Post by Zack Fantana on Mar 11, 2017 2:05:01 GMT -5
"He spins a wicked yarn, I'll tell ya. Resilidance Championship."
With a half-suppressed laugh, Zack Fantana continues to primp his hair in the mirror while he sits at a make-up table in the dressing room of a small theater. Dozens of stagehands and make-up artists hustle around him in preparation for the show, none of which are paying attention to Zack as he rambles on and on.
"What do you say? Am I leading man material?"
He spins in his chair, his hair immaculate as ever with not a single strand out of place, and looks around for an answer from the people who seem to only be confused as to why he's hogging one of the make-up chairs.
"Dare Clemmens cast me as the waiter."
Fantana scoffs.
"He would have you believe that I was only a distraction at Executive Action... The man bringing the championship into the fold was simply a distraction."
Everyone wanders off as Zack settles back into his chair, flexing his fingers.
"That's rich. Dare, you've got a bright future in absurdist fiction, my man."
He leans forward once more and any trace of a smile washes off his face.
"I've got to give credit where credit is due, Clemmens. You've earnt every right to consider yourself a star. You've stepped out on the world stage these past few months, playing globetrotter across several promotions, and you've even added more gold to your résumé. You're making waves and there's little doubt the people have taken notice."
Zack pulls a newspaper that sits amongst all the clippings of reviews for the play presumably showing at the theater.
"And the critics, oh, the critics, they love you so. You've won their hearts with your playful antics, like dropping trou in a gay bar and sending unsolicited dick pics to Bradley Stokes - because as you know, sexual harassment in the workplace is absolutely adorable and should be made light of. And the fans go wild for it.
Seems like everything you do turns to gold these days. You're not just the Teflon man, you are the man and you've got everyone around you telling you so, so who could blame you when you started buying into your own hype? Any detractors that you might have had quickly became the outliers. White noise. And to you, the Resilience division boiled down to a dance between you and Bindy Trent. Anyone that dare step into the way of that is just a distraction from the beautiful music you two make together inside that ring.
This deluded fantasy that you dreamt up has been perpetuated by the yes men you surround yourself with. Your agent Tony Chu has a way of making sweeping generalizations to dismiss other people. It was Chu, after all, who insisted that everyone I'd fought as Resilience Champion up until Executive Action was just trash enabling me to look better than I am, in what may be the laziest broad strokes comment I've ever heard from someone who supposedly evaluates talent for a living. Store bought tripe you'd expect from a fanboy instead of a businessman but you lap it up like a dog all the same.
With that mindset, no one should've been happier than the rest of the Resilience division to have seen Kassandrah recover from her injuries as quickly as she did. Did I or did I not defeat the entire division in a battle royal at one point? I mean, damn, if Tony had been left in charge for an extended period of time, half of you 'trash bags' would be sitting on the curb right now. But at least that would open the door for more Dirty Dancing sequels. Havana Nights. Hepzibah Nights. You name it, folks. It's in the pipeline.
Honestly, Dare, I get it. I totally understand why you'd rather dance that familiar two-step with Bindy Trent than anybody else, because who wouldn't prefer to be lauded with praise instead of opening the door to criticism? Bindy serves you the same Kool-Aid that Tony does. It's probably nice and cozy inside that bubble of friendship you have here in the AWE, Dare. Let's take a look at your schedule: your agent's girlfriend books you in a title fight, your opponent whispers sweet nothings into your ear for two weeks, and then your fluffer Tony Chu strokes your ego so you can keep your edge. It's the perfect system until someone like Austin Gale sticks his nose in and kills your libido.
Fuck, I'll say it; I envy you. I don't have it near as easy here. I have no allies in this company and to top it off, I've got some delusional nutcase named Akragth attempting to sabotage me at every turn just 'because he can'. All this, and I somehow remain confident, because a boardroom that has every reason to hate my guts has given me another chance. That's real validation. You didn't see me begging for a championship rematch after Executive Action, did you? No, I quietly went about my business and hoped it would be enough to earn another shot. Admittedly, it took longer than I expected to handle that business, because a certain attention whore in a white mask decided to play spoiler, but I finally dispelled the myth of 'The Destroyer' when he turned tail and ran and I picked up the victory against an old rival in Tommy Stone. Much to my surprise, the boardroom did the right thing; they gave me my rematch. That means more than you know outside the bubble of favor.
You may attempt to dismiss me as a one match distraction yet again, but I promise you, I am much more than that, Clemmens. Maybe I need to put this into words that speak to you."
Fantana collects a boombox off the cabinet and steps through a door into the pouring rain whilst Peter Gabriel's "In Your Eyes" plays, borrowing basically every romantic movie trope from the 80s and 90s.
"Don't forget I'm just a guy, standing in front of another guy, asking him to pull his head out of his ass."
