Post by Declan Prescott on Jun 30, 2010 18:16:11 GMT -5
“Shut the fuck up! I’m not afraid of you, all right? How long is it going to take for that to sink in past your atrocious haircut and into what little of a brain you have?!”
Damascus spat gruffly on the hotel carpet floor, before grunting like a troll. He went back to staring out the window at the derelict street only metres away. She only rolled her eyes, before folding her arms stiffly. Through her redlined spectacles, slick, black, skirted suit and blood red heels, it was clear that she wasn’t in the mood for games.
“I’ve spent my entire, incredibly successful, career dealing with men that have much bigger genitals than your tattered jeans reveal, Mr. Damascus,” she barked. “And nothing you do is going to intimidate me. Mr. King assigned me as your image consultant, whether you like it or not. And, to that end, you’re stuck with me, for as long as Mr. King deems fit. Your feelings on the situation are really of no concern to me, whatsoever.”
“I don’t have feelings, Bianca,” Damascus returned bluntly, still staring out the window, as three men approached a lone wanderer on the sidewalk.
“Hmph!” she pouted, before marching severely across the room. Smashing her hands into the arm rests on either side of Damascus’ seat, her tight, ample cleavage only inches from his face, her eyes burned with unmatched rage. “That’s Ms. Rowe to you, understand?! Mr. King didn’t assign you as my client because I’m great. He did it because I’m the best. Every celebrity I’ve ever worked for has seen their success increase ten fold thanks to me. I can have you on the cover of every gossip magazine in western society. I can have small children cheer your name, women all over the globe want you and every man want to be you. And this is going to happen whether you like it or not, because that’s what Mr. King is paying me for. Okay?!”
“Fuck yourself.”
“Well no man is competent enough for the task,” she deemed, returning to an upright position, while adjusting her spectacles. “Now stop being so difficult. The first course of action is to shave that horrendous beard and get a stylist for that demented bird’s nest on your head.”
“Anyone touches my hair and I’ll kill them,” Damascus hissed, as the three men began their assault on the loner.
“Why’d you decide to be a hobo?” she inquired harshly.
“Huh?!” he yapped, taken off guard.
“Well I know you used to have it pretty easy in life,” Ms. Rowe sneered. “Because you’re a spoilt brat!”
“Oh…” Damascus returned, the sharp edge now removed from his words. “You don’t know me…” Meanwhile the loner had fallen face first to the concrete, as the boots of his attackers hammered every inch of his body.
“I know that there’s going to be consequences if you don’t start acting like an adult!” she snapped. “Do you have any idea how crucial the next few weeks are, Mr. Damascus?! Over half the GIW roster is fighting with all the wrath of some crippled senior citizens, after the punishment they suffered in Japan. They’ve come steps away from killing each other, while Mr. Boss Penguin wants to get GIW back on American television. How’s he going to do that with a pack of sadistic, physically and mentally damaged, over-muscled freak shows? The GIW Champion is an impotent woman basher, who can’t even recall his Title’s actual name, thanks to years of substance abuse. His biggest opposition is an Eminem impersonator, who still enforces slavery. Their top stars are either burning masks onto their opponent’s faces or joining the ‘Most Mentally Debilitated Terry Funk Impostor’ contest. They’re all delinquents or psychotic and that is not the public face that GIW needs right now.”
“And hiring me is supposed to change that?” he inquired, with a raised eyebrow.
“Yes and you know it!” she spat, now pacing furiously back and forth across the room. “You remember perfectly!”
Jamal King, the Head of Scouting for GIW, sat in his private jet, his feet spread across the couch, his gold teeth and fur-lined, metallic pink suit flashing even in the low light of the plane. Before him stood a rigid Bianca Rowe and a much more relaxed, crotch scratching, Peter Damascus. Her red suit was a tight fit, pushing her already accentuated curves even more into focus. His shirt was stained with both blood and urine, while the holes in his jeans made his bruised legs public knowledge. Her heels were high, strapped tightly to her feet and showing off her sun yellow nail polish. His feet were bare, except for the scabs and mud. Her hair was pushed back in a neat, blonde bun. His hair covered the dirt plastered all over his face.
