Post by Deleted on Aug 28, 2016 2:18:34 GMT
Origins Part I - Saviour Machine
Your minds are too green, I despise all I've seen
You can't stake your lives on a Saviour Machine
-David Bowie
Prologue:
Understanding: to fully gain a comprehension for something or someone you have to be able to get a grasp on the origins. Whether it be a word, an object, or a person; everything and everyone has an origin story.
When you look at Noah Field it's obvious what you see. Rich, spoiled, entitled. You see a great mind that's often hidden behind aloof antics. Someone who is full of himself, but can at times be socially awkward. What he has in book smarts and athleticism, he often lacks in a broader spectrum of worldly experience.
What you don't see when you look at Noah is his fierce pride in his heritage, his drive to make sure he doesn't shame his family, and a loyalty to those who whom he cares most about. But to understand these things you have to understand where Noah comes from. And to fully gain a comprehension, you have to know where his family has come from.
So that's what we shall do. I'm your narrator on this journey through time as we delve into the complexities of Noah Field and his family history.
Chapter 1: 1939
- South Side Survivor
To begin with we meet Santino “Sonny” Carmangelo (great grandfather to Noah) in 1939 Chicago. Sonny, the child of Italian immigrants. Not a large man, Sonny was of average size and stature, however, he was a man well respected and feared. Growing up in the south side of Chicago his family had next to nothing. His father worked three jobs to provide for his seven kids, but still poverty couldn't escape them. So it was at twelve years of age that Sonny quit school and began prize fighting on the streets for pennies, to help provide for his brothers and sisters. It wasn't long before Sonny made a name for himself and gained the respect of those in the neighborhood. He tried to use this to parlay into a boxing career, but in a fight with rules too often his temper hampered him and he made sloppy mistakes.
Then came a crucial moment in time; one that would begin the legacy of a family. At twenty years of age, a young Santino found his new bride, Sofia, pregnant with their first child. This is where we begin our story.
Sonny walks through the door of the dilapidated apartment. The plaster was chipping away, the sink seems to have a constant drip that they couldn't afford to fix that often times kept Sonny up at night. Even the window has a large crack running down the left the side the full length. This had become his world. Sonny removes his brown fedora, hanging it on the coat rack next to the door as the odor of cabbage wafts into his nostril. Sonny curls his nose in derision.
“Don't tell me, ribollita again.”
Sofia, her stomach starting to show, looks back from the pot in the direction of her husband. She sets her stirring spoon on the counter near the stove and places her hand on her stomach.
“It's all we can afford Sonny. I'm not even sure how we're going to make rent this month.”
“We'll be...”
Sofia interrupts Sonny. “I talked to Lucy today. She said that the the Fratteli's are looking for a wet nurse. I was thinking it would help us save money for when our little one is here, or until you can find steady work.”
“Sofia, you're not...”
“Sonny, I know you don't want my help with money, but we have a child on the way and that comes before your Sicilian pride.”
“Sofia, if you'd let me finish...”
Sonny tosses a five dollar bill on the the table.
Two hours earlier:
Sonny sat in Appolonia's, a local pub that was frequented by the Italian's on the southside of Chicago. He'd been out looking for work all afternoon but had found nothing. Fights had dried long ago; no one dared fight him in a bare-knuckle fight for prize money and he'd flared out quickly as a legitimate boxer. The stress was starting to mount of trying to pay rent and keep food on the table. Now, with a child on the way, Sonny had no clue what he was going to do. So here he sat in the middle of the afternoon, having a drink as he tried to forget. That's when he was approached by someone in the neighborhood. Sonny recognized him immediately; Bruno Zaluchi. Bruno was something of a legend in the neighborhood; though Sonny realized he had little understanding why.
Bruno sat down next to Sonny and ordered a drink before he glanced over at him. “You're Sonny right?”
Sonny took a pull from his drink. “I am, and you're Bruno Zaluchi.”
“I am. Little early in the day for drink isn't it?”
“Been a rough day. Been trying to find work.”
A smile crept across Bruno's face. “Well if this isn't serendipitous. I'm looking for someone who wants to make some money with me and you're perfectly qualified...”
