Post by Dean Harper on Feb 22, 2023 3:21:23 GMT
The camera comes on to a snow covered graveyard with Dean leaning against the tombstone with a baseball bat in his hands.
"There are a lot of things I could talk about leading up to this match. I could talk about what the end goal is. What we said that seemed to upset Striking Unit. Which if recall it was the fact that we wanted to jump ahead in line. Now, I won't speak for JC. He has his own bag of cats to drown, but personally? I don't mind fighting my way through every team the company has before getting to fight Sanguis Immortalis."
Dean smiles.
"Personally, I like the idea. There's something poetic about it, you know. Given how close High Stakes are? Yeah, I wouldn't mind it. I like reminding people why they should fear me or at least put a pinch of respect on my name. But no, no. See, you've all forgotten what it was like to fear. How long has it been since you remembered what it's like? Sure, you’re all big bad men who fight for a living - what do you have to be afraid of? Combat, violence, pain… it's all second nature to you."
He taps the bat into the ground.
“But there’s something that some people forget about me. The reason that I’ve left people waking up in cold sweats. And I’ve been gone for a little bit, and some of you… children… have had the luxury of being able to commit it to old and haunting memories. See, you all? You’re here for the athleticism, the competition, the showmanship, the crowds. You’re here to Entertain. You’re here to Compete.”
He laughs and taps the bat into the ground again.
“I’m just here to fucking hurt people.
I’m here because I can go into that ring and murder a man… and I get paid for it. I’m here because when I walk into that ring I can enact displays of violence and brutality that by all rights should get my ass dragged in chains to the goddamn Hague, but here? Here… I can work my art. Compose my symphony of screams accompanied by the choir of desperate pleas for mercy that will neve… ever... be delivered.”
Dean twirls the bat in his hand, closing his eyes and taking a long, ecstatic breath.
“And maybe this will be the week to remind you. I’m just looking forward to beating someone to the point of leaving you bleeding in the mat, hoping that I’m gonna snap, go too far, and make you the next Spike Kane.”
Dean taps the bat against his hand.
"Which this week sounds like Nick Danger."
Dean chuckles.
"Tell me something, Danger, do you still call yourself the savior of wrestling or is it all Rising Ace now? I mean, last time I paid attention to you that's what you were saying. There was a very brief moment when you were partnered with someone like Alec where you almost went to the dark side but you stayed on the light side - Yawn, by the way. You partnered with James Gilmore and whatever cartoon house character is riding his coattails this week. And you and you're tag team partner happen to just be the newest additions. You tried coat tailing on other 'good' men. You are like a puppy so eager to please. Let me give you a tip from a pro, Nicky - if you want people to be interested, you can’t be so damn predictable all the time. Try changing something. Anything. Make yourself even the smallest bit interesting to keep the audience engaged by doing something unexpected.”
He grins wickedly.
“Like maybe win a match that mattered. Or is that too low a blow?”
Dean laughs.
“It'd almost be cute if it wasn't so fucking pathetic. It's honestly boring. Listening to you talk, I have to constantly do something else at the same time or I might fall asleep."
He taps the bat against his palm again.
"There is not one aspect about you that is original. You’re the bland action figure that can be mass produced and pasted on posters. You'd be top talent if only you could win a match. A good boy who knows when to smile. I’m not talking down to your achievements, not that there has been a lot there. You’ve been in some good matches. But let's be honest, Nicky-boy, you’ve been mostly a speed bump more than a legit threat, and you only earned respect from those who only care that you show up. Good for you, Nicky. You make a good showing and you always show up happy to be here. Like so many people who campaign for change you do nothing too extreme for fear of rejection.”
Dean smirks.
“You’re not much of a person. What does Nick Danger stand for? Answer: Generic Things That The Audience Associates With Goodness This Month. What does Nick Danger hate? Answer: Generic Things That The Audience Associates With Badness This Month. You’re bland. You’re boring. You’re Walmart Apple Pie with a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon. You’re the white knight hero complex Saturday morning cartoon protagonist from a show that the networks only air after the kiddies have gone to school, because you’re not worth wasting on prime-time. You don’t express opinions that aren’t on Dollar-Store motivational posters in early July. You don’t hold anything too strongly for fear of it not being the right call. You don't hate. You don't have any opinions at all. Because you want so desperately to be liked. To be loved. To be someone's pet project. But you’re so afraid of not being the beloved little milquetoast cookie-cutter superhero that you're unwilling to take risks."
