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Post by ★ ═ Erron Wilder ═ ★ on Dec 16, 2017 14:39:53 GMT -5
AMERICANHISTOR[E]
“AMERICAN SPIRIT”
Erron stands over a steep crag just a mile outside of the mining town of Manassa, Colorado — his hometown.
Being there evoked nostalgia to the 'old days', back when a young adolescent embittered by years of unrewarded labor down in the Turquoise Mines would hike back up this path to get home with nothing but stains of amorphous carbon on his hands to show for the time he wasted. He would reach this same rugged cliff, stopping at its edge for a private moment with life to gaze wondrously at the patchwork quilt that the Mormon pioneers had set up in the Old West, noiselessly observing its eight-block-by-eight-block grid and wide streets filled with vertical facade and square-top buildings for a hint that something in all of the fuckery has changed after a century.
But while Manassa was a town originally designed to become a city, it never outgrew its simplicity.
Manassa remained a remote location, rooted at the center of the arid beauty of high plains and vast mountain desert that is regularly swept by a draft of hot fetid air that would make anyone drifting into town feel as if they were approaching the front gates of hell.
Because truthfully...
“There's nothing good here, Tucker.”
Clad in a silk three-piece suit of black and scarf, Erron juxtaposes the scenery itself as if he were an ungovernable shadow rising to face the dawn.
“When you beat me back at Ignition 2, you jogged my memory, reminding me of why I left east from here to find my fortune. I could have been a deadbeat miner all of my life, maybe even monotonously milking cows in the farms or picking crops on my knees in the fields from sunrise to sunset, because 'working yourself to death' is stereotype for everyone here. There is no other alternative to a place where its architects aren't imaginative enough to create a skyscraper, or its education system broad enough to produce its own doctors than having them transferred from the outside.”
“—But I had to fight the status quo to be that one 'good thing', even if it meant fighting everyone I would come across on the road.’”
He pauses, taking a few seconds to withdraw his polarized Ray Bans from his face to stare coldly at the camera stationed beside him.
“And throughout that road, there was always skeptics spitting their fuckin' venom. Critics, like those that have been telling me that I should take my ball and go back home, that I can't cut the mustard. With you depriving me of the Pride Heavyweight Championship, it only furthered that perspective to a point that even I began to see it, and these images in my head were becoming so vivid that I actually drove back west just to see if there was any small hint of hopefulness that Manassa had acquired something good during my absence.”
Erron turned his head back at the scenery laid before him.
“But it didn't. Manassa is as it was then — barren tracts of land without any deposits of Turquoise to harvest. A wasteland where the man born, amount to nothing in life.”
Suddenly, his face developed an unlikely smirk through his all downtrodden memories.
“However, this shithole is my home, Tucker. While for you,'home' is a place of comfort and security; where you kick your boots off after a long day at work and find peace in your sleep, with your ever-so supporting wife waiting for you and your daughter looking up to you as her hero; for me, it's a never-ending battle for survival.”
“It's tearing chunks of ore off the compressed walls, regardless of how tired you are to show your boss that a machine can't do what you can do. It's putting your fists up on a bully twice your size, because you’ve had enough of his shit and don’t care if he beats a third head into your skull. It's raising a farm of livestock, growing attached to every baby you've nurtured for years, only to slaughter them later because you got to fuckin' eat.”
Erron stretches his arm across the panorama, waving at its sight.
“This is my well of power, the early American Spirit; to fight the losing battle until you find a way to win. And at Phenomenon, 'The American Odyssey' comes full circle when I best you, Tucker, and finally bring that 'good thing' home that's better than Turquoise.”
“... Gold.”
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Post by ★ ═ Erron Wilder ═ ★ on Dec 17, 2017 18:17:16 GMT -5
AMERICANHISTOR[E]
“BLACK LICORICE” “Nothing in the world is worth having or worth doing unless it means effort, pain, and difficulty.”
A box of Partagás Lusitania Cuban cigars lays open over the counter of a table with a hand accurately swooping in to pick one up.
“That’s what the Pride Heavyweight Championship is about. It's a sacrificial altar where you lay yourself bare before the world, offering them your heart. It’s a statement of purpose that recites your journey towards fulfillment; it’s personal satisfaction for overcoming the ungovernable obstacles that always shove you back, and somewhat a medal of honor that anyone can respect because you did something that not everyone has the guts/determination to do.”
“If it wasn’t so, Jason Halich would have just handed it over to me at ReAwakening after I razed the roster to the ground in one night, but he was mindful that one win from a johnny-come-lately in his home, wasn’t enough household-name-worthy to carry the brand. Even I’ll admit that as grand as the Lion’s Pride Event was, testing everyone’s wit and conditioning in a series of contests, it wasn’t suffice to give a credible identity to this franchise so that it could be taken serious.”
As the same hand that clasped the thick cigar in a vise-like grip within the thumb and index finger, its companion hand brings around a stainless steel cutter to truncate the edge in a loud snap.
“So, like a lump of coal in an already stacked pile of even more coal, I had to succumb to the pressure and heat I was given to become the diamond — to be the one that instills value to this business.”
“I had to out-wrestle the wrestling God in Julian Savell. I had to outsmart the mastermind DeMarcus Gresham, and outplay a fifteen-year veteran in Anushka Aalto just to prove that this title you hold now, RC Tucker, isn’t something that just anyone can get their hands on. More than the eye of a tiger or the heart of a lion, it entailed an Odyssey — a crusade through hell to find heaven.”
