Post by Rogan MacLean on Apr 1, 2018 14:22:51 GMT -5
The camera was centered on Dolan Farson. He stood, dressed, as he always was, in an expensive suit. The vest beneath the black suit jacket was a dark purple, with a matching bow tie. His hair was styled messily on top of his head, pointed strands that looked like the claws of a monster. He stood alone.
“Hello. I’ll bet you were expecting Rogan MacLean, either as himself, or as his masked persona, The Mercenary. Just another head of the hydra that is my client.”
What’s that metronome I hear?
Perhaps the end is drawing near
You never hear the shot that takes you down
He spoke with utter amusement. He even chuckled between words, and his dimples showed as he grinned beneath his icy stare.
“The thing about this business that I’ve learned, though, is nobody really gives a crap about you until you’re at the top. Whether it’s at the top of the company, like Nemesis is… or you’re at the top of a specific division, like Emery Layton is. It could also be argued that Emery Layton is at the top of the company. She has represented Union Battleground with flying colors.”
Now your dreams are memories
Seems more true from far away
Just like smoke that fades,
And makes no sound
He brushed a strand of hair from his eyes. Clutched in one skeletal hand was the head of a cane, black and shiny.
“Rogan has his own accomplishments elsewhere. But he and I both understand, no one here cares about what he’s accomplished in UGWC. In fact, I don’t care about what he’s accomplished there. It doesn’t mean anything here. But the beauty of it is, Rogan understands that. I don’t think you’re quite ready for my client, Ms. Layton.”
His mischievous grin resurfaces, like a monster awakening.
“And what do you really know about Rogan MacLean? What does anyone in Union Battleground know about him? Other than The Outliers, I’m willing to bet that not many of you know anything at all about him. Ms. Layton, allow me to introduce you to the hydra of professional wrestling. I’ll let you, and everyone else, in on a few important details of my client. I do hope you’re paying attention, this could be very important to you.”
Out of time, so say goodbye
What is yours, now is mine
And I dream broken dreams
I make them come true
I make them for you
He shifted his weight, passing the cane from one hand to the other and leaning against it. His eyes were a pale green, windows to a darker world than these.
“Mr. MacLean is, as he’s advertised in the past, an engine of chaos—think of him as a machine. What is maybe the most frightening thing about a machine to a common man, or a common woman?”
Almost to the mountaintop
You slip and fall just like a stone
Rolling ever faster to this nightmare you have sown
You had it all right in your grasp
But in a breath, your minute passed
Now at last the end has come, you are all alone
He paused, holding the question in the air.
“I would think my biggest fear is that the machine somehow moves by itself while the common man or common woman is inside it. Machines, typically, are stupid. They’re told what to do through programs, written by men and women, or triggered by sensors and inputs, also man-made. Rogan is a machine. He’s an engine of chaos. But what happens when the machine begins re-writing its own programs? What happens when the machine is intelligent enough to evolve on its own?
“Rogan MacLean is also a hydra. You cut one head off, two more grow back. All of which are slaves to the master, the genius behind all of the different faces he wears. And they’re not just faces. He embodies those that he’s inspired by. If H.P. Lovecraft and Stephen King collaborated together, creating the most fearful monster they could come up with together, Rogan MacLean would be the perfect monster. Not Nemesis. Not a member of Salvation. Not the butcher himself. But Rogan MacLean, the hydra…”
He paused again, his icy stare forward, centered on the camera.
Out of time, so say goodbye
What is yours, now is mine
And I dream broken dreams
I make them come true
I make them for you
“In Rogan’s debut match, you will truly see the determination behind the emerald eyes of the man in black. A statement will be made. The air will go out of the arena. Eyes will bulge from their sockets. I will hold up a single hand.”
He held his right hand up to illustrate his point.
“The hand that shook the world.”
He smiled, eyes shifting from side to side, and the smile faded soon after. He straightened his suit and walked off camera. The scene faded to black.
I dream broken dreams, I make them come true, I make them for you
Bad dreams come true, I make them for you (I make dreams come true)
Well, specifically, a big bridge in Verona. A big, stone bridge right at the heart of the city. As tourists walk up and down, a man with a guitar strums away as people throw coins into his guitar case and a living statue plys his trade, , one person dares to perch herself on the side. Dangling her legs over the bridge, looking down at the wonderful, glittering Adige River, Emery Layton peers down as she eats away at her Macaroni and Cheese.
She bounces up onto the wall of the bridge that she has just finally managed to pronounce the name of, raising her finger in the air and knocking the Mac and Cheese into the river. In the other hand, Emery holds the Trench War Championship. Never without it.
"Gotcha! Do you know how hard it's been to try and say that? I have real trouble saying some stuff sometimes. Like, y'know just pronouncing stuff. You'd think, intrepid traveller as I am, I'd get that stuff down by now but nah. Something about it super difficult to me. Tell ya what, though...sometimes I got all the right words and know exactly how to say 'em. I ain't the type of person who sits back and just lets everyone else say all the things while I'm just happy to be here, know what I mean? I got words and opinionations and all that. I'm pretty outspoken about how proud I am of how well I been doing at this whole wrestling thing and I'll tell anyone and their Da exactly how proud I am of that. So when someone comes along and says all I did is down to them, I ain't exactly pleased!"