He tilts his head to the side.
"Which I guess means it makes sense why you and Ram would make your way out to try and stop us, right? Because that's what a hero would do. Jc is complicated but I'm always the bad guy. And the best way to get the crowd to like you is to fight the bad guy. Fighting me, declaring me to be the bad one and yourself the good one has done wonders for so many people throughout the years. Why shouldn't you get some lightning in the bottle, huh?"
Dean leans on the bat.
"Can I tell you a secret, Nicky? Something the good men of this business would never dream to tell you? The sage advice the ones who mentored you would never dare say because it might break your little heart?"
Dean smirks.
"They pity you. You were always so excited, eager to face them whenever the moment came up like a lap dog jumping for bacon bits. But they pitied you. Because like James Gilmore before you, you can't get the talent that is in your body to translate to a win 8 times out of ten. James suffered for years before getting a decent win. And that will likely be you unless you stop like a cardboard cutout and start acting like a goddamn human being."
Dean shrugs.
"Either your best will be some repeat of what you've been saying for months, about how this time will be different, this time you will show everyone you're not someone to over look, that this time you are going to make the code name work... or I'll fucking break you. And trust me, I hate fake heroes enough that breaking you sounds like just my game. I'll beat you down until all the fight is broken in your sad little heart. I’ll tear you open and look at all the bits on the inside. We’ll take a tour of what makes you tick, and we’ll go through all of your many weaknesses and failures, peeling them back to really make them shine in the light - so brightly that not even you will be able to ignore them. We’re gonna make a real date of it, you and I. A proper Dean Harper Family Outing. Who knows? Maybe I’ll even pin you before you pass out, just to hammer that nail into your ego’s coffin. And then maybe, just maybe the shame and humiliation of how fucking right I am will give you enough fire to try it again."
"There are a lot of things I could talk about leading up to this match. I could talk about what the end goal is. What we said that seemed to upset Striking Unit. Which if recall it was the fact that we wanted to jump ahead in line. Now, I won't speak for JC. He has his own bag of cats to drown, but personally? I don't mind fighting my way through every team the company has before getting to fight Sanguis Immortalis."
Dean smiles.
"Personally, I like the idea. There's something poetic about it, you know. Given how close High Stakes are? Yeah, I wouldn't mind it. I like reminding people why they should fear me or at least put a pinch of respect on my name. But no, no. See, you've all forgotten what it was like to fear. How long has it been since you remembered what it's like? Sure, you’re all big bad men who fight for a living - what do you have to be afraid of? Combat, violence, pain… it's all second nature to you."
He taps the bat into the ground.
“But there’s something that some people forget about me. The reason that I’ve left people waking up in cold sweats. And I’ve been gone for a little bit, and some of you… children… have had the luxury of being able to commit it to old and haunting memories. See, you all? You’re here for the athleticism, the competition, the showmanship, the crowds. You’re here to Entertain. You’re here to Compete.”
He laughs and taps the bat into the ground again.
“I’m just here to fucking hurt people.
I’m here because I can go into that ring and murder a man… and I get paid for it. I’m here because when I walk into that ring I can enact displays of violence and brutality that by all rights should get my ass dragged in chains to the goddamn Hague, but here? Here… I can work my art. Compose my symphony of screams accompanied by the choir of desperate pleas for mercy that will neve… ever... be delivered.”
Dean twirls the bat in his hand, closing his eyes and taking a long, ecstatic breath.
“And maybe this will be the week to remind you. I’m just looking forward to beating someone to the point of leaving you bleeding in the mat, hoping that I’m gonna snap, go too far, and make you the next Spike Kane.”
Dean taps the bat against his hand.
"Which this week sounds like Nick Danger."
Dean chuckles.