From the Blog of Noah Field:
Noah Giveth and Taketh Away
Hold onto your seats ladies and gents. I've told you all there are many sides to my coin, and that while I may be ego driven, good looking, naturally athletic, both the future and savior of this industry, and many other things, I've also told you how intelligent I am. So this may be a little different again as I let you into my mind as I only seem to be able to do on this blog.
So....
As I sit here typing this I can't help but to look at my reflection in this piece of adorned gold sitting next to me (the first of many). My perfect hair highlights over the words "Invictus". It's a stunning sight, it truly is. This title and I, we seem to go hand in hand. As a matter of fact, I've already replaced the name plate. It wasn't hard, I already have a collection of "Noah Field" name-plates stashed for the certainty of my many title reigns that are forthcoming. It was just a matter of a few screws and a screwdriver. Not that I did any of the screwing (see what I did there?), that's beneath my station in life. That's what hired help is for.
So that brings about the question; how does it feel to be Chris King at this point (Not that I really care)? To have a win gifted to him and a title fall in his lap, to be a paper champion, and to have nothing to show for it? To never even get to feel this ten pound piece of gold and leather (and it does feel good to carry) around your waist. To let the chance to hold it over your head and listen to the roar of the crowd as you flaunt it slip through your fingers without ever experiencing it?
For that matter, to not even have a name-plate that reads "Bingo Hall" or "Chris King", same thing.
It must sting to the very core, because aside from climbing in the ring with me (the highlight of your career and claim to fame), this is the second biggest achievement of his career and it's been denied him, for Noah giveth and taketh away.
All my critics can say what they wish about me. I cheat to win (a win is a win), I avoid a fight unless it's to my advantage (that's called intelligence not cowardice), I'm riding off of daddy's coattails (I hate that one), none of it matters because I get results in the end. I deserved the championship, but yet couldn't get a chance to fight for it while a hack like Chris King took his turn first, so I went out there and I made it happen. I single handedly took the title off of Zasshu (I'll get to him next time), gift wrapped it for Chris King, made him a champion, then took the belt for my own. Now I've forced my way into a title match that I was never meant for due to their fear of the future I bring. They fear the changing of the guard.
Chris King was more just a matter of the right place at the right time. He has a reference he uses, I believe it's called "King Maker". Maybe I should adopt it as my own because that's what I did, I was a king maker (though in reality I'm the Crown Prince), I made Chris King what he is. First I put him in the spotlight by allowing him to share the same ring with me (a nice upgrade from the YMCA's he's used to fighting in), and then I made him a champion thanks to my own doing.
Here's the ironic part; I can already hear it now. "Noah has no place in this match. He may be 2-0 against me, but he had to have help both times."
I know this is coming because I know Chris King. I know this is coming because he's said it before, and he'll say it again (though he may avoid since I called him on it, coward). It's a broken record.
But oh dear Chris, the fan favorite (ugh). The guy who keeps his nose clean yet wants to preach that same hypocrisy. He'll throw the fashion to which I won both of my matches against him up in my face, all the while ignoring that he became a paper champion in the very same fashion. Now how is that for the hero of the people (You really need better heroes)?
So here's my challenge to Chris King. He's already spoken on numerous occasions as to my immoral ways of beating him, passing judgment. Take a look in the mirror and realize that no matter how you carry yourself, I just made sure you are no better than me. You want to prove you hold the moral high ground over me? Relinquish the belt you never earned, the belt that is rightfully mine, and remove yourself from this match you have no place in. Do that, then just maybe you can save face. Don't do it...then you are no better than me in this (as if you are better to me in anyway as it is).
Chapter 2: Still 1939
- Bare Knuckles
Sofia picks up the money and looks at it with amazement. “Five dollars? In one day? So you found a job?”
“I did.”
Sofia glances at him with skepticism. “Are...this is a lot of money for one day. What are you doing?”
“Don't worry about it, honey.”
“Sonny, if you're doing anything...”
“Sofia, honey, don't worry about it. I'm working with Bruno Zaluchi. He was looking for a partner.”
“Partner, partner for what? I've heard things about Bruno...”
Sonny grabs his pregnant wife and pulls her to his lap. He places a hand on her stomach and rubs her belly; his baby. “Bruno runs a book on gambling and knew of my reputation. I have some respect on the streets, so he's buying into my name, dear. And before you say anything, the local police run their bets through Bruno, so there's no worry in me getting in any trouble. Now, why don't you turn off the stove and let's go out to eat to celebrate. I want to show off my wife and my soon-to-be child.”
