They Shoot Horses, Don't They? (999 words)
Jan 19, 2021 16:37:05 GMT -5
Frank Venable, Stuart Slane, and 2 more like this
Post by Downfall on Jan 19, 2021 16:37:05 GMT -5
The music swells...
The tempo quickens...
"This is what you think we are, isn't it, Dionysus."
"Trapped in an eternal tango with each other. Joker to your Dark Knight, destined to do this forever, I bring out the best in you. Once you pare down all the artifice, remove the weirdly distracting subplots involving comas, amnesia, and stunt doubles two feet shorter... Once you get down to the core of who Dionysus Necurat and Daniel Fehl are, we're twins, mirrored dancers keeping time in the same beat forever."
"You really believe that."
"Thing is... I molded you with my criticism. I made you drop all of those accouterments; I lambasted you until you realized that nobody ever bought you as Maximus Decimeus' second coming. I berated you, dragged you kicking and screaming to fight with me on a level that was respectable."
"You think we're equals? You have always been forced to rise up to meet me. You have always changed the outside layer, to compete with me, and all that happens every single time is that you charge me as hard as you can and shatter against my the shields of my phalanx. Last time we met, in the street fight, you came at me with fiery imagery; swords being forged, swears of matching me in my capacity for war."
"And that's the problem, Dionysus. You think you have to match me. You think, you can."
"This thing between us has become a test of endurance, and that's where we've always differed... TV division's an endless gauntlet. To leave your mark like the list of main-event caliber names I've just surpassed in duration, you have to be consistently. Good. Unseating an Ash Blake or, a Downfall is just the first step, you have to hit every note, stay on every beat, never flagging, never faltering until you drop. Where you to fall, well... they put a bullet in the horse that breaks his leg, and that's the finality for your hopes of leaving a mark in this division."
"You'd see the challenge upcoming for me at Revolution and immediately throw your knee out, because that would be hard."
"You built yourself up by lowering the expectation so far that men like Graham tripped over them. But the tricks that got you here won't work forever. There's only so many times that you can lower the bar so far by calling yourself a doormat to the stars and beating you gains nothing. Only so many times you can fire up and remind people that you were once a champion - Yeah Dionysus, in WCF, a company as defunct and departed as the memory. There are only so many times you can slide by a Corey Bull wannabe that nobody expects to go far. Those aren't acts of endurance, of the weekly grind; that is you openly flailing around for anything that sticks."
"Understand that now, you are still working to match me. To walk the path I have. It wasn't two weeks ago, your words, that if you couldn't hang in the division ruled by me, then you had nothing. That's why you chase me with such fervor, that's why you tried so hard to bounce back after the fire got stomped out in the No DQ match... because you define yourself by how hard you work to get to my level. By how much of yourself you have to change to compete against me."
"You're TRYING to dance."
"And I'm... just dancing."
He looks up into the spotlight.
"Didn't come easily for me to find the rhythm, either. I can see that in you... almost respect it... but for the subtle difference in our stamina; I may've stumbled a few times, but I never quit, and I never took breaks or gave up when a week got too hard. And I never... shrank myself to fit into someone else's game. I never looked at what the other man was doing to try and match his feet. That's all you've ever been doing, Dion... because as much as you hate to admit, respect isn't given off face-value. You have to keep working for it. You ain't in this for the marathon... you just wanna spotlight to fall on you once in a while."
And with that, the spotlight turns off. Ghosts, appearing, fade away, leaving only him.
"I'm made for this, and when it comes down to it, I will outlast you and still be in the middle of this dancefloor long after you've left the arena. But you won't be defining yourself off my name for a long time to come, Dionysus. I won't allow it anymore."
"You're going to have to go out in the world and become your own man. Win your own successes, or continue being salty that newcomers to this company continue to bypass you and disrespect you because no-one remembers the last time you were on top. Either way, you're doing it without the motivator of reaching my level..."
"...Because you never really will reach my level. That's just the way it is. I'm the best... in the WORLD."
"This is where the dancer has to leave the floor because his body can't take anymore. Where you drop out of the race. This Clash, is where I put the barrel to the god-damn horse's head and pull the trigger rather than let it continue trying to hobble on after the pack... Where I put you the fuck down one last TIME..."
"Goodbye, Dionysus."
"Fuck you, Dionysus."
In the darkness, there are only his eyes.
And his laugh.
