Post by English/Corpse on May 24, 2016 20:59:39 GMT -6
VoW Presents
A Casanova English Original
Carnivore
A Casanova English Original
Carnivore
World needs bad men. We keep the other bad men from the door.
-Rust Cohle
MAY 24TH
ONTARIO, CANADA
TORONTO PEARSON INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT
ONTARIO, CANADA
TORONTO PEARSON INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT
I hate those narrow fucking hallways that lead directly to a plane. I'm not claustrophobic or anything, I just hate the idea of a completely defined path. I think we all look like cattle in that perfectly formed line handing our personal information to someone who confirms it is okay to board. Board a vessel with a definitive path; a direction is has to take ordered by the authority of another. Sometimes I just think too much, but the past few days I have embracing that quality in myself. It was finally done, and I felt like I could breath. . . but for some reason the air tasted different now. Constance said she doesn't know me, well. . . the funny thing is I am just discovering myself.
When you are a World Champion they let you take your championship aboard as a carry on item. Losing a massive hunk of gold in an Air Canada fuck up would not be pretty to say the least. I thought about tossing the championship in the overhead compartment, but on second thought it seemed much more secure down by my feet. I wore a suit playing the proper role of VoW Champion for once. I was becoming a representative of the company whether I liked it or not. My upcoming interview with Zelda was to break my everlasting silence. See all this speaking on my own terms has created a market for myself. People think Casanova is Visionaries of Wrestling. We had Elskerinne allude to that at the last PPV pretty clearly, but the truth is I was getting bigger than the establishment. Under the table there were agents watching, just waiting for that VoW contract to expire. Waiting for me to slip up and lose the championship so they can try and capitalize on a brief descent. That is part of why I had to do it this week. I had to get rid of him. I had no other choice.
Constance Chapin, she isn't someone you tuck away in the back of your mind to worry about later. No, that little bitch is a handful to say the least. Sadly, it's not about her at the end of the day. No it's about Ryder. My balls still ache when I think of that pricks name. See if I can beat Constance. If I can put her down, it would psychologically damage Blade. Here the woman is that defeated him for his Championship. The woman that ended his streak gets beat by the current World Champion; his next opponent. This week I have the chance to beat Constance and Ryder. That is why I had to do it. I had to get my father off my mind so I can focus on this. My career; my life.
I had a psychiatrist in St. Paul, but Audrey wasn't the one I wanted to talk to. I wanted to talk to another unique mind that was born in blood. Someone who had escaped a sea of bodies with no legal repercussions. For some reason she intoxicated me, pulled me like drug in her direction. Alabama, maybe she could help ride the pressure. Maybe she could explain how to deal with this all. This extraordinary gift of manipulation. I thought that once I got rid of him the weight on my shoulders would lift, but it only got more intense. Now I was the controller of my own destiny. Now I had no bullshit to blame it on, this is who I am. I am becoming the very thing I had set out to destroy. What is that old cliché about power?
I pulled out the championship from my bag swallowing softly. There it was my name, engraved in the bottom with gold. Casanova English. It wasn't something I made up anymore, some pen name, or stage moniker. No. . . that was me. That was who I am. Cassidy Jones was buried with his father. Then again Cassidy Jones never really existed. He was just a shadow lurking in the darkness looking for a real body to attach itself too. You usually take your father's name anyway; I was Cassidy MacDonald, someone I had briefly became acquainted with staring across from my father like a mirror that revealed a future reflection. That would have been my God given name, but I gave up belief in those fairy tales long ago anyway. God doesn't give us a thing.
I shoved the championship back into my bag and kicked it under the seat as a heavy set man waddled up to the seat beside me. I hate flying economy.
MAY 20TH
MILLHAVEN INSTITUTION
BATH, ONTARIO
MILLHAVEN INSTITUTION
BATH, ONTARIO
“You think you can pull this off. We cannot afford to make one mistake.” I exhaled a plume of smoke with my statement; the van was slowly filling with my second hand fumes. It was cramped and certainly looked minuscule parked not far from the towering correctional institution.
Stu waved his hand in front of his face coughing slightly, before glaring at me bug eyed. Clearly the smog was bothering his lungs while he was working. Computers buzzed and chirped lining the wall of the van. “Think? Think?” He pulled out a small technician blade and sliced a needless wire before hopping around to another computer. “I don't do anything unless I know it is a sure thing boss.” He punched on a keyboard with laser fast speed and precision bringing up several cameras from inside the prison complex. “You think I would send you into battle without being fully prepared.”