“Ms. Rowe,” King began, grinning broadly, while twisting his neck, in attempt to gain a view of Bianca from behind. “Meet Mr. Damascus, GIW’s latest talent acquisition and your new client. Damascus, meet your new image consultant, Ms. Bianca Rowe.”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” they both drawled.
“Ehehehe,” King chuckled. “I kid you not, boys and girls. Damascus has talent, but he’s too uncontrollable to make any good use of it. And Ms. Rowe, you’re just the kind of media friendly monster that can turn Mr. Damascus on the right path. The path of the righteous. The path of the hero. The path of the true Champion.”
“While I’m certainly not saying such a task would be impossible,” Ms. Rowe snickered with distain. “The amount you’re paying me to take on this thing as my client is simply insulting. I’ll need at least three times your offer to take this disaster on as my own.”
“You’ll do it and you’ll do it for the price I told you,” Jamal assured her. “I know you, white girl. You’ll take this job on, simply because you can’t resist such a giant challenge. You’ve been born and raised to be the splittin’ image of success and you know in your heart, buried as deeply under those lovely titties as it may be, that you can’t honestly say you’re the best, unless you can do this.”
Ms. Rowe bit down harshly on her bottom lip, her eyes narrowing with disgust at King. It seemed she didn’t enjoy being outsmarted.
“And you,” King stated, now turning to Damascus. “I don’t know what hole Old Lay Levene pulled you outta, but I know it wasn’t by accident. You want to be here, don’t you?”
“I want to fight,” Damascus replied blankly. “Joining GIW gives me the chance to do that.”
“Yeah, it does,” King agreed. “But nothing in this world is for free, but I’m guessin’ you already know that. So let me explain it to you. You’re gonna fight and you’re gonna fight by my rules. In that ring you’ll be a monster. But outside it, no matter what happens, you’re a fuckin’ teddy bear. No gettin’ pissed off at some dumb ass fan, no attacking your fellow wrestlers, no fucking bitches on cars, no setting fire to small animals, no nothing. You’re just a regular joe, who likes people and loves publicity. Ya dig?!”
“I think you’ve got the wrong guy,” Damascus stated, crossing his arms.
“I’ve got the right guy,” King snapped. “You see, this is a crucial time in GIW’s history and you’ve been placed in a rare position to do some great things. I’ve seen you fight in those underground circuits and I know you’re tough enough to hang with anything that GIW can throw at you. But you’ve also got a clean slate.”
“My slate certainly isn’t cle – ”
“When I want you to interrupt me, I’ll say so,” King barked. “In the meantime, shut the fuck up! Right now it’s only hours after what most people are deeming as the most violent Pay-Per-View in wrestling’s history. We’re trying to get our company back on television, but everyone looks at our roster and sees nothing more than violent monsters. But you, Damascus, don’t have that image. At least not yet. You took out some freaky, white-bread, religious whack jobs and no one’s gonna give two fucks about taking out the trash, like that. Hell, if anything, people will be thanking you.
“But the main point is that even our Champion, Travis Roberts, is currently being looked at as some sort of girl bashing maniac… just like that asshole Prescott back in the day. There’s currently no one we can promote to be our hero of the people, thanks to all their showings at No Holds Barred. You can change that. You can be GIW’s saviour.”
“King, feel free to shut the fuck up anytime now,” Damascus snorted. “Because I don’t need some bitch with a dog leash following me around. There are plenty of other places I can go fight – ”
“Yet you chose GIW!” King spat. “I dunno why and I don’t really care, but I know it wasn’t by coincidence. I know you have your reasons. And if those reasons are really that important to you, you’ll be willing to play by the rules that I give ya. So what d’ya say, huh? Can you do it? Can you be a hero, Peter Damascus?”
