Post by DJS on Feb 27, 2021 20:55:52 GMT -5
It is widely expected and agreed upon by most people that cake cannot feel fear.
But were they ever to experience a situation where they learn how to fear, it's likely to be this one. At this very moment, all the large chocolate cake can feel is it's own richly-textured coatings being scooped by fiendish claws and demolished without mercy or apology- only gluttonous, sweet-toothed glee.
The auditorium sits completely silent, following a spotlight which shines onto the cake as it sits a big desk. Behind the desk, a towering poster of Emery Layton imposes itself over the proceedings. Grinning. Heroic. Definitely not a recent picture.
Sat on the desk, cross-legged in her beanie and leather jacket, with her name-tag turned upside down, Emery reaches into the cake with her whole hand and devours it handful by handful, cake smeared all over her face, looking like a terrible artist’s interpretation of the picture behind her.
EMERY LAYTON:
“Can’t just have one slice, me. Always been a problem. Well, not, like a problem problem. I don’t think there’s no group you can go to for that. But it always starts off the same - you offer me a slice and I’m like ‘oh yeah, cool, great, thanks’ and I take it thinking I can be restrained but I always go back for more and pretty soon, I decide I gotta have the whole thing. Start getting protective over it, y’know what I mean? And then everyone wants a bit and I’m just like ‘right, listen, I was here first’ cos all I want is something nice. Just something for me. All to myself. Don’t think that’s unreasonable.”
Emery shrugs and continues to gorge on her cake, as we pan around the rest of the room. The lights. The banners. The seats.
The silent, entirely-empty seats.
Emery Layton-based paraphernalia attempts to adorn the space, with a microphone on a stand set up by the stage to be used by no one. It is quite literally just us and Em. She raises her finger.
“Yeah, should probably explain. There was a bit of a cock-up. So roundabout a year ago, give or take- I don’t really remember- some dudes came to me from one of them, er, what do you call them, like, agencies? Like a couple dudes in suits, they show up and they go ‘hey, so you’re retired now, you wanna come tell stories about your career?’, so I was like ‘okay, I like talking, why not’ and it was all booked in. Show got sold out pretty quick, but then it kept getting delayed cos of, y’know, the world, and eventually they just decided to cancel it. But I said ‘nah, lemme have the venue’. Could do with the peace and quiet, honestly, not often you get it. So here I am, getting paid to eat a cake I got myself on the way here as a treat. I deserved it, I took it.”
She stands, taking a half-empty bottle of rum with her and presenting the empty seats to us.
“An entirely sold out crowd and no one’s here. Y’know, this is the ideal situation of a lotta people in wrestling, now I think about it, actually. Like you can brag about the fact you sold it out but they don’t wanna listen to people. They’re too busy rattling round in their own heads, they can’t hear you. It’s about them, y’know? So no one to argue. No one to disagree with you. That’s what wrestlers really want. Took me a lotta time to realise that.”
At the very front of the stage, her feet at the edge, she takes a swig of her rum and turns to her left, very briefly. But then she stops, tilting her head as something catches her eye. A giant, life-sized cardboard cutout of Emery. But it’s worse than that. In the cutout, she’s holding the Trench War Championship on her shoulder, a massive, prideful grin on her face. Em wipes her mouth with her own sleeve and walks, with almost a stumble, towards her. As she stands face to face, Cardboard Emery is at least an inch taller and Em has to look up at her.
“Yeah. Gonna be real with ya, wouldn’t smile too much if I were you. You’re the one who got us into this whole thing.”
Em looks out to the empty crowd and then to Cardboard Emery, dragging her right into the middle of the stage and showing off the non-existent audience to her.
“Anything to say to your mates here? No? Woulda been something daft anyway. Cor, lookit you then, eh. ‘The Trench War Traveller’. You’re a snapshot in time, you. Confident. Uncaring. That’s you all over, that. No wonder you’re smiling cheesy grins. Here’s a question- You seen Moxie James wrestle?”
Cardboard Emery remains silent, and still.
“Nah, course you ain’t. I have, though. Phoar, what a fucking talent. She beat Nyx in just over three minutes, what you reckon to that?”
Cardboard Emery continues to remain silent, and still.
“Still nothing? Oh, you arrogant little fuck, ya. Starting to get why people don’t like you.”
Cardboard Emery remains silent, and still. And apparently unoffended. Em circles her.
“That girl didn’t break a fucking sweat. Big debut, lotsa people looking at her for whatever reason, and Nyx didn’t have a fucking clue where the hell she was for the entire goddamn thing. Barely started my drink and she’d already had her down on the mat. The absolute speed on that girl. And y’know what? She don’t seem too bad of a person, neither. Far as I know. Not gonna pretend I know that much about her personal life- not really gonna help here, is it? I ain’t about cheap shots, me. What I do know is what she can do in there and that she said she knows me and respects me.”
She removes her hat, sheepishly, putting her arm around Cardboard Emery. Like she’s leaning in to tell her the secrets of the world.