One Hour Earlier
Bruno walked into the deli and then closed the door behind him and locked it. Behind the counter, the butcher and shop owner eyed up Bruno and this new man with him, Sonny, and swallowed deep. Then Bruno stalked up to the counter with Sonny by his side.
“Tom, you're late, very late. You know how it works, you bet, you lose, you pay.”
“Bruno,” the man behind the counter began. “I don't have it right now, I need more time.”
Bruno clicked his tongue.
“Tom, that's bad etiquette. Do you give away a good cut of meat from here on credit? I don't think so. And I'm no different I have a business to run and you have a debt to owe.”
“But Bruno, I need more time, give me another week.”
Bruno nodded his head toward Sonny. “You know who this is? This is Santino Carmangelo, heard of him?”
Tom nods his head.
“Well Sonny Knuckles here is my new partner. I'm tired of people not paying, putting it off because “Oh, Bruno is a nice guy and won't do anything.” Well Sonny here, if you seen him work, you know Sonny's not always a nice guy, and now part of that money is Sonny's. So why don't you tell Sonny you'll pay him next week, I'm sure he'll be more than understanding....”
Tom looked at Sonny and then back to Bruno. Finally he opens up the register and starts to count out cash.
From the Blog of Noah Field:
My Future
To prove I have a sense of humor I have a joke for all of my loyal (as you should be given who I am) readers. A criminal walks into a bar...
Okay, I have nothing else, it's a work in progress. I'm not here for stand-up comedy. But here's an even better joke without a punchline; a criminal climbs into the ring.
Now you see what I have to deal with? I have to deal with more disrespect, more conspiracies, and being a part of a punch line. Not because of my own doing (before you even jump on that thread), but because I have to work with people who are uncivilized.
I would say "see this face" but this is a blog, but who am I kidding, you all know this face well (as you should). Soft skin, supple and full lips, eyes that can melt the heart of anyone, hair that is the envy of the beautiful elite, an impeccable nose, perfectly sculpted eyebrows, and teeth that the ADA should use as an example.
Now do you see where I'm going?
My face and every immaculate feature that comes with it is very much a part of my money maker. So when someone, warranted or unwarranted, puts that in jeopardy I have issue. And that is why Zasshu is a criminal (and that's putting it nicely and keeping it kid friendly).
I'll take all the flack, I'm use to it, but it's simple. Yes, we work in a business that is violent. Yes, we are paid to brutalize one another as modern day gladiators, but there's a certain etiquette to it. But Zasshu failed to follow that etiquette. He chose, instead, to brutally attack me, causing damage to my well being, while I was conducting an IWF sanctioned interview backstage.
So let's get to root of this criminal action though. Had he taken it to the ring, my lawyers wouldn't have jumped all over this. Yet he didn't choose that route and I can only think of one reason; fear. The so called Future knows that I'm the true future and he knows that the only way he can hold a candle to me is to brutalize me in such a fashion, because in between those ropes, he's lucky to even share the same air I do (though he's lucky for that period, but I need the ring to prove my point). He can't keep up with me and he can't hack it. Not just because of my superior athleticism (though that is a big part). Because of my whims.
Things do tend to bend to my whims as I see fit. Not because I'm a Field (though that should be enough) but because I assure they do. I don't sit around and wait on someone to speak for me or to make things happen for me. I make a plan and I put it into action. While all Zasshu and the fans saw was me placing a title on King, what I saw was me making my legitimate claim on a belt. I saw myself getting exactly what I wanted and bending things to my whim to get it.
I've danced around the walking, talking, masked felon for far too long in this blog. Now it's time to get to the point; the truth. Truth is Zasshu isn't the future, he's the flavor of the moment. A man who had a good streak but nothing more. An adequate hold over until the Era of Field begins to dawn upon IWF. A neanderthal who, while lethal, just can't quite cut it. Because his future he speaks of, that future is now. That future is Noah Field, the Saviour. And at this point it's only a matter of time before I take on paper what I've taken physically. Then it becomes the first of many. The first step to taking a small time second tier title and turning it into something people truly care about. A stepping stone to being a triple crown winner.
Zasshu can kick me in the mouth. He can bring the House of Whoever with him to the ring. He can throw everything at me, but in the end, he can't stop destiny. And that's what this is for me; destiny.
