Making Discos of Your Castles, We Are Tearing Up Your Plans
Dec 12, 2015 10:16:37 GMT -5
Post by Black Adder on Dec 12, 2015 10:16:37 GMT -5
The lights are dim but there’s a faint glow that reveals Hana Song staring forward, her eyes piercing through the dark clearly unamused by what it is she’s looking towards. Her right hand is cradled around her chin while her left periodically taps fingers against the marble counter top. From off-camera the familiar voice of Geoff Panzer is heard, commentating on the pre and post-match attack Hana was involved in at the previous Lion’s Den event. After clicking the roof of her mouth, her right hand touches an object on the counter and the glow that was bathing her visage goes out completely.
Footsteps follow as Hana enters a room with natural lighting – the view outside is bleak, a dreary grey winter morning with a leafless tree punctuating the ambiance. Hana stands illuminated by the window, arms crossed and fingers picking at the seams of her black jacket.
“Was I not clear with my words, or were you cretins too busy looking up the definition of ‘catalyst’ since apparently words seem to confuse you people when they’re not from the textbooks of primary education. That means first grade, in case you were curious. I shouldn’t have to ask, the statement of intent made at the previous Pride was quite clear and yet…radio silence from everyone that matters and a match with someone who got lost and can’t seem to follow the signs to find the exit.”
“Is this supposed to be damage control? While Terrible Terrence Tilman and Nest hit the re-do button on their match because they’re in bed together – figuratively, anyway – I’m saddled with a person who found a way to make a college degree useless, and normally that sort of thing is reserved for English majors. Reward those who don’t deserve it while you punish the person you erroneously believe to be throwing a tantrum and blowing hot air. Fine. Then what happens is on you. On all of you. You were warned.”
“Aric Keaton…what are you doing here? I’d say that this was some sort of hazing ritual but only the truly worthless still hang around fraternities after graduation. You’re a lost little lamb and that’s all you’ll ever be until you wise up and realize that you don’t belong here. Think about it for a few seconds. You’ve won, what, two matches and ever since you’ve been struggling to keep yourself afloat. You’re wearing a wolf costume and praying that the predators don’t realize what an easy victim is waiting in their midst.”
“Which is unfortunate for you because you’re no longer wasting time with the likes of Jack Bukowski – and no wonder you held a victory over him he offered shockingly little resistance backstage – or Kellen Klein. How apropos that you get to meet Pride’s most lethal hunter and she just so happens to be in the mood for lamb. In terms you can understand, what you’re up against at Pride is your final exam and you’ve spent the entire week trying to prepare in vain.”
“My goal with you, Aric, isn’t to just win, it’s to do to you what we did to Bukowski; you can take comfort in knowing that you’re not the first nor will you be the last. You think this place is painful? That it’s aggressive? You have no idea. But don’t worry, once you wake up backstage, wrapped in bandages and nursing a head pain worse than any of your Vanderbilt hangovers, you’ll finally realize that some boring office job at an investment firm is where you belong.”
“I’m going to make you quit, Aric. You’ve lost before but not like you’re going to Because your loss isn’t the point I’ll be making; the Lion’s Den knows well my capabilities and that my threats are never empty, no, the point is that you’re going to be made an example of. I obviously wasn’t clear last time – perhaps they assume that a backstage assault means nothing. If I have to take out the trash to finally get you people paying attention…so be it. Tell your buddy to stay in the crowd, because anyone that tries to stop me is meeting the same fate as Bukowski…and the same fate as you, Aric.”
“You’re all invited to the Expulsion of Aric Keaton. Bring some smelling salts.”
~
After the video ends in a fade, Hana slumps down onto a couch next to an end table adorned with a little Christmas tree, her hand on her forehead.
“You know, you can’t really talk about useless degrees, right?” Tiffany, after checking the footage, joins Hana on the couch.
“It’s not my degree. It has your name on it.”
“Mm…yeah…funny, though…I don’t remember going to graduation. Or po-”
“Stop. We’re not talking about this. What’s done is done. No going back now.”
Footsteps follow as Hana enters a room with natural lighting – the view outside is bleak, a dreary grey winter morning with a leafless tree punctuating the ambiance. Hana stands illuminated by the window, arms crossed and fingers picking at the seams of her black jacket.
“Was I not clear with my words, or were you cretins too busy looking up the definition of ‘catalyst’ since apparently words seem to confuse you people when they’re not from the textbooks of primary education. That means first grade, in case you were curious. I shouldn’t have to ask, the statement of intent made at the previous Pride was quite clear and yet…radio silence from everyone that matters and a match with someone who got lost and can’t seem to follow the signs to find the exit.”
“Is this supposed to be damage control? While Terrible Terrence Tilman and Nest hit the re-do button on their match because they’re in bed together – figuratively, anyway – I’m saddled with a person who found a way to make a college degree useless, and normally that sort of thing is reserved for English majors. Reward those who don’t deserve it while you punish the person you erroneously believe to be throwing a tantrum and blowing hot air. Fine. Then what happens is on you. On all of you. You were warned.”
“Aric Keaton…what are you doing here? I’d say that this was some sort of hazing ritual but only the truly worthless still hang around fraternities after graduation. You’re a lost little lamb and that’s all you’ll ever be until you wise up and realize that you don’t belong here. Think about it for a few seconds. You’ve won, what, two matches and ever since you’ve been struggling to keep yourself afloat. You’re wearing a wolf costume and praying that the predators don’t realize what an easy victim is waiting in their midst.”
“Which is unfortunate for you because you’re no longer wasting time with the likes of Jack Bukowski – and no wonder you held a victory over him he offered shockingly little resistance backstage – or Kellen Klein. How apropos that you get to meet Pride’s most lethal hunter and she just so happens to be in the mood for lamb. In terms you can understand, what you’re up against at Pride is your final exam and you’ve spent the entire week trying to prepare in vain.”
“My goal with you, Aric, isn’t to just win, it’s to do to you what we did to Bukowski; you can take comfort in knowing that you’re not the first nor will you be the last. You think this place is painful? That it’s aggressive? You have no idea. But don’t worry, once you wake up backstage, wrapped in bandages and nursing a head pain worse than any of your Vanderbilt hangovers, you’ll finally realize that some boring office job at an investment firm is where you belong.”
“I’m going to make you quit, Aric. You’ve lost before but not like you’re going to Because your loss isn’t the point I’ll be making; the Lion’s Den knows well my capabilities and that my threats are never empty, no, the point is that you’re going to be made an example of. I obviously wasn’t clear last time – perhaps they assume that a backstage assault means nothing. If I have to take out the trash to finally get you people paying attention…so be it. Tell your buddy to stay in the crowd, because anyone that tries to stop me is meeting the same fate as Bukowski…and the same fate as you, Aric.”
“You’re all invited to the Expulsion of Aric Keaton. Bring some smelling salts.”
~
After the video ends in a fade, Hana slumps down onto a couch next to an end table adorned with a little Christmas tree, her hand on her forehead.
“You know, you can’t really talk about useless degrees, right?” Tiffany, after checking the footage, joins Hana on the couch.
“It’s not my degree. It has your name on it.”
“Mm…yeah…funny, though…I don’t remember going to graduation. Or po-”
“Stop. We’re not talking about this. What’s done is done. No going back now.”