I tap the ashes from my cigarette. “I am glad I can count on you Stu.” You have to show gratitude here and there to keep them on that psychological leash. Stu had helped me get rid of a mobster months ago who threatened my mother. “I think you had a lot more potential in the ring, but we both know what your true calling is.”
StuFish.Pif reveled in my compliment, but he was too proud to fully embrace it. “Thanks boss.” He spun round in his chair to face me now. “I have eyes all over the building. I have access to the security system. I will watch until I see you give the signal, then I will initiate phase 1” He point to the button he is going to push. “Don't worry. I have the security in the building sectioned. So I can open up any doors I need to, and you won't be in any harms way during phase 1.” He points to a screen, a hallway that leads to an emergency exit. “This is where you need to make sure you are in correct position. You AND the target. Phase 2 is going to be the tricky to pull off.”
I smirk and reassure my worried companion. “I'll make sure we are in position. Trust me Stu. I will be fine.”
He nods at me and then narrows his eyes laughing slightly; the creepy little bastard. “Then phase 3, my favorite.” He leans in close to me. “I'll be like you were never there.” He snaps his fingers and a wide joker like grin. “Just like that. Phase 3; I erase you.”
MAY 24TH
THE ORPHANAGE HEADQUARTERS
ST. PAUL MINNESOTA
THE ORPHANAGE HEADQUARTERS
ST. PAUL MINNESOTA
This was actually starting to feel like home. Years ago I came to St. Paul when VoW was just a youth selling tickets in the local arena for a weekly show. I left Canada and I came here to accomplish a dream. . . and I did. I became a World Champion, and people like it or not have heard my voice. Maybe not as clearly as I would like, but I've been given proper exposure. I set up this HQ here in St. Paul as a home base for my new family to train and seek medical attention. My dress shoes snapped against the tile floor as I walked toward my office. It has been a while since I sat behind that desk, but then again it's been a long time since I conquered the world so to speak. I propped the championship up on my shoulder proudly as I twisted the doorknob.
It was just as I left it, my name plate proudly displayed on the wooden table. I smirked as I walked to the cabinet where the whiskey was housed. I poured myself a splash and a half. I held up the half full glass watching the light shine through. It sat neat, untainted with ice. I took a sharp sip closing my eyes. The echo of his screaming off the walls rattled against the skull of my hollow feeling head. I snapped my eyes open sharply shaking my head side to side. I drink that whole glass in one swift motion and slam it back into the cabinet shutting the door. The screaming is unsettling, but it doesn't make my heart race. In reality I think it was always there. I just have a name and event to attach to it now. I shook the cobwebs loose like dust and plunked down in the chair behind my old familiar desk.
For months my mind has been turning with one purpose; to make my father pay for what he had done to my mother. Now that it was over my mind was left silent, and in the worst moments. . .that is when I would hear him scream and gargle his own blood. Maybe it will fade. Hopefully it would fade. I needed to get into this match, I needed to refocus my career and continue my war path of dominance. Truth be told things have been getting a little heated and confused with the VoW hierarchy. That loss to Kincaid opened my eyes wide to the fact there are wolves among us now. One of those wolves I wouldn't be ashamed to name; Constance Chapin. She was the one that put an end to Ryder Blade. Constance Chapin is a consequence. I can see that. She is humility personified. A woman that hides away from the spotlight as a reminder that someday. . . someday she is going to take it. That is inevitable, but I can promise she won't be taking it from me.
I cracked my neck to the side gently. It was nice to be alone, I needed it this week. Corpse was set on discussing what happened beyond those large brick walls back in Bath Ontario five days ago. Constance was the perfect distraction; someone I could focus on. Defeating her would need it. It would need a few days back in the gym. It would take a clear mind. It would take silencing that scream. I pulled the old camera from the top drawer and slide it in front of me. I placed the World Championship there on the table in front of me as well. I sighed turning the camera on and leaning back in my chair. “Well I bet you are all glad to see me. After I destroyed yet another hero in Heath Williams I had a little visit at the end of Breakthrough from Ryder Blade. I was subject of a patent Ryder Blade cheap shot, but just a quick update on my health. I am fine, and I will be ready this week to go toe to toe with the Xcel Champion. So don't you little boys and girls worry. Casanova will be there to ensure your nightmares thrive. At Breakthrough I have a match with someone who has a reputation for being an intellectual, but I mean could you tell that by the promo she cut? She claims she has been against the cream of the crop here in VoW.” I let out a laugh clapping my hands loudly before moving into the camera a little closer. “Cream of the crop? Who are you kidding? I know you aren't a ditz. Cream rises to the top and last I checked. . .” I look over my shoulder sarcastically then shoot my head to left then to the right making sure there is no one there to blindside me and pin me like this is the 24/7 Championship on my table. “I'm the only one here. Let me tell you something too lady. . . it is a beautiful view that only gets better with time.” I tap my foot lightly against the tile floor and pull a pack of Marlboro’s from the breast pocket of my suit placing them on the table alongside my VoW Championship.
