Post by Odin Balfore on Mar 12, 2022 22:41:19 GMT -5
BATTLE BOWL
"KING NOTHING" PART I
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"A throne made of mold. A Kingdom of scorn. A Crown made of lies. Where’s your crown, King Nothing?"
"KING NOTHING" PART I
_____________________________
"A throne made of mold. A Kingdom of scorn. A Crown made of lies. Where’s your crown, King Nothing?"
DENMARK.
A clear night, dancing and twirling of neon colors. Souls cross the rainbow bridge tonight as one soul looks on; a kingdom above him that he can not reach. His arm extends with fingers wriggling trying to touch what he cannot feel. From shoreline to the frozen beach to frosted pine over to the warming heart of Soro. It was two hundred yards from the beach, through the trees, and into the small town on the East shore of Denmark. We follow Odin as he makes his way into town and into a cafe, Kæmpe Hjerte. He sits down and orders hot tea and a scone. The spoon clinks against the side as stirs his sugar and his cream. As he sips the cup, it disappears in his large hands. He puts the cup down, revealing it like a magic trick. You could see the weight shedding off of Odin's shoulders as he sinks back into his padded IKEA chair. He lifts his hands off the table for a moment as if to speak but then puts them back down.
“I’m back in Denmark after such a long time. The TV Championship is back in Texas. This is a trip that I needed to make on my own. I have both the TV Championship to defend and Battlebowl to wrestle in. The winner gets the last spot in Havoc and then goes on to face Corey Black, potentially.”
Odin's eyes peered off into an unknowing void but there was fire smoldering behind them.
“Corey Black. Potentially.” He repeats. “The World title.” He corrects, rubbing his left collar bone softly. The Echoing of wrestling bells chimed in his head and a roar of a crowd long since forgotten. The fading announcement of the world championship. He looks away and to the right.
“Believe a man-” He starts, pausing to take a deep breath. “When he tells you who he is. A man should be able to believe himself. A man should be able to face himself.” Odin takes his small cup in his hands again, contemplating another sip.
“ A Championship should be able to bear down on all challengers and -”
*CRUNCH*
The small ceramic cup chips and fractures in his grasp.
“I’m sorry.” He whispers as a staff member comes over with a towel.
“Are you ok,” She asks, wiping up the table as Odin looks at her then back to the cup.
“I - I don’t know,” He replies. “I guess I don’t know my own strength.” He says with wide eyes and looking at his hands.
“We’ll get you a new one,” Says the woman reassuringly, taking the cup from Odin.
“I’d like that, I think. But I should leave. I’m sorry.” Odin apologizes again as he gets up to leave but the woman reassures him.
“It’s alright. Take one to go. It’s cold outside.” She quickly makes another hot tea for Odin and hands it to him in a to-go cup. “Better?” She asks, waiting for Odin's approval to which he responds with a nod. He lifts it to say ‘thanks’ and walks for the door.
We follow Odin back outside into the cold as he walks along the quiet streets, the clacking of his heels on the sidewalk. He picks up again after he’s a few yards from the cafe.
“When do I stop apologizing for who I am? These Violent Hands. That Cursed Idol. You all still come to work and yet I still - deep down… Deep down, I want you to. I understand that I will get many lectures from many women who wish for equal opportunity and yet want preferential treatment. The only preferential treatment in our business is the positive or negative on the blood bag. Children trying to tell me what's real and what's not. The old saying is: The money and the miles. And now there are those with no bank accounts and no wheels trying to preach from the floorboards of the church.”
Odin goes silent for what feels like forever before continuing.
“Well, I have no more bank accounts and I have no more fancy cars or planes. Everything this business gave me and everything I have taken from it - it’s gone. So allow me to preach from the floorboards.”
Odin clears his throat to give himself a moment to form his thoughts.
“Battlebowl gets you THE SPOT in Havoc - the most fortuitous spot one could ask for and even that does not guarantee success, and that's true for those who back and watch. Everyone here is fighting for a chance of a chance. A spot for a spot yet they want to tell me of all people what that means.
Hope, redemption, honor, recognition, self re-..” Odin catches himself and clears his throat again with a sip of tea.
“Respect.” He announces firmly. “It’s not about you or they that respect me. It’s about self-respect. Then there are those that will lecture me about respect and how I should have it, show it, earn it.”