The water slows to a trickle directly on top of Fantana's head as the camera pulls away to reveal a sound stage.
"The movie's over, champ."
With a half-suppressed laugh, Zack Fantana continues to primp his hair in the mirror while he sits at a make-up table in the dressing room of a small theater. Dozens of stagehands and make-up artists hustle around him in preparation for the show, none of which are paying attention to Zack as he rambles on and on.
"What do you say? Am I leading man material?"
He spins in his chair, his hair immaculate as ever with not a single strand out of place, and looks around for an answer from the people who seem to only be confused as to why he's hogging one of the make-up chairs.
"Dare Clemmens cast me as the waiter."
Fantana scoffs.
"He would have you believe that I was only a distraction at Executive Action... The man bringing the championship into the fold was simply a distraction."
Everyone wanders off as Zack settles back into his chair, flexing his fingers.
"That's rich. Dare, you've got a bright future in absurdist fiction, my man."
He leans forward once more and any trace of a smile washes off his face.
"I've got to give credit where credit is due, Clemmens. You've earnt every right to consider yourself a star. You've stepped out on the world stage these past few months, playing globetrotter across several promotions, and you've even added more gold to your résumé. You're making waves and there's little doubt the people have taken notice."
Zack pulls a newspaper that sits amongst all the clippings of reviews for the play presumably showing at the theater.
"And the critics, oh, the critics, they love you so. You've won their hearts with your playful antics, like dropping trou in a gay bar and sending unsolicited dick pics to Bradley Stokes - because as you know, sexual harassment in the workplace is absolutely adorable and should be made light of. And the fans go wild for it.
Seems like everything you do turns to gold these days. You're not just the Teflon man, you are the man and you've got everyone around you telling you so, so who could blame you when you started buying into your own hype? Any detractors that you might have had quickly became the outliers. White noise. And to you, the Resilience division boiled down to a dance between you and Bindy Trent. Anyone that dare step into the way of that is just a distraction from the beautiful music you two make together inside that ring.
This deluded fantasy that you dreamt up has been perpetuated by the yes men you surround yourself with. Your agent Tony Chu has a way of making sweeping generalizations to dismiss other people. It was Chu, after all, who insisted that everyone I'd fought as Resilience Champion up until Executive Action was just trash enabling me to look better than I am, in what may be the laziest broad strokes comment I've ever heard from someone who supposedly evaluates talent for a living. Store bought tripe you'd expect from a fanboy instead of a businessman but you lap it up like a dog all the same.
With that mindset, no one should've been happier than the rest of the Resilience division to have seen Kassandrah recover from her injuries as quickly as she did. Did I or did I not defeat the entire division in a battle royal at one point? I mean, damn, if Tony had been left in charge for an extended period of time, half of you 'trash bags' would be sitting on the curb right now. But at least that would open the door for more Dirty Dancing sequels. Havana Nights. Hepzibah Nights. You name it, folks. It's in the pipeline.
Honestly, Dare, I get it. I totally understand why you'd rather dance that familiar two-step with Bindy Trent than anybody else, because who wouldn't prefer to be lauded with praise instead of opening the door to criticism? Bindy serves you the same Kool-Aid that Tony does. It's probably nice and cozy inside that bubble of friendship you have here in the AWE, Dare. Let's take a look at your schedule: your agent's girlfriend books you in a title fight, your opponent whispers sweet nothings into your ear for two weeks, and then your fluffer Tony Chu strokes your ego so you can keep your edge. It's the perfect system until someone like Austin Gale sticks his nose in and kills your libido.
Fuck, I'll say it; I envy you. I don't have it near as easy here. I have no allies in this company and to top it off, I've got some delusional nutcase named Akragth attempting to sabotage me at every turn just 'because he can'. All this, and I somehow remain confident, because a boardroom that has every reason to hate my guts has given me another chance. That's real validation. You didn't see me begging for a championship rematch after Executive Action, did you? No, I quietly went about my business and hoped it would be enough to earn another shot. Admittedly, it took longer than I expected to handle that business, because a certain attention whore in a white mask decided to play spoiler, but I finally dispelled the myth of 'The Destroyer' when he turned tail and ran and I picked up the victory against an old rival in Tommy Stone. Much to my surprise, the boardroom did the right thing; they gave me my rematch. That means more than you know outside the bubble of favor.
You may attempt to dismiss me as a one match distraction yet again, but I promise you, I am much more than that, Clemmens. Maybe I need to put this into words that speak to you."
Fantana collects a boombox off the cabinet and steps through a door into the pouring rain whilst Peter Gabriel's "In Your Eyes" plays, borrowing basically every romantic movie trope from the 80s and 90s.
"Don't forget I'm just a guy, standing in front of another guy, asking him to pull his head out of his ass."
The water slows to a trickle directly on top of Fantana's head as the camera pulls away to reveal a sound stage.
"The movie's over, champ."