Personification of Saturn -WS CH Title RP v Seb and Hastings
Jul 7, 2024 11:50:50 GMT -5
EZRA likes this
Post by Zane on Jul 7, 2024 11:50:50 GMT -5
Wednesday
“I used to believe that we were defined by our accomplishments.”
Zane nods sagely as a bell sings around him.
“Those were your words before ‘Alchemy,’ Donovan. Now you believe you’ve learned to control it”
“Knowing you as I do...”
He smiles and holds a book up in front of him. The bell sings again.
“Your definition hasn’t changed.”
He pauses as a wistful expression comes to his face.
“As Robert observed, ‘It’s not a criticism, it’s who you are’.”
Zane drops the book and stands. He pauses as someone passes and bellows about “Quiet Hour.”
“You insisted to Robert that you ‘weren’t trying to stick it to me,’ as you often had. Anyone who knows our history knows that the pattern he described is exactly correct. ‘Vendetta, torment, lose, heal, repeat.’ Our entire history has been defined by this cycle. Ultimately even our brief…”
He pauses, clearly struggling for the right word to define their quixotic partnership.
“Detente...”
“Eended violently at your hands.”
He waves dismissively.
“Again, I understand your reasons. It doesn’t change the fact that you have an underlying need to torment me, irrespective of your other motivations. I don’t believe your decision to claim the Cross-Hemisphere Championship after a decade of showing contempt toward it was any different.”
Applause breaks out in front of him, causing him to momentarily pause as he watches someone’s head get doused with water. He snickers.
“Our relationship has always been a repeating baptism of misery. You knew…knew that talking the Cross-Hemisphere Championship from me would cause that exact misery, and while you claim that you did it to infuriate Deimos...”
He sneers angrily.
“You waited until I was Cross-Hemisphere Champion to do it.”
He holds up his pointer finger.
“You didn’t do it when JC was champion.”
He holds up his middle finger, making it two.
“You didn’t do it when Ezra was champion, despite your history with him, proving that you can ignore the personal when it suits you to.”
His pointer finger drops, replaced by his pinkie, making three.
“You didn’t do it when Rydell was champion. You have as ugly a history with him as ours and have enjoyed tormenting almost as much as you’ve enjoyed tormenting me.”
His pointer finger raises again, making four.
“Most glaringly of all, you didn’t become obsessed with this the last time that Phrixus was Cross-Hemisphere Champion. What better time would there have been to really and truly grind your greatness as Cross-Hemisphere Champion in his face than right after you’d taken it from him?
He pauses as a group of revelers walks by. He observes them with a nod.
“But you didn’t,” he continues.
Three of the four fingers drop leaving only the middle finger standing out between his glaring eyes...
“You waited until I was champion.”
A festival goer pauses and hugs him, then kisses him on the cheek before walking away. It leaves him genuinely shocked, and he briefly appears not to know how to react. Eventually, he lowers his hand, and his face returns to its normal pallor.
“Even if you told yourself that your decision wasn’t personal, it’s rather hard for me to see it as anything but personal. You knew how important that reign was to me, both as my way to honor my beloved grandmother, but also professionally because the championship that you now hold has been such an integral part of my career.”
He closes his eyes, bowing his head for a second, then looks back up.
“You may have told yourself ‘I’m not trying to stick it to him,’ but the only person who believes that is you. Robert’s incredulity at your response was obvious to everyone but you because if Donovan Hastings can do any one thing...”
“He can warp reality to conform to his emotional and mental needs.”
He smiles ever so slightly.
“I noticed you omitted me from your ‘World Champion’ list,” he shrugs. “Even I can admit that I probably don’t belong on that list right now.”
The dark cloud envelops his face again.
“I am one of the greatest Cross-Hemisphere Champions, and I was about to become the greatest Cross-Hemisphere Champion…”
“You ruined that because of your ego and your spiteful need to twist the knife in Deimos.”
“I’m not better than you in that regard. I enjoy pissing in Deimos’ Metamucil too. I think it’s likely that he hoped that one of us beating the other for the very championship he identifies himself as the personification of would cause us to go to war again. I’m sure it disappoints him that it hasn’t.”
