Post by Princess on Jan 21, 2014 15:52:40 GMT
Above my head the fans whir, and I sit across from Tom in the office. He's been informed, thanks to the other day, of my dual-life. This is not a good thing for me, he sits in his chair and looks like he's not pleased. However, inside myself, I'm overjoyed. Altercation, I live for the thrill, the feeling in my body of adrenaline pulsing.
"Kristoff, I can't say I'm surprised, you've always been an overachiever. I mean, you always tried to push yourself, your body, your mind, and now...now I don't know what to do. You aren't breaking any rules, that part to me is obvious."
I am the lucky one, aren't I? I researched the full extent of our legal practices for moonlighting long before even nCw, I'm in the clear so long as it doesn't interfere with this job, or the security of the information in my head. But due to the nature of the other job, they don't need to worry at ALL.
"Your quite pleased, that I can see. Now, the real question, if you haven't broken any policies explicitly, should I try to punish you, or just turn a blind eye while you jet set out a few days a week. I mean, you DO get advanced notice as to where/when you'll be gone. But Kristoff, this IS a bigger deal than you know. I mean..."
Right, you could advertise for cheaper with IWF by utilizing my image. You could turn me into the mascot for the new iPhone line, come on, Tom, give me some REAL concern here. Or maybe I should give you some. My tie feels a little tight and I undo a little of it, looking at the letter opener rather visibly. I'm sure by now he's watched some clips of what I'm capable of. He's sweating, I make him uncomfortable now. They all are uncomfortable knowing what I can do, aren't they? Even my "friends".
"Listen, I'll try to keep this on the down low until I figure out what to do about it, but your silence needs to be assured. You won't reveal any company secrets to competitors, you won't jeopardize what you have here."
"I can assure you, Tom, I won't." He looks unsure, but extends his hand to shake mine. A sly smile crosses my face and I adjust the glasses that adorn my face. I'll take this as his blessing, for now.
__________________________________________
"Kristoff, are you sure you want to keep this up? I mean, what will happen if the Thursday show happens? How will you get time off for that?"
"John, you know we get our bookings enough in advance to arrange for travel, and I can have an added clause to where I can be turned into an external contractor, if need be. That, or I can SUGGEST that they keep me off that half-assed attempt of a side-show. Everything is well planned."
He doesn't seem too happy with my response. He's in my living room, sipping on a Cosmo from my bar. The only GOOD thing about the divorce was keeping the house, really. I need this place, it's comfortable here, and I don't want to get used to a new location for my mini bar, not at this point in my life anyway. I lean back on the chair smirking at him. He seems perturbed at my nonchalance. He doesn't understand, not this time.
"You seem to be smug, Kris. Seriously, man, you have to realize you're burning at both ends. Soon enough you'll be too old to do both, or either. What then? What will you do then?"
"I'll eat a bullet when I'm too old. Put myself down like a broken horse."
"Seriously, this isn't the time for jokes."
"You think I'm joking?"
Silence, it falls like a curtain. He leaves into the other room, having quickly finished his drink and desperately needing another. He knows my feelings about health. If I'm too old or sick to be a productive member of society somehow, I'd rather be shot than shoved in some home. Run it till the wheels fall off, or whatever euphemism they would rather me use. I know for a fact that I'm going to burn out somehow, but I'd rather burn out NOW than later. I've reached my peak, obviously. I'm in that range of time when I'm either going to do everything I want, or do NOTHING. I'd rather do EVERYTHING.
"You know I love you, Kris. Don't hurt yourself."
"Yes, John. I always am careful. You know me, I have everything under control. You worry too much."
"Jeez, you wonder why? I mean, you've been plowing through these guys like nothing lately. Your mood is just...you're sinister. One-track-minded. You are going forward, just straight from one to the next, destroying everything."
Indeed, I have. But that's just fine. I've made it through this tournament to the point where I am finally at the end, I won. I get my shot against a man I've never faced before. A patriot, a true professional. A man who has battled an injury and doctors to get well enough to be back in the ring against me. I want to see everything he has for me, and give him what I have. It's a new day in IWF, a day when REAL skill is appreciated, at least in some places.
"Kris, you there?" He snaps his fingers, trying to get my attention.
"Yes, I am. I'm listening, John, but you haven't convinced me I am WRONG. This is PERFECTLY NORMAL, remember. I'm a consummate professional, in both my careers. Don't expect me to just lay back and take him, you know I was always the top."
