Post by Dionysus on Oct 23, 2016 16:43:50 GMT -5
The scene opens to a glorious tropical sunset on the beach. Aside from passerbys, the beach is relatively quiet. The seas were calm; very few waves tickled the shoreline, and only a handful of clouds dotted the sky. While panning the shoreline, a silhouette of a man was seen, appearing to be performing a strange dance on the beach. The camera cut closer, showing a man with a full beard twirling a sword in his hand. He lead the routine in a repeating motion; Twirl-Turn-Slash-Thrust-Slash-Slash-Twirl. Beads of sweat flicked off the man as he turned, having been working this routine for some time. The light caught the face of the man, Dion Necurat, as he continued his routine. He heard steps from behind him, and quickly he turned toward the sound, sword arm outstretched.
“Hey hey, easy there!” shouted Kevin Bishop, hands up in the air, but with a smile on his face. “You could put a man’s eye out with that thing!”
Dion paused for a moment, exhaled, then laughed. “I suppose I could, huh.” He lowered his sword arm, loosely holding onto his prized possession. “I just saw the scenery and...well, with what’s been happening recently...I couldn’t pass up the chance to meditate.” He gently tossed the sword into the sand, the blade sticking neatly into the ground underneath. Dion let out a sigh as he bent over to sit in the sand next to his blade, while Kevin came around next to him, holding out a cooler.
“I suppose...a good cold beer is what you need?” Kevin asked, opening up the cooler.
Dion looked inside, intrigued. “Ah...as always, you can read my mind, Bishop,” he replied. His face soured when he saw what was in the cooler. “...Dos Equis? Corona?”
Bishop shrugged his arms. “Well, it was either these or getting Coors.”
Dion shook his head. “I guess I should be thanking you, then,” he said, chuckling as he grabbed a Dos Equis from the cooler. He took out a bottle opener from his pocket, opening up the golden brew, and passed the opener to Bishop. Bishop accepted, taking a seat next to him.
Both men stared out into the ocean, listening to the crash of the waves and seeing a flock of gulls fly overhead. It was a rare moment for Dion; not once had he spent any time alone with the leader of the Brotherhood, not since Dion chose to accept entry. Dion took a pull from his beer; the taste did not meet his palate, but it was refreshing nonetheless. Bishop turned to Dion. “You know...since joining with us, you have been reserved. Sure, you have helped rally our brothers, but you...you are a hard read, Necurat. We don’t know much about you.”
Dion exhaled in refreshment. “What is there to tell?” Dion asked. “I am new to WCF. I joined up to learn from one of the best of us new guys. Simple as that, really.” He looked over to Bishop. “I’m quiet because I do not trust well. If you knew what I ha-”
“But that’s just it, Dion. I don’t know,” Bishop cut in, frustrated. He relaxed, looking at Dion. “Look...I can understand if you are reluctant to tell us anything. But if we want to be a cohesive team, we need to be able to trust one another.” He motioned with his beer toward Dion’s sword. “I have always thought of you as a proud warrior, even out of the ring. But whatever it is you are facing, you don’t need to do it alone. So tell me, Necurat...what is troubling you, and how can I help?”
Dion took a long drink from his bottle, a pained look in his eyes. This time, it was not the beer that was giving him a problem. “If I told you...you would understand why trust is a problem for me.” He set his beer aside, clasping his hands together. “But...if you want to hear the story. It all began when a man came into my gym, a man by the name of Albert Divine…” Dion then spent the next fifteen minutes recounting the events that led him to Hawaii; from his mother’s medical needs to Albert Divine’s arrival. From him being trained for the circus and his refusal, to Albert Divine’s extortion. “And now...I have no choice but to keep winning. If I lose...I get sent to the underground. Who knows what else will happen. Most of my purse goes to paying his debt. I don’t even have a choice; if I want to keep myself in peak condition, I have to compete under my talent level.”
Bishop sat there, staring in thought. “So...that would explain your need to compete against Uncle Isaac.” He started to take a drink.
Dion nodded. “Aye,” he said, “and also competing against Russian mongoloids like Vladislav Afanasy.”
Bishop took pause. “Vladi...Vladi-who?”
“Vladislav Afanasy,” Dion repeated. “Otherwise known as ‘The Latest Incarnation of The Generic Foreigner Character.’ He comes from a different country from ours, wanting to show us why his country’s way of competition is better than ours.” He looked out to the beach, letting out a chuckle. “It does remind me of that bit in Futurama. ‘I’M NOT FROM HERE! I HAVE MY OWN CUSTOMS! LOOK AT MY CRAZY PASSPORT!’”