The two partners stare at each other from across the ballroom...
The tempo quickens...
And the dance... begins again...
He's standing in the middle of that ballroom now, the traces of movement blowing past him of those old, long-gone ghost dancers still trapped in an eternal marathon. But there is only him, standing with a spotlight fixed firmly on him. As you know."This is what you think we are, isn't it, Dionysus."
"Trapped in an eternal tango with each other. Joker to your Dark Knight, destined to do this forever, I bring out the best in you. Once you pare down all the artifice, remove the weirdly distracting subplots involving comas, amnesia, and stunt doubles two feet shorter... Once you get down to the core of who Dionysus Necurat and Daniel Fehl are, we're twins, mirrored dancers keeping time in the same beat forever."
"You really believe that."
"Thing is... I molded you with my criticism. I made you drop all of those accouterments; I lambasted you until you realized that nobody ever bought you as Maximus Decimeus' second coming. I berated you, dragged you kicking and screaming to fight with me on a level that was respectable."
"You think we're equals? You have always been forced to rise up to meet me. You have always changed the outside layer, to compete with me, and all that happens every single time is that you charge me as hard as you can and shatter against my the shields of my phalanx. Last time we met, in the street fight, you came at me with fiery imagery; swords being forged, swears of matching me in my capacity for war."
"And that's the problem, Dionysus. You think you have to match me. You think, you can."
"This thing between us has become a test of endurance, and that's where we've always differed... TV division's an endless gauntlet. To leave your mark like the list of main-event caliber names I've just surpassed in duration, you have to be consistently. Good. Unseating an Ash Blake or, a Downfall is just the first step, you have to hit every note, stay on every beat, never flagging, never faltering until you drop. Where you to fall, well... they put a bullet in the horse that breaks his leg, and that's the finality for your hopes of leaving a mark in this division."
"You'd see the challenge upcoming for me at Revolution and immediately throw your knee out, because that would be hard."
"You built yourself up by lowering the expectation so far that men like Graham tripped over them. But the tricks that got you here won't work forever. There's only so many times that you can lower the bar so far by calling yourself a doormat to the stars and beating you gains nothing. Only so many times you can fire up and remind people that you were once a champion - Yeah Dionysus, in WCF, a company as defunct and departed as the memory. There are only so many times you can slide by a Corey Bull wannabe that nobody expects to go far. Those aren't acts of endurance, of the weekly grind; that is you openly flailing around for anything that sticks."
"Understand that now, you are still working to match me. To walk the path I have. It wasn't two weeks ago, your words, that if you couldn't hang in the division ruled by me, then you had nothing. That's why you chase me with such fervor, that's why you tried so hard to bounce back after the fire got stomped out in the No DQ match... because you define yourself by how hard you work to get to my level. By how much of yourself you have to change to compete against me."
"You're TRYING to dance."
"And I'm... just dancing."
He looks up into the spotlight.
"Didn't come easily for me to find the rhythm, either. I can see that in you... almost respect it... but for the subtle difference in our stamina; I may've stumbled a few times, but I never quit, and I never took breaks or gave up when a week got too hard. And I never... shrank myself to fit into someone else's game. I never looked at what the other man was doing to try and match his feet. That's all you've ever been doing, Dion... because as much as you hate to admit, respect isn't given off face-value. You have to keep working for it. You ain't in this for the marathon... you just wanna spotlight to fall on you once in a while."
And with that, the spotlight turns off. Ghosts, appearing, fade away, leaving only him.
"I'm made for this, and when it comes down to it, I will outlast you and still be in the middle of this dancefloor long after you've left the arena. But you won't be defining yourself off my name for a long time to come, Dionysus. I won't allow it anymore."
"You're going to have to go out in the world and become your own man. Win your own successes, or continue being salty that newcomers to this company continue to bypass you and disrespect you because no-one remembers the last time you were on top. Either way, you're doing it without the motivator of reaching my level..."
"...Because you never really will reach my level. That's just the way it is. I'm the best... in the WORLD."
"This is where the dancer has to leave the floor because his body can't take anymore. Where you drop out of the race. This Clash, is where I put the barrel to the god-damn horse's head and pull the trigger rather than let it continue trying to hobble on after the pack... Where I put you the fuck down one last TIME..."
"Goodbye, Dionysus."
"Fuck you, Dionysus."
In the darkness, there are only his eyes.
And his laugh.