New Perspective
Feb 16, 2020 18:41:27 GMT -5
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Post by cyriddle on Feb 16, 2020 18:41:27 GMT -5
The blinding sun and its accompanying heat do no favors to Cyrus Riddle as the back passenger side door of a chauffeured Rolls Royce opens, inviting him into the chaos of society that he had been ignoring for months. In exchange for his emergence, his new liaison, Malachi Fiennes hands him a pair of sunglasses with a smile of excitement that very few could match in intensity.
“Welcome back to the world, mate! Viva la Mexico, yeah?”
Malachi waves his arm in a counterclockwise motion, as if sliding a curtain back for Cy to take in the sight before him. Street vendors, young kids kicking soccer balls down the street, and a hint of mal intended men and women exchange looks with the pair as they stand, glancing at the Calafia Bullring in intermittent moments of survey to detach themselves from the reality around them.
“The building we begin to rebuild the man in. This is the genesis of Cyrus Riddle’s second coming, the rapture of the wrestling world, the resurgence the world failed to realize they needed, the…
Riddle holds his hand up to Malachi’s face, shaking his head from having heard enough.
"Yeah, I get it, we all get it… redemption and all of that returning nonsense. I’ve drained that well dry. Let’s focus on the action plan, Fiennes.”
Malachi throws his hands up, chuckling.
“Alright, alright, untangle your knickers, man. I’m just providing the hype needed for the festivities.”
Cy looks to Malachi, raising his right eyebrow.
"Festivities? That would imply there are celebrations taking place en masse. What’s going to happen here is nothing short of a decimation of three unwilling participants in a match where they hold no high ground, nor do they have the ability to claim any clear advantage over the one notorious presence in the match, that being me. I have the years, the skills, and the lust.”
“Lest we forget the other factors, bruv. We have the reimagined Cyrus Riddle. Down with the Impaler, up with the Age of Grandeur. Ever since Mr. Smith and yourself popularized horror culture in wrestling, it’s spread like a wildfire where originality has taken a backseat to imitation and gratuitous violence to prove worthiness in the most futile of ways. Now, your brutality comes from a different place. The lust isn’t blood, it’s gold. The driving force inside of Cyrus Riddle is the need to exhibit the skills we know you have, and to set that bar above your colleagues.”
The two stand in silence for a few seconds before making their way, side by side, into the Bullring. Malachi buttons his suit as to dissuade the wind from blowing the back of it into the air, wherein Cyrus’ t-shirt begins to press against his abdomen and chest. Once inside, the pair admire the Union Battleground decor that adorns the circular arena.
For Riddle, the mirage of fans thirsty for opening match statements to be made fills his psyche before it focuses to the very ring which sits constructed before him, seeing visions of himself standing tall in the center, having one the number one contendership for the War Horse Championship.
"For me, this is a new start. The last time I stepped into a Union ring, my ex-wife put me into a fire, subsequently extinguishing the flames we once shared in our life together. I took the burns, I ate the loss, and I found it in myself to regroup and take her forgiveness as a chance to begin anew. However, I never quite lived up to the expectations I had placed on myself for that growth. It took personal exile and time for reflection before I realized that I had just kept living a lie out in the open. I was presenting an image to the world, of a man who was deceased. There was no passion in my words or in my performance, and I had become a shell of who I once was.
Cy grips the bottom rope with his left hand, lunging himself forward to sit on the apron.
"In retrospect, I had become nothing but a spectator who was going through the motions when it came to my own work. I watched others climb the mountains I had only dreamed of climbing, whilst I was laying on my back in a heap of broken tables and glass. I gave up, and I never looked into a mirror. In that clouded mind I had, the problems were all external… until someone handed me a mirror.
Cy looks to the athletically built, dark haired Malachi who stands in front of him, smiling as if about to rattle off a sales pitch.
“Hello, Malachi Fiennes here. I’m the man with the mirror. What you see behind me is a man awoken. As a scout for the greatest talents, it’s my personal responsibility to accentuate the greatest traits of all those I wish to represent. As it pertains to Mr. Riddle here, the complications were vast. He doesn’t need a mouthpiece, or anyone to list his many achievements. But, he did need someone to show him who he truly was, and that’s where I came in.”
Malachi adjusts his sunglasses briefly, looking around the arena with a confident nod.
“When you need someone to set the tone for your product, to fill these seats, and deliver a show worth the price of admission, you need a man like Cyrus Riddle. When you need a main event talent, you need a Cyrus Riddle. Think about it, without his placement against Willie Pete, Anna Daniels, and Alexander Archer III, what would the night look like? Barren? Guaranteed to put you to sleep before the show can even gain steam? Union Battle higher ups understood this, and when I reached out, they practically did a backflip to make the contract happen. Now, what you have is a legitimate contender for any title in any company, entering a match against three people who are so enveloped by his shadow that you have to recheck the card for their forgettable and overall drab names.”