He is not pleased at that remark about our past history, but I'd rather use it to manipulate him into a position where he agrees, rather than objects. He knows, sighs, and sips on his cosmo. Good boy, lay down, let me work, and all will be well. I give him a pat on the shoulder of assurance, then go upstairs.
*******
"Mason St. Croix. I've been meaning to meet you for a long time now. I've seen you battle your way through this place, seen you become the Heavyweight Champion at the Extinction Event. But this is your first REAL challenge, isn't it? I mean, the prior holder of that title wasn't the best, he was just a pawn for the Empire, for Spike Kane and his cronies. I try to stay out of that battle, when I can. I know where to stand, and off to the side to pick the bones of what's left seems to be the best. And you, Mason, you're bones right now. You haven't had a match in what, weeks, a month? I know you've been recovering for me, but that rust, the pain, it's got to bother you. You have to be not quite a hundred percent, which is a pity, because I'd rather you be full strength for what I'm about to do."
In the attic I slowly remove my tie and glasses. The knot is undone a little first, then slipped out like the removal of a noose. The glasses are set next to the tie on my desk. I unbutton the top two of my striped dress shirt, revealing the extended neckline and the muscles I hide beneath the uniform.
"I know you're a Patriot, Mason. I appreciate what you did for our country, I really do. I never was into that myself, going off to foreign lands to fight for something that is just an idea against people who are fighting against it. I prefer more intimate, personal conflicts. This is where I am, personally conflicted against you. You represent the thing I work for, that crushes my spirit. But you also represent IWF, the thing that sets me free. It's a duality, both of us share. We are torn, conflicted, three-dimensional beings among a lot of two-dimensional drivel. Even the Imperial Champion is no more than a paper copy of his former self. It makes no difference who we are, but it does WHAT we are. And that's where we shine. We are soldiers, warriors, set to compete, to destroy one another for the glory and honor of our own selves and the entertainment of others. There's no one else on Sunday, just the two of us."
My briefcase comes into view, as I slowly move it from its place near my weight bench. The scratches in the metal, the jingle of my "toys" inside. I smirk and chuckle quietly to myself as my heart races thinking of what will come of this week.
"You've got a lot to prove, Mason, having been out of the spotlight a bit for a while. In the meantime, I've been tearing through nice, tough, strong men. I beat Andrew Jacobsen, a former nCw great. I tore through Eric Price, a friend of the challenger to the throne. And then there was Malaki, the man who took orders from a rich man. I beat men larger, stronger, wealthier, seemingly smarter than myself. This is because I know EXACTLY how to take people down. Actions speak louder than words, and my actions so far have a LOT to say. I've gone through man after man after man. I even set aside conflict with Malaki for long enough to beat the NOW FORMER Tag Champions. I went from a losing streak, to a winning streak. I have come back from the edge of the curtain, from being nothing, and now I'm back in the spotlight, shining brightly. And your actions, Mason, they've been recovery from the injuries that crossing Spike and his Empire cost you. But for all the brains they knocked out, you have a lot more guts, more vitality, more honor than any of them in your pinky. SO do I, though, that's why I never got involved. But we can't all be opportunists, can we? You're a soldier, you just rush into battle, you don't think, you just go. I calculate, I formulate, I think, then I act. And when I act, I have moves planned for miles, I have counters, I have strategies, and each one led to the same for the last few weeks. Men falling to my noose. I wrap myself around them, and choke the life from their bodies till they tap, or pass out. Even a big man like Malaki couldn't stop it, he fell too. I've made them all forget victory in those last moments, and you're just another man in the way to my ascent. The ladder continues up past you, Mason, up to the top. But you're a rung, a rung I must climb in order to get there. Aren't you feeling lucky, because you are."
Lucky, yes. So much for your IOU, you're the lucky one.
"Back in the day, I'd have never had a chance here, I wasn't wild enough, crazy enough. But you, Mason, you've proven that we don't need crucifixions to hold titles around here. And me, well..."
Tapping the briefcase is all I need to get the point across. When strategy fails, there's always Plan B. The Briefcase.
"I look forward to facing you Mason, no matter how much ill will you might think I'll have with you when I beat you senseless. Your brains will feel concussed, the bones and joints of your body will ache and cry for relief as I twist and contort them into positions they were never meant to be in, and you'll submit, one way or another, you will. So come on, the Metamorphosis is coming. Where you see the office jockey become HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION! So transform your ego, because I'll transform your body for my ascent. Just...another...rung, Mason. No hard feelings."