My birth right.
Your minds are too green, I despise all I've seen
You can't stake your lives on a Saviour Machine
-David Bowie
Prologue:
Understanding: to fully gain a comprehension for something or someone you have to be able to get a grasp on the origins. Whether it be a word, an object, or a person; everything and everyone has an origin story.
When you look at Noah Field it's obvious what you see. Rich, spoiled, entitled. You see a great mind that's often hidden behind aloof antics. Someone who is full of himself, but can at times be socially awkward. What he has in book smarts and athleticism, he often lacks in a broader spectrum of worldly experience.
What you don't see when you look at Noah is his fierce pride in his heritage, his drive to make sure he doesn't shame his family, and a loyalty to those who whom he cares most about. But to understand these things you have to understand where Noah comes from. And to fully gain a comprehension, you have to know where his family has come from.
So that's what we shall do. I'm your narrator on this journey through time as we delve into the complexities of Noah Field and his family history.
Chapter 1: 1939
- South Side Survivor
To begin with we meet Santino “Sonny” Carmangelo (great grandfather to Noah) in 1939 Chicago. Sonny, the child of Italian immigrants. Not a large man, Sonny was of average size and stature, however, he was a man well respected and feared. Growing up in the south side of Chicago his family had next to nothing. His father worked three jobs to provide for his seven kids, but still poverty couldn't escape them. So it was at twelve years of age that Sonny quit school and began prize fighting on the streets for pennies, to help provide for his brothers and sisters. It wasn't long before Sonny made a name for himself and gained the respect of those in the neighborhood. He tried to use this to parlay into a boxing career, but in a fight with rules too often his temper hampered him and he made sloppy mistakes.
Then came a crucial moment in time; one that would begin the legacy of a family. At twenty years of age, a young Santino found his new bride, Sofia, pregnant with their first child. This is where we begin our story.
Sonny walks through the door of the dilapidated apartment. The plaster was chipping away, the sink seems to have a constant drip that they couldn't afford to fix that often times kept Sonny up at night. Even the window has a large crack running down the left the side the full length. This had become his world. Sonny removes his brown fedora, hanging it on the coat rack next to the door as the odor of cabbage wafts into his nostril. Sonny curls his nose in derision.
“Don't tell me, ribollita again.”
Sofia, her stomach starting to show, looks back from the pot in the direction of her husband. She sets her stirring spoon on the counter near the stove and places her hand on her stomach.
“It's all we can afford Sonny. I'm not even sure how we're going to make rent this month.”
“We'll be...”
Sofia interrupts Sonny. “I talked to Lucy today. She said that the the Fratteli's are looking for a wet nurse. I was thinking it would help us save money for when our little one is here, or until you can find steady work.”
“Sofia, you're not...”
“Sonny, I know you don't want my help with money, but we have a child on the way and that comes before your Sicilian pride.”
“Sofia, if you'd let me finish...”
Sonny tosses a five dollar bill on the the table.
Two hours earlier:
Sonny sat in Appolonia's, a local pub that was frequented by the Italian's on the southside of Chicago. He'd been out looking for work all afternoon but had found nothing. Fights had dried long ago; no one dared fight him in a bare-knuckle fight for prize money and he'd flared out quickly as a legitimate boxer. The stress was starting to mount of trying to pay rent and keep food on the table. Now, with a child on the way, Sonny had no clue what he was going to do. So here he sat in the middle of the afternoon, having a drink as he tried to forget. That's when he was approached by someone in the neighborhood. Sonny recognized him immediately; Bruno Zaluchi. Bruno was something of a legend in the neighborhood; though Sonny realized he had little understanding why.
Bruno sat down next to Sonny and ordered a drink before he glanced over at him. “You're Sonny right?”
Sonny took a pull from his drink. “I am, and you're Bruno Zaluchi.”
“I am. Little early in the day for drink isn't it?”
“Been a rough day. Been trying to find work.”
A smile crept across Bruno's face. “Well if this isn't serendipitous. I'm looking for someone who wants to make some money with me and you're perfectly qualified...”
From the Blog of Noah Field:
Noah Giveth and Taketh Away
Hold onto your seats ladies and gents. I've told you all there are many sides to my coin, and that while I may be ego driven, good looking, naturally athletic, both the future and savior of this industry, and many other things, I've also told you how intelligent I am. So this may be a little different again as I let you into my mind as I only seem to be able to do on this blog.
