History Lesson; a Wulf Erikssen RP
May 10, 2016 15:42:59 GMT -5
Post by pete on May 10, 2016 15:42:59 GMT -5
The camera fades up on a dark sky, rain washing down on two armies. The larger army surrounds a fortress. As the two armies stand opposed, a siege developing, a voice over begins, with the speaker doing their very best Don LaFontaine impression.
Narrator: Since age immemorial… two mortal foes have stood opposed to each other, at every turn. One side, a force of light, of truth, of justice.
The image concentrates on the defenders of the fortress, brave, stoic warriors, standing true regardless of facing overwhelming odds.
Narrator: Their foes… the darkest force ever known to man. Scum, inherently evil by way of birth. Cowards and villains to a man and woman…
The image washes over the opposing army, monstrous in design and disposition, as they regard the defenders through beady, hate filled eyes.
Narrator: Throughout history, conflict between the two forces has been inevitable. Time and time again they clash, a battle seemingly endless…
An arrows is loosed from the fortress, spearing one of the marauding horde through its throat. There is deathly still as both sides consider the action.
Narrator: And this Saturday doomed to be repeated.
As the larger army charges, a woman walks in front of the image, dressed in a plain white t-shirt and hipster jeans. She seems somewhat lost and confused by what’s going on, as if she’s just wandered in from the outside world not expecting all this to be going on. After a moment, she stops and looks at the video unfolding behind her.
Jolyne Dysart: Is that the Battle of Helm’s Deep?
Narrator: The constant dance of death between… The English and the French.
Jolyne Dysart: That’s not the English and the French. That’s the Rohirrim and the Orcs.
The battle in the background suddenly stops, a pause symbol appearing in the background. From the other side of the image walks Wulf Erikssen, dressed in a green tunic, green tights, with a green felt hat with a red feather sticking out the top of it. As soon as Jolyne sees him approach, her eyes roll.
Wulf Erikssen: Come on Jo, can’t you see I’m trying to do a thing here?
Jolyne Dysart: Why the Hell are you dressed as Peter Pan?
Wulf looks surprised, before looking at himself, a look of confusion quickly washing over his face.
Wulf Erikssen: What are you talking about? This is Robin Hood.
Jolyne’s eyebrow arches.
Jolyne Dysart: That is definitely Peter Pan.
Wulf shakes his head.
Wulf Erikssen: Look, I’m trying to make a metaphor here. Highlighting an epic Battle of Anglo-Franco history…
Jolyne Dysart: The Lord Of The Rings trilogy…
Wulf Erikssen: … all whilst dressed as a hero of that very same conflict…
Jolyne Dysart: Robin Hood is fictional. So’s Peter Pan. Neither fought the French.
Wulf Erikssen: … to highlight the importance of this battle, as two proud English warriors take on the French menace.
Jolyne Dysart: I’m not English. Sophie’s not French.
Wulf Erikssen: She’s not?
Jolyne Dysart: No, she’s not. She’s Canadian, actua-
Wulf Erikssen: AHA! That’s the same thing.
Jolyne Dysart: That’s not the same thing.
Wulf Erikssen: That’s so the same thing.
Jolyne pinches the bridge of her nose.
Jolyne Dysart: I.. I can’t tell you how wrong you are.
Wulf Erikssen: Because I’m right. That’s logic that.
Jolyne Dysart: I’m… I’m just going to sit over here. I’m getting a migraine.
Jolyne walks out of shot.
Wulf Erikssen: You do that. Rest that brain. Maybe dismount that high horse whilst you’re at it. Right, now where was I… right! Agincourt!
Wulf turns to face the camera as Jolyne’s voice shouts back from off camera.
Jolyne Dysart: HELM’S DEEP!
Wulf Erikssen: St. Crispin’s Day! Somewhere between 6 and 9 thousand English lined off against 12 to 36 thousand French. End of the day, a hundred odd English dead, to nearer 10 thousand French. Wiped the floor with them. Why the history lesson?
He smiles.
