Post by alycestarchylde on Jun 10, 2018 19:48:42 GMT -5
Tiger, Tiger Burning Bright.
Where, the actual fuck was he? Why was it so dark? Where was Seth, Jackdaw or Maylock? He breathed in, smoke filled his lungs, he coughed. He made it to his feet. His ears were ringing. Some sadistic bastard was tipping the floor. He soldiered on, forcing himself forward even as he dropped to his hands and knees. He coughed again. His eyes stung even through his mask, but he forced himself forward. Soon he could see shapes against a bright dark sky. The tall one was familiar.
“What the hell was that,” Maylock asked?
RAGE, RAGE against the dying of the light. He'd broken RAGE's kneecaps hadn't he? Not his eyes. Why would the light die?
Jackdaw looked down at him dispassionately.
Seth came up and helped Lunacy to his feet.
“I have no idea, but the cops are on the way, the party is over for now,” he helped Lunacy towards a broken down van.
Slowly as his ears stopped ringing, as he found he could breathe again, he began to remember what led up to the latest conflagration.
They had been doing their usual shtick of gathering the homeless, the crazy, the diseased and depressed, those disenfranchised by society or by their own inclination. This was the group that he felt so much a part of. This was the group he joined when he returned from being a hero and was...ignored. His country washed it's hands of him. He had responded by letting the voice in his head take over...and that is the birth of Lunacy, or at least the Lunacy the world had come to know.
He had sought out the locals when he encountered her...she had sat in the park, away from everyone else. Her blonde hair was pretty, oh so pretty, but she wore a white pill-box hat with a veil of black that covered her face. She wore a pink blouse, black gloves, a pink skirt, black hose and black high heeled shoes. She was beautiful. Seth was even moved by her beauty.
“What the fuck's her problem,” he asked as Lunacy stared her way.
“Something interesting and definitely worth hearing about,” Lunacy responded.
Seth laughed.
“Fine, YOU go talk to Creepy Cindy, me 'Daw and Maylock will continue rounding up the faithful. It's good to be back spreading mayhem again, Brother,” he punched Lunacy playfully in his shoulder and moved across the park with the other members of Anarchy.
Lunacy walked over to the woman sitting on the bench, she spoke before he could open his mouth.
“So, are you curious about my veil, or the face I hide beneath it,” the woman asked.
“Um. Good question. I just kind of thought you looked, interesting, I kind of wanted to hear your story,” he said with a shrug.
“My story,” she chuckled, “I am no more my story than I am the veil or the face beneath it. I used to be famous...”
“That's a coincidence,” he interrupted, “I'm kind of famous myself.”
“Really,” she asked, “Why do you wear a mask?”
“Unlike your veil,” he responded proudly, “This mask is me. They call me Lunacy.”
She nodded.
“I get that from your outfit alone,” she said, “believe it or not, I used to be a model. My name is Celea McQueen.”
“Why do you hide your face, then,” Lunacy asked?
“Because I am not a model any longer, and no one need see this face but me,” she replied.
“You are intriguing,” he confessed as he handed her a flier, “me and my friends do a little get together for the local homeless population...the disenfranchised. We feed them and show them how it is they who have the power, not the system. It is...liberating.”
“Sounds boring,” she chuckled, “but I might put in an appearance. I am enjoying the company at the moment. Besides, I think I need to liven up your show...I'm good at that.”
They had parted ways. He thought he had seen her at the gathering but before he could get over to her, the world had gone boom. Nobody had been hurt, which was such a shame because he liked screaming and had heard none.
And with that he had made his way outside where his stablemates had helped him into the van. Under the windshield however, he noticed a folded pink piece of paper. He grabbed it as he took a seat while Brother Maylock turned the key. The ignition squealed, then sputtered then caught and the engine roared into life.