"Fine..." Damascus sighed.
“Good!” Ms. Rowe proclaimed with a smile. “Now lets get to work!”
“Okay… but I was serious about the hair.” The three men had now taken hold of the corpse’s backpack and were fleeing the scene.
“Gah!” she pleaded. “Fine, we’ll take this in baby steps for you, Mr. Damascus. Our first priority is Vladimir Ulysys. All we have to do is make sure you stay well behaved – at least as much as something like you is capable of – and win some matches. The first step of the plan is just to get your name out there. Generate some interest, so people know who you are when the days comes that you reach the sky.”
“Then I guess this Vladimir is the first step on a long line of bodies.”
“Yes, but you’re not allowed to say that,” Ms. Rowe explained. “We need people to think that you actually have a soul, after all. No, no, we make sure you beat the Russian, clean the dirt of your face and get you some actual clothes. I’m currently in the works regarding a sponsorship with Nike. But if you don’t win this week…”
“I’ll win,” Damascus replied. “I didn’t come all the way out to this shit-hole of a continent, just to lose to some muscle bound commy.”
“Well the valiant routine is very touching, but it won’t be that easy,” Ms. Rowe warned. “Words aren’t going to stop this man. He’s over seven feet tall and has military experience. We’ll need a game plan for beating him.”
“The plan is that I bash him senseless, until he stops getting back up,” Damascus grunted vehemently, as the sirens came into play and the ambulance arrived next to the body. “I don’t care how big, angry, well-trained or whatever else he is. At the end of the day, he's still just a man and he'll fall like one.”
Ms. Rowe now approached the window and stared on at the scene outside. The paramedics had already loaded the man onto the stretcher and were wheeling him into the vehicle.
“What happened?” she inquired, her voice now harbouring a familiar softness.
Damascus looked from the carnage, to Ms. Rowe. Her blonde hair was hanging loose today and her large green eyes were magnified behind the lenses of her spectacles. She was a woman.
“Proof that we’re in Sydney, Australia,” Damascus sighed, climbing to his feet. “The worst place in the world.”
"ARGH!!!"
Without warning, he smashed his fist into Ms. Rowe, shattering her spectacles and sending her head bouncing into the glass. It cracked, as she tumbled off it and fell limply to the floor, blood flowing from her forehead.
“You can’t always fight, Declan. Sometimes bad things happen to us, but that’s all apart of life. Learning how to take it in stride is what makes us better people.”
He sat in the bathtub, the hot water soaking his skin from the waist down, but the ice of the room’s atmosphere, freezing his upper half. Margaret Prescott continued gently massaging the shampoo into her son’s hair, from beyond the tub’s borders. She then paused, staring at him deeply, before delicately kissing him on the forehead.
“I know you’re only eight years old and it’s difficult for you to understand,” she continued, tears swelling in her eyes. “But those bullies at school… fighting them isn’t the answer, no matter what Jeremy says. That just leads to more hate and anger in the world. It’s only when good people stand up and say ‘no’ that evil can be defeated.
“But just remember, Declan. No matter what happens, I’m your mother and I’ll always love you.”
“Taken? I thought your mum killed herself.”
“She did. Stupid bitch threw her life away, like it was nothing. But the truth never matters when a person dies. The maggots left to preserve their supposed legacy, just make their fallen look like heroes. The actual facts of the situation are irrelevant. No one cares that she was really a monster.”
“So you’re making mummy proud, huh?”
Damascus stared at the headstone, no other soul for miles. The grey piece of cement stared back at him, as if trying to speak.
“Why are we here, anyway? Peter Damascus visiting the grave of Declan Prescott’s mother? Could raise some suspicion…”
“It seemed appropriate. Embracing a new life means gaining closure on the old one. Now I can tell her that I’ll never be coming back to this place again. She doesn’t deserve it.”
“Are we still talking about your mum?”
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“Lets go. I’ve got a match to focus on.”