Wulf Erikssen: On Saturday, history repeats itself in Johnson City, as we have Battle Of Agincourt II. On one side, representing, Robin Hood, the hero of that historic conflict…
Jolyne Dysart: WRONG TIME PERIOD!
Wulf Erikssen: … represented by me, Sir Wulf of Erikssen, accompanied by my faithful squire, Lady Jolyne of Dysart!
An aggravated sigh is heard from off screen.
Wulf Erikssen: And who stands opposite us? Who is the vile and dastardly Napoleon to my noble and heroic Robin Hood?
Jolyne Dysart: I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHERE TO START EXPLAINING HOW WRONG THAT ONE IS.
Wulf Erikssen: Why it’s our old friend Lady Mags, with the bird under her wing Anastasia Starling.
Jolyne Dysart: SOPHIE EL!
Wulf Erikssen: Right, right. I swear Mags picks up more orphans than Fagin. Anyhow, here we stand, against this foe, and you know what? I’m willing to call us the underdogs.
Jolyne Dysart: What.
A furious Jolyne stomps back into view, pushing herself chest to chest with Erikssen. He turns to face her.
Jolyne Dysart: What the hell do you mean, Underdogs?
Wulf Erikssen: Ain’t nowt wrong with being the Underdog, Jo.
Jolyne Dysart: You’re better than Diet Lasiewicz. I’m better than the girl with a memory problem and a Prince ripoff surname. We’re not the underdogs.
Wulf Erikssen suddenly turns back to face the camera, wide smile on his face.
Wulf Erikssen: Jolyne Dysart, ladies and gentlemen, my padawan.
Jolyne Dysart: This isn’t Star Wars! This is serious!
Wulf Erikssen: Excuse her. The impetuous nature of youth and all that.
Jolyne Dysart: Hey, I am still here you know.
Wulf Erikssen: Like I could ever forget.
Jolyne Dysart: And what the hell is that meant to mean?
Wulf Erikssen: Nothing. Just listen a minute, will you?
Jolyne crosses her arms, raises an eyebrow, and shoots Wulf a look that says “Go ahead then, make a fool of yourself.”
Wulf Erikssen: Right now, where was I… right! Underdogs. See, I’ve done my homework. Sitting around the house in Hawai’i, gives you lots of time to watch tapes. And I’ll admit, I’m impressed. Unlike Jolyne over there, I didn’t get where I am in this game by just discounting opponents out of hand. Mags is good. I mean former World Champion good. I mean Lasiewicz good. Now I know there are still some people in this game who’ll tremble at the sound of that name alone. Me? I’ve had enough dances with Andreas to respect the name, but not to fear it.
Jolyne Dysart: Yeah, but she’s not Andreas though.
Wulf Erikssen: If you’d let me actually finish, I was getting to that, but not in the way you’re thinking. Yeah, she ain’t Andreas. You think that means she’s the inferior one. No, she ain’t inferior. She’s different. She’s got the same temperament, no doubt, the same mindset. Stuff like that’s genetic, there’s no avoiding it. But she’s different too. Mad as a box of frogs for one thing. Which is ironic because, you know, French. She’s also got that whole puppet master thing going on. Wait. Puppet mistress? Whatever. She likes to get in your head and play about with you. Pull your strings. And she’s really, really good at it. Unluckily for her, that’s not going to work on me.
Jolyne Dysart: Why?
Wulf Erikssen: Will you stop interrupting me? It’s not going to work on me, because over the years, I’ve perfected a countermeasure to such in-ring manipulations. When I’m in that ring, my mind is a blank slate. My head, entirely empty.
Jolyne Dysart: HAH! No disagreement here.
Wulf Erikssen: AND THEN there’s Sophie. Yes, I do know who I’m actually facing. I don’t know, you have a bit of a laugh, try not to take things too seriously, and people get this idea you’re actually that thick. Now look, I know people are rushing to make this a “Teacher/Student” thing. It’s an obvious pairing. Everyone’s all “Well, Wulf and Mags will have a barney, and Jo and Soph will fight.” Like everybody’s forgotten what the hell Tag Team wrestling actually is. It isn’t “you fight you and you fight you and we’ll take it in turns”. Doesn’t work like that. So I’m not about to sit here and discount the “student”. Did you all see the Young Guns thing? I did. And I saw what she can do. And you know, I ain’t ever fought one, but I’ve heard of the Kaisers. Even if she don’t think she is one, she is one. Like I said before with Lassie and Magz - genetics. Your mindset may be different, shaped by your circumstances, your upbringing, etc. But your body? Bodies don’t lie.