Odin spits on the ground to show his contempt.
“It’s the money and the miles but it's self-respect that keeps those things a reality. Do not get it twisted. I’m not preaching. I’m just telling you the truth. And if you want to step up to one of the biggest names in pro wrestling that has ever been created, then please step up. Just know that I bear no responsibility for what's going to happen. Each and every one of you wants to be me. Be where I’ve been. Be the head of the table. Eat for free. Feast on everything lower than you but you all say to yourselves:
‘No. Not like him.’”
Odin shakes his head in the affirmative.
“Yes, like me. Exactly like me. I am the cautionary tale that you all wish to avoid and yet none of you will. You’re all mostly women. So what. Go cry about it on the View or Tik Tok. You came to pro wrestling for a reason.”
Odin shrugs.
“A foolish and misguided reason but yet here you are. Each face prettier than the last, noses broken, cheeks bruises, egos wounded and this seven-foot tale fable of a man lumbers around and you hate it. I’m the patriarchy. I know it. The Thickness.
I. Know. It.
I’m trying to be better. I just don’t know if I can. I’m not even sure if it’s worth me finding out -.”
Odin goes quiet again as he walks by some glass storefront and sees his reflection who stares back at him even though Odin isnt looking in the window as he walks by.
“There is a world title with my name on it, somewhere and I don’t know where it is. This is an opportunity to get one back. Maybe fight an old friend. Close a chapter - start a new one. Just know that the ink that I use to write the books - to be the villain in those stories stains. It never comes off. It marks you forever like Caine. A vicious black spot, for which I have many, and inside that ring, the ink cant save you. The chapters won’t help you and the appendix is missing. I have forgotten more in this industry than all of your collective knowledge.
I thought I would regain something when my hands touched the Cursed Idol. I thought it would revive something in me that I thought long gone. I’ve lost it, I’ve won it and here I am; still not in control of these violent hands.”
Then it was by a miracle that Odin had an epiphany.
“It’s not that I have to control these hands - that's that YOU ALL have to control these hands. It is not my place to shrink so that all those inferior to me bask in the shadow of my self loathing so as to not face the reality that it is my light. I have a Championship.
I had one other at one point too. I remember it well. It should sink and disintegrate into vapor. I am not meant to be the king of the vapors.
I am meant to be a king, a god. To wear a crown. At the moment, you may think me King Nothing. You may think that you are safe in your forts of youth or gender identity but I identify as fucking each and every one of you up for the hubris of thinking that you can stand toe to toe with me. You play a deadly Gambit that you are safe from my wrath, that you all have these reinforcements but I know how to starve you out. Vercingetorix paid with his life and so shall each of you.
Each of you. Every last one of you, still want your day in the sun to be as bright and as poignant as I am in this industry but as more and more of you creep up, what makes you special shrinks and you devolve into being the ‘baddest bitch,’
Bitches, please. Dinner ain't ready yet so get back in the kitchen.
I have a crown to retrieve and I want dinner on the table when I get back.
You want me to respect you because Jam Willy jipped you a chromosome but I’ll force you all to respect me.
For the God that I was. The champion that I was. The king that I was.
The king of Nothing.
But that’ll change at Battlebowl when I systematically take you out. From Swallowing to star crossed lovers. You all think you have talent until you step in that ring when Odin Balfore has something that he wants. These arnt the underdog stories that you think they are. This isnt where Addy breaks away from Lissie, who continuously ties them together to jump off the cliff. This isnt where Ash Blake works back up to world title contention or Serenity or Gemini make a classic showing of what they *could* do in a few years. This is about the here and the now and the redemption of a king without a crown. A career that will last multiple lifetimes more than yours. Hell, it already has. In the breath of history, you won’t even be a faint whisper. This is what it has come to. It’s the same old story for me as you all gnash your teeth and grind your twats into paste because you can't handle the fucking truth. I’d ask one of you to end my suffering but half of you have tried and been impregnated by the demon seed of envy. That's why you’re still here and that's why you think you have something to prove.
Me, I got nothing to prove to any of you. Just myself.
This is where your hopes and dreams of Havoc come to a crashing halt.
Because the King has returned.
For kingdom.
This throne.
His Crown.
For the AW World Championship.