Post by Sicko on Apr 14, 2024 12:03:07 GMT -5
"What I can tell you is, the big man's not happy," Judy had mumbled, conspiratorially to him, as they stood by the copier.
An incongruous pairing; he, a seven-foot hulk, under the harsh fluorescent wash of the office lighting whose hands were busied flipping sheets from the copier to the scanner, she, a sagging Karen of nearing fifty who was talking out the side of her mouth like a convict in an old prison movie.
Ephrain's eyebrows had knit, trying to discern what Judy from billing was talking about this time. "I'm copying the TPS reports to have in Johnson's inbox by EOD, Judy, what could he have to be upset about."
She'd lifted her coffee mug (with an off-brand rendered cartoon of a Minion) up to her lips, peering at him around it. "Not Johnson. Not this level of the Mind Palace, at all. There's rumblings from - " her eyes darted, "Upstairs."
He grumbled, "I still don't know what you're talking about." He snapped the lid of the scanner shut, flatly.
"Don't be cross at our boy, Judy, Ephrain's still keeping himself willfully in the dark of the realpolitik of his own mindscape," said a new voice. Ephrain turned, to find the nattily-dressed snake-oil salesman in a suit that's turned up to his house twice, a thin smile on his face. (Spokesman Aspect)
Ephrain startled, then, bristled with just-under-the-surface anger. He gathered his TPS reports. "Showing up on my doorstep with a fanciful story is one thing, but showing up at my job... Do I need to call security, mister..."
"I let myself in the backdoor," said glibly, "But it's true... the Jester is frustrated... and in a dangerous frame of mind."
The Spokesman began walking with him, keeping pace. Ephrain groaned, but continued walking an endless, cubicle-lined corridor.
"It began with the unsatisfying ending of the match involving Karlie and Vespertine that established nobody as a threat and sowed no seeds of terror or malice. Cut to next week, Vespertine's attempting to blow up the ice cream truck, Doc Holiday's landing hits that the body could feel, hip-checkin' him all over the ring..."
"The rumbling from the other Aspects is, this leads people to believe the Jester is not as in control as he wants people to believe."
"Or," he allowed, "Maybe he's new in the body, new in figuring out the rules, the power behind those hands.
Maybe, as weeks progress, he'll be able to block out more pain, fight through more injury and grow more-and-more frenzied as he lands in each punch."
"Is that what you want, Ephrain? Do you want the Jester growing stronger with each week?"
The stroll down the endless hallway in a vast, vast office space of white-washed, third-floor accounting skidded to a halt, and Ephrain looked down at the slim man with the greased hair, glowered.
"I don't want to know about any of this. I'm a senior lead in the advertising department at Laughing Clown Ice Cream Brands, LLC. I do not care about any of these... Aspects, or what someone named the Jester does to someone named... Vespertine? Who could care about that?"
The Spokesman sighs, an "I tried" acquiescence. "Well, Ephrain, this's a very nice cage you've built for yourself.
Let me know when you're ready to wake up."
He was gone, but as Ephrain stood, TPS reports in his hand, a disquiet growing in the pit of his stomach as he stood in this rich life he'd built himself.
Judy caught up to him, Minions mug in hand, raising her eyebrows thinly.
On the outside of this inner turmoil, behind the wheel of the ice cream truck, something dark was seething.
Thinking thoughts of murder, and yet, also, discontent.
He'd targeted those he saw as the weakest yet, they continued to prosper, vented his wrath upon the softest, most spineless, worthless pieces of shit that arrogantly paupered for titles and succor they didn't deserve.
Yet, when he'd set his sights on, one goal... was not going to let it go without putting his teeth-marks into it... he'd been asked to jump through a meaningless hoop. A fatal-fourway eliminator, with the champion, The Green, involved, and two other obstacles who had put absolutely no work in to earning this shot.
Niobe Martin? No. She had finally captured her hearts desire of the TV belt only to show her belly and give it up easily once Addy had actually come to fight for it.
Jay Bestest? An unknown quality, with all the earmarks of a perennial washout who, in all likelihood, wouldn't even dare to show?
The Green.
The champion should've been a stalwart. A knight, a supposed compeer of Arthurian chivalry, a myth in the making with no inner turmoil, no conflict, simply a man who came to do his business, claim victory, and depart. One with his own black-and-white, uncomplicated views of dispensing justice. Who spoke to Madrox about being the one who decides what AW's future held.
A near-impenetrable bastion of order, of securing status-quos, of upholding archaic law.
Lofty ideals built on foundations of sand... which were pummeled away by inaction and fell to disrepair when the weak left things grow soft. As King Arthur, eventually had, when Camelot fell. As The Green was already showing signs of.
Last week's bout against Isara showed the chinks beginning to form in that shining plate... the lack of effort that signified that, once you peeled back the casing, there was just meat and bone under that woodcut face.
This champion was not going to get away from this eliminator. This knight was soon to find his home under siege.
From deep within, the Jester heard the whispers from one Aspect to another.
"Do you want the Jester growing stronger every week?"
"Then... let me know when you're ready to wake up."
He slid his mask in place. Only his bulging, burning eyes were visible through the holes.
It's time to wake up.