I step out of frame, before swinging my briefcase down onto the camera to end the session.
"Kristoff, I can't say I'm surprised, you've always been an overachiever. I mean, you always tried to push yourself, your body, your mind, and now...now I don't know what to do. You aren't breaking any rules, that part to me is obvious."
I am the lucky one, aren't I? I researched the full extent of our legal practices for moonlighting long before even nCw, I'm in the clear so long as it doesn't interfere with this job, or the security of the information in my head. But due to the nature of the other job, they don't need to worry at ALL.
"Your quite pleased, that I can see. Now, the real question, if you haven't broken any policies explicitly, should I try to punish you, or just turn a blind eye while you jet set out a few days a week. I mean, you DO get advanced notice as to where/when you'll be gone. But Kristoff, this IS a bigger deal than you know. I mean..."
Right, you could advertise for cheaper with IWF by utilizing my image. You could turn me into the mascot for the new iPhone line, come on, Tom, give me some REAL concern here. Or maybe I should give you some. My tie feels a little tight and I undo a little of it, looking at the letter opener rather visibly. I'm sure by now he's watched some clips of what I'm capable of. He's sweating, I make him uncomfortable now. They all are uncomfortable knowing what I can do, aren't they? Even my "friends".
"Listen, I'll try to keep this on the down low until I figure out what to do about it, but your silence needs to be assured. You won't reveal any company secrets to competitors, you won't jeopardize what you have here."
"I can assure you, Tom, I won't." He looks unsure, but extends his hand to shake mine. A sly smile crosses my face and I adjust the glasses that adorn my face. I'll take this as his blessing, for now.
__________________________________________
"Kristoff, are you sure you want to keep this up? I mean, what will happen if the Thursday show happens? How will you get time off for that?"
"John, you know we get our bookings enough in advance to arrange for travel, and I can have an added clause to where I can be turned into an external contractor, if need be. That, or I can SUGGEST that they keep me off that half-assed attempt of a side-show. Everything is well planned."
He doesn't seem too happy with my response. He's in my living room, sipping on a Cosmo from my bar. The only GOOD thing about the divorce was keeping the house, really. I need this place, it's comfortable here, and I don't want to get used to a new location for my mini bar, not at this point in my life anyway. I lean back on the chair smirking at him. He seems perturbed at my nonchalance. He doesn't understand, not this time.
"You seem to be smug, Kris. Seriously, man, you have to realize you're burning at both ends. Soon enough you'll be too old to do both, or either. What then? What will you do then?"
"I'll eat a bullet when I'm too old. Put myself down like a broken horse."
"Seriously, this isn't the time for jokes."
"You think I'm joking?"
Silence, it falls like a curtain. He leaves into the other room, having quickly finished his drink and desperately needing another. He knows my feelings about health. If I'm too old or sick to be a productive member of society somehow, I'd rather be shot than shoved in some home. Run it till the wheels fall off, or whatever euphemism they would rather me use. I know for a fact that I'm going to burn out somehow, but I'd rather burn out NOW than later. I've reached my peak, obviously. I'm in that range of time when I'm either going to do everything I want, or do NOTHING. I'd rather do EVERYTHING.
"You know I love you, Kris. Don't hurt yourself."
"Yes, John. I always am careful. You know me, I have everything under control. You worry too much."
"Jeez, you wonder why? I mean, you've been plowing through these guys like nothing lately. Your mood is just...you're sinister. One-track-minded. You are going forward, just straight from one to the next, destroying everything."
Indeed, I have. But that's just fine. I've made it through this tournament to the point where I am finally at the end, I won. I get my shot against a man I've never faced before. A patriot, a true professional. A man who has battled an injury and doctors to get well enough to be back in the ring against me. I want to see everything he has for me, and give him what I have. It's a new day in IWF, a day when REAL skill is appreciated, at least in some places.
"Kris, you there?" He snaps his fingers, trying to get my attention.
"Yes, I am. I'm listening, John, but you haven't convinced me I am WRONG. This is PERFECTLY NORMAL, remember. I'm a consummate professional, in both my careers. Don't expect me to just lay back and take him, you know I was always the top."
He is not pleased at that remark about our past history, but I'd rather use it to manipulate him into a position where he agrees, rather than objects. He knows, sighs, and sips on his cosmo. Good boy, lay down, let me work, and all will be well. I give him a pat on the shoulder of assurance, then go upstairs.