“I take no small amount of pleasure in that.”
He reaches the entrance to the section he’s in and pauses.
“So in the regard that you did this to torture me, whether consciously or not, and that we once again find ourselves at each other's throats, I am the Personification of Saturn.”
He steps across the line, back to the common area.
“On Monday I must become The Personification of Mars.”
He grins.
“Just like you act partially in the way that Deimos molded you, so I act in the way you’ve molded me.”
“A chip off the old block.”
Friday
Zane chuckles to himself and looks over his shoulder to a stage. Two men sit on it in front of a large crowd. One has blazing red hair and the other more subdued brown hair. He watches them for a moment before turning back to the camera.
“You were right that I’ve always been my worst enemy. The two men on that stage are as much proof of that as anyone else could be. I’ve warred with both of them and at times they’ve both played me like a fiddle.”
He makes a fiddle gesture and smiles.
“I’ve succeeded despite myself,” he explains. “Not because of myself.”
He runs the back of his hand across his head and flicks the large beads of sweat away.
“You feel that same contempt for Donovanm, that he’s an annoying plebian who’s stepping out of line by challenging you.”
A plant randomly moves behind him, causing him to turn around and look at it right as it “sits.” He glares at it, then shrugs and turns back around.
“That sense of entitlement stretches to the Cross-Hemisphere Championship. You think you deserve to hold it just because you want it, because you’re a notorious ‘belt collector.’ I take nothing away from you. Your career has been nothing short of brilliant. You’re a fantastic combination of intelligence, raw natural talent, good looks, charisma, and confidence that few are gifted with.”
“You’re also hideously arrogant and blind to your faults.”
He looks over his shoulder as the plant seems to move again.
“I can’t help but scoff at the notion that you’re entitled to the Cross-Hemisphere Championship, while I, the man who single-handedly brought this championship back to relevance somehow isn’t.”
He uncaps the bottled water, drinks, and pauses as the plant shuffles. He shrugs.
“You’ve been Cross-Hemisphere Champion exactly once.
“That’s hardly history-making.”
He holds a toy microphone up.
“That’s the Piercing Truth.”
He looks a bit nauseous.
“I feel a bit sick saying that.”
He takes a drink.
“My larger point is that you insist that I don’t deserve a chance at the championship that I remade relevant because of some arbitrary reason that you made up because it was convenient. You claim that you deserve a shot at any championship you want because you were Chaos Champion for two years, and you’ve been a Grand Slam Champion.”
“Guess what, Seb, I’m a Grand Slam Champion, too. We’re equal in that regard. The only championship I need to be a ‘double’ Grand Slam Champion is the Chaos Championship, so slow your roll that it’s a momentous achievement for you to do it.”
He stands up and begins to walk. The plant follows.
“You mentioned that Tempest was a better champion than I was because he defended the title more, which he did. By one defense. One. Two of those victories were against Konrad Raab, a man you’ve gone out of your way to mock. Guess what, Seb..."
"Konrad’s reign as Cross-Hemisphere Champion was sixty-three days. How long was yours?”
He smirks.
“Forty-Nine.”
He smiles widely.
“Maybe you’re not better than Konrad after all.”
He looks back at the plant again and rolls his eyes.
“Roxy Cotton was the last person before Tempest who defended the championship six times. Roxy’s reign was... hollow to say the least. She held it by beating real wrestling luminaries like Phobos Timor, Paul Harris, Dos Tequila, and Bobbi London. Her reign lasted one hundred and twenty-six days, tying her with LWF legend John Russo. You dismiss my two long reigns because of my number of defenses. Roxy defended it once more against genuinely inferior competition. Guess who else she beat to keep it?”
“You.”
He pauses.
“You refer to Phrixus and Rydell being ‘more successful’ than me because they have ‘more reigns.’ That’s true. They do. Deimos’ longest reign was a hundred ninety-nine days. I’ve surpassed that, twice. Rydell’s was equal to yours. Forty-nine days. I don’t say that to snipe at Rydell. I say that to point out how large of a steaming pile of bullshit your ‘number of reigns’ claim is. Who cares if one has had seven reigns if they were shorter than the cycle between Battleground and Wrestlestock.”