Jolyne Dysart: But…
Wulf Erikssen: But nothing. Like I said, retired life gives you plenty of time to sit and watch TV. So I’ve sat and I’ve watched plenty. There’s more than a hint of Mags about how she fights. It’s to be expected. People say the same about me and Jo, for obvious reasons. But in Sophie’s case… there’s something else. Something different. Most probably don’t see it. But I do. It’s like… You ever seen a wrestler try to hide who they are? Under a mask or whatever? I have. I mean, I actually did it, twice, for different reasons. And they’ll try and hide their style. Now a wrestler’s style, you might as well call it a fingerprint. It’s ingrained on their psyche as well as their body. Now, it can be hidden. It can be concealed. But it’s still there, underneath. So when you see one of these guys… hiding themselves, you can tell. It’s like watching someone who’s only ever driven manual drive automatic… or drive on the wrong side of the road for the first time. They can do it, the skill’s there. But something’s… off. You know? I probably ain’t explaining myself well. I’m not saying that they’re going to do worse because they’re pretending to be something they ain’t. I’m saying it makes them unpredictable, because their body don’t tell right. And that’s a difficult thing to fight against.
He turns to Jolyne.
Wulf Erikssen: And that’s what makes us the underdogs, Jo. Because with this pair, there’s layer on layer on layer, like a big onion salad. But you and me, what you see is all you get. It’s all out there, for all to see. What that means is, well… we’re outmatched. Outgunned. We’re the underdogs, but we’re scrappy, a lot like…?
Jolyne is already facepalming. Wulf blindly carries on.
Wulf Erikssen: AGINCOURT. Finally, thanks in no small part to constant interruptions, my metaphor is complete. I thank you.
Wulf bows to the camera, whilst Jolyne slowly shakes her head.
Jolyne Dysart: HOW WAS ANY OF THAT EVEN REMOTELY HELPFUL? YOU JUST BLEW A LOAD OF SMOKE UP THEIR ASSES!
Wulf Erikssen: Jo, how many championships have I won?
Jolyne Dysart: 9. You’ve won 9. 8 of which were tag titles.
Wulf looks a little shocked.
Wulf Erikssen: OK a little freaked out by how you had that information sat there at the top of your head but fine whatever. Yes, you’re right. 9. And in how many of those fights was I going in as the big name, or part of the stronger, more famous, more established team?
Jolyne looks confused.
Wulf Erikssen: Exactly. I’ve been outgunned. Out skilled. Out weighed. Out everythinged. And still, when it’s mattered, I’ve won. It ain’t about the size of the dog in the fight, Jo, it’s about the size of the fight in the dog. And when you take all of that, and lay it out on the table?
Wulf shrugs.
Wulf Erikssen: Being the underdog ain’t so bad.
Wulf smiles, and winks at his younger student. She just stops, and looks at him. Her head moves from his face, to the frozen image from the Battle Of Helm’s Deep, still where it was paused, and back to him, looking him up from from toes to head. The look on her face moves from frustration, to confusion, to understanding, to outright anger, to smug superiority all in a matter of moments. She stares him in the eye, almost looking like she’s about to go off on some kind of rant, before simply stamping her foot in frustration.
Jolyne Dysart: You’re still dressed as Peter Pan.
She turns on her heel, and stamps off screen. Wulf watches her go a moment, hand clutched to his heart, miming as if he’s been shot, watching as she goes. He calls after her.
Wulf Erikssen: IT’S ROBIN HOOD!
He starts to jog after her, before stopping, pulling a remote out of his pocket, and pointing it at the screen, the image cutting to black. After only a second, it comes back to life, this time with Wulf’s face in extreme close up, as he’s apparently stood right in front of the lens. He smiles.