Both men laughed, easing the weight of the conversation. It felt good to Dion; finally able to lift this burden off of his shoulders and be able to laugh. He looked over again. “Make no mistake; I never underestimate an opponent, no matter what ‘league’ he may be in. Regardless, his time is better spent back in the motherland, where the vodka is cheap and the politicians even cheaper.”
Bishop ran a hand through his hair, setting his beer down. “Right, but...Dion, this isn’t you.”
“Beg pardon?” Dion said, looking incredulous at the statement.
“You’re not meant to be beating up small-time wrestlers just to make ends meat. Your purpose is to get out there and forge a path for yourself," Bishop said. “If you keep letting Albert win, your worth will plummet. I want to see you succeed.”
Dion looked over to him, reaching for his bottle of beer. “And I want to reach that point too,” Dion said. “But first, I need to take care of this problem.” Dion stretched his arms, and took a drink from the bottle. “But how do I take down a man who only takes?”
Bishop looked out into the ocean, beer in hand. “What one man takes, another man gives.”
Dion was in mid-sip when a look of realization crossed his face. “Another man gives…” he repeated, taking the bottle away from his mouth. He took his free hand and grabbed Bishop’s shoulder. “Kevin.”
“Yes?” Bishop replied.
Dion offered his bottle over, clinking it with Bishop’s. “I think you just gave me...a brilliant idea…”
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The scene transitions to the inside of a homeless shelter on the island of Maui. Despite the colorful appearance of the interior, the people inside have an air of gloom about them; down-trodden, out of luck, and looking for just one warm meal. The camera panned down a long table, filming as men, women and children were eating a filling, if light, meal of soup and fruit. Near the end of the panning, a man walked over to grab empty trays off the table, some filled with leftover food and partially empty bowls. The camera panned up to Dion Necurat’s face, as he brought the trays over to the kitchen. A larger woman in a hairnet was spraying off dishes where Dion dropped off the trays.
“I have a few more here for you, Janet,” He said. After setting them down, Dion turned to face the camera, a generous grin crossing his face.. “Hello, world. My name is Dion Necurat. You probably know me best as ‘The Crimson Gladiator’ in WCF. You may also know me as the member of The Brotherhood. But what you don’t know...is that I am a charitable man.” The camera backed away to show more of the interior of the building. “This here is the Ka Hale A Ke Ola homeless shelter. Many people, down on their luck, come to this refuge in order to have a nice warm meal, and in some cases, a place to keep out of the tropical weather.” He walked over toward a group of children who were coloring in books on the table. He ruffled the hair of one of the boys. “You’re doing a good job, kiddo,” he said with a smile, laughing. The children looked up to him, smiling if timidly, before going back to their coloring books. “These children are here due to unfortunate circumstances...and it is up to us,” he said, slapping his chest, “to help these people in need.”
He walked over toward the door, looking out toward the sea. “There are many places around the country that could use a charitable hand, especially for those who help the homeless. That is why I am starting a series of charity donation drives. The first, Pins for Children, is a joint project with WCF. For every pinfall and near-fall in a match, our organization, The Necurat Foundation, will donate $1,000 and $500, respectively, to a local homeless shelter such as Ka Hale A Ke Ola.” Dion turned back to the camera, pointing his finger at it. “But I know what you’re thinking. How can you, the WCF Universe, help in these trying times? Well, you can make a direct donation to our sister drive, Holds for Homes. Every dollar donated to this drive will me matched 50%, and as our organization grows, that percentage will increase.”
The camera panned in to Dion’s face, while still light, turned serious. “Everyone, man, woman and child, deserves a good home. Together, we can stop homelessness in all our cities. It is up to us to make that dream a reality. Please. Join us in our fight to help those in need.” A group of children were playing four-square on the sidewalk, giggling and having fun. Dion looked outside, chucking. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to show these kids a thing or two about four-square.” He walked outside where the children happily let him join in on a game.
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In an office back in Minnesota, Albert Divine was watching a charity donation commercial sponsored by Dion Necurat. He watched the clip, not showing a shred of emotion. He furrowed his brow at the end of the clip, where an announcer said, “Paid for by The Necurat Foundation.” He immediately picked up the desk phone. “Yes...I’d like to speak to Mr. Mores. It seems we may have a financial situation…”