“This man is your guaranteed victor. He’s focused, he is plenty seasoned, and he possesses the single greatest trait that his adversaries just do not have… tenacity. Cyrus Riddle, the former Impaler, now leads the Age of Grandeur into Union Battleground to establish the hierarchy needed in this business, with himself at the top. This match was designed for his conquest, polluted by undeserving names just as a formality. From Coupe De Grace, we move on to either Kaelan Laughlin or Wendy Wynne. Who do you believe can contest either of them?”
Riddle places his hand on Malachi’s shoulder, prompting Malachi to turn and look at Cy.
"Nobody but me, it will always be me. Unlike before, I don’t need to make idle threats or weave some macabre pattern of words together to turn a catchy phrase that is intended to shock the spookiest aspects of your fear into a forefront battle. No, that time has long expired. It’s time to go back to the days of success that I built my name on. The reimagining, as it has been dubbed, takes the greatest aspects of my game and places them on a level to compete with the greatest names of this business in the present day. Now, it is paramount more than ever that I rise above who I once was and show the world who I have always been beneath the surface. You want a spectacle, and I’m here to give you one.”
“Anna, Willie, Alex… just how confident can one man or woman be, and for how long, before they feel the burden of their enthusiasm? Each of you will come out here, step on this apron, and you will feel like you’ve finally made something of yourselves. Contender matches are always good for some elevated confidence levels. But, I can assure the three of you that you haven’t done the entire process. Think about once you step on this apron and stare into the ring, who you will see. Think about the man you see right now, geared up and deadpan staring through you, clamoring for that bell to ring so that I can make my statement clear. How does that thought sit in your head? Nervous? Nonchalant? Possibly humorous due to masking?”
“Regardless of which one it is, come Coupe De Grace, it will be a common sense of temerity across the board. Each of you will understand that your respective audacity to enter the ring with Cyrus Riddle was the most foolhardy decision you ever made when it pertained to signing a match contract. That confident spark you step out with quickly dulls in the presence of a real wrestler, a real technician, and a truly heartless mother fucker that has seen the best of times and worst of times. I don’t want success, I need success, and that requires me to do whatever it is I have to do to acquire it. It just so happens that my first opportunity involves the three of you, and I hope that you or those close to you believe in the power of prayer, because divine intervention might just be the only factor that could stop my determination to walk out with a shot at the War Horse Title, one of the most prestigious in this business.”
Malachi smirks, nodding his head and giving Cy the full attention he deserves as he speaks.
"I invite you to watch every tape you can of mine prior to this match. The good, the bad, the brutal, and the messy. I welcome you to try and study what I’ve done and how, and come with a game plan. Under the night sky in Mexico, with history to be made, I will create a lasting romance between myself... and victory.”
Malachi and Cyrus simultaneously hold up a two finger salute to the camera before walking out of frame, with Malachi’s voice hyping his talent acquisition and Riddle telling him to “calm the fuck down before they get shot.”
“Welcome back to the world, mate! Viva la Mexico, yeah?”
Malachi waves his arm in a counterclockwise motion, as if sliding a curtain back for Cy to take in the sight before him. Street vendors, young kids kicking soccer balls down the street, and a hint of mal intended men and women exchange looks with the pair as they stand, glancing at the Calafia Bullring in intermittent moments of survey to detach themselves from the reality around them.
“The building we begin to rebuild the man in. This is the genesis of Cyrus Riddle’s second coming, the rapture of the wrestling world, the resurgence the world failed to realize they needed, the…
Riddle holds his hand up to Malachi’s face, shaking his head from having heard enough.
"Yeah, I get it, we all get it… redemption and all of that returning nonsense. I’ve drained that well dry. Let’s focus on the action plan, Fiennes.”
Malachi throws his hands up, chuckling.
“Alright, alright, untangle your knickers, man. I’m just providing the hype needed for the festivities.”
Cy looks to Malachi, raising his right eyebrow.
"Festivities? That would imply there are celebrations taking place en masse. What’s going to happen here is nothing short of a decimation of three unwilling participants in a match where they hold no high ground, nor do they have the ability to claim any clear advantage over the one notorious presence in the match, that being me. I have the years, the skills, and the lust.”
“Lest we forget the other factors, bruv. We have the reimagined Cyrus Riddle. Down with the Impaler, up with the Age of Grandeur. Ever since Mr. Smith and yourself popularized horror culture in wrestling, it’s spread like a wildfire where originality has taken a backseat to imitation and gratuitous violence to prove worthiness in the most futile of ways. Now, your brutality comes from a different place. The lust isn’t blood, it’s gold. The driving force inside of Cyrus Riddle is the need to exhibit the skills we know you have, and to set that bar above your colleagues.”
The two stand in silence for a few seconds before making their way, side by side, into the Bullring. Malachi buttons his suit as to dissuade the wind from blowing the back of it into the air, wherein Cyrus’ t-shirt begins to press against his abdomen and chest. Once inside, the pair admire the Union Battleground decor that adorns the circular arena.
For Riddle, the mirage of fans thirsty for opening match statements to be made fills his psyche before it focuses to the very ring which sits constructed before him, seeing visions of himself standing tall in the center, having one the number one contendership for the War Horse Championship.
