The Post-Modern Prometheus - (699 Words)
Feb 21, 2021 23:44:29 GMT -5
CJ Phoenix, Lissie Hope, and 3 more like this
Post by Regan Voorhees on Feb 21, 2021 23:44:29 GMT -5
The red camellias part, the golden calligraphy stenciling itself across a still shot of Regan’s private gallery.
The camera focuses on her latest commission, a play on Füger’s Prometheus Brings Fire to Mankind.
The reimagining has Regan, clad in lavender and mulberry wrestling gear, translucent white raincoat billowing dramatically behind her. She hoists a burning torch to the heavens, deftly stolen from the gods(or the main event), a neo-Prometheus standing triumphant.
“Breathtaking, isn’t it?”
The Duchess stands to one side of the portrait, emotionally stirred by its magnificence.
“Opportunity is something I appreciate. Opportunity brought my family to America, where we built an empire of blood and meat and death. You’re probably wondering why I, like countless other independently wealthy wrestlers, would choose to do this instead of enjoying the fruits of my forebears’ labor. Wealth, prestige, prosperity, all handed to me on a golden platter. Unimaginable advantages, for most people. Yet so unfulfilling.”
“People like me have certain... inclinations. Not something so base as sadism, though that’s a delightful perk. But a need to triumph. A need to conquer. More than anything, what I want in life is a challenge. A test of my mental and physical limits. I ask the universe, and hope answers.”
She gestures theatrically, walking through the gallery as the camera follows. She passes more reimagined portraits: The Birth of Regan, The Three Graces(all Regan), Pigmalion and Regan.
“Fate and contractual obligation have conspired to bring Lissie Hope, the Heroine of Action Wrestling, to my door. Miss Hope is the greatest challenge of my career, an Olympian ideal of everything good and just and true in the world. A seemingly insurmountable obstacle for a rookie with a croquet mallet and a pig motif. You’re a competitor, Lissie. You have the sense not to dismiss anyone, regardless of how your skills compare.”
Her trek through the gallery halts in front of a curtained off portrait.
“The Actioneers’ eyes are upon me and I know what they expect. For their heroine to vanquish me. Being misunderstood is a consequence of having conviction. People don’t realize that I am the plucky anti-heroine, alone in a word that finds her sensibilities a bit… warped.”
Biting back a dietary rant, she redirects her disdain.
“Their tears will be my nectar. Their grief, my ambrosia. I am but a mortal in your world, and I want my taste of Olympus. You’ve already climbed and clawed your way to the top, but those of us down here want your divine blood. Butchering is the family business. We deal in blood by the bucket.”
A chuckle.
“Such is your destiny on Cruiser Clash. Your head is a trophy. Defeating Lissie Hope may not win me a queendom today, but it will serve to warn my future subjects. Get between me and divinity, and I will fucking decapitate you.”
She tugs a velvet cord next to the painting, dropping the curtain.
The Post-Modern Prometheus(Best paired with an Ambrosia Cocktail and Wagner’s “Ride of the Valkyries”)
The camera focuses on her latest commission, a play on Füger’s Prometheus Brings Fire to Mankind.
“Breathtaking, isn’t it?”
The Duchess stands to one side of the portrait, emotionally stirred by its magnificence.
“Opportunity is something I appreciate. Opportunity brought my family to America, where we built an empire of blood and meat and death. You’re probably wondering why I, like countless other independently wealthy wrestlers, would choose to do this instead of enjoying the fruits of my forebears’ labor. Wealth, prestige, prosperity, all handed to me on a golden platter. Unimaginable advantages, for most people. Yet so unfulfilling.”
“People like me have certain... inclinations. Not something so base as sadism, though that’s a delightful perk. But a need to triumph. A need to conquer. More than anything, what I want in life is a challenge. A test of my mental and physical limits. I ask the universe, and hope answers.”
She gestures theatrically, walking through the gallery as the camera follows. She passes more reimagined portraits: The Birth of Regan, The Three Graces(all Regan), Pigmalion and Regan.
“Fate and contractual obligation have conspired to bring Lissie Hope, the Heroine of Action Wrestling, to my door. Miss Hope is the greatest challenge of my career, an Olympian ideal of everything good and just and true in the world. A seemingly insurmountable obstacle for a rookie with a croquet mallet and a pig motif. You’re a competitor, Lissie. You have the sense not to dismiss anyone, regardless of how your skills compare.”
Her trek through the gallery halts in front of a curtained off portrait.
“The Actioneers’ eyes are upon me and I know what they expect. For their heroine to vanquish me. Being misunderstood is a consequence of having conviction. People don’t realize that I am the plucky anti-heroine, alone in a word that finds her sensibilities a bit… warped.”
Biting back a dietary rant, she redirects her disdain.
“Their tears will be my nectar. Their grief, my ambrosia. I am but a mortal in your world, and I want my taste of Olympus. You’ve already climbed and clawed your way to the top, but those of us down here want your divine blood. Butchering is the family business. We deal in blood by the bucket.”
A chuckle.
“Such is your destiny on Cruiser Clash. Your head is a trophy. Defeating Lissie Hope may not win me a queendom today, but it will serve to warn my future subjects. Get between me and divinity, and I will fucking decapitate you.”
She tugs a velvet cord next to the painting, dropping the curtain.
The painting is a variation on Caravaggio’s Medusa, with Lissie Hope’s disembodied head in place of the gorgon’s. Her hair is decidedly unsnakelike, but the artist does manage to capture the same frozen rage in the eyes. Regan reacts to the work with a golf-clap.
“A gift from me to you, Lissie. I wouldn’t want you to think I’m ungrateful. Defeating you will be a milestone in my career. A moment scholars look back on and mark as the beginning of my ascent. When pigs rule the world and I am their goddess, this will be their Genesis. It all starts with you. We’re not just wrestling. We’re going to create something one of a kind, that only the two of us could paint on the canvas of a squared circle. A transcendent moment when wrestling becomes art. A match that belongs in the Louvre.”
“I hope you’re ready, Lissie Hope. You’re going to be my masterpiece.”
Regan offers a final cold smirk to the camera, before it pulls back from the painting. After a quick pan through the gallery, it stops on a beret-clad pig sitting in front of an easel.
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