“Besides, you don’t respect either of them, so stop blowing smoke.”
He takes another drink and wipes his brown again.
“Besides, you don’t care about either length of reign or number of reigns unless they’re yours. Alan has had more World Championship reigns than anyone in this company and has held it for more combined days than anyone, ever, and the only thing you ever say about him is ‘he’s arrogant.’ To that I say...”
“Duh."
"His name is ‘Vain,’ after all.”
He looks down at his phone, reading quickly.
“Alan has held the World Championship four times for a combined six hundred and fifty-one days and counting. How long was your longest reign, oh standard bearer of greatness?”
He smirks obnoxiously.
“One hundred and five days.”
His smirk deepens into a wide and mocking smile.
“How many times have you held it?”
“Twice.”
He looks back into the camera.
“I think where it comes to Alan and me and possessing championships, especially the Cross-Hemisphere Championship, you suffer from possession envy. Your reign for the ages is...let me check..”
“The fifty-ninth longest reign in the history of the championship.”
“We’re both better Cross-Hemisphere Champions than you. Be the bigger man and admit it.”
He drinks again and glares at the plant.
“I feel like Saturn with you because we repeat the same old nonsense yet again. You patronize me about how legacy doesn’t matter, but yours is the most important legacy in wrestling. You lecture me about not being ‘deserving’ because I lost it to Donovan, yet you lost to him too. Somehow that’s just an aberration we should brush to the side.”
“I love the Cross-Hemisphere Championship. You covet it. It defines my career. To you, it’s a trinket.”
“The Cross-Hemisphere Championship deserves to be held by someone who reveres it.”
“That someone is not you.”
He turns and dumps the remainder of the bottle on the ‘plant,’ causing it to yelp in surprise.
“Hi, Forewell. You can tell Pierce that I’m leaving,” Zane says, then turns, and walks away. "I don't want to scare him."
Forewell Boding pokes his head out from between two branches, confused.
“How’d he know it was me?”
End.
“I used to believe that we were defined by our accomplishments.”
Zane nods sagely as a bell sings around him.
“Those were your words before ‘Alchemy,’ Donovan. Now you believe you’ve learned to control it”
“Knowing you as I do...”
He smiles and holds a book up in front of him. The bell sings again.
“Your definition hasn’t changed.”
He pauses as a wistful expression comes to his face.
“As Robert observed, ‘It’s not a criticism, it’s who you are’.”
Zane drops the book and stands. He pauses as someone passes and bellows about “Quiet Hour.”
“You insisted to Robert that you ‘weren’t trying to stick it to me,’ as you often had. Anyone who knows our history knows that the pattern he described is exactly correct. ‘Vendetta, torment, lose, heal, repeat.’ Our entire history has been defined by this cycle. Ultimately even our brief…”
He pauses, clearly struggling for the right word to define their quixotic partnership.
“Detente...”
“Eended violently at your hands.”
He waves dismissively.
“Again, I understand your reasons. It doesn’t change the fact that you have an underlying need to torment me, irrespective of your other motivations. I don’t believe your decision to claim the Cross-Hemisphere Championship after a decade of showing contempt toward it was any different.”
Applause breaks out in front of him, causing him to momentarily pause as he watches someone’s head get doused with water. He snickers.
“Our relationship has always been a repeating baptism of misery. You knew…knew that talking the Cross-Hemisphere Championship from me would cause that exact misery, and while you claim that you did it to infuriate Deimos...”
He sneers angrily.
“You waited until I was Cross-Hemisphere Champion to do it.”
He holds up his pointer finger.
“You didn’t do it when JC was champion.”
He holds up his middle finger, making it two.
“You didn’t do it when Ezra was champion, despite your history with him, proving that you can ignore the personal when it suits you to.”
His pointer finger drops, replaced by his pinkie, making three.
“You didn’t do it when Rydell was champion. You have as ugly a history with him as ours and have enjoyed tormenting almost as much as you’ve enjoyed tormenting me.”