“Then again maybe I am giving you far too much credit. Maybe you are a little bit less intelligent than I prior thought. See you think that the only thing on the line is our massive egos? Jesh, don't flatter yourself there darling.” I smirk. “By now, by my vocabulary I think you can tell I know where the name Casanova comes from. You think that this is about egos? So you assume that I atomically have respect for you. On what ground? What have you done to impress me? I mean it was cute you were a World Champion in the dying days of GPW, but that doesn’t count for a thing here. I already have the body of a GPW champion in my pile of bones. You probably know that though. You said it yourself the only way you know me is through reputation. That has to be great, because for each one of my opponents I usually have to do a little research. I have to take a look into the person that I am fighting, because well here in VoW I am the pinnacle, and well I have created quite the turn over rate up here on what you kids call the main event scene.”
“Constance you aren't living up to your full potential. I wanted an angry Constance. A motivated Constance. You are facing the World Champion. I expected you to commit more, to bring my flaws into the light. You seem timid, more afraid then I have noticed you in previous promos. You say you don't want to nab into me or The Orphanage, because it's all played out. . . truth be told I think it's just a preservation tactic. We have a lot more in common than the naked eye may pick up on. We both thought we could pull off the bullshit motivational speaker type shit. As for a mysterious organization, it seems The Orphanage may not be the only one with ties in this match. What is it Bitches of Eastwick? Is that the group you have ties?” I lean closer to the camera letting out a sigh and pulling a sole cigarette from it's pack and began spinning it in my fingers. “You were right. It was dumb of you to try the motivational speaker thing, because honestly Chapin. You don't seem motivated. You seem like you are content where you are. You are fine drowning in silver with the Xcel Championship. You don't sound like a woman that has her opportunity to reach the next stage of her career. I don't see someone so hungry that are willing to disregard their championship to prove that they deserve to be the best. You have the opportunity to beat the World Champion and you are more worried about the show we have to put on for those pie eyed overweight assholes? Chapin you are your own worst enemy. You are scared to commit, scared because if you lose it means failure. I like your style, I never see you out here promising anything. . . and that is real, but it's also boring. That lack of aggression, that lack of ability to pull the trigger when your victim begs for mercy. . . that is not what makes a champion.” I think back the image of his ice cold eyes. How he didn't close them as his final breath choked out. I shake my head slightly. Regaining my focus toward Chapin. “I am cold blooded. I have buried men alive, and sent them to whatever plant they came from. I have done it all in this VoW ring and is because I have the guts to go for the god damn throat. Something that you haven't truly embraced yet. Maybe that will change when you are forced to beat your friend to a pulp.”
“I hate to break it to you Connie, but ya don't beat a champion by hearing the stuff that trickled down the grape vine. For someone who does fancy themselves to be some sort of intellectual I don't think you did your homework, and I have a very unique theory on why Constance. I am going to admit something right here that I never admit to other opponents. You will be where I am someday. You will be the champion, and it is because you are real. You were a school teacher. You know what hard work is. You know what it is to accomplish a dream. The problem is; you aren't living up to your potential. So if it makes you feel important I will suspend reality for a moment and believe that we are fighting at Breakthrough for the World Visionary Championship. Sure; I will go there. I am not doing it for these fans. No, I do that far too often. Sacrificing my body for people too ignorant to hear the message tucked beneath the assault. I am not doing this to myself to feed my ego as you put it. I am not doing it to prove that I am the best there is. It's nothing like that.” I slip a cigarette between my lips which has been so accustomed to my promos over the last few years. I smirk lighting it. “I am doing this for you Constance Chapin. I am doing this as a wake up call. I saw in your promo. I noticed how tentative you were to commit. You know how I can twist words. You know how I can manipulate your words and ideology and that is why you don't want this match to be about that. Don't think you are sparing me Connie. . . you are sparing yourself. You want me to focus on this championship so I don't dive deep into the corners of your mind and stir up things you aren't ready to confront yet before your match with your friend. See Constance I think you are boring. You are careful, and careful is boring. The sad thing is I understand that you don't have to be. . . you could be great. You just lack the motivation. You fear the pressure. So Constance. . . for you I will pretend that this is about this championship, that this is about some mystical honor, that this is about defining what it means to be a VoW champion.” I laugh exhaling a plume of smoke and kicking my feet up on desk now leaning back. “Like I haven't done that over and over and over and over.”
