Post by DJS on Mar 18, 2021 16:18:35 GMT -5
Scarecrows are quite similar to us in a number of ways, really. They have duties.
And also, much like us, they do have to be quite careful not to catch fire. If there’s one thing they should avoid, it’s definitely that. It’s probably why they’re keeping their distance tonight.
Surrounded by crops, out of the nine figures currently watching the flames rise from the derelict caravan and the thick smoke infest the air in this field, only one of them is not a scarecrow. The rest remain a thoroughly captive audience. With her hands in her pockets and the red of the flames reflecting back into her dark pupils, Emery Layton can feel our approach. She knows we’re here.
EMERY LAYTON:
“Don’t mind this lot. Just keeping all the birds away. Never had much time for birds, me.”
She leaves a pause, allowing us to reach her. Were we walking towards her now, we’d be knocking our feet against discarded empty glass bottles of a strong, dark rum. Em leans into us, as we stand next to her, amongst her protectors.
“In my culture, they used to have a tradition. See when it was all over, yeah, you’d have your little funeral and you’d get all your respects paid to you and all that, but then they’d shove all your belongings in your caravan and whump! Up, just like that, y’know? Don’t really do it no more. Think the only one I ever saw was for my Auntie Esra. I’m a sentimental old fart, though. Like a bit of tradition. Used to have a buncha people who’d have done the same for me. Still. Gone now.”
With a heavy sigh, she pauses once again. But not to allow us to speak or move. This time it’s for herself.
“Bryan Williams is gonna kill me.
Now, you might be thinking that’s crazy talk. You didn’t come here to hear me say that, you came to hear me big myself up and talk about how the light shines from my arse and blinds anyone who dare talk about me badly, yeah? But I mean he has to, right? In fact, one of the first things I got told was that if this match ever came up, Bryan’d do just that. Alright. Cool. I accept that. I think it’s best to go out doing something you wanna do rather than being forced out. Trust me, I been there.”
She grabs a crate, previously home to the discarded bottles, and turns it upside down as she sits on it.
“Bryan Williams has been breathing down my neck for a long while now, kinda quietly but I have noticed it, and I ain’t really had much to say about him or reason to attack him on stuff. Dude’s one of the most respected on the entire scene and bloody hell is he good. I watched that guy paint the mat with the limbs of Precious Pepper Vain at Relapse and it became instantly obvious why he’s the War Horse Champion right now. That ain’t me buttering him up, I ain’t about that, it’s just sense and fact. Bryan Williams is the standard and too right he’s the conquest.
We all know it’s total fact he’s gonna beat me cos that’s how the world is supposed to work. The one everyone actually wants to win goes in and does it. I think we all agree the consensus is he’s gonna do that here, yeah? Like, it’s obvious. It's a fact. Me, Emery Layton, left to live with the failure and recover while Bryan Williams, conquest of Union Battleground, moves onto the next thing and forgets all about me. He goes onto bigger and better stuff, like he was always supposed to do, stays on the road to regaining the Union Battleground Championship. That’s the story of Bryan Williams and Emery Layton, all told and boxed off. Wouldn’t blame him one bit.”
She nods, grabbing the last bottle of what we now see to be rum and drinking from it, physically recoiling having reached the point in her night where it loses all taste. But then, she clicks her finger. A thought? Yes!
“But suppose he doesn’t. What then?”
She looks to her left. Her right. And then beckons us in.
I’ll tell you. And this is strictly just between you and me.”
Giving the mother of all side-eyes to the scarecrows, she lowers her voice. Those sack-headed boys aren’t to be trusted.
If Bryan Williams can’t beat me, then everything changes. And I ain’t just talking about him, I’m talking Union Battleground as a whole. Be who you wanna be in that crowd or behind that commentary desk, but if you ain’t supporting Bryan Williams in this match, and you’re on the roster? Get your head screwed on. Because that dude is your standard bearer. He’s the guy worthy enough to hold that title. He beat three of your best at the biggest show to earn the right to call himself that. But if he can’t beat me, someone who dominated in a by-gone era, then what does that say about him? What does that say about all of you?”
On her final word of her previous utterance, she points with the most accusatory finger available to her, on this occasion her index finger, and she points it directly at You.
“In this current era, out of everyone, he is what stands between you and a guaranteed ticket to Miles or Danny or whoever comes outta that one with those two titles, know what I mean? Like, you’re an on-demand gauntlet in a story someone else wants to tell, and you can rip the page right outta that book before it’s even written and just do it yourself if you fancy. The War Horse Championship ain’t just some belt you can win here, it’s Power. You are defending power. If he loses this, he justifies there was a need for me to come back and take that power. And if that happens, what does that say about Union Battleground today?”
