must have been awhile, but you of all people should know that threatening a girl ain’t gonna make her like you.
The man cocks an eyebrow at the intruder, staring at him in utter confusion, a confusion that is slowly turning to anger.
Teddy Blaze: Now if you’re the kind of sick sonuvabitch who gets his rocks off on that kind of thing, by all means…see what happens.
The girl takes advantage of the distraction, darting into the crowd to hide behind the bar. The bartender eyes the situation, hand hovering near a red button under the counter marked “alarm”
Drunken Man: Are you calling me a sonuvabitch?
Teddy Blaze: I dunno…are you?
The man’s hands curl into fists as a vein pops out of his forehead. His eyebrows lower further, but the smile has gone.
Blaze looks down slowly onto the table, seeing an empty beer glass. His mouth curls into a grin as with one motion he snatches it from the table, smashing it across the face of the drunk!
The drunk is staggered by the blow, falling to his hands and knees, and Blaze reels back, slamming a kick across the man’s face like he is going for an eighty yard field goal! The drunk’s head bobbles like a grape on a string as he rolls to his back, and Blaze jumps over him in an instant, mounting him to drill punch after punch to the man’s jaw!
The crowd issues forth a terrible howl and an alarm bell starts ringing, but there is no distraction to be had. Blaze drops blow after blow, punch after endless punch down on his helpless foe. The man tries to gurgle through missing teeth, but the blood from the blows has started to drip into his throat. The camera pans in on Blaze, whose bloodied hands continue to rain down as he looks into the eyes of the would-be attacker.
Next time he would pick on someone his own size.
Slowly, the camera pans out on the chaotic scene, becoming blurrier and blurrier as it zooms slowly out.
But something odd happens as it does so, the scene seems to change, to become stranger, more blurry. As it zooms further out, it passes through a sheet of glass, like a TV screen.
A screen reflecting a pair of red-lensed sunglasses.
The scene now resumes a moment before the attack, Blaze staring into the cold and empty beer glass on the table.
He pauses only for a second, glancing between the now perfectly healthy drunk and the beer glass.
In one fluid motion, Blaze snatches it from the table and smashes it over his own head!
The sudden action causes everyone to gasp, and even the gorilla takes a step back, his eyes widening in surprise.
Though the blow was solid and the glass exploded, though beer and blood now drip down the face of Teddy Blaze, he stands, unflinching, eyes locked on the now shaken drunk.
Teddy Blaze: Now sir, I’m going to give you a choice.
The man’s jaw is quivering at the sight of the now bloodied face, and the voice that has changed from a playful tone to a cold, steely monotone.
Teddy Blaze: Now either you can buy me a drink and leave that waitress the biggest tip that you’ve ever given in your pathetic life…
Blaze looks down at the handle of the glass, still clenched in his hand. With a squeeze he snaps it down the middle, his face twisting into a wicked grin as he turns towards the now frightened drunk.
Teddy Blaze: Or we can take option B…
Blaze takes a deep breath through his nose, relaxing his nerves before resuming his cold, angry stare at the now terrified drunk.
Teddy Blaze: Call it a hunch, but I think you’re going to want to get your wallet out.
The man quickly looks towards the crowd before looking back to Blaze, and offers a quick nod. In an instant, the room quickly turns back away from the pair, resuming their conversations as though nothing had happened.
Blaze claps his hand on the man’s shoulder with a grin, uttering something unintelligible as the camera and the audio slowly fades.
Thank goodness it ended without violence.
Slam! Arena
June 19, 2016
Reading, Pennsylvania
The scene before Slam is chaotic and hectic as usual. While the cheers may have diminished from the heyday, the loyal call of screaming fans echoes throughout the concrete hallways. And ever the loyal fan himself, Hank Brown rushes along, pushing past fans, hoping to get that scoop, that interview.
And now he had the chance.
Noone had seen Teddy Blaze in the locker room since his mysterious arrival, he had taken to avoiding the public eye somewhat, and no one was really sure the reason. After all, wasn’t this Teo del Sol, hero to the people? Wasn’t this the man who had redefined the title of People’s Champion, who had brought the belt to new heights through his dedication to the WCF Galaxy alone?
And now he was hiding? It was Hank’s job, no, his duty! To find out what was up, to give the people what they wanted.
So imagine his surprise to come across Teddy Blaze sitting in the technician’s break room, a cup of black coffee in one hand and a pink-iced donut in the other. Hank quickly signaled the cameraman to take up a position as he plopped down in one of the comfy chairs near Blaze.
Blaze looked over the rims of his glasses with a smile as he saw the doughy interviewer quickly shuffle some cards around.
Teddy Blaze: Hank Brown! We haven’t talked in months! Hope noone’s threatened to murder you this week.
Hank Brown: There has been a lot of that going around, hasn’t there?
Teddy Blaze: I think it’s something in the water. Coffee?
Blaze holds out the beverage to Brown, who with a glance suddenly realizes it hasn’t been touched.
Hank Brown: Um…
Hank is now aware that there is a full plate of donuts on the table before him, also untouched.