"For me, this is a new start. The last time I stepped into a Union ring, my ex-wife put me into a fire, subsequently extinguishing the flames we once shared in our life together. I took the burns, I ate the loss, and I found it in myself to regroup and take her forgiveness as a chance to begin anew. However, I never quite lived up to the expectations I had placed on myself for that growth. It took personal exile and time for reflection before I realized that I had just kept living a lie out in the open. I was presenting an image to the world, of a man who was deceased. There was no passion in my words or in my performance, and I had become a shell of who I once was.
Cy grips the bottom rope with his left hand, lunging himself forward to sit on the apron.
"In retrospect, I had become nothing but a spectator who was going through the motions when it came to my own work. I watched others climb the mountains I had only dreamed of climbing, whilst I was laying on my back in a heap of broken tables and glass. I gave up, and I never looked into a mirror. In that clouded mind I had, the problems were all external… until someone handed me a mirror.
Cy looks to the athletically built, dark haired Malachi who stands in front of him, smiling as if about to rattle off a sales pitch.
“Hello, Malachi Fiennes here. I’m the man with the mirror. What you see behind me is a man awoken. As a scout for the greatest talents, it’s my personal responsibility to accentuate the greatest traits of all those I wish to represent. As it pertains to Mr. Riddle here, the complications were vast. He doesn’t need a mouthpiece, or anyone to list his many achievements. But, he did need someone to show him who he truly was, and that’s where I came in.”
Malachi adjusts his sunglasses briefly, looking around the arena with a confident nod.
“When you need someone to set the tone for your product, to fill these seats, and deliver a show worth the price of admission, you need a man like Cyrus Riddle. When you need a main event talent, you need a Cyrus Riddle. Think about it, without his placement against Willie Pete, Anna Daniels, and Alexander Archer III, what would the night look like? Barren? Guaranteed to put you to sleep before the show can even gain steam? Union Battle higher ups understood this, and when I reached out, they practically did a backflip to make the contract happen. Now, what you have is a legitimate contender for any title in any company, entering a match against three people who are so enveloped by his shadow that you have to recheck the card for their forgettable and overall drab names.”
“This man is your guaranteed victor. He’s focused, he is plenty seasoned, and he possesses the single greatest trait that his adversaries just do not have… tenacity. Cyrus Riddle, the former Impaler, now leads the Age of Grandeur into Union Battleground to establish the hierarchy needed in this business, with himself at the top. This match was designed for his conquest, polluted by undeserving names just as a formality. From Coupe De Grace, we move on to either Kaelan Laughlin or Wendy Wynne. Who do you believe can contest either of them?”
Riddle places his hand on Malachi’s shoulder, prompting Malachi to turn and look at Cy.
"Nobody but me, it will always be me. Unlike before, I don’t need to make idle threats or weave some macabre pattern of words together to turn a catchy phrase that is intended to shock the spookiest aspects of your fear into a forefront battle. No, that time has long expired. It’s time to go back to the days of success that I built my name on. The reimagining, as it has been dubbed, takes the greatest aspects of my game and places them on a level to compete with the greatest names of this business in the present day. Now, it is paramount more than ever that I rise above who I once was and show the world who I have always been beneath the surface. You want a spectacle, and I’m here to give you one.”
“Anna, Willie, Alex… just how confident can one man or woman be, and for how long, before they feel the burden of their enthusiasm? Each of you will come out here, step on this apron, and you will feel like you’ve finally made something of yourselves. Contender matches are always good for some elevated confidence levels. But, I can assure the three of you that you haven’t done the entire process. Think about once you step on this apron and stare into the ring, who you will see. Think about the man you see right now, geared up and deadpan staring through you, clamoring for that bell to ring so that I can make my statement clear. How does that thought sit in your head? Nervous? Nonchalant? Possibly humorous due to masking?”
“Regardless of which one it is, come Coupe De Grace, it will be a common sense of temerity across the board. Each of you will understand that your respective audacity to enter the ring with Cyrus Riddle was the most foolhardy decision you ever made when it pertained to signing a match contract. That confident spark you step out with quickly dulls in the presence of a real wrestler, a real technician, and a truly heartless mother fucker that has seen the best of times and worst of times. I don’t want success, I need success, and that requires me to do whatever it is I have to do to acquire it. It just so happens that my first opportunity involves the three of you, and I hope that you or those close to you believe in the power of prayer, because divine intervention might just be the only factor that could stop my determination to walk out with a shot at the War Horse Title, one of the most prestigious in this business.”
Malachi smirks, nodding his head and giving Cy the full attention he deserves as he speaks.
"I invite you to watch every tape you can of mine prior to this match. The good, the bad, the brutal, and the messy. I welcome you to try and study what I’ve done and how, and come with a game plan. Under the night sky in Mexico, with history to be made, I will create a lasting romance between myself... and victory.”
Malachi and Cyrus simultaneously hold up a two finger salute to the camera before walking out of frame, with Malachi’s voice hyping his talent acquisition and Riddle telling him to “calm the fuck down before they get shot.”