Post by DJS on Apr 25, 2021 11:35:37 GMT -5
Imagine for a moment, if you will, the life of a championship belt.
Heavy lump of metal. That’s you.
But all the same, you’re desired. You’re fought over. You can be a defining moment in someone’s entire life, for better or worse. Pulled back and forth in a rotating tug of war, but no one even thought to ask what you thought about the whole ordeal. People willing to sacrifice reputation and pride, all for you.
Like the Homecoming Queen. Everybody wants to dance with you.
Yes, it’s all very rock and roll. But occasionally, when it’s all simmered down you find yourself on a pillow, face up to a ceiling-
“Morning, you! Rise and shine!”
The curtain opens. You glisten. For the last month, you’ve bared witness to the life of Emery Layton. Be it her greatest days or her most private moments, you’ve been there. On her shoulder. Around her waist. Informing her actions, validating her decisions but ultimately being unable to stop her.
The life of the War Horse Championship. The life we’re leading today.
Heavy lump of metal.
That’s us.
EMERY LAYTON:
“Sleep well? I’ve had worse nights, personally, but still not great. You’re looking real good today though. Ooft, check you out. Wish I looked that great whenever I woke up.
What a month, eh? Still remember the night we met. You were with someone else at the time - but don’t worry, I hear he was just ‘having an off-night’. But I wasn’t and that’s what counts. Came backstage with you on my arm- nobody there to greet us, you could just feel the bittersweetness in the air. I look in the mirror, drenched in my own blood, I see those eyes looking back at me and I go 'there you are. There you fucking are, Emery Layton. You’re Alive.' We went to a bar together afterwards. Out on the town. Few bottles later, we’re back at the hotel, your arms round my waist for the first time and we’re slow-dancing to The Corrs at three in the morning. Inseparable ever since!”
She picks us up and we’re on her shoulder, the only thing she treats with any genuine level of care, as she walks down the corridor. Emery doesn’t own many things. Her residence has the essentials but not really anything she couldn’t just abandon or stuff into a suitcase at a moment’s notice. There are, however, lots of framed pictures on the walls. Plaques to commemorate her achievements. She puts us carefully on the couch as boils the kettle in the kitchen, located directly next to her living room, radio playing away in the background.
“I keep hearing I got lucky getting you. That I had no business being anywhere near you. Tough. A man made a match he didn’t need to and he lost. That’s just how it is. This is reality and we’re all just gonna have to accept it whether we want to or not. Besides, we get on, don’t we? You and me. That said, I don’t believe in a lotta things, I ain’t superstitious or nothing, but I do sorta believe in destiny, know what I mean? Like, I think sometimes the world kinda guides you towards a purpose. Maybe that’s what happened here. Maybe we were meant to be.”
With her morning mug of tea, she leans against the wall, but gets the feeling our attention is elsewhere. And yes, it is. Because right next to her, in a lovely gold-ish frame, is a picture of Em with the Trench War Championship. They look very happy together.
Well.
Happy as a belt that has known nothing but Emery at this point could look, anyway. She follows our non-existent eyeline towards it, and nods, as she slowly approaches.
“Oh. Take it you’ve met the ex. Yeah. We were together for quite a while, actually. Long time ago. Barely even recognisable to me, now.”
And she looks. She looks into the eyes of her past self for just a moment longer than is reasonable. Not wistful. Not longing. But just a little bit longer than a mere glance. A few blinks later, and she’s apparently back in the room with us, as she gets closer to us, holding up a consoling hand.
“But don’t worry. That’s all in the past. I’m not like the others. Okay? I know you been through the mill. Passed from pillar to post, all cos they wanna use you as a stepping stone. These guys? They’d toss you aside at the first sign of a weakened wolf and think nothing of it. You know it and I do. They’ll talk about how much you mean to them, how you’re important to them, but it’s just to get their great, big, disingenuous foot in the door. That’s gotta be a depressing existence, right? They only want you cos they’re really after something else. I get it.
But it stops. It stops with me. I’m gonna take care of you. If they want you, they gotta get past me first and I won’t let that happen. You deserve better. Someone who likes you for you, not what you can get them. Someone who’ll treat you right and treat you with respect. Johnny Violence ain’t no such someone.”
Em slides onto the couch, crossing her legs with her mug of tea resting on her shins like a table.
“Nah. I ain’t convinced. And that’s a shame, cos the guy seems like a clever dude despite being all scary and crazy and what have you. But he’s exactly the kinda person I’m talking about. Johnny wants his name in lights, he wants fame, he wants respect and quite honestly, he wants to give his head a bit of a wobble.
I mean yeah, the dude’s good and y’know what? He kinda reminds me of you, actually. Cos like you, his whole issue is people using him as a stepping stone. Johnny Violence wants more outta life, he wants the whole world to say his name with fear and worry in their voices. Dude thinks he’s set to become the next big thing round here. He’s on the cusp. He just needs that extra little thing to push him right into the main event. A would-be king.