Wulf Erikssen: Oh right, nearly forgot. Tune in! It’s going to be a Riot!
He smiles his trademark broad grin a moment, before the screen once more cuts to black.
Narrator: Since age immemorial… two mortal foes have stood opposed to each other, at every turn. One side, a force of light, of truth, of justice.
The image concentrates on the defenders of the fortress, brave, stoic warriors, standing true regardless of facing overwhelming odds.
Narrator: Their foes… the darkest force ever known to man. Scum, inherently evil by way of birth. Cowards and villains to a man and woman…
The image washes over the opposing army, monstrous in design and disposition, as they regard the defenders through beady, hate filled eyes.
Narrator: Throughout history, conflict between the two forces has been inevitable. Time and time again they clash, a battle seemingly endless…
An arrows is loosed from the fortress, spearing one of the marauding horde through its throat. There is deathly still as both sides consider the action.
Narrator: And this Saturday doomed to be repeated.
As the larger army charges, a woman walks in front of the image, dressed in a plain white t-shirt and hipster jeans. She seems somewhat lost and confused by what’s going on, as if she’s just wandered in from the outside world not expecting all this to be going on. After a moment, she stops and looks at the video unfolding behind her.
Jolyne Dysart: Is that the Battle of Helm’s Deep?
Narrator: The constant dance of death between… The English and the French.
Jolyne Dysart: That’s not the English and the French. That’s the Rohirrim and the Orcs.
The battle in the background suddenly stops, a pause symbol appearing in the background. From the other side of the image walks Wulf Erikssen, dressed in a green tunic, green tights, with a green felt hat with a red feather sticking out the top of it. As soon as Jolyne sees him approach, her eyes roll.
Wulf Erikssen: Come on Jo, can’t you see I’m trying to do a thing here?
Jolyne Dysart: Why the Hell are you dressed as Peter Pan?
Wulf looks surprised, before looking at himself, a look of confusion quickly washing over his face.
Wulf Erikssen: What are you talking about? This is Robin Hood.
Jolyne’s eyebrow arches.
Jolyne Dysart: That is definitely Peter Pan.
Wulf shakes his head.
Wulf Erikssen: Look, I’m trying to make a metaphor here. Highlighting an epic Battle of Anglo-Franco history…
Jolyne Dysart: The Lord Of The Rings trilogy…
Wulf Erikssen: … all whilst dressed as a hero of that very same conflict…
Jolyne Dysart: Robin Hood is fictional. So’s Peter Pan. Neither fought the French.
Wulf Erikssen: … to highlight the importance of this battle, as two proud English warriors take on the French menace.
Jolyne Dysart: I’m not English. Sophie’s not French.
Wulf Erikssen: She’s not?
Jolyne Dysart: No, she’s not. She’s Canadian, actua-
Wulf Erikssen: AHA! That’s the same thing.
Jolyne Dysart: That’s not the same thing.
Wulf Erikssen: That’s so the same thing.
Jolyne pinches the bridge of her nose.
Jolyne Dysart: I.. I can’t tell you how wrong you are.
Wulf Erikssen: Because I’m right. That’s logic that.
Jolyne Dysart: I’m… I’m just going to sit over here. I’m getting a migraine.
Jolyne walks out of shot.
Wulf Erikssen: You do that. Rest that brain. Maybe dismount that high horse whilst you’re at it. Right, now where was I… right! Agincourt!
Wulf turns to face the camera as Jolyne’s voice shouts back from off camera.
Jolyne Dysart: HELM’S DEEP!
Wulf Erikssen: St. Crispin’s Day! Somewhere between 6 and 9 thousand English lined off against 12 to 36 thousand French. End of the day, a hundred odd English dead, to nearer 10 thousand French. Wiped the floor with them. Why the history lesson?
He smiles.
Wulf Erikssen: On Saturday, history repeats itself in Johnson City, as we have Battle Of Agincourt II. On one side, representing, Robin Hood, the hero of that historic conflict…
Jolyne Dysart: WRONG TIME PERIOD!