So....
As I sit here typing this I can't help but to look at my reflection in this piece of adorned gold sitting next to me (the first of many). My perfect hair highlights over the words "Invictus". It's a stunning sight, it truly is. This title and I, we seem to go hand in hand. As a matter of fact, I've already replaced the name plate. It wasn't hard, I already have a collection of "Noah Field" name-plates stashed for the certainty of my many title reigns that are forthcoming. It was just a matter of a few screws and a screwdriver. Not that I did any of the screwing (see what I did there?), that's beneath my station in life. That's what hired help is for.
So that brings about the question; how does it feel to be Chris King at this point (Not that I really care)? To have a win gifted to him and a title fall in his lap, to be a paper champion, and to have nothing to show for it? To never even get to feel this ten pound piece of gold and leather (and it does feel good to carry) around your waist. To let the chance to hold it over your head and listen to the roar of the crowd as you flaunt it slip through your fingers without ever experiencing it?
For that matter, to not even have a name-plate that reads "Bingo Hall" or "Chris King", same thing.
It must sting to the very core, because aside from climbing in the ring with me (the highlight of your career and claim to fame), this is the second biggest achievement of his career and it's been denied him, for Noah giveth and taketh away.
All my critics can say what they wish about me. I cheat to win (a win is a win), I avoid a fight unless it's to my advantage (that's called intelligence not cowardice), I'm riding off of daddy's coattails (I hate that one), none of it matters because I get results in the end. I deserved the championship, but yet couldn't get a chance to fight for it while a hack like Chris King took his turn first, so I went out there and I made it happen. I single handedly took the title off of Zasshu (I'll get to him next time), gift wrapped it for Chris King, made him a champion, then took the belt for my own. Now I've forced my way into a title match that I was never meant for due to their fear of the future I bring. They fear the changing of the guard.
Chris King was more just a matter of the right place at the right time. He has a reference he uses, I believe it's called "King Maker". Maybe I should adopt it as my own because that's what I did, I was a king maker (though in reality I'm the Crown Prince), I made Chris King what he is. First I put him in the spotlight by allowing him to share the same ring with me (a nice upgrade from the YMCA's he's used to fighting in), and then I made him a champion thanks to my own doing.
Here's the ironic part; I can already hear it now. "Noah has no place in this match. He may be 2-0 against me, but he had to have help both times."
I know this is coming because I know Chris King. I know this is coming because he's said it before, and he'll say it again (though he may avoid since I called him on it, coward). It's a broken record.
But oh dear Chris, the fan favorite (ugh). The guy who keeps his nose clean yet wants to preach that same hypocrisy. He'll throw the fashion to which I won both of my matches against him up in my face, all the while ignoring that he became a paper champion in the very same fashion. Now how is that for the hero of the people (You really need better heroes)?
So here's my challenge to Chris King. He's already spoken on numerous occasions as to my immoral ways of beating him, passing judgment. Take a look in the mirror and realize that no matter how you carry yourself, I just made sure you are no better than me. You want to prove you hold the moral high ground over me? Relinquish the belt you never earned, the belt that is rightfully mine, and remove yourself from this match you have no place in. Do that, then just maybe you can save face. Don't do it...then you are no better than me in this (as if you are better to me in anyway as it is).
Chapter 2: Still 1939
- Bare Knuckles
Sofia picks up the money and looks at it with amazement. “Five dollars? In one day? So you found a job?”
“I did.”
Sofia glances at him with skepticism. “Are...this is a lot of money for one day. What are you doing?”
“Don't worry about it, honey.”
“Sonny, if you're doing anything...”
“Sofia, honey, don't worry about it. I'm working with Bruno Zaluchi. He was looking for a partner.”
“Partner, partner for what? I've heard things about Bruno...”
Sonny grabs his pregnant wife and pulls her to his lap. He places a hand on her stomach and rubs her belly; his baby. “Bruno runs a book on gambling and knew of my reputation. I have some respect on the streets, so he's buying into my name, dear. And before you say anything, the local police run their bets through Bruno, so there's no worry in me getting in any trouble. Now, why don't you turn off the stove and let's go out to eat to celebrate. I want to show off my wife and my soon-to-be child.”