“So when I say ‘Bryan Williams is gonna kill me’, I want you to join me. Come on. Join hands if you got someone at home with you. Lets manifest it into existence together, cos personally I sure fucking hope he does. I hope he rips my heart out and makes me eat it. I hope he beats every last bit of weakness right out of my body. It’s in his best interest to do that. It’s in Union Battleground’s best interest he does that. Dude’s the biggest challenge I’ve had since I came back, but I’m the first real hurdle he’s had as War Horse Champion. He might not think that, but go ask Moxie or even your boss. Reckon they’d tell you a thing or two.”
Putting her bottle down, Emery stands, slowly elevating herself onto the crate, one foot at a time so she is now standing on top of it.
“I’m ready to go down, I got no one left and nothing to lose. But if he don’t got it in him to beat me? He don’t gotta worry about whether that title’s gonna be well looked after. Because if we walk outta this both alive with Emery Layton as the War Horse Champion, the only singles title I never won here, if we enter that world then we enter it together. I will treat that title with the level of respect and dignity it deserves. I’ll have the honour and privilege to finally be the War Horse Champion, and I will use it as a platform to give Union Battleground’s roster a chance to punch themselves into the main event. Like these lads here being the one thing standing between the crows and the crops, the commodity they’re all tryna swoop in after, I’ll stand between everybody and the Union Battleground Unified Championship and make ‘em prove they deserve a direct road to it. I wouldn’t just wanna hold that title, I’d wanna reinvent it. That’s the world we’d live in if Bryan Williams can’t beat me.”
By this point, Emery is now stood on the crate and facing us, her arms held out as the fire continues to rise from the caravan behind her. Her outline becomes darker as we slowly, and surely move backwards.
“Kill me in Jersey, Bryan! Do your peers a favour. Everybody says you will. Everyone’s counting on you. Prove ‘em all right that Emery Layton’s nothing but words and lies and lives already lived.
Protect those crops from the dirty fucking crow that is Emery Layton.”
And now, we hold on the image. Emery, with her hands held out far apart. Her silhouette, cast in front of the flaming caravan. To her right and her left, in a line looking like they’re joining her, stand her obedient, captive troupe of noble scarecrows.
Protecting their crops. Gatekeeping the commodity. Fending off swooping crows. Doing their duty.
And also, much like us, they do have to be quite careful not to catch fire. If there’s one thing they should avoid, it’s definitely that. It’s probably why they’re keeping their distance tonight.
Surrounded by crops, out of the nine figures currently watching the flames rise from the derelict caravan and the thick smoke infest the air in this field, only one of them is not a scarecrow. The rest remain a thoroughly captive audience. With her hands in her pockets and the red of the flames reflecting back into her dark pupils, Emery Layton can feel our approach. She knows we’re here.
EMERY LAYTON:
“Don’t mind this lot. Just keeping all the birds away. Never had much time for birds, me.”
She leaves a pause, allowing us to reach her. Were we walking towards her now, we’d be knocking our feet against discarded empty glass bottles of a strong, dark rum. Em leans into us, as we stand next to her, amongst her protectors.
“In my culture, they used to have a tradition. See when it was all over, yeah, you’d have your little funeral and you’d get all your respects paid to you and all that, but then they’d shove all your belongings in your caravan and whump! Up, just like that, y’know? Don’t really do it no more. Think the only one I ever saw was for my Auntie Esra. I’m a sentimental old fart, though. Like a bit of tradition. Used to have a buncha people who’d have done the same for me. Still. Gone now.”
With a heavy sigh, she pauses once again. But not to allow us to speak or move. This time it’s for herself.
“Bryan Williams is gonna kill me.
Now, you might be thinking that’s crazy talk. You didn’t come here to hear me say that, you came to hear me big myself up and talk about how the light shines from my arse and blinds anyone who dare talk about me badly, yeah? But I mean he has to, right? In fact, one of the first things I got told was that if this match ever came up, Bryan’d do just that. Alright. Cool. I accept that. I think it’s best to go out doing something you wanna do rather than being forced out. Trust me, I been there.”
She grabs a crate, previously home to the discarded bottles, and turns it upside down as she sits on it.
“Bryan Williams has been breathing down my neck for a long while now, kinda quietly but I have noticed it, and I ain’t really had much to say about him or reason to attack him on stuff. Dude’s one of the most respected on the entire scene and bloody hell is he good. I watched that guy paint the mat with the limbs of Precious Pepper Vain at Relapse and it became instantly obvious why he’s the War Horse Champion right now. That ain’t me buttering him up, I ain’t about that, it’s just sense and fact. Bryan Williams is the standard and too right he’s the conquest.