Wulf Erikssen: … represented by me, Sir Wulf of Erikssen, accompanied by my faithful squire, Lady Jolyne of Dysart!
An aggravated sigh is heard from off screen.
Wulf Erikssen: And who stands opposite us? Who is the vile and dastardly Napoleon to my noble and heroic Robin Hood?
Jolyne Dysart: I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHERE TO START EXPLAINING HOW WRONG THAT ONE IS.
Wulf Erikssen: Why it’s our old friend Lady Mags, with the bird under her wing Anastasia Starling.
Jolyne Dysart: SOPHIE EL!
Wulf Erikssen: Right, right. I swear Mags picks up more orphans than Fagin. Anyhow, here we stand, against this foe, and you know what? I’m willing to call us the underdogs.
Jolyne Dysart: What.
A furious Jolyne stomps back into view, pushing herself chest to chest with Erikssen. He turns to face her.
Jolyne Dysart: What the hell do you mean, Underdogs?
Wulf Erikssen: Ain’t nowt wrong with being the Underdog, Jo.
Jolyne Dysart: You’re better than Diet Lasiewicz. I’m better than the girl with a memory problem and a Prince ripoff surname. We’re not the underdogs.
Wulf Erikssen suddenly turns back to face the camera, wide smile on his face.
Wulf Erikssen: Jolyne Dysart, ladies and gentlemen, my padawan.
Jolyne Dysart: This isn’t Star Wars! This is serious!
Wulf Erikssen: Excuse her. The impetuous nature of youth and all that.
Jolyne Dysart: Hey, I am still here you know.
Wulf Erikssen: Like I could ever forget.
Jolyne Dysart: And what the hell is that meant to mean?
Wulf Erikssen: Nothing. Just listen a minute, will you?
Jolyne crosses her arms, raises an eyebrow, and shoots Wulf a look that says “Go ahead then, make a fool of yourself.”
Wulf Erikssen: Right now, where was I… right! Underdogs. See, I’ve done my homework. Sitting around the house in Hawai’i, gives you lots of time to watch tapes. And I’ll admit, I’m impressed. Unlike Jolyne over there, I didn’t get where I am in this game by just discounting opponents out of hand. Mags is good. I mean former World Champion good. I mean Lasiewicz good. Now I know there are still some people in this game who’ll tremble at the sound of that name alone. Me? I’ve had enough dances with Andreas to respect the name, but not to fear it.
Jolyne Dysart: Yeah, but she’s not Andreas though.
Wulf Erikssen: If you’d let me actually finish, I was getting to that, but not in the way you’re thinking. Yeah, she ain’t Andreas. You think that means she’s the inferior one. No, she ain’t inferior. She’s different. She’s got the same temperament, no doubt, the same mindset. Stuff like that’s genetic, there’s no avoiding it. But she’s different too. Mad as a box of frogs for one thing. Which is ironic because, you know, French. She’s also got that whole puppet master thing going on. Wait. Puppet mistress? Whatever. She likes to get in your head and play about with you. Pull your strings. And she’s really, really good at it. Unluckily for her, that’s not going to work on me.
Jolyne Dysart: Why?
Wulf Erikssen: Will you stop interrupting me? It’s not going to work on me, because over the years, I’ve perfected a countermeasure to such in-ring manipulations. When I’m in that ring, my mind is a blank slate. My head, entirely empty.
Jolyne Dysart: HAH! No disagreement here.
Wulf Erikssen: AND THEN there’s Sophie. Yes, I do know who I’m actually facing. I don’t know, you have a bit of a laugh, try not to take things too seriously, and people get this idea you’re actually that thick. Now look, I know people are rushing to make this a “Teacher/Student” thing. It’s an obvious pairing. Everyone’s all “Well, Wulf and Mags will have a barney, and Jo and Soph will fight.” Like everybody’s forgotten what the hell Tag Team wrestling actually is. It isn’t “you fight you and you fight you and we’ll take it in turns”. Doesn’t work like that. So I’m not about to sit here and discount the “student”. Did you all see the Young Guns thing? I did. And I saw what she can do. And you know, I ain’t ever fought one, but I’ve heard of the Kaisers. Even if she don’t think she is one, she is one. Like I said before with Lassie and Magz - genetics. Your mindset may be different, shaped by your circumstances, your upbringing, etc. But your body? Bodies don’t lie.