His pointer finger raises again, making four.
“Most glaringly of all, you didn’t become obsessed with this the last time that Phrixus was Cross-Hemisphere Champion. What better time would there have been to really and truly grind your greatness as Cross-Hemisphere Champion in his face than right after you’d taken it from him?
He pauses as a group of revelers walks by. He observes them with a nod.
“But you didn’t,” he continues.
Three of the four fingers drop leaving only the middle finger standing out between his glaring eyes...
“You waited until I was champion.”
A festival goer pauses and hugs him, then kisses him on the cheek before walking away. It leaves him genuinely shocked, and he briefly appears not to know how to react. Eventually, he lowers his hand, and his face returns to its normal pallor.
“Even if you told yourself that your decision wasn’t personal, it’s rather hard for me to see it as anything but personal. You knew how important that reign was to me, both as my way to honor my beloved grandmother, but also professionally because the championship that you now hold has been such an integral part of my career.”
He closes his eyes, bowing his head for a second, then looks back up.
“You may have told yourself ‘I’m not trying to stick it to him,’ but the only person who believes that is you. Robert’s incredulity at your response was obvious to everyone but you because if Donovan Hastings can do any one thing...”
“He can warp reality to conform to his emotional and mental needs.”
He smiles ever so slightly.
“I noticed you omitted me from your ‘World Champion’ list,” he shrugs. “Even I can admit that I probably don’t belong on that list right now.”
The dark cloud envelops his face again.
“I am one of the greatest Cross-Hemisphere Champions, and I was about to become the greatest Cross-Hemisphere Champion…”
“You ruined that because of your ego and your spiteful need to twist the knife in Deimos.”
“I’m not better than you in that regard. I enjoy pissing in Deimos’ Metamucil too. I think it’s likely that he hoped that one of us beating the other for the very championship he identifies himself as the personification of would cause us to go to war again. I’m sure it disappoints him that it hasn’t.”
“I take no small amount of pleasure in that.”
He reaches the entrance to the section he’s in and pauses.
“So in the regard that you did this to torture me, whether consciously or not, and that we once again find ourselves at each other's throats, I am the Personification of Saturn.”
He steps across the line, back to the common area.
“On Monday I must become The Personification of Mars.”
He grins.
“Just like you act partially in the way that Deimos molded you, so I act in the way you’ve molded me.”
“A chip off the old block.”
Friday
Zane chuckles to himself and looks over his shoulder to a stage. Two men sit on it in front of a large crowd. One has blazing red hair and the other more subdued brown hair. He watches them for a moment before turning back to the camera.
“You were right that I’ve always been my worst enemy. The two men on that stage are as much proof of that as anyone else could be. I’ve warred with both of them and at times they’ve both played me like a fiddle.”
He makes a fiddle gesture and smiles.
“I’ve succeeded despite myself,” he explains. “Not because of myself.”
He runs the back of his hand across his head and flicks the large beads of sweat away.
“You feel that same contempt for Donovanm, that he’s an annoying plebian who’s stepping out of line by challenging you.”
A plant randomly moves behind him, causing him to turn around and look at it right as it “sits.” He glares at it, then shrugs and turns back around.
“That sense of entitlement stretches to the Cross-Hemisphere Championship. You think you deserve to hold it just because you want it, because you’re a notorious ‘belt collector.’ I take nothing away from you. Your career has been nothing short of brilliant. You’re a fantastic combination of intelligence, raw natural talent, good looks, charisma, and confidence that few are gifted with.”
“You’re also hideously arrogant and blind to your faults.”
He looks over his shoulder as the plant seems to move again.
“I can’t help but scoff at the notion that you’re entitled to the Cross-Hemisphere Championship, while I, the man who single-handedly brought this championship back to relevance somehow isn’t.”
He uncaps the bottled water, drinks, and pauses as the plant shuffles. He shrugs.
“You’ve been Cross-Hemisphere Champion exactly once.
“That’s hardly history-making.”
He holds a toy microphone up.
“That’s the Piercing Truth.”