Damascus spat gruffly on the hotel carpet floor, before grunting like a troll. He went back to staring out the window at the derelict street only metres away. She only rolled her eyes, before folding her arms stiffly. Through her redlined spectacles, slick, black, skirted suit and blood red heels, it was clear that she wasn’t in the mood for games.
“I’ve spent my entire, incredibly successful, career dealing with men that have much bigger genitals than your tattered jeans reveal, Mr. Damascus,” she barked. “And nothing you do is going to intimidate me. Mr. King assigned me as your image consultant, whether you like it or not. And, to that end, you’re stuck with me, for as long as Mr. King deems fit. Your feelings on the situation are really of no concern to me, whatsoever.”
“I don’t have feelings, Bianca,” Damascus returned bluntly, still staring out the window, as three men approached a lone wanderer on the sidewalk.
“Hmph!” she pouted, before marching severely across the room. Smashing her hands into the arm rests on either side of Damascus’ seat, her tight, ample cleavage only inches from his face, her eyes burned with unmatched rage. “That’s Ms. Rowe to you, understand?! Mr. King didn’t assign you as my client because I’m great. He did it because I’m the best. Every celebrity I’ve ever worked for has seen their success increase ten fold thanks to me. I can have you on the cover of every gossip magazine in western society. I can have small children cheer your name, women all over the globe want you and every man want to be you. And this is going to happen whether you like it or not, because that’s what Mr. King is paying me for. Okay?!”
“Fuck yourself.”
“Well no man is competent enough for the task,” she deemed, returning to an upright position, while adjusting her spectacles. “Now stop being so difficult. The first course of action is to shave that horrendous beard and get a stylist for that demented bird’s nest on your head.”
“Anyone touches my hair and I’ll kill them,” Damascus hissed, as the three men began their assault on the loner.
“Why’d you decide to be a hobo?” she inquired harshly.
“Huh?!” he yapped, taken off guard.
“Well I know you used to have it pretty easy in life,” Ms. Rowe sneered. “Because you’re a spoilt brat!”
“Oh…” Damascus returned, the sharp edge now removed from his words. “You don’t know me…” Meanwhile the loner had fallen face first to the concrete, as the boots of his attackers hammered every inch of his body.
“I know that there’s going to be consequences if you don’t start acting like an adult!” she snapped. “Do you have any idea how crucial the next few weeks are, Mr. Damascus?! Over half the GIW roster is fighting with all the wrath of some crippled senior citizens, after the punishment they suffered in Japan. They’ve come steps away from killing each other, while Mr. Boss Penguin wants to get GIW back on American television. How’s he going to do that with a pack of sadistic, physically and mentally damaged, over-muscled freak shows? The GIW Champion is an impotent woman basher, who can’t even recall his Title’s actual name, thanks to years of substance abuse. His biggest opposition is an Eminem impersonator, who still enforces slavery. Their top stars are either burning masks onto their opponent’s faces or joining the ‘Most Mentally Debilitated Terry Funk Impostor’ contest. They’re all delinquents or psychotic and that is not the public face that GIW needs right now.”
“And hiring me is supposed to change that?” he inquired, with a raised eyebrow.
“Yes and you know it!” she spat, now pacing furiously back and forth across the room. “You remember perfectly!”
Jamal King, the Head of Scouting for GIW, sat in his private jet, his feet spread across the couch, his gold teeth and fur-lined, metallic pink suit flashing even in the low light of the plane. Before him stood a rigid Bianca Rowe and a much more relaxed, crotch scratching, Peter Damascus. Her red suit was a tight fit, pushing her already accentuated curves even more into focus. His shirt was stained with both blood and urine, while the holes in his jeans made his bruised legs public knowledge. Her heels were high, strapped tightly to her feet and showing off her sun yellow nail polish. His feet were bare, except for the scabs and mud. Her hair was pushed back in a neat, blonde bun. His hair covered the dirt plastered all over his face.