One Hour Earlier
Bruno walked into the deli and then closed the door behind him and locked it. Behind the counter, the butcher and shop owner eyed up Bruno and this new man with him, Sonny, and swallowed deep. Then Bruno stalked up to the counter with Sonny by his side.
“Tom, you're late, very late. You know how it works, you bet, you lose, you pay.”
“Bruno,” the man behind the counter began. “I don't have it right now, I need more time.”
Bruno clicked his tongue.
“Tom, that's bad etiquette. Do you give away a good cut of meat from here on credit? I don't think so. And I'm no different I have a business to run and you have a debt to owe.”
“But Bruno, I need more time, give me another week.”
Bruno nodded his head toward Sonny. “You know who this is? This is Santino Carmangelo, heard of him?”
Tom nods his head.
“Well Sonny Knuckles here is my new partner. I'm tired of people not paying, putting it off because “Oh, Bruno is a nice guy and won't do anything.” Well Sonny here, if you seen him work, you know Sonny's not always a nice guy, and now part of that money is Sonny's. So why don't you tell Sonny you'll pay him next week, I'm sure he'll be more than understanding....”
Tom looked at Sonny and then back to Bruno. Finally he opens up the register and starts to count out cash.
From the Blog of Noah Field:
My Future
To prove I have a sense of humor I have a joke for all of my loyal (as you should be given who I am) readers. A criminal walks into a bar...
Okay, I have nothing else, it's a work in progress. I'm not here for stand-up comedy. But here's an even better joke without a punchline; a criminal climbs into the ring.
Now you see what I have to deal with? I have to deal with more disrespect, more conspiracies, and being a part of a punch line. Not because of my own doing (before you even jump on that thread), but because I have to work with people who are uncivilized.
I would say "see this face" but this is a blog, but who am I kidding, you all know this face well (as you should). Soft skin, supple and full lips, eyes that can melt the heart of anyone, hair that is the envy of the beautiful elite, an impeccable nose, perfectly sculpted eyebrows, and teeth that the ADA should use as an example.
Now do you see where I'm going?
My face and every immaculate feature that comes with it is very much a part of my money maker. So when someone, warranted or unwarranted, puts that in jeopardy I have issue. And that is why Zasshu is a criminal (and that's putting it nicely and keeping it kid friendly).
I'll take all the flack, I'm use to it, but it's simple. Yes, we work in a business that is violent. Yes, we are paid to brutalize one another as modern day gladiators, but there's a certain etiquette to it. But Zasshu failed to follow that etiquette. He chose, instead, to brutally attack me, causing damage to my well being, while I was conducting an IWF sanctioned interview backstage.
So let's get to root of this criminal action though. Had he taken it to the ring, my lawyers wouldn't have jumped all over this. Yet he didn't choose that route and I can only think of one reason; fear. The so called Future knows that I'm the true future and he knows that the only way he can hold a candle to me is to brutalize me in such a fashion, because in between those ropes, he's lucky to even share the same air I do (though he's lucky for that period, but I need the ring to prove my point). He can't keep up with me and he can't hack it. Not just because of my superior athleticism (though that is a big part). Because of my whims.
Things do tend to bend to my whims as I see fit. Not because I'm a Field (though that should be enough) but because I assure they do. I don't sit around and wait on someone to speak for me or to make things happen for me. I make a plan and I put it into action. While all Zasshu and the fans saw was me placing a title on King, what I saw was me making my legitimate claim on a belt. I saw myself getting exactly what I wanted and bending things to my whim to get it.
I've danced around the walking, talking, masked felon for far too long in this blog. Now it's time to get to the point; the truth. Truth is Zasshu isn't the future, he's the flavor of the moment. A man who had a good streak but nothing more. An adequate hold over until the Era of Field begins to dawn upon IWF. A neanderthal who, while lethal, just can't quite cut it. Because his future he speaks of, that future is now. That future is Noah Field, the Saviour. And at this point it's only a matter of time before I take on paper what I've taken physically. Then it becomes the first of many. The first step to taking a small time second tier title and turning it into something people truly care about. A stepping stone to being a triple crown winner.
Zasshu can kick me in the mouth. He can bring the House of Whoever with him to the ring. He can throw everything at me, but in the end, he can't stop destiny. And that's what this is for me; destiny.
My birth right.
Well howdy there pardner.