I, who was born in a naked land and bred in the open sky.
The subtle tongue, the sophist guile, they fail when the broadswords sing.
Rush in and die dogs - I was a man before I was King." - Conan Of Cimmeria
The scene fades back in to Butch Parker, freshly-showered and dressed in a pair of jeans, white Adidas high-top sneakers with red and blue trim and a Manchester United football shirt. He is in the kitchen, quickly getting himself a quick dinner before heading to Santa Barbara Municipal Airport, in the form of traditional British-style French toast with cheese between the bread slices - or as his niece and nephew called them, "cheese dreams". As he eats away at the quick snack, he has one eye on the kitchen TV which is Tivo-linked to the HWA Network. Suddenly, the all-too-familiar voice of Senester can be heard and for a brief moment, Butch thought he was actually in the house with him. Although he wouldn't have put it past him, he quickly realised his voice came from the television and immediately Butch listened intently to what Senester had to say. He automatically and involuntarily feels his blood boiling when Senester speaks directly to his daughter and his hands tighten into fists around the cutlery he's holding to eat his dinner to such a point his knuckles turn white and he exhales deeply through his nose as he tries to channel his anger and focus on the rest of Senester's promo. As he finishes watching it, he remains silent for a long moment, taking in Senester's words, digesting them. He knew that every word Senester spoke had meaning, no matter how trivial even the most ordinary of sentences sounded. He checked the clock on his iPhone 6; ten past four. A good hour yet before he had to be at the airport.
Butch quickly finishes his meal, shoves the plate and his cutlery in the dishwasher before heading through to his study where the recording equipment was set up for him and a wisdom to record their promos and interviews.
Once he's in the room and the red light on the camera turns on, Butch looks at the screen as if he's looking into the black soul of Senester himself.
(Butch): Senester, always a pleasure hearing you talk. So full of mysticism, meaning, guile aaaaaaand shit.
The subtlest of smiles discreetly tugs at the corner of Butch's mouth but he still manages to maintain his ice-cold demeanour.
(Butch): You are a wise man, Senester, there is no denying that. You're ruthless, unforgiving, unrelenting and many other superlatives. But we've known each other long enough to be honest with each other and believe me, you are completely full of shit. Even more so that you feel you can address my daughter like you know her, like you've got any sort of affiliation with her. Yes, Senester, I won't lie, you touched a particularly sensitive nerve but what parent wouldn't take in umbrage with someone of your nature speaking directly to their child? And I would kindly thank you not do it again.
And your little bedtime story, whilst a lovely notion but that's all it was Senester, a fairytale, a myth, something that people dream up in a hope that the world they live in could be something more. Me on the other hand, I'm more than mythical and you know it. Our battles in the past, both of the physical and mental nature have left their scars on us both. You can deny it all you want but it's only yourself you're lying to. The fact I once stood at your side, ensuring your will be done, obeying you're every whim, being the "Gladiator of God" had you beaming with pride, with such satisfaction at finally having found a way to corrupt the one incorruptible babyface in HWA history. Punisher, Buff, Dredge, Reaper, Ronnie even Hans; they all submitted to your will, their backs unable to cope with the strain put on them by the hand of God; so severe they had no choice but to join you. But I was different, wasn't I? I used to laugh at the wars between the Alliance and The Horde and then the Revolution. I used to shake my head disparagingly at the offers that came my way to join the war against Senester, to rid the wrestling world of evil. Because I know, even back then in my fledgling HWA tenure, there was no point. I laughed at the arguments the likes of Dredge, Maniac and Nightmare used to make to me, the incentives they'd try and entice me with. After all, what was the point in cutting of the head of a hydra if two more would simply take its place?
You are, despite everything else, everlasting, Senester and if I can paraphrase Heath Ledger from The Dark Knight, I think you and I are destined to do this forever. And in some cases, both of us are a perfect representation of the caped crusader and the clown prince of crime. I won't rid my life of you over some misplaced sense of self-righteousness and a debt that can never be repaid. And on the other side of that coin, you won't ever see me anywhere apart from in a HWA ring dancing to your tune because I'm too much fun. You don't just love me Senester, you need me, in every sense and permutation of the word. You'd have me in your bed naked beside you, standing at your door with a sidearm on my hip, my hand on the handle, my index finger hovering seductively over the trigger, in the ring taking care of business or posing, muscles taut, strewn across on the cover of Sports Illustrated. You are addicted to me Senester. You have to have me. I'm the toy you never get tired of playing with and when you're done with one game, you'll simply fabricate and manipulate a new way of playing with me.