He looks a bit nauseous.
“I feel a bit sick saying that.”
He takes a drink.
“My larger point is that you insist that I don’t deserve a chance at the championship that I remade relevant because of some arbitrary reason that you made up because it was convenient. You claim that you deserve a shot at any championship you want because you were Chaos Champion for two years, and you’ve been a Grand Slam Champion.”
“Guess what, Seb, I’m a Grand Slam Champion, too. We’re equal in that regard. The only championship I need to be a ‘double’ Grand Slam Champion is the Chaos Championship, so slow your roll that it’s a momentous achievement for you to do it.”
He stands up and begins to walk. The plant follows.
“You mentioned that Tempest was a better champion than I was because he defended the title more, which he did. By one defense. One. Two of those victories were against Konrad Raab, a man you’ve gone out of your way to mock. Guess what, Seb..."
"Konrad’s reign as Cross-Hemisphere Champion was sixty-three days. How long was yours?”
He smirks.
“Forty-Nine.”
He smiles widely.
“Maybe you’re not better than Konrad after all.”
He looks back at the plant again and rolls his eyes.
“Roxy Cotton was the last person before Tempest who defended the championship six times. Roxy’s reign was... hollow to say the least. She held it by beating real wrestling luminaries like Phobos Timor, Paul Harris, Dos Tequila, and Bobbi London. Her reign lasted one hundred and twenty-six days, tying her with LWF legend John Russo. You dismiss my two long reigns because of my number of defenses. Roxy defended it once more against genuinely inferior competition. Guess who else she beat to keep it?”
“You.”
He pauses.
“You refer to Phrixus and Rydell being ‘more successful’ than me because they have ‘more reigns.’ That’s true. They do. Deimos’ longest reign was a hundred ninety-nine days. I’ve surpassed that, twice. Rydell’s was equal to yours. Forty-nine days. I don’t say that to snipe at Rydell. I say that to point out how large of a steaming pile of bullshit your ‘number of reigns’ claim is. Who cares if one has had seven reigns if they were shorter than the cycle between Battleground and Wrestlestock.”
“Besides, you don’t respect either of them, so stop blowing smoke.”
He takes another drink and wipes his brown again.
“Besides, you don’t care about either length of reign or number of reigns unless they’re yours. Alan has had more World Championship reigns than anyone in this company and has held it for more combined days than anyone, ever, and the only thing you ever say about him is ‘he’s arrogant.’ To that I say...”
“Duh."
"His name is ‘Vain,’ after all.”
He looks down at his phone, reading quickly.
“Alan has held the World Championship four times for a combined six hundred and fifty-one days and counting. How long was your longest reign, oh standard bearer of greatness?”
He smirks obnoxiously.
“One hundred and five days.”
His smirk deepens into a wide and mocking smile.
“How many times have you held it?”
“Twice.”
He looks back into the camera.
“I think where it comes to Alan and me and possessing championships, especially the Cross-Hemisphere Championship, you suffer from possession envy. Your reign for the ages is...let me check..”
“The fifty-ninth longest reign in the history of the championship.”
“We’re both better Cross-Hemisphere Champions than you. Be the bigger man and admit it.”
He drinks again and glares at the plant.
“I feel like Saturn with you because we repeat the same old nonsense yet again. You patronize me about how legacy doesn’t matter, but yours is the most important legacy in wrestling. You lecture me about not being ‘deserving’ because I lost it to Donovan, yet you lost to him too. Somehow that’s just an aberration we should brush to the side.”
“I love the Cross-Hemisphere Championship. You covet it. It defines my career. To you, it’s a trinket.”
“The Cross-Hemisphere Championship deserves to be held by someone who reveres it.”
“That someone is not you.”
He turns and dumps the remainder of the bottle on the ‘plant,’ causing it to yelp in surprise.
“Hi, Forewell. You can tell Pierce that I’m leaving,” Zane says, then turns, and walks away. "I don't want to scare him."
Forewell Boding pokes his head out from between two branches, confused.
“How’d he know it was me?”
End.
2013, '18, '23 
2013 