And that’s why he can’t have you.”
With a big gulp, she lays her mug down on the floor next to the couch and comes in closer, kneeling before us one knee.
“He doesn’t need you. Not like I do. He ain’t gonna treat you with the respect I do. Given half the chance, he’d just be like all the others. The second he can get his hands on you, he’s gonna be figuring out how he can sack you off for bigger things. Don't tell me he won’t. Don’t tell me he’s different. Like Bryan Williams, you’re a means to an end for Johnny Violence and you are worth so much more than that to me. I’m the worst kinda War Horse Champion they could ever have. One who’s already been there and done that, and passes judgment on anyone tryna take shortcuts and do the same through you. Someone who feels like he should be more wouldn’t ever want you if he didn’t wanna get somewhere else. So not on my fucking watch, mate.”
Like a bolt of lightning striking her, she remembers something and claps, raising her finger while the memory is fresh.
“Hey- get this one. So Shan, Schaden, Scnash-- his opponent from last month. He loses to Johnny, and he gives this excuse of ’oh, well I was only giving sixty-five percent’. The nerve, eh? Kimitsu Zombie’s prattling about and hiring people who, in earnest, won’t even give it full whack on their debut.
Besides being a really daft thing to say, what does that tell us? Cos what I know for sure is that Johnny can beat half-arsed debutees. Great. I threw everything I had at Bryan Williams, I came away winner and then still went on to wrestle for other companies that week and still won. I don’t even bother getting outta bed for anything less than a hundred percent. It’s a waste of everyone’s time if I don’t. So lemme be clear. I do not need to prove myself to Johnny. I’m the one with the gold here. He needs to prove himself to me. And to everyone else, too. Now more than ever. Cos he can whinge about being treated like a stepping stone all he likes. But maybe that’s because when the going gets tough and he has to face someone who isn’t just phoning it in, he bloody well is one.
And if after all that, he still thinks he’s got this? Then I’ll grab his little sword and I’ll shove it through his massive head, and I’ll make him the fucking Suicide King, and then swagger off, still champion with a would-be king becoming a never-was. You and me against the World.”
“I haven’t slept at all in days. It’s been so long since we’ve talked.”
Em stops and listens. A warm smile on her face, as The Coors “What Can I Do?” invades the radio.
“Our song. Come on. Get those arms back round me.”
Emery looks into the nearby mirror, and we’ve engulfed her entire midsection.
Desired. Needed.
Heavy lump of metal.
Not us.
We’re the Homecoming Queen, and we dance with Emery Layton.
Heavy lump of metal. That’s you.
But all the same, you’re desired. You’re fought over. You can be a defining moment in someone’s entire life, for better or worse. Pulled back and forth in a rotating tug of war, but no one even thought to ask what you thought about the whole ordeal. People willing to sacrifice reputation and pride, all for you.
Like the Homecoming Queen. Everybody wants to dance with you.
Yes, it’s all very rock and roll. But occasionally, when it’s all simmered down you find yourself on a pillow, face up to a ceiling-
“Morning, you! Rise and shine!”
The curtain opens. You glisten. For the last month, you’ve bared witness to the life of Emery Layton. Be it her greatest days or her most private moments, you’ve been there. On her shoulder. Around her waist. Informing her actions, validating her decisions but ultimately being unable to stop her.
The life of the War Horse Championship. The life we’re leading today.
Heavy lump of metal.
That’s us.
EMERY LAYTON:
“Sleep well? I’ve had worse nights, personally, but still not great. You’re looking real good today though. Ooft, check you out. Wish I looked that great whenever I woke up.
What a month, eh? Still remember the night we met. You were with someone else at the time - but don’t worry, I hear he was just ‘having an off-night’. But I wasn’t and that’s what counts. Came backstage with you on my arm- nobody there to greet us, you could just feel the bittersweetness in the air. I look in the mirror, drenched in my own blood, I see those eyes looking back at me and I go 'there you are. There you fucking are, Emery Layton. You’re Alive.' We went to a bar together afterwards. Out on the town. Few bottles later, we’re back at the hotel, your arms round my waist for the first time and we’re slow-dancing to The Corrs at three in the morning. Inseparable ever since!”
She picks us up and we’re on her shoulder, the only thing she treats with any genuine level of care, as she walks down the corridor. Emery doesn’t own many things. Her residence has the essentials but not really anything she couldn’t just abandon or stuff into a suitcase at a moment’s notice. There are, however, lots of framed pictures on the walls. Plaques to commemorate her achievements. She puts us carefully on the couch as boils the kettle in the kitchen, located directly next to her living room, radio playing away in the background.
“I keep hearing I got lucky getting you. That I had no business being anywhere near you. Tough. A man made a match he didn’t need to and he lost. That’s just how it is. This is reality and we’re all just gonna have to accept it whether we want to or not. Besides, we get on, don’t we? You and me. That said, I don’t believe in a lotta things, I ain’t superstitious or nothing, but I do sorta believe in destiny, know what I mean? Like, I think sometimes the world kinda guides you towards a purpose. Maybe that’s what happened here. Maybe we were meant to be.”
