Post by Guillotine (QDT) on Nov 18, 2018 22:23:24 GMT -5
I hate carnivals. There's a scent of piss and tastelessness in the air. Papa has us on a wild goose chase researching Jaice Wilds' carny origins. There's no evidence he's been here but Papa's heard whispers from the circus scene. The trapeze artists, the snake charmer and "Rufus the Ladyboy Giant" weren't helpful so now we're heading for the medium "Lady Estelle the Evocator". Hey, least it's better than watching yet more Jaice Wilds crushing defeat videos after the Mark McNasty PWA demolition, Masutarou humiliation from NBW and OWNAGE montage at the dainty hand of Lisa Foster here in AW.
We approach a small tent with psychedelic lights emanating from within. On arrival, an ugly, middle aged, Caribbean woman appears to be pleasuring herself to a "Hunky Accountants" calendar. She hurriedly flings it under the table, adopting a mystical mudra.
Lady Estelle: Welcome. The spirits told me to expect you.
Papa Giacomo: Clearly. We seek information. We've hear you might remember a young man who might've been here over a decade ago - Jaice Wilds?
Estelle: I know not this Wildman...
Quixote: Thanks anyway, bye.
Lady Estelle: … but the spirits know. They will unveil his cards to discern the secret arcana of the heart you'll find invaluable on your quest.
Papa: Tarot? We are no fools, signora.
Quixote: C'mon Papa, be open minded.
He sits down sulkily. The medium shuffles a deck of intricately patterned cards, closes her eyes and flips one. The picture is of a spiralling trail.
Estelle: The spirits illuminate a broken agreement. A higher path opened but he chose the depths of fear.
Quixote: YES! Exactly. I tried to be civil. I offered the high road but Jaice resorted to pathetic raps calling me a little punk, a bitch and so on. I expect that from Geisel but hoped for better from Wilds. We could've spurred each other onto a classic at Turmoil to really elevate the 201 division but he chose low hanging fruit. That fruit will ultimately spoil and poison him.
Papa: This is bull. Spirits my culo! Let's go son.
Before Papa can get up, Estelle unveils the next card - a closet with a pile of skeletons stacked high. The portly psychic hisses despairingly.
Estelle: Ooh MERCY! I sense many unhealthy attachments.
Quixote: Rings true. For a guy so "Xtreme", Jaice has held many hands over the years. Reggie and Saipo the lion tamer, the Kalis family, Ebdon and Knight of the Order of Chaos, Duff Côte d'Ivoire and REBEL Pro and, more recently, the ill fated Guardians and Damian Kaine in the worst tag team in history. His choice of allies is highly suspect. He rejected my courtesy but gathers around assassins, hangers-on and men who smash women's faces with barbed wire bats. With such company, he wonders why he's never more than a Midcard Maniac?! Loneliness is an awful plague that can provoke men to great compromises.
Papa: He's haunted. He's living in fear of that Anthony Voorhees guy from Barton Town, remember? That's why he attaches himself to so many people. For protection. But the real one he should fear is "The Guillotine" at Turmoil.
Another card is flipped - a rueful bridesmaid fumbling flowers thrown by a happy bride.
Quixote: No need to interpret this one. It's obviously Wilds. 18 losses, 10 wins in Action Wrestling. Over a decade in the business, always the bridesmaid, never the bride. His hope and persistence is admirable, if a little foolish. How galling it will be for him to lose his 201 Title to a 19 year old in my third match... but he will... and it could be the making of him. I plan to teach him a few things; especially that which he thinks he's mastered but actually has none of - HONOUR.
Estelle: One final card. It's for you, young man.
She turns it over. Hang on a second... it looks like me. I seem to be in armour holding a severed head on a spike. It looks... suspiciously like Papa. He picks the card up, gazes closely and trembles worriedly.
Papa: What the hell does this mean?!?!?!?!?!
Quixote: Hey Papa, don't worry. Tarot's bullshit, remember?
We approach a small tent with psychedelic lights emanating from within. On arrival, an ugly, middle aged, Caribbean woman appears to be pleasuring herself to a "Hunky Accountants" calendar. She hurriedly flings it under the table, adopting a mystical mudra.
Lady Estelle: Welcome. The spirits told me to expect you.
Papa Giacomo: Clearly. We seek information. We've hear you might remember a young man who might've been here over a decade ago - Jaice Wilds?
Estelle: I know not this Wildman...
Quixote: Thanks anyway, bye.
Lady Estelle: … but the spirits know. They will unveil his cards to discern the secret arcana of the heart you'll find invaluable on your quest.
Papa: Tarot? We are no fools, signora.
Quixote: C'mon Papa, be open minded.
He sits down sulkily. The medium shuffles a deck of intricately patterned cards, closes her eyes and flips one. The picture is of a spiralling trail.
Estelle: The spirits illuminate a broken agreement. A higher path opened but he chose the depths of fear.
Quixote: YES! Exactly. I tried to be civil. I offered the high road but Jaice resorted to pathetic raps calling me a little punk, a bitch and so on. I expect that from Geisel but hoped for better from Wilds. We could've spurred each other onto a classic at Turmoil to really elevate the 201 division but he chose low hanging fruit. That fruit will ultimately spoil and poison him.
Papa: This is bull. Spirits my culo! Let's go son.
Before Papa can get up, Estelle unveils the next card - a closet with a pile of skeletons stacked high. The portly psychic hisses despairingly.
Estelle: Ooh MERCY! I sense many unhealthy attachments.
Quixote: Rings true. For a guy so "Xtreme", Jaice has held many hands over the years. Reggie and Saipo the lion tamer, the Kalis family, Ebdon and Knight of the Order of Chaos, Duff Côte d'Ivoire and REBEL Pro and, more recently, the ill fated Guardians and Damian Kaine in the worst tag team in history. His choice of allies is highly suspect. He rejected my courtesy but gathers around assassins, hangers-on and men who smash women's faces with barbed wire bats. With such company, he wonders why he's never more than a Midcard Maniac?! Loneliness is an awful plague that can provoke men to great compromises.
Papa: He's haunted. He's living in fear of that Anthony Voorhees guy from Barton Town, remember? That's why he attaches himself to so many people. For protection. But the real one he should fear is "The Guillotine" at Turmoil.
Another card is flipped - a rueful bridesmaid fumbling flowers thrown by a happy bride.
Quixote: No need to interpret this one. It's obviously Wilds. 18 losses, 10 wins in Action Wrestling. Over a decade in the business, always the bridesmaid, never the bride. His hope and persistence is admirable, if a little foolish. How galling it will be for him to lose his 201 Title to a 19 year old in my third match... but he will... and it could be the making of him. I plan to teach him a few things; especially that which he thinks he's mastered but actually has none of - HONOUR.
Estelle: One final card. It's for you, young man.
She turns it over. Hang on a second... it looks like me. I seem to be in armour holding a severed head on a spike. It looks... suspiciously like Papa. He picks the card up, gazes closely and trembles worriedly.
Papa: What the hell does this mean?!?!?!?!?!
Quixote: Hey Papa, don't worry. Tarot's bullshit, remember?