"Tell me something, Danger, do you still call yourself the savior of wrestling or is it all Rising Ace now? I mean, last time I paid attention to you that's what you were saying. There was a very brief moment when you were partnered with someone like Alec where you almost went to the dark side but you stayed on the light side - Yawn, by the way. You partnered with James Gilmore and whatever cartoon house character is riding his coattails this week. And you and you're tag team partner happen to just be the newest additions. You tried coat tailing on other 'good' men. You are like a puppy so eager to please. Let me give you a tip from a pro, Nicky - if you want people to be interested, you can’t be so damn predictable all the time. Try changing something. Anything. Make yourself even the smallest bit interesting to keep the audience engaged by doing something unexpected.”
He grins wickedly.
“Like maybe win a match that mattered. Or is that too low a blow?”
Dean laughs.
“It'd almost be cute if it wasn't so fucking pathetic. It's honestly boring. Listening to you talk, I have to constantly do something else at the same time or I might fall asleep."
He taps the bat against his palm again.
"There is not one aspect about you that is original. You’re the bland action figure that can be mass produced and pasted on posters. You'd be top talent if only you could win a match. A good boy who knows when to smile. I’m not talking down to your achievements, not that there has been a lot there. You’ve been in some good matches. But let's be honest, Nicky-boy, you’ve been mostly a speed bump more than a legit threat, and you only earned respect from those who only care that you show up. Good for you, Nicky. You make a good showing and you always show up happy to be here. Like so many people who campaign for change you do nothing too extreme for fear of rejection.”
Dean smirks.
“You’re not much of a person. What does Nick Danger stand for? Answer: Generic Things That The Audience Associates With Goodness This Month. What does Nick Danger hate? Answer: Generic Things That The Audience Associates With Badness This Month. You’re bland. You’re boring. You’re Walmart Apple Pie with a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon. You’re the white knight hero complex Saturday morning cartoon protagonist from a show that the networks only air after the kiddies have gone to school, because you’re not worth wasting on prime-time. You don’t express opinions that aren’t on Dollar-Store motivational posters in early July. You don’t hold anything too strongly for fear of it not being the right call. You don't hate. You don't have any opinions at all. Because you want so desperately to be liked. To be loved. To be someone's pet project. But you’re so afraid of not being the beloved little milquetoast cookie-cutter superhero that you're unwilling to take risks."
He tilts his head to the side.
"Which I guess means it makes sense why you and Ram would make your way out to try and stop us, right? Because that's what a hero would do. Jc is complicated but I'm always the bad guy. And the best way to get the crowd to like you is to fight the bad guy. Fighting me, declaring me to be the bad one and yourself the good one has done wonders for so many people throughout the years. Why shouldn't you get some lightning in the bottle, huh?"
Dean leans on the bat.
"Can I tell you a secret, Nicky? Something the good men of this business would never dream to tell you? The sage advice the ones who mentored you would never dare say because it might break your little heart?"
Dean smirks.
"They pity you. You were always so excited, eager to face them whenever the moment came up like a lap dog jumping for bacon bits. But they pitied you. Because like James Gilmore before you, you can't get the talent that is in your body to translate to a win 8 times out of ten. James suffered for years before getting a decent win. And that will likely be you unless you stop like a cardboard cutout and start acting like a goddamn human being."
Dean shrugs.
"Either your best will be some repeat of what you've been saying for months, about how this time will be different, this time you will show everyone you're not someone to over look, that this time you are going to make the code name work... or I'll fucking break you. And trust me, I hate fake heroes enough that breaking you sounds like just my game. I'll beat you down until all the fight is broken in your sad little heart. I’ll tear you open and look at all the bits on the inside. We’ll take a tour of what makes you tick, and we’ll go through all of your many weaknesses and failures, peeling them back to really make them shine in the light - so brightly that not even you will be able to ignore them. We’re gonna make a real date of it, you and I. A proper Dean Harper Family Outing. Who knows? Maybe I’ll even pin you before you pass out, just to hammer that nail into your ego’s coffin. And then maybe, just maybe the shame and humiliation of how fucking right I am will give you enough fire to try it again."
Well howdy there pardner.