“To me Constance this is much more meaningful than a champion vs champion. This is about getting at Ryder. See last week he took a cheap shot and kicked me square in the groin. Everyone saw it. Everyone loved it. Anyway, point is Constance you were the one that beat Ryder. You were the one that stopped his annoying rantings of streaks and statistics. Beating you beats Ryder. I am not saying that in the sense that I physically pin you then I can physically pin Ryder. No, I know. . . there are upsets every given Sunday.” I touch the tip of my nose with my index finger winking at the camera. “I mean this more mentally than anything. See Blade isn't that smart. . .to say the least. If I beat you Chapin, then I have Ryder shaking in his boots. I have him looking for a way out. I have him terrified, and at that point I have him beat. This is a kill two birds with one stone scenario. On top of that, matches with the Xcel Champion have always been near and dear to my heart for one reason I have beat to death. When VoW had a tournament to name the first champion I lost to PKA and never got a rematch. Now I don't want a rematch for the Championship; obviously I moved on to bigger and better things. I want more what that championship represents. The Xcel Championship was created to represent the finest athletes in pure combat. It is a championship for the diamonds in the rough. For that I can help you reestablish the honor of that championship. I can go toe to toe with you Chapin and try to wipe away the grime that Blade has left on that championship and division. He held that championship cheating his way to win after win. Not that I have not used that method, but it made the Xcel Championship a joke. It lost the very reason it was established. Bringing respect back to that Championship is something I can help you with. This won't be about egos. Don't flatter yourself, your name. . . it doesn't mean much to me yet. Maybe at Breakthrough you can change that. Maybe in your fantasy world you can claim the championship that is hypothetically on the line. I guess it is time we see how real you are.”
“The problem is your reality and my reality differ Constance.” I take my feet off the desk and lean in with the burning ember of the cigarette dangerously close to the camera. “See I am not fully convinced you know where you are. You know me by reputation because my blood is still stained on that canvas. . . it'll never be washed out. You can feel the air thicken when I enter room. See I see it in their eyes, they all want to jump like anxious little frogs. . . but they can barely choke out my name. So Constance since you came from outside, since you are a former GPW World Champion, let me formally introduce myself at Breakthrough. I'm The Modern Day Messiah, I am the World Visionaries Champion. . . I am Casanova English. . . and this is VoW.” I lift up the hunk of gold that represents greatness slapping it up on my shoulder proudly. “This is Visionaries of Wrestling. . . this is . . .” I point to my championship hard nearly snapping my finger. I'm not sure where the anger erupted , but I grind my teeth as I say it “. . .this is MY fucking stomp.” I gaze away from the camera and catch my reflection in Championship. I realized something glaring into the gold and finally recognized myself. I was Casanova English, the World Visionaries Champion, and that screaming. It isn't someone begging for mercy. It isn't a haunting. It is a fucking war cry.
MAY 20TH
MILLHAVEN INSTITUTION
BATH, ONTARIO
MILLHAVEN INSTITUTION
BATH, ONTARIO
The prison was eerily quiet as I walked through the strangely sanitary hallway that seemed to glow white. This was their attempt to make prison seem less gloomy. They think a fresh coat of paint, and bright lights on the upper floor where the clinic and concessionary were connected to these long hallways that housed 2-3 interrogation rooms. I fix the collar of my suit as I approved the door. The guard (I think his name is Dillon) smiles wide excited to see me. “Everything is in place sir.” He nods at me and tips his hat as he opens the door to an interrogation room. Another solider of the revolution; like I said they come from all walks of life. Everyone is tired of the powers that be.
There he sat with his head down; sweat soaking his long gray hair. He pulled his head up proudly, raising an eyebrow in my direction, biting his lower lip. He looked thrilled, scared