“Hope you enjoyed the BANG I brought to your soiree. I like you and your friends. You are real, honest, and frankly a little creepy...if you would like to hear my story, I will be at the Falcon Diner tonight at 10 pm. I'll share a cup of coffee and my tale if you are still interested. And then you tell me more about this little group of yours, - Celea”
“Where to,” Maylock asked as he put the van into drive.
“North,” Lunacy responded, “It seems I have a date...of sorts.”
“Dear God, save us from you and Creepy Cindy,” Seth said. Both he and Maylock laughed. Beneath his mask, Lunacy only smiled.
Lunacy stands in a dark room, the Rorschach design of his mask seems to have arranged itself into a happy face with a psychotic and an oversized grin. He looks into the camera and begins to speak.
“Oh, friends and neighbors the GOAT of wrestling has returned...and then there's my opponent, Kyle Shane. The man thinks he's artistic, edgy and talented. In the ring, he isn't bad...his promos on the other hand stink like a dead man's foot.
So, what's it to be this time, Kyle? Gonna attack my character? Say I'm not crazy? Or that crazy doesn't manifest the way I am? Yawn. Ah yes, you with your psychology degree from the school of 'I used to be emo'. The things you don't know would just about fill the Grand Canyon AND the entire online collection of the Encyclopedia Brittanica...although I am sure you are far more a Wikipedia guy.
Oh, or hey, maybe you could run down my origin? Call me a product of bad '90's comic books? Boy, never seen anyone use THAT tactic before.
Or maybe, just maybe you can go on and on about my record against you when I have stated on more than one occasion I don't care about records, rankings or titles at all.
You'll probably do some of all three and I don't really care. Hey, run down Erys the Goddess of Discord. That'll be fun, surely that will make me feel bad about myself. Oh. Wait. Nope. I give less than a dog turd about what your thoughts are on me, my motivations, my beliefs or anything else that you are going to rant on and on about...ad nauseum....until everyone has turned off your promo or left it running while they go drop a stink pickle or otherwise ignore you because they are sick of the endless, pointless words coming out of your reeking pudding trough.
Know what I DO care about? Violence. Mayhem. Hurting people. You know, traditional American values. These people that cheer for you...they don't care about you. Wanna know how I know? Watch a match sometime...a good one, not one of yours. Wait until the baby face gets whacked over the skull with a barbed-wire wrapped, flaming baseball bat....wait, hang on a minute.”
Lunacy turns around and removes a small digital voice recorder and turns it on. He begins to speak into it. “Note to self. Wrap a baseball bat in barbed-wire and soak it in gasoline...have it on hand for...future use.”
He clicks off the digital voice recorder, puts it into his jacket and turns back around.
“Sorry about that, gotta remind myself of the good ideas, or I will lose them. Now, where was I...oh yes, watch as the babyface gets absolutely punted by the bad guy in some horribly malicious fashion. The crowd doesn't ooh or ah. They chant 'This is awesome!'. I'm willing to bet, in the days of the gladiators, when the Christians were becoming bloody kitty chow...the crowds were chanting 'This is awesome.'
In other words, there Shane, old Bean, to these people you are just another faceless gladiator and they don't give a fuck about you. They just want to see you bleed and fall. Oh, sure, they tell themselves they want to see guys like you and Raven win the day...but when you lie there, bleeding on the floor...you know, like you both did last week, they go home with the most savage joy...not just in their eyes...but in their hearts.
Also, while I will admit to being something of a James Raven mark...he is the GOAT...but he also has a history of just not showing up. Of lackluster half-hearted performances because he's just too busy with movies, and merchandise and whatever else takes up his time when he's not living the high life at the most expensive place in town.
Are you really prepared to carry that weight? Do you honestly think you have the talent to do so? Or...and this delights me to no end, do you honestly think he sees you as an equal? How long do you think he'll put up with having a partner he doesn't see as being on his level?
Well, listen, Peaches, Uncle Jingo is busy these days, and I have things to do and I can't jibber jibber with you all day. I'll see you on Brawl and I look forward to the damage I'm gonna cause.