As she stands there on the wall of the bridge, people cannot help but walk past and look up, even just to glance. Em pays no attention. For our benefit, she continues.
"And then, what makes me even less pleased is when my boss- who's supposed to have my best interests in mind- ain't got the confidence in me that I can keep this..."
She holds up the Trench War Championship. Turning it around, she holds the buckles at the front so that she can fasten it together around her waist. As she keeps talking, she turns it the correct way so that it is around her waist.
"See, any other day and under any other circumstances, Rogan MacLean would be an epic match. I wasn't shocked for no reason, man. I know that guy. I know everybody, I'm the all-seeing eye, I'm like the wind. You get the point. All he had to do was come up to me and say 'hey, Emery Layton, oh Trench War Traveller that you are, you seem like a reasonable kinda champ seeing as how every time someone said to you "defend that title" you said "yeah alright", why don't you defend that against me?' That was all it woulda took. Instead you wore a silly mask and interfered in my matches. I get it, though, man. You wanted this, so no one else could have it. I get that. All you had to do was ask. We'd have had a good match, there. But instead, you hired some...whatever the hell Dolan Farson is to you, you hired that dude to stick his nose-and what a hell of a nose that thing is- into my life! And then, and THEN..."
Emery shakes her head, brushing her brow. At this point, people are beginning to stop and watch. Once again, Emery does not notice this and continues.
"And then, not only all of that, but Axel Graves doesn't think I can keep this thing. The shiny thing I've had around my waist for, oohhh...well over a year now? We're in April! I'm the first ever duel champion in Union Battleground, I beat almost everyone you ever thrown my way. I talk ALL the time about how proud I am of what I do here. I wasn't going nowhere else with this or gonna lose it. Hell, with the King Cobra Championship, I could literally change everything in Union overnight on any night and I'm pretty confident I'd get the job done, too. I chose to work in this place cos it was different and treated me like an equal, but y'know what, Ax? You're like every other promoter who ever told me I "couldn't do it", you just ain't upfront about it. Resent that all you want, that's the real deal and you know it."
With her arms waving and her expressions over the top, more have stopped to watch- no matter what language they speak- some even with phones out.
"Dolan...Axel...you wanna try control my life? Nah, man. You should know by now that Emery Layton can't be tamed by man nor beast nor whatever the arse Dolan Farson is. Rogan can come to this crazy town, he can try to take this from me, but I'll be walking outta Verona exactly how I walked in- the Trench War Traveller and I'll do it in spite of you. I can't be stopped and you're gonna find out the hard way that even after all you done, Rogan MacLean is NOT the answer to the Emery Layton problem! I keep on running, and fellas...well, you just can't catch me."
As Emery theatrically raises her arms, suddenly there is applause. She looks down, now finally noticing the crowd that has gathered. Some are even laying down notes and coins. Confused, Em looks around. What do they think is going on here?
"Wait, wait, what are you..."
But then she looks to the side. The man with the guitar, the living statue and her, delivering a passionate 'soliloquy'. She figures it out right there and then what they think is going on. She isn't disgusted by it.
"Ooohhh, they think I'm...well in that case, thank you! Money in the hat if you're gonna..."
Her smile rises as she takes off her beanie and throws it on the ground for people to throw their money into. And yet, they do not seem to have left. They want more, and not one to let people down, Em thinks. That's when she realises she's in Verona. Oh, fair Verona...a place she's always wanted to go because of one little thing she read once. You may have heard of it...
"Alright then..."
She clears her throat. This might be her only chance. She adjusts her accent to one of an old-age Thespian.
"Messers Farson, Graves and MacLean- do I bite my thumb at thee? I do bite my thumb at thee! And poor fools, you know not what you do! MacLean is not the sir whom causes quarrel. O, valorous Engine of Chaos who would doth harm to mine enemies, I wilt yet giveth thee occasion! Dolan Farson and Axel Graves? These beest the men who torment mine being. Thou art villains but I see thou knowest me not! Oho, I see betwixt thine wretched schemes, I gaze upon thy devised monstrocities and I see thee not a pair of Gods but cank'red worms! knoweth me not as a bootless gill but a high-sighted noblewoman who would maketh worms meat of thee. Therefore speak slowly and regret that thou hold me so carelessly. A plague on BOTH your houses!"
Unhooking her title, she holds it up.
"In fair Verona, where we lay our scene, Stand and Draw, Rogan. Here is my fiddlestick, thou masterless, dried neat's-tongue!"
Em stops, taking a bow as more coins and notes are thrown into the beanie. Satisfied, she dusts off her hands, going back to her regular voice.
"Knew that was a skill that'd come in handy one day!"