“But here’s the, er, here’s the thing - when Moxie, or anyone, say they know and respect Emery Layton, they see you. She sees you. And when I see her, I see you too.”
She steps away, aggressively knocking back her rum as the cake cowers in the corner and the uninhabited auditorium leans in.
“Yeah, I see you. Looking at me with your grin and your hubris, all new and the whole world at your fucking feet. Moxie James can only get better, that’s the thing. Bristling with potential, know what I mean? Sky is the absolute limit for Moxie James. If she loses this match, she can come back from it later and come back stronger and better. Started this two years ago, been impressive as they come, but she’s still kinda a baby in this business. Won’t like me saying that but she is. The best days of her career are yet to come. And me…yeah. Bit worried. But that’s alright - my Grandma used to tell me worry was just a more intense form of caring. ‘Beware the ones who don’t worry,’ she said, ‘they’re liars or they’re fools.’
See she might respect you, but I know I gotta be better than you. Better than her. They’re watching. They are all waiting for me to fail. They don’t want me here, they don’t see me like people saw you. For me and Moxie, this is one of the most important matches of both our careers. Cos she’s gotta face up and go toe-to-toe with a Union Battleground original, who helped build the foundation of this entire company, and I gotta beat her cos I gotta back up everything I ever said. She’s younger, faster and she ain’t been knocked about as much as me. Bet she can still hear outta both her ears, can’t even say for myself. But if I lose, I shit on myself, I shit on you, and I shit on every single person I ever beat in the name of Union Battleground. Dude, I loved being you. All the dashing about and doing silly stuff with hats and boats and pretending to be a pirate, but face it; that shit don’t fly no more. That shit ain’t gonna fly this time, for real. Time to grow up. Moxie James ain’t getting no ‘Trench War Traveller’ she’s getting me, and she’ll fucking kill me I don’t grow the fuck up.
It’s a tougher Union Battleground. I got tougher opponents than you ever did. I gotta be a tougher Emery Layton and THAT is who Moxie James is getting. Not you. Me.”
She stops. She looks around. There is no thunderous applause. No chant of her name. Just a fearful, half-eaten cake on an unmanned desk, a cardboard cutout of herself from years ago with absolutely nothing to say and Reality. She turns one last time to Cardboard Emery, and her Trench War Championship on her shoulder, having got an eye full of cake.
“Anyway. Hope you don’t mind. It’s just that...I can’t just have one slice when the whole thing’s right there to be enjoyed.”
Emery Layton, like a disgusting pig in a trough, pounces on the disturbed, yet delicious cake and devours it long into the night.
And if she has her way, she won’t leave until she’s had the whole thing.
But were they ever to experience a situation where they learn how to fear, it's likely to be this one. At this very moment, all the large chocolate cake can feel is it's own richly-textured coatings being scooped by fiendish claws and demolished without mercy or apology- only gluttonous, sweet-toothed glee.
The auditorium sits completely silent, following a spotlight which shines onto the cake as it sits a big desk. Behind the desk, a towering poster of Emery Layton imposes itself over the proceedings. Grinning. Heroic. Definitely not a recent picture.
Sat on the desk, cross-legged in her beanie and leather jacket, with her name-tag turned upside down, Emery reaches into the cake with her whole hand and devours it handful by handful, cake smeared all over her face, looking like a terrible artist’s interpretation of the picture behind her.
EMERY LAYTON:
“Can’t just have one slice, me. Always been a problem. Well, not, like a problem problem. I don’t think there’s no group you can go to for that. But it always starts off the same - you offer me a slice and I’m like ‘oh yeah, cool, great, thanks’ and I take it thinking I can be restrained but I always go back for more and pretty soon, I decide I gotta have the whole thing. Start getting protective over it, y’know what I mean? And then everyone wants a bit and I’m just like ‘right, listen, I was here first’ cos all I want is something nice. Just something for me. All to myself. Don’t think that’s unreasonable.”
Emery shrugs and continues to gorge on her cake, as we pan around the rest of the room. The lights. The banners. The seats.
The silent, entirely-empty seats.
Emery Layton-based paraphernalia attempts to adorn the space, with a microphone on a stand set up by the stage to be used by no one. It is quite literally just us and Em. She raises her finger.
“Yeah, should probably explain. There was a bit of a cock-up. So roundabout a year ago, give or take- I don’t really remember- some dudes came to me from one of them, er, what do you call them, like, agencies? Like a couple dudes in suits, they show up and they go ‘hey, so you’re retired now, you wanna come tell stories about your career?’, so I was like ‘okay, I like talking, why not’ and it was all booked in. Show got sold out pretty quick, but then it kept getting delayed cos of, y’know, the world, and eventually they just decided to cancel it. But I said ‘nah, lemme have the venue’. Could do with the peace and quiet, honestly, not often you get it. So here I am, getting paid to eat a cake I got myself on the way here as a treat. I deserved it, I took it.”
She stands, taking a half-empty bottle of rum with her and presenting the empty seats to us.