“Ms. Rowe,” King began, grinning broadly, while twisting his neck, in attempt to gain a view of Bianca from behind. “Meet Mr. Damascus, GIW’s latest talent acquisition and your new client. Damascus, meet your new image consultant, Ms. Bianca Rowe.”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” they both drawled.
“Ehehehe,” King chuckled. “I kid you not, boys and girls. Damascus has talent, but he’s too uncontrollable to make any good use of it. And Ms. Rowe, you’re just the kind of media friendly monster that can turn Mr. Damascus on the right path. The path of the righteous. The path of the hero. The path of the true Champion.”
“While I’m certainly not saying such a task would be impossible,” Ms. Rowe snickered with distain. “The amount you’re paying me to take on this thing as my client is simply insulting. I’ll need at least three times your offer to take this disaster on as my own.”
“You’ll do it and you’ll do it for the price I told you,” Jamal assured her. “I know you, white girl. You’ll take this job on, simply because you can’t resist such a giant challenge. You’ve been born and raised to be the splittin’ image of success and you know in your heart, buried as deeply under those lovely titties as it may be, that you can’t honestly say you’re the best, unless you can do this.”
Ms. Rowe bit down harshly on her bottom lip, her eyes narrowing with disgust at King. It seemed she didn’t enjoy being outsmarted.
“And you,” King stated, now turning to Damascus. “I don’t know what hole Old Lay Levene pulled you outta, but I know it wasn’t by accident. You want to be here, don’t you?”
“I want to fight,” Damascus replied blankly. “Joining GIW gives me the chance to do that.”
“Yeah, it does,” King agreed. “But nothing in this world is for free, but I’m guessin’ you already know that. So let me explain it to you. You’re gonna fight and you’re gonna fight by my rules. In that ring you’ll be a monster. But outside it, no matter what happens, you’re a fuckin’ teddy bear. No gettin’ pissed off at some dumb ass fan, no attacking your fellow wrestlers, no fucking bitches on cars, no setting fire to small animals, no nothing. You’re just a regular joe, who likes people and loves publicity. Ya dig?!”
“I think you’ve got the wrong guy,” Damascus stated, crossing his arms.
“I’ve got the right guy,” King snapped. “You see, this is a crucial time in GIW’s history and you’ve been placed in a rare position to do some great things. I’ve seen you fight in those underground circuits and I know you’re tough enough to hang with anything that GIW can throw at you. But you’ve also got a clean slate.”
“My slate certainly isn’t cle – ”
“When I want you to interrupt me, I’ll say so,” King barked. “In the meantime, shut the fuck up! Right now it’s only hours after what most people are deeming as the most violent Pay-Per-View in wrestling’s history. We’re trying to get our company back on television, but everyone looks at our roster and sees nothing more than violent monsters. But you, Damascus, don’t have that image. At least not yet. You took out some freaky, white-bread, religious whack jobs and no one’s gonna give two fucks about taking out the trash, like that. Hell, if anything, people will be thanking you.
“But the main point is that even our Champion, Travis Roberts, is currently being looked at as some sort of girl bashing maniac… just like that asshole Prescott back in the day. There’s currently no one we can promote to be our hero of the people, thanks to all their showings at No Holds Barred. You can change that. You can be GIW’s saviour.”
“King, feel free to shut the fuck up anytime now,” Damascus snorted. “Because I don’t need some bitch with a dog leash following me around. There are plenty of other places I can go fight – ”
“Yet you chose GIW!” King spat. “I dunno why and I don’t really care, but I know it wasn’t by coincidence. I know you have your reasons. And if those reasons are really that important to you, you’ll be willing to play by the rules that I give ya. So what d’ya say, huh? Can you do it? Can you be a hero, Peter Damascus?”
"Fine..." Damascus sighed.
“Good!” Ms. Rowe proclaimed with a smile. “Now lets get to work!”
“Okay… but I was serious about the hair.” The three men had now taken hold of the corpse’s backpack and were fleeing the scene.