Now, I'm off to set fire to the welcome wagon.”
Where, the actual fuck was he? Why was it so dark? Where was Seth, Jackdaw or Maylock? He breathed in, smoke filled his lungs, he coughed. He made it to his feet. His ears were ringing. Some sadistic bastard was tipping the floor. He soldiered on, forcing himself forward even as he dropped to his hands and knees. He coughed again. His eyes stung even through his mask, but he forced himself forward. Soon he could see shapes against a bright dark sky. The tall one was familiar.
“What the hell was that,” Maylock asked?
RAGE, RAGE against the dying of the light. He'd broken RAGE's kneecaps hadn't he? Not his eyes. Why would the light die?
Jackdaw looked down at him dispassionately.
Seth came up and helped Lunacy to his feet.
“I have no idea, but the cops are on the way, the party is over for now,” he helped Lunacy towards a broken down van.
Slowly as his ears stopped ringing, as he found he could breathe again, he began to remember what led up to the latest conflagration.
They had been doing their usual shtick of gathering the homeless, the crazy, the diseased and depressed, those disenfranchised by society or by their own inclination. This was the group that he felt so much a part of. This was the group he joined when he returned from being a hero and was...ignored. His country washed it's hands of him. He had responded by letting the voice in his head take over...and that is the birth of Lunacy, or at least the Lunacy the world had come to know.
He had sought out the locals when he encountered her...she had sat in the park, away from everyone else. Her blonde hair was pretty, oh so pretty, but she wore a white pill-box hat with a veil of black that covered her face. She wore a pink blouse, black gloves, a pink skirt, black hose and black high heeled shoes. She was beautiful. Seth was even moved by her beauty.
“What the fuck's her problem,” he asked as Lunacy stared her way.
“Something interesting and definitely worth hearing about,” Lunacy responded.
Seth laughed.
“Fine, YOU go talk to Creepy Cindy, me 'Daw and Maylock will continue rounding up the faithful. It's good to be back spreading mayhem again, Brother,” he punched Lunacy playfully in his shoulder and moved across the park with the other members of Anarchy.
Lunacy walked over to the woman sitting on the bench, she spoke before he could open his mouth.
“So, are you curious about my veil, or the face I hide beneath it,” the woman asked.
“Um. Good question. I just kind of thought you looked, interesting, I kind of wanted to hear your story,” he said with a shrug.
“My story,” she chuckled, “I am no more my story than I am the veil or the face beneath it. I used to be famous...”
“That's a coincidence,” he interrupted, “I'm kind of famous myself.”
“Really,” she asked, “Why do you wear a mask?”
“Unlike your veil,” he responded proudly, “This mask is me. They call me Lunacy.”
She nodded.
“I get that from your outfit alone,” she said, “believe it or not, I used to be a model. My name is Celea McQueen.”
“Why do you hide your face, then,” Lunacy asked?
“Because I am not a model any longer, and no one need see this face but me,” she replied.
“You are intriguing,” he confessed as he handed her a flier, “me and my friends do a little get together for the local homeless population...the disenfranchised. We feed them and show them how it is they who have the power, not the system. It is...liberating.”
“Sounds boring,” she chuckled, “but I might put in an appearance. I am enjoying the company at the moment. Besides, I think I need to liven up your show...I'm good at that.”
They had parted ways. He thought he had seen her at the gathering but before he could get over to her, the world had gone boom. Nobody had been hurt, which was such a shame because he liked screaming and had heard none.
And with that he had made his way outside where his stablemates had helped him into the van. Under the windshield however, he noticed a folded pink piece of paper. He grabbed it as he took a seat while Brother Maylock turned the key. The ignition squealed, then sputtered then caught and the engine roared into life.
“Hope you enjoyed the BANG I brought to your soiree. I like you and your friends. You are real, honest, and frankly a little creepy...if you would like to hear my story, I will be at the Falcon Diner tonight at 10 pm. I'll share a cup of coffee and my tale if you are still interested. And then you tell me more about this little group of yours, - Celea”
“Where to,” Maylock asked as he put the van into drive.