We all know it’s total fact he’s gonna beat me cos that’s how the world is supposed to work. The one everyone actually wants to win goes in and does it. I think we all agree the consensus is he’s gonna do that here, yeah? Like, it’s obvious. It's a fact. Me, Emery Layton, left to live with the failure and recover while Bryan Williams, conquest of Union Battleground, moves onto the next thing and forgets all about me. He goes onto bigger and better stuff, like he was always supposed to do, stays on the road to regaining the Union Battleground Championship. That’s the story of Bryan Williams and Emery Layton, all told and boxed off. Wouldn’t blame him one bit.”
She nods, grabbing the last bottle of what we now see to be rum and drinking from it, physically recoiling having reached the point in her night where it loses all taste. But then, she clicks her finger. A thought? Yes!
“But suppose he doesn’t. What then?”
She looks to her left. Her right. And then beckons us in.
I’ll tell you. And this is strictly just between you and me.”
Giving the mother of all side-eyes to the scarecrows, she lowers her voice. Those sack-headed boys aren’t to be trusted.
If Bryan Williams can’t beat me, then everything changes. And I ain’t just talking about him, I’m talking Union Battleground as a whole. Be who you wanna be in that crowd or behind that commentary desk, but if you ain’t supporting Bryan Williams in this match, and you’re on the roster? Get your head screwed on. Because that dude is your standard bearer. He’s the guy worthy enough to hold that title. He beat three of your best at the biggest show to earn the right to call himself that. But if he can’t beat me, someone who dominated in a by-gone era, then what does that say about him? What does that say about all of you?”
On her final word of her previous utterance, she points with the most accusatory finger available to her, on this occasion her index finger, and she points it directly at You.
“In this current era, out of everyone, he is what stands between you and a guaranteed ticket to Miles or Danny or whoever comes outta that one with those two titles, know what I mean? Like, you’re an on-demand gauntlet in a story someone else wants to tell, and you can rip the page right outta that book before it’s even written and just do it yourself if you fancy. The War Horse Championship ain’t just some belt you can win here, it’s Power. You are defending power. If he loses this, he justifies there was a need for me to come back and take that power. And if that happens, what does that say about Union Battleground today?”
“So when I say ‘Bryan Williams is gonna kill me’, I want you to join me. Come on. Join hands if you got someone at home with you. Lets manifest it into existence together, cos personally I sure fucking hope he does. I hope he rips my heart out and makes me eat it. I hope he beats every last bit of weakness right out of my body. It’s in his best interest to do that. It’s in Union Battleground’s best interest he does that. Dude’s the biggest challenge I’ve had since I came back, but I’m the first real hurdle he’s had as War Horse Champion. He might not think that, but go ask Moxie or even your boss. Reckon they’d tell you a thing or two.”
Putting her bottle down, Emery stands, slowly elevating herself onto the crate, one foot at a time so she is now standing on top of it.
“I’m ready to go down, I got no one left and nothing to lose. But if he don’t got it in him to beat me? He don’t gotta worry about whether that title’s gonna be well looked after. Because if we walk outta this both alive with Emery Layton as the War Horse Champion, the only singles title I never won here, if we enter that world then we enter it together. I will treat that title with the level of respect and dignity it deserves. I’ll have the honour and privilege to finally be the War Horse Champion, and I will use it as a platform to give Union Battleground’s roster a chance to punch themselves into the main event. Like these lads here being the one thing standing between the crows and the crops, the commodity they’re all tryna swoop in after, I’ll stand between everybody and the Union Battleground Unified Championship and make ‘em prove they deserve a direct road to it. I wouldn’t just wanna hold that title, I’d wanna reinvent it. That’s the world we’d live in if Bryan Williams can’t beat me.”
By this point, Emery is now stood on the crate and facing us, her arms held out as the fire continues to rise from the caravan behind her. Her outline becomes darker as we slowly, and surely move backwards.
“Kill me in Jersey, Bryan! Do your peers a favour. Everybody says you will. Everyone’s counting on you. Prove ‘em all right that Emery Layton’s nothing but words and lies and lives already lived.
Protect those crops from the dirty fucking crow that is Emery Layton.”
And now, we hold on the image. Emery, with her hands held out far apart. Her silhouette, cast in front of the flaming caravan. To her right and her left, in a line looking like they’re joining her, stand her obedient, captive troupe of noble scarecrows.
Protecting their crops. Gatekeeping the commodity. Fending off swooping crows. Doing their duty.