Blaze grins as his eyes disappear once more behind the red lenses, placing the donut back on top of the pile as he does so.
Teddy Blaze: Too obvious? Now I know you have reporter’s instincts, Hank. Care to take a stab at what’s going on here?
Hank cocks an eyebrow, his eyes wandering up towards the ceiling as he falls deep into thought.
Hank Brown: You…knew I wanted an interview with you…
Teddy Blaze: Good, keep going.
Hank Brown: So you set up here in the break room....knowing that I would try to catch you…
Blaze nods affirmatively, gesturing with his hand for Hank to continue.
Hank Brown: So now what?
Teddy Blaze: Now Hank?
Blaze chuckles to himself as he continues smiling.
Teddy Blaze: You’re going to ask me your questions. I know they’ve been bothering you.
Hank turns towards the camera with an almost imperceptible shrug before shuffling his cards.
Hank Brown: Right, well first I think we should ask you about this change in persona, what motivated you to turn against the fans?
Blaze lets out an uproarious laugh at Hank’s question.
Teddy Blaze: Turn against them? Hank you simple little man, don’t you ever look at the big picture? It may be true that I am not the Teo del Sol who would hand out free ice cream bars to children anymore, but at what point did I ever say that I had anything against the People?
Hank cocks an eyebrow in confusion but now its his turn to gesture for Blaze to continue.
Teddy Blaze: Hank, we sit in a time of chaos, of anarchy. When Beach Krew took their ball and went home, they opened up a power vacuum. Everything. Changed.
As Blaze speaks, the playful tone in his voice changed, replaced by the same steely monotone that gripped him the last time he spoke to the audience.
Teddy Blaze: We broke it, Hank. We pushed it too far. We tore down the same wonderful thing that we had built for nearly fifteen years. If WCF was a child it would be learning to drive, Hank, and we threw it all away. For what?
Ego.
That’s what it really came down to, didn’t it? We convinced ourselves that we were the most important goddamned thing on the planet and that we could get away with murder. Mexico, Hank, Mexico was a wake-up call.
These people, these rats that are festering on the roster... They are trying to eat up what’s left of a glorious empire, like Alexander’s generals carving up Macedonia, like Genghis Khan’s children cutting up Russia.
At a time like this, we do not need Teo del Sol. Teo del Sol was a hero, a champion, a shining beacon of hope.
But he was not meant for a world like this.
You want to know what I stand for, Hank?
Unity.
Teddy Blaze is here for one reason, and one reason only, and that is to bring WCF back to the way it once was.
Blaze reaches into his pocket and pulls out his now-trademark silver lighter, with a ruby flame on one side. He flicks it open as the lights go out, causing Hank to jump.
Teddy Blaze: Do you know what the funny thing is about Fire, Hank?
It doesn’t discriminate.
Wood, gasoline, oxygen…Give it enough time and Fire can melt steel, can level cities. Fire does not worry about ego, does not worry about rank or mark.
It consumes.
And that is all, Hank.
WCF…
WCF was once a beacon, a bonfire that shined throughout the world, that grew like no one could ever imagine, a superheated reminder of just how wonderful wrestling could be, Hank!
Now? It’s barely a moistened matchstick.
The fuel is there, Hank.
There is on the ashes the remnants of that great bonfire. We can still ignite what was once an unequivocal masterpiece, and we just need the spark.
It starts this week, Hank.
This week, I’m going to step through those ropes with Mikey Extreme. You know Mikey, right? That jesus-bearded lunatic who managed to fall ass-backwards into multiple US Title reigns? Who had to keep winning it back when the challenger of the week would jump his bones?
You know, the kind of overfed egomaniac that weakened the supports in the first place.
Ole’ Mikey, he’s gonna come into this one cocky. I don’t blame him, I would too. Teo del Sol came at Mikey with everything and came up short on multiple occasions. Not sure how of course, given that Mikey would probably lay down for the three count if I poked him in the chest.
Only difference being we wouldn’t have to plan it out beforehand, but I digress.
Mikey is a remnant, a relic. He is desperately clinging to former glory, to the days long gone, he wants to recreate the same Mikey Extreme that won all those belts, maybe even wants to finally win that world title he’s been desperately grasping at all these years.
Pathetic.
Mikey, if you’re watching, listen to me. The past is dying. WCF is changing, and you are on the short road to the deep end if you keep trying to dog paddle.
We do not need a Mikey Extreme who is trying to build on his reputation, a Mikey Extreme who is trying to show off what he once did.
Who is happy to have won titles that don’t exist anymore.
Does it Sting, Mikey? Does it hurt to know that when WCF decided to reactivate that belt you spent so many years sitting on like a mother hen, that you weren’t even considered worthy of challenging for it?
I mean, don’t get me wrong, I know that you were barely worthy of carrying it in the first place, and spent more time beating down veterans with flags than you did defending it.
Do you know how long I have held my People’s Championship? Put the phone away, I’ll tell you.
Since I won this belt, Five world Champions have come and gone. The US Championship has changed Five times. The TV title? Don’t get me started.
