Post by Lord Hastings on Mar 9, 2024 15:01:49 GMT -5
Synergy
The Creative Director, Phrixus Deimos, sits in his office jotting a note to himself, as Donovan pushes his way through the door.
Hastings: We need to talk.
Phrixus does not look up from his writing.
Deimos: I do apologize, as I was unaware we had an appointment.
Hastings: I can beat him.
Deimos: Still not finished licking the wound, I see. How disappointing.
Hastings: Give me another shot at Vain.
Deimos: I think not.
Phrixus finishes his note and orients his face towards Donovan for the first time.
Deimos: Matthew Knox is the number one contender now, and the promise of a headlining match between him and Alan Wallace has already sold out an arena. We are moving forwards, Donovan, not backwards.
Hastings: I need this.
Deimos: Whereas I am trying to ascertain whether you retain any use to us at all. Your position as the long standing icon seeking a final run at the top has been filled, and Alan Wallace is far fresher in that role than you are, as is Travis Roberts as our resident legend novelty act.
Hastings: Travis Roberts is not a novelty act.
Deimos: Yes, well, I suppose that remains to be seen, does it not?
Hastings: You’re making a mistake.
Deimos: That seems unlikely. Regardless, your legacy here has come to a close.
Donovan glares at him seething.
Hastings: Fine.
He slowly takes two steps towards the unflinching Creative Director.
Hastings: You don’t want me working on my legacy, I’ll take yours.
Deimos: I often fail to see why others find you humorous, yet even I am forced to admit I find that idea quite amusing.
Hastings: I’m serious. If you want to stand in my way, I’ll take the thing that means the most to you, your precious Cross-Hemisphere Title.
Deimos: By all means, you are welcome to try. Prove your commitment to the division and I will readily grant you an opportunity at that most prestigious championship, though I cannot help but wonder why you would make yourself the author of your own demise so readily.
Hastings: You’ll regret this long before I will.
Donovan turns to leave.
Deimos: Perhaps you have forgotten the obstacle that stands at the end of this path, and your history of failure at overcoming it.
Donovan pauses, speaking back over his own shoulder.
Hastings: Things change.
Donovan leaves, slamming the door behind him.
Deimos: They certainly do.
We’ve seen this before. Far too many times, if I’m being honest. The British aristocrat with his wizened mentor.
Killian King and Richard Nottingham. Sebastian Everett-Bryce and Bastion. I’m sure there were other knock-offs that none of us can be bothered to remember.
Now we have Gideon Thornfield and Oliver Neville. A heap of cliche wrapped in a package of ineptitude.
I’ll be honest with you, Gideon. I don’t care about you, not in the slightest. You market yourself as some brilliant tactician, yet you’re the one I saw last week get twisted up into a pretzel. I’m sure you’ll spend this week plotting and planning, you’ll roll back some tape of my parade of victories, I promise you there’s an endless supply of footage to study, and your mentor or lead cheerleader or whatever role you’ve assigned to your personal Owen will tell you about how critical this match is and the importance of it all.
Here is what is important about this match. I’m going to win it, and the fact that it was you that I stepped over isn’t going to matter in the slightest. I’m going to have the first of what is going to be a lengthy string of victories in the Cross-Hemisphere Division, not because it’s something I’m going to be proud of, not because it’s a box I need to check, but because of the most powerful weapon I have at my disposal presently.
Spite.
See you Monday. Keep your tapping hand ready.
The Creative Director, Phrixus Deimos, sits in his office jotting a note to himself, as Donovan pushes his way through the door.
Hastings: We need to talk.
Phrixus does not look up from his writing.
Deimos: I do apologize, as I was unaware we had an appointment.
Hastings: I can beat him.
Deimos: Still not finished licking the wound, I see. How disappointing.
Hastings: Give me another shot at Vain.
Deimos: I think not.
Phrixus finishes his note and orients his face towards Donovan for the first time.
Deimos: Matthew Knox is the number one contender now, and the promise of a headlining match between him and Alan Wallace has already sold out an arena. We are moving forwards, Donovan, not backwards.
Hastings: I need this.
Deimos: Whereas I am trying to ascertain whether you retain any use to us at all. Your position as the long standing icon seeking a final run at the top has been filled, and Alan Wallace is far fresher in that role than you are, as is Travis Roberts as our resident legend novelty act.
Hastings: Travis Roberts is not a novelty act.
Deimos: Yes, well, I suppose that remains to be seen, does it not?
Hastings: You’re making a mistake.
Deimos: That seems unlikely. Regardless, your legacy here has come to a close.
Donovan glares at him seething.
Hastings: Fine.
He slowly takes two steps towards the unflinching Creative Director.
Hastings: You don’t want me working on my legacy, I’ll take yours.
Deimos: I often fail to see why others find you humorous, yet even I am forced to admit I find that idea quite amusing.
Hastings: I’m serious. If you want to stand in my way, I’ll take the thing that means the most to you, your precious Cross-Hemisphere Title.
Deimos: By all means, you are welcome to try. Prove your commitment to the division and I will readily grant you an opportunity at that most prestigious championship, though I cannot help but wonder why you would make yourself the author of your own demise so readily.
Hastings: You’ll regret this long before I will.
Donovan turns to leave.
Deimos: Perhaps you have forgotten the obstacle that stands at the end of this path, and your history of failure at overcoming it.
Donovan pauses, speaking back over his own shoulder.
Hastings: Things change.
Donovan leaves, slamming the door behind him.
Deimos: They certainly do.
~
We’ve seen this before. Far too many times, if I’m being honest. The British aristocrat with his wizened mentor.
Killian King and Richard Nottingham. Sebastian Everett-Bryce and Bastion. I’m sure there were other knock-offs that none of us can be bothered to remember.
Now we have Gideon Thornfield and Oliver Neville. A heap of cliche wrapped in a package of ineptitude.
I’ll be honest with you, Gideon. I don’t care about you, not in the slightest. You market yourself as some brilliant tactician, yet you’re the one I saw last week get twisted up into a pretzel. I’m sure you’ll spend this week plotting and planning, you’ll roll back some tape of my parade of victories, I promise you there’s an endless supply of footage to study, and your mentor or lead cheerleader or whatever role you’ve assigned to your personal Owen will tell you about how critical this match is and the importance of it all.
Here is what is important about this match. I’m going to win it, and the fact that it was you that I stepped over isn’t going to matter in the slightest. I’m going to have the first of what is going to be a lengthy string of victories in the Cross-Hemisphere Division, not because it’s something I’m going to be proud of, not because it’s a box I need to check, but because of the most powerful weapon I have at my disposal presently.
Spite.
See you Monday. Keep your tapping hand ready.