Butch stops talking for a moment, lowering his head in contemplation on his next words. About ten seconds pass before he speaks again.
(Butch): Only this time you've chosen a new playmate to invite over to play in Michael James. I know he's nothing but a pawn to you though only he's too blinded not only by hatred of me and my wife but by the shimmering gold plates and intoxicating smell of the leather strap that make the HWA Championship belt to know otherwise. Michael James carries absolutely nothing that interests you, least of longevity. He's but a tool for you to use against me but where has he been since HWA's black veil was lifted? I hear he only showed up at Havoc because Shevington threatened to sue him for breach of contract.
I'm going to beat Michael James at Road to Ruin, Senester and nothing will stop that. See I know what you're capable of and that's why I know Wisdom doesn't need to be harmed whilst ringside ergo I need not have to trust your assurances. I know full well your reach stretches farther than just physical harm to garner the attention of someone you want focused elsewhere. You manipulated Thane Givens at Forbidden 2004 to desecrate my brother's grave; you ensured I missed the birth of my daughter; you made me think the twins Minerva gave birth to were mine. All these despicable deeds you managed to conjure and in inflict all manner of suffering upon me. So forgive me for not being taken by a paltry scrap of paper with your name scribbled afoot a paragraph stating no harm will come to my wife!
Go ahead, make your demands and quote all the legal stipulations of Wisdom's contract you like. I will make my own preparations and I promise you she will see me enter that cage and my eyes will lock hers at both the opening and closing bells and the only light she'll see extinguish will be that of Michael James when the referee is forced to drag me off of his unconscious body after my fists, knees, elbows and feet are done ensuring his main event bonus cheque is spent on hospital bills paying to repair the damage I've done!
Butch can feel himself getting more fired up the more he speaks, almost shaking as the adrenalin pumps through him. He takes a brief moment to compose himself before carrying on.
(Butch): Seeing as you like nursery rhymes and fairy tales so much, allow me to share one my mother shared with me and my brother and sister at many a bedside.
Once a fox and a wildcat met in a clearing on the outskirts of a village.
"This is a dangerous place," said the cat, "infested with wolves."
"Wolves don't bother me," boasted the fox. "I know a hundred ways to get away from those stupid animals."
Just then they saw a pack of wolves coming.
"Goodbye, friend," said the cat. "I'd better be going. Unlike you I know only one way to get away from wolves and that is to climb up a tree."
And saying that the cat sped up a tall tree.
The fox then waited there for the wolves to come nearer to demonstrate the tricks it knew to get away from the wolves.
Now, the good thing about this is my mum let us make up our own endings before telling us the real one. We used to come with loads.
I used to say the fox told the wolves a joke which they enjoyed and instead of killing him, accepted him as one of its own. My brother used to say the fox challenged the wolves to a race but he was overconfident and didn't realise how quick the wolves were. He ended being caught and the wolves gobbled the fox up. My sister said the fox was smart and told the wolves he knew how to get the cat down from the tree. Taken in by the fox's plan, the wolves were so engrossed in getting the cat that he did not notice the fox slip away and escape. But the real ending is much different:
The fox tried every trick he knew to try and outsmart the wolves but they all failed. He then thought of a very clever idea and at once he ran away as fast as he could. Once a short distance away, the fox stopped and started howling. Just then, dozens of foxes turned up. The fox shared his plan with his kin to chase the wolves and led them quietly down a path where a mighty lion lay sleeping at the end of a clearing, a lioness curled up next to him along with a sole cub. Running into the path where the lions slept, the foxes howled again. Following the howling the wolves stumbled into the clearing as the lions woke up.
"WHO DARES TO WAKE ME UP?!" roared the male lion. The wolves looked around and the foxes were nowhere to be seen. Foolishly one of the wolves went to attack the cub whilst another went for his mate only to be killed with two single swipes of his mighty paw.
"I only want to be left alone with my family," said the lion, "if you leave me in peace now I shall spare lest you meet the same fate as your friends."
The wolves looked to the lion and to the dead bodies of their pack members and decide that discretion is the better part of valour and take their leave.
Do you want to know the moral of that story? Don't wake a sleeping lion and if you do, don't f*** with his Pride. You may get away with it once, a hundred, a thousand times but in the end, you'll get bit.
And with that, Butch cuts the feed, turns around and the leaves the room as well as the house. He grabs his bag on his way out to car as the scene fades to black.
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