I have beaten nine different contenders. I have turned away veterans time after time, and don’t you dare turn around and say it was Sol.
Sol might have been the one outside the mask, but I have been here since the beginning. Watching, waiting.
And now I have a chance to make up for lost ground.
Mikey, the past is gone, there is nothing you can do to get it back. You can cling desperately to the bygone days, the victories you had over Sol. But none of it matters.
We stand on the cusp of a brand new WCF, of an era that will redefine what it means to be a WCF superstar, a WCF…Champion.
We are approaching Ultimate Showdown.
I have no doubt we will meet again soon.
But this week, Mikey? This week I am going to wake up you up.
Blaze holds the lighter, flame still blazing towards the camera.
This week I am going to light a fire under what was once a feared figure. I am going to tear you down so that you can be built back up.
I am going to beat you so hard that you’re not even going to be able to remember all those victories over Sol that you are so desperately, so pitifully clinging to.
Don’t worry Mikey, it will be over soon.
And then, we can start again.
Sol turns the lighter slowly back towards Hank Brown, his mouth with a wicked grin.
Teddy Blaze: But this match is not just between Me and Mikey, is it Hank? I mean it might as well be.
But let’s bring up the other mother hen in the room. I’m sure he’s starting to feel disappointed I haven’t talked about him yet.
Hello Brent.
I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced.
My name is Teddy Blaze. I’m currently the third longest-reigning People’s Champion of all time, and of the names on that list I have beaten more contenders than any of them combined. And that’s not just because Jay Price had Zero.
You see Brent, I’ve read your history, I’ve googled the dirtsheets, I’ve seen the rumors, the speculation.
You know, you don’t have to be crazy to work here, but it helps.
Brent, I am going to issue what one might call a warning.
I don’t know you, I have never met you, and I damned sure could care less what you have accomplished in your WCF tenure.
I hope that you are a genuine breath of Fresh air, a new beginning, a hand in the Genesis that will reawaken WCF and put us back on the road to greatness.
I hope that you are the kind of tough, take-no-bullshit kind of wrestler that this company is in dire need of.
I hope, Brent, that you are not a veteran looking for a paycheck.
Not a vulture hopping onto a carcass to pick at the bones, the kind of greedy monster who would take advantage of the state the company is in.
Because if you are..?
I am going to beat you so hard that you’re going to forget what kind of insanity you are supposed to have, you nutbar.
I am going to smash your head against that steel, spill your blood, and hurl you off that entrance ramp just to make sure you never come back!
I am going to leave you in a pool of blood and tears! I am going to leave you feeling such pain that anyone watching is going to have to take a picture so that they can put it in the dictionary next to the word sad!
I am going to make you wish that the blows had killed you, Brent.
And when you’re lying there, begging me, pleading for me to hit you one more time, to let you fall unconscious, to do anything that makes the pain stop!
That is when I’m going to let you lie there.
That is when the mercy comes.
At the moment you no longer want it.
Don’t take my words as Anger, Brent. As I’ve said before, despite your WCF tenure?
I don’t know you.
But listen here.
I don’t care if you’re in the Hall of Fame. I don’t care if you won Fifteen World Titles.
I don’t care if you’re Brent Alpine Or Mikey Extreme!
You listen to me right now and you listen like nothing else matters!
Blaze leaps from the seat as he speaks, knocking it against the wall behind him, holding the lighter up to his face.
Teddy Blaze: This company! WCF! This is a house that we built from our blood and our pain, from our suffering and our sacrifice! We have given so much and gotten so little, and all so that we could have a place to call home!
I will not let Anybody! Kick in the door of my home and start sifting through the ashes! If you are not here for WCF first, if you are here only for yourself, then you are the enemy!
Blaze pulls out a small box from his pocket as his breathing begins to slow.
He looks down at the box and smiles, before releasing a clasp with his thumb. It pops open to reveal a small white moth. The moth flitters about momentarily before finding its bearings on the lone light source in the room, the small flame of the lighter. It begins circling as Blaze speaks.
Teddy Blaze: You see Mikey, Brent…The thing about wrestlers is that they get tunnel vision. They start to see the world title in front of them, and that becomes their career.
I’m going to be the best.
I’m going to be the hero.
They keep…staring into that prize, looking longingly into that gold, knowing that no matter what happens, no matter who stands in their way, that they will eventually get there.
They keep…going in circles.
Tracing the same ground.
Moving the same way.
Getting closer, and closer to that shine.
That wonderful gold.
They’re drawn like a moth to a flame.
The moth begins circling dangerously close to the lighter, any moment the flame threatens to consume it.
Mikey, Brent. I do not care about the past. The past. Is. Dead.
I am about the future. I am about what comes next.
And what comes next for you two?
Well I have good news. You’re going to get a little bit closer to that shine.
But when you play with fire….
You’re gonna get burned.
On that note, Blaze Snaps the lighter shut, right as the moth comes on a path that would have sent it careening into the deadly light. The room is plunged into darkness, and after a few moments the lights come back on.
Blaze is gone, leaving only a confused Hank Brown sitting in a chair with a moth perched on his head.