“An entirely sold out crowd and no one’s here. Y’know, this is the ideal situation of a lotta people in wrestling, now I think about it, actually. Like you can brag about the fact you sold it out but they don’t wanna listen to people. They’re too busy rattling round in their own heads, they can’t hear you. It’s about them, y’know? So no one to argue. No one to disagree with you. That’s what wrestlers really want. Took me a lotta time to realise that.”
At the very front of the stage, her feet at the edge, she takes a swig of her rum and turns to her left, very briefly. But then she stops, tilting her head as something catches her eye. A giant, life-sized cardboard cutout of Emery. But it’s worse than that. In the cutout, she’s holding the Trench War Championship on her shoulder, a massive, prideful grin on her face. Em wipes her mouth with her own sleeve and walks, with almost a stumble, towards her. As she stands face to face, Cardboard Emery is at least an inch taller and Em has to look up at her.
“Yeah. Gonna be real with ya, wouldn’t smile too much if I were you. You’re the one who got us into this whole thing.”
Em looks out to the empty crowd and then to Cardboard Emery, dragging her right into the middle of the stage and showing off the non-existent audience to her.
“Anything to say to your mates here? No? Woulda been something daft anyway. Cor, lookit you then, eh. ‘The Trench War Traveller’. You’re a snapshot in time, you. Confident. Uncaring. That’s you all over, that. No wonder you’re smiling cheesy grins. Here’s a question- You seen Moxie James wrestle?”
Cardboard Emery remains silent, and still.
“Nah, course you ain’t. I have, though. Phoar, what a fucking talent. She beat Nyx in just over three minutes, what you reckon to that?”
Cardboard Emery continues to remain silent, and still.
“Still nothing? Oh, you arrogant little fuck, ya. Starting to get why people don’t like you.”
Cardboard Emery remains silent, and still. And apparently unoffended. Em circles her.
“That girl didn’t break a fucking sweat. Big debut, lotsa people looking at her for whatever reason, and Nyx didn’t have a fucking clue where the hell she was for the entire goddamn thing. Barely started my drink and she’d already had her down on the mat. The absolute speed on that girl. And y’know what? She don’t seem too bad of a person, neither. Far as I know. Not gonna pretend I know that much about her personal life- not really gonna help here, is it? I ain’t about cheap shots, me. What I do know is what she can do in there and that she said she knows me and respects me.”
She removes her hat, sheepishly, putting her arm around Cardboard Emery. Like she’s leaning in to tell her the secrets of the world.
“But here’s the, er, here’s the thing - when Moxie, or anyone, say they know and respect Emery Layton, they see you. She sees you. And when I see her, I see you too.”
She steps away, aggressively knocking back her rum as the cake cowers in the corner and the uninhabited auditorium leans in.
“Yeah, I see you. Looking at me with your grin and your hubris, all new and the whole world at your fucking feet. Moxie James can only get better, that’s the thing. Bristling with potential, know what I mean? Sky is the absolute limit for Moxie James. If she loses this match, she can come back from it later and come back stronger and better. Started this two years ago, been impressive as they come, but she’s still kinda a baby in this business. Won’t like me saying that but she is. The best days of her career are yet to come. And me…yeah. Bit worried. But that’s alright - my Grandma used to tell me worry was just a more intense form of caring. ‘Beware the ones who don’t worry,’ she said, ‘they’re liars or they’re fools.’
See she might respect you, but I know I gotta be better than you. Better than her. They’re watching. They are all waiting for me to fail. They don’t want me here, they don’t see me like people saw you. For me and Moxie, this is one of the most important matches of both our careers. Cos she’s gotta face up and go toe-to-toe with a Union Battleground original, who helped build the foundation of this entire company, and I gotta beat her cos I gotta back up everything I ever said. She’s younger, faster and she ain’t been knocked about as much as me. Bet she can still hear outta both her ears, can’t even say for myself. But if I lose, I shit on myself, I shit on you, and I shit on every single person I ever beat in the name of Union Battleground. Dude, I loved being you. All the dashing about and doing silly stuff with hats and boats and pretending to be a pirate, but face it; that shit don’t fly no more. That shit ain’t gonna fly this time, for real. Time to grow up. Moxie James ain’t getting no ‘Trench War Traveller’ she’s getting me, and she’ll fucking kill me I don’t grow the fuck up.
It’s a tougher Union Battleground. I got tougher opponents than you ever did. I gotta be a tougher Emery Layton and THAT is who Moxie James is getting. Not you. Me.”
She stops. She looks around. There is no thunderous applause. No chant of her name. Just a fearful, half-eaten cake on an unmanned desk, a cardboard cutout of herself from years ago with absolutely nothing to say and Reality. She turns one last time to Cardboard Emery, and her Trench War Championship on her shoulder, having got an eye full of cake.
“Anyway. Hope you don’t mind. It’s just that...I can’t just have one slice when the whole thing’s right there to be enjoyed.”
Emery Layton, like a disgusting pig in a trough, pounces on the disturbed, yet delicious cake and devours it long into the night.
And if she has her way, she won’t leave until she’s had the whole thing.