Jolyne Dysart: But…
Wulf Erikssen: But nothing. Like I said, retired life gives you plenty of time to sit and watch TV. So I’ve sat and I’ve watched plenty. There’s more than a hint of Mags about how she fights. It’s to be expected. People say the same about me and Jo, for obvious reasons. But in Sophie’s case… there’s something else. Something different. Most probably don’t see it. But I do. It’s like… You ever seen a wrestler try to hide who they are? Under a mask or whatever? I have. I mean, I actually did it, twice, for different reasons. And they’ll try and hide their style. Now a wrestler’s style, you might as well call it a fingerprint. It’s ingrained on their psyche as well as their body. Now, it can be hidden. It can be concealed. But it’s still there, underneath. So when you see one of these guys… hiding themselves, you can tell. It’s like watching someone who’s only ever driven manual drive automatic… or drive on the wrong side of the road for the first time. They can do it, the skill’s there. But something’s… off. You know? I probably ain’t explaining myself well. I’m not saying that they’re going to do worse because they’re pretending to be something they ain’t. I’m saying it makes them unpredictable, because their body don’t tell right. And that’s a difficult thing to fight against.
He turns to Jolyne.
Wulf Erikssen: And that’s what makes us the underdogs, Jo. Because with this pair, there’s layer on layer on layer, like a big onion salad. But you and me, what you see is all you get. It’s all out there, for all to see. What that means is, well… we’re outmatched. Outgunned. We’re the underdogs, but we’re scrappy, a lot like…?
Jolyne is already facepalming. Wulf blindly carries on.
Wulf Erikssen: AGINCOURT. Finally, thanks in no small part to constant interruptions, my metaphor is complete. I thank you.
Wulf bows to the camera, whilst Jolyne slowly shakes her head.
Jolyne Dysart: HOW WAS ANY OF THAT EVEN REMOTELY HELPFUL? YOU JUST BLEW A LOAD OF SMOKE UP THEIR ASSES!
Wulf Erikssen: Jo, how many championships have I won?
Jolyne Dysart: 9. You’ve won 9. 8 of which were tag titles.
Wulf looks a little shocked.
Wulf Erikssen: OK a little freaked out by how you had that information sat there at the top of your head but fine whatever. Yes, you’re right. 9. And in how many of those fights was I going in as the big name, or part of the stronger, more famous, more established team?
Jolyne looks confused.
Wulf Erikssen: Exactly. I’ve been outgunned. Out skilled. Out weighed. Out everythinged. And still, when it’s mattered, I’ve won. It ain’t about the size of the dog in the fight, Jo, it’s about the size of the fight in the dog. And when you take all of that, and lay it out on the table?
Wulf shrugs.
Wulf Erikssen: Being the underdog ain’t so bad.
Wulf smiles, and winks at his younger student. She just stops, and looks at him. Her head moves from his face, to the frozen image from the Battle Of Helm’s Deep, still where it was paused, and back to him, looking him up from from toes to head. The look on her face moves from frustration, to confusion, to understanding, to outright anger, to smug superiority all in a matter of moments. She stares him in the eye, almost looking like she’s about to go off on some kind of rant, before simply stamping her foot in frustration.
Jolyne Dysart: You’re still dressed as Peter Pan.
She turns on her heel, and stamps off screen. Wulf watches her go a moment, hand clutched to his heart, miming as if he’s been shot, watching as she goes. He calls after her.
Wulf Erikssen: IT’S ROBIN HOOD!
He starts to jog after her, before stopping, pulling a remote out of his pocket, and pointing it at the screen, the image cutting to black. After only a second, it comes back to life, this time with Wulf’s face in extreme close up, as he’s apparently stood right in front of the lens. He smiles.
Wulf Erikssen: Oh right, nearly forgot. Tune in! It’s going to be a Riot!
He smiles his trademark broad grin a moment, before the screen once more cuts to black.