*******
"Mason St. Croix. I've been meaning to meet you for a long time now. I've seen you battle your way through this place, seen you become the Heavyweight Champion at the Extinction Event. But this is your first REAL challenge, isn't it? I mean, the prior holder of that title wasn't the best, he was just a pawn for the Empire, for Spike Kane and his cronies. I try to stay out of that battle, when I can. I know where to stand, and off to the side to pick the bones of what's left seems to be the best. And you, Mason, you're bones right now. You haven't had a match in what, weeks, a month? I know you've been recovering for me, but that rust, the pain, it's got to bother you. You have to be not quite a hundred percent, which is a pity, because I'd rather you be full strength for what I'm about to do."
In the attic I slowly remove my tie and glasses. The knot is undone a little first, then slipped out like the removal of a noose. The glasses are set next to the tie on my desk. I unbutton the top two of my striped dress shirt, revealing the extended neckline and the muscles I hide beneath the uniform.
"I know you're a Patriot, Mason. I appreciate what you did for our country, I really do. I never was into that myself, going off to foreign lands to fight for something that is just an idea against people who are fighting against it. I prefer more intimate, personal conflicts. This is where I am, personally conflicted against you. You represent the thing I work for, that crushes my spirit. But you also represent IWF, the thing that sets me free. It's a duality, both of us share. We are torn, conflicted, three-dimensional beings among a lot of two-dimensional drivel. Even the Imperial Champion is no more than a paper copy of his former self. It makes no difference who we are, but it does WHAT we are. And that's where we shine. We are soldiers, warriors, set to compete, to destroy one another for the glory and honor of our own selves and the entertainment of others. There's no one else on Sunday, just the two of us."
My briefcase comes into view, as I slowly move it from its place near my weight bench. The scratches in the metal, the jingle of my "toys" inside. I smirk and chuckle quietly to myself as my heart races thinking of what will come of this week.
"You've got a lot to prove, Mason, having been out of the spotlight a bit for a while. In the meantime, I've been tearing through nice, tough, strong men. I beat Andrew Jacobsen, a former nCw great. I tore through Eric Price, a friend of the challenger to the throne. And then there was Malaki, the man who took orders from a rich man. I beat men larger, stronger, wealthier, seemingly smarter than myself. This is because I know EXACTLY how to take people down. Actions speak louder than words, and my actions so far have a LOT to say. I've gone through man after man after man. I even set aside conflict with Malaki for long enough to beat the NOW FORMER Tag Champions. I went from a losing streak, to a winning streak. I have come back from the edge of the curtain, from being nothing, and now I'm back in the spotlight, shining brightly. And your actions, Mason, they've been recovery from the injuries that crossing Spike and his Empire cost you. But for all the brains they knocked out, you have a lot more guts, more vitality, more honor than any of them in your pinky. SO do I, though, that's why I never got involved. But we can't all be opportunists, can we? You're a soldier, you just rush into battle, you don't think, you just go. I calculate, I formulate, I think, then I act. And when I act, I have moves planned for miles, I have counters, I have strategies, and each one led to the same for the last few weeks. Men falling to my noose. I wrap myself around them, and choke the life from their bodies till they tap, or pass out. Even a big man like Malaki couldn't stop it, he fell too. I've made them all forget victory in those last moments, and you're just another man in the way to my ascent. The ladder continues up past you, Mason, up to the top. But you're a rung, a rung I must climb in order to get there. Aren't you feeling lucky, because you are."
Lucky, yes. So much for your IOU, you're the lucky one.
"Back in the day, I'd have never had a chance here, I wasn't wild enough, crazy enough. But you, Mason, you've proven that we don't need crucifixions to hold titles around here. And me, well..."
Tapping the briefcase is all I need to get the point across. When strategy fails, there's always Plan B. The Briefcase.
"I look forward to facing you Mason, no matter how much ill will you might think I'll have with you when I beat you senseless. Your brains will feel concussed, the bones and joints of your body will ache and cry for relief as I twist and contort them into positions they were never meant to be in, and you'll submit, one way or another, you will. So come on, the Metamorphosis is coming. Where you see the office jockey become HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION! So transform your ego, because I'll transform your body for my ascent. Just...another...rung, Mason. No hard feelings."
I step out of frame, before swinging my briefcase down onto the camera to end the session.
Well howdy there pardner.