With her morning mug of tea, she leans against the wall, but gets the feeling our attention is elsewhere. And yes, it is. Because right next to her, in a lovely gold-ish frame, is a picture of Em with the Trench War Championship. They look very happy together.
Well.
Happy as a belt that has known nothing but Emery at this point could look, anyway. She follows our non-existent eyeline towards it, and nods, as she slowly approaches.
“Oh. Take it you’ve met the ex. Yeah. We were together for quite a while, actually. Long time ago. Barely even recognisable to me, now.”
And she looks. She looks into the eyes of her past self for just a moment longer than is reasonable. Not wistful. Not longing. But just a little bit longer than a mere glance. A few blinks later, and she’s apparently back in the room with us, as she gets closer to us, holding up a consoling hand.
“But don’t worry. That’s all in the past. I’m not like the others. Okay? I know you been through the mill. Passed from pillar to post, all cos they wanna use you as a stepping stone. These guys? They’d toss you aside at the first sign of a weakened wolf and think nothing of it. You know it and I do. They’ll talk about how much you mean to them, how you’re important to them, but it’s just to get their great, big, disingenuous foot in the door. That’s gotta be a depressing existence, right? They only want you cos they’re really after something else. I get it.
But it stops. It stops with me. I’m gonna take care of you. If they want you, they gotta get past me first and I won’t let that happen. You deserve better. Someone who likes you for you, not what you can get them. Someone who’ll treat you right and treat you with respect. Johnny Violence ain’t no such someone.”
Em slides onto the couch, crossing her legs with her mug of tea resting on her shins like a table.
“Nah. I ain’t convinced. And that’s a shame, cos the guy seems like a clever dude despite being all scary and crazy and what have you. But he’s exactly the kinda person I’m talking about. Johnny wants his name in lights, he wants fame, he wants respect and quite honestly, he wants to give his head a bit of a wobble.
I mean yeah, the dude’s good and y’know what? He kinda reminds me of you, actually. Cos like you, his whole issue is people using him as a stepping stone. Johnny Violence wants more outta life, he wants the whole world to say his name with fear and worry in their voices. Dude thinks he’s set to become the next big thing round here. He’s on the cusp. He just needs that extra little thing to push him right into the main event. A would-be king.
And that’s why he can’t have you.”
With a big gulp, she lays her mug down on the floor next to the couch and comes in closer, kneeling before us one knee.
“He doesn’t need you. Not like I do. He ain’t gonna treat you with the respect I do. Given half the chance, he’d just be like all the others. The second he can get his hands on you, he’s gonna be figuring out how he can sack you off for bigger things. Don't tell me he won’t. Don’t tell me he’s different. Like Bryan Williams, you’re a means to an end for Johnny Violence and you are worth so much more than that to me. I’m the worst kinda War Horse Champion they could ever have. One who’s already been there and done that, and passes judgment on anyone tryna take shortcuts and do the same through you. Someone who feels like he should be more wouldn’t ever want you if he didn’t wanna get somewhere else. So not on my fucking watch, mate.”
Like a bolt of lightning striking her, she remembers something and claps, raising her finger while the memory is fresh.
“Hey- get this one. So Shan, Schaden, Scnash-- his opponent from last month. He loses to Johnny, and he gives this excuse of ’oh, well I was only giving sixty-five percent’. The nerve, eh? Kimitsu Zombie’s prattling about and hiring people who, in earnest, won’t even give it full whack on their debut.
Besides being a really daft thing to say, what does that tell us? Cos what I know for sure is that Johnny can beat half-arsed debutees. Great. I threw everything I had at Bryan Williams, I came away winner and then still went on to wrestle for other companies that week and still won. I don’t even bother getting outta bed for anything less than a hundred percent. It’s a waste of everyone’s time if I don’t. So lemme be clear. I do not need to prove myself to Johnny. I’m the one with the gold here. He needs to prove himself to me. And to everyone else, too. Now more than ever. Cos he can whinge about being treated like a stepping stone all he likes. But maybe that’s because when the going gets tough and he has to face someone who isn’t just phoning it in, he bloody well is one.
And if after all that, he still thinks he’s got this? Then I’ll grab his little sword and I’ll shove it through his massive head, and I’ll make him the fucking Suicide King, and then swagger off, still champion with a would-be king becoming a never-was. You and me against the World.”
“I haven’t slept at all in days. It’s been so long since we’ve talked.”
Em stops and listens. A warm smile on her face, as The Coors “What Can I Do?” invades the radio.
“Our song. Come on. Get those arms back round me.”
Emery looks into the nearby mirror, and we’ve engulfed her entire midsection.
Desired. Needed.
Heavy lump of metal.
Not us.
We’re the Homecoming Queen, and we dance with Emery Layton.