Setting the cutter down against the coffee table, he would then wield a zippo lighter to the trimmed end and light its tobacco leaves.
“It even meant losing to you, Tucker, and watching you burst forth from nothing to the highest point of acclaim to give Pride Pro Wrestling a hero to celebrate. You became the protagonist infinitely suited to the era of wonderful nonsense you recreated where anything seems possible: from twerking cunts becoming Television Champion, streaks coming to an end and hopeless chumps like Sammy Duke amounting to something in this business other than another carny act like you’ve been for the past twelve years before your lucky break.”
The cigar lifting up slowly to be wedged between the corner of a pair of dry lips, the camera traces the motion up to find the 'tranquil is this realm of mine' demeanor of Erron Wilder.
“It was all a necessary evil, an ill-fated course to run because now the match itself is more than a tiebreaker and another routinely title defense. It's a duel of fates where the vision of what Pride Pro Wrestling is going to be in this reincarnation, muddied by our distinctive paths and ambitions, hangs on the balance. The stage has been perfectly set in the ShoWare Center for one of us to put the rumors to rest and give substance to who really is the best.”
“And while the champion's prerogative may empower you to feel like you have everything there is to win this match, a rematch with you at Phenomenon isn’t a dive into uncharted waters with a threat that I don’t already know. It isn’t going behind the enemy lines of an enemy with every home field advantage, regardless of how many of your fuckin' Chaotix rally up behind you. It's actually more like a man with a history of having too much heart going for another round of black licorice — at Phenomenon, you realize that I'm more than you can handle in a straightforward fight, and collapse your fuckin’ ass.”
Erron takes a small puff of his cigar, providing a smile of someone of a kamikaze that would do whatever it takes to win.
“And after it's all said and done, Tucker — I'll be able to say it was all worth it.” |
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Post by ★ ═ Erron Wilder ═ ★ on Dec 17, 2017 22:19:19 GMT -5
AMERICANHISTOR[E]
“OLD HABITS, DIE HARD” “A man has been smoking cigarettes for over a decade, and he refuses to quit.”
Par for the course.
“A ballerina has majestically performed for many countries, and she is reluctant to step out of the stage.”
True to form.
“RC Tucker has been the Pride Pro Wrestling Champion since October 31, 2017, and he is disinclined to lose it.”
Predictable.
Laying back against a small brown recliner chair, Erron carries his right leg up over his left in an acute cross. His overall body language and style exhibits the swagger of a man that knows what he's doing, only further supported by the round foot of his glass of wine resting over his ankle.
“I get it. Old habits, die hard. After a while these well-practiced performances — or habits — can beat into submission the conscious desire of man to change. Their audacity resists it [change] because deep down they fear what will happen to them out of their comfort zone and are scared of alternatives to speculate, so long as they get what they savor and delight in. They reach a stage in their lives where they are unable to let go while considering the alarming effects of resistance because of an innate insecurity that they might not be able to survive without it.”
The blue-black haired man of swarthy brows takes a sip from his green apple-flavoured wine before continuing.
“But you see, what you resist not only persists, but can grow in size. It can be left as an untreated tumor that swells overtime into something much worse. And these worst-case-scenarios much like Erron Wilder, ain't waiting for you to have a fuckin' change of heart and break the shackles of the entrenched pattern you've been gleefully prisoner of.”
He shakes his head, clicking his tongue against his teeth to reverberate an irritating 'tsk' sound throughout the dimly lit room.
“No, the predetermined course that 'all good things must come to an end' is forced upon even if you don't like it.”
“The fans that have mushroomed the inside of the ShoWare Center from the beginning didn't like the idea of Erron Wilder being in another Main Event. Jason Halich didn't like that I sabotaged his nostalgia of the old days of Pride, and Taryn Robinson didn't like that I didn't fell head over heels for her and kissed her ass. But here I am, 'champ', because I went to that ring everyone seems to believe is your 'realm of chaos' and I took that shit deliberately and decisively.”
Erron wrinkles a crooked smile with a dimple.
“Took it like lung cancer takes the pleasure of smoking from the chain-smoker. Took it like a broken leg and old age takes the technical perfection and spotlight from the ballerina. And I took it like I am going to take the Pride Heavyweight Championship from your broken and beaten body at Phenomenon — without fuckin' mercy.”
A sudden temper tantrum triggers the American Odyssey to fling his glass across the room and shatter against the wall. Springing up to his feet, he points his long finger at the camera.
“I don't need 'mind games' or fanbitches behind me to do what I do best, Tucker: knocking the light out of your eyes. I'm as brazen and cold-blooded as a competitor can come in this line of work. Every breath I have in me is an opportunity to deconstruct you from your active weaknesses, or simply by creating one to exploit. I'm the kind of ruthless aggression that will gouge out your eyeballs with my fingers like if scooping ice cream with a spoon, as much as kick you in the fucking balls. There’s no preparing for that. It’s not in the rule book, it’s not what you expect in a high profile match, but it’s the kind of merciless stock of skills that will have the 'Chaos Wife' and 'Chaos Princess' worried about your well-being and the entire 'Chaotix' worried about your career.”
Erron aggressively sniffs, staring knives into the camera one final time.
“And at Phenomenon, everything is going to run like a Swiss watch. I'm going to get what I deserve, and you're going to get what you've been giving: a small dose of that chaos you believe is your ally, where you won't know what the fuck hit you and who you are anymore.”
“Turnabout is fair play, as they say... but Erron Wilder ain't fair.” |
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