“Gah!” she pleaded. “Fine, we’ll take this in baby steps for you, Mr. Damascus. Our first priority is Vladimir Ulysys. All we have to do is make sure you stay well behaved – at least as much as something like you is capable of – and win some matches. The first step of the plan is just to get your name out there. Generate some interest, so people know who you are when the days comes that you reach the sky.”
“Then I guess this Vladimir is the first step on a long line of bodies.”
“Yes, but you’re not allowed to say that,” Ms. Rowe explained. “We need people to think that you actually have a soul, after all. No, no, we make sure you beat the Russian, clean the dirt of your face and get you some actual clothes. I’m currently in the works regarding a sponsorship with Nike. But if you don’t win this week…”
“I’ll win,” Damascus replied. “I didn’t come all the way out to this shit-hole of a continent, just to lose to some muscle bound commy.”
“Well the valiant routine is very touching, but it won’t be that easy,” Ms. Rowe warned. “Words aren’t going to stop this man. He’s over seven feet tall and has military experience. We’ll need a game plan for beating him.”
“The plan is that I bash him senseless, until he stops getting back up,” Damascus grunted vehemently, as the sirens came into play and the ambulance arrived next to the body. “I don’t care how big, angry, well-trained or whatever else he is. At the end of the day, he's still just a man and he'll fall like one.”
Ms. Rowe now approached the window and stared on at the scene outside. The paramedics had already loaded the man onto the stretcher and were wheeling him into the vehicle.
“What happened?” she inquired, her voice now harbouring a familiar softness.
Damascus looked from the carnage, to Ms. Rowe. Her blonde hair was hanging loose today and her large green eyes were magnified behind the lenses of her spectacles. She was a woman.
“Proof that we’re in Sydney, Australia,” Damascus sighed, climbing to his feet. “The worst place in the world.”
"ARGH!!!"
Without warning, he smashed his fist into Ms. Rowe, shattering her spectacles and sending her head bouncing into the glass. It cracked, as she tumbled off it and fell limply to the floor, blood flowing from her forehead.
“You can’t always fight, Declan. Sometimes bad things happen to us, but that’s all apart of life. Learning how to take it in stride is what makes us better people.”
He sat in the bathtub, the hot water soaking his skin from the waist down, but the ice of the room’s atmosphere, freezing his upper half. Margaret Prescott continued gently massaging the shampoo into her son’s hair, from beyond the tub’s borders. She then paused, staring at him deeply, before delicately kissing him on the forehead.
“I know you’re only eight years old and it’s difficult for you to understand,” she continued, tears swelling in her eyes. “But those bullies at school… fighting them isn’t the answer, no matter what Jeremy says. That just leads to more hate and anger in the world. It’s only when good people stand up and say ‘no’ that evil can be defeated.
“But just remember, Declan. No matter what happens, I’m your mother and I’ll always love you.”
R.I.P
Margaret Angela Prescott
1961-2007
Devoted and beloved mother.
She was taken from us too soon.
Margaret Angela Prescott
1961-2007
Devoted and beloved mother.
She was taken from us too soon.
“Taken? I thought your mum killed herself.”
“She did. Stupid bitch threw her life away, like it was nothing. But the truth never matters when a person dies. The maggots left to preserve their supposed legacy, just make their fallen look like heroes. The actual facts of the situation are irrelevant. No one cares that she was really a monster.”
“So you’re making mummy proud, huh?”
Damascus stared at the headstone, no other soul for miles. The grey piece of cement stared back at him, as if trying to speak.
“Why are we here, anyway? Peter Damascus visiting the grave of Declan Prescott’s mother? Could raise some suspicion…”
“It seemed appropriate. Embracing a new life means gaining closure on the old one. Now I can tell her that I’ll never be coming back to this place again. She doesn’t deserve it.”
“Are we still talking about your mum?”
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“Lets go. I’ve got a match to focus on.”