“North,” Lunacy responded, “It seems I have a date...of sorts.”
“Dear God, save us from you and Creepy Cindy,” Seth said. Both he and Maylock laughed. Beneath his mask, Lunacy only smiled.
The Coils of Madness
Lunacy stands in a dark room, the Rorschach design of his mask seems to have arranged itself into a happy face with a psychotic and an oversized grin. He looks into the camera and begins to speak.
“Oh, friends and neighbors the GOAT of wrestling has returned...and then there's my opponent, Kyle Shane. The man thinks he's artistic, edgy and talented. In the ring, he isn't bad...his promos on the other hand stink like a dead man's foot.
So, what's it to be this time, Kyle? Gonna attack my character? Say I'm not crazy? Or that crazy doesn't manifest the way I am? Yawn. Ah yes, you with your psychology degree from the school of 'I used to be emo'. The things you don't know would just about fill the Grand Canyon AND the entire online collection of the Encyclopedia Brittanica...although I am sure you are far more a Wikipedia guy.
Oh, or hey, maybe you could run down my origin? Call me a product of bad '90's comic books? Boy, never seen anyone use THAT tactic before.
Or maybe, just maybe you can go on and on about my record against you when I have stated on more than one occasion I don't care about records, rankings or titles at all.
You'll probably do some of all three and I don't really care. Hey, run down Erys the Goddess of Discord. That'll be fun, surely that will make me feel bad about myself. Oh. Wait. Nope. I give less than a dog turd about what your thoughts are on me, my motivations, my beliefs or anything else that you are going to rant on and on about...ad nauseum....until everyone has turned off your promo or left it running while they go drop a stink pickle or otherwise ignore you because they are sick of the endless, pointless words coming out of your reeking pudding trough.
Know what I DO care about? Violence. Mayhem. Hurting people. You know, traditional American values. These people that cheer for you...they don't care about you. Wanna know how I know? Watch a match sometime...a good one, not one of yours. Wait until the baby face gets whacked over the skull with a barbed-wire wrapped, flaming baseball bat....wait, hang on a minute.”
Lunacy turns around and removes a small digital voice recorder and turns it on. He begins to speak into it. “Note to self. Wrap a baseball bat in barbed-wire and soak it in gasoline...have it on hand for...future use.”
He clicks off the digital voice recorder, puts it into his jacket and turns back around.
“Sorry about that, gotta remind myself of the good ideas, or I will lose them. Now, where was I...oh yes, watch as the babyface gets absolutely punted by the bad guy in some horribly malicious fashion. The crowd doesn't ooh or ah. They chant 'This is awesome!'. I'm willing to bet, in the days of the gladiators, when the Christians were becoming bloody kitty chow...the crowds were chanting 'This is awesome.'
In other words, there Shane, old Bean, to these people you are just another faceless gladiator and they don't give a fuck about you. They just want to see you bleed and fall. Oh, sure, they tell themselves they want to see guys like you and Raven win the day...but when you lie there, bleeding on the floor...you know, like you both did last week, they go home with the most savage joy...not just in their eyes...but in their hearts.
Also, while I will admit to being something of a James Raven mark...he is the GOAT...but he also has a history of just not showing up. Of lackluster half-hearted performances because he's just too busy with movies, and merchandise and whatever else takes up his time when he's not living the high life at the most expensive place in town.
Are you really prepared to carry that weight? Do you honestly think you have the talent to do so? Or...and this delights me to no end, do you honestly think he sees you as an equal? How long do you think he'll put up with having a partner he doesn't see as being on his level?
Well, listen, Peaches, Uncle Jingo is busy these days, and I have things to do and I can't jibber jibber with you all day. I'll see you on Brawl and I look forward to the damage I'm gonna cause.
Now, I'm off to set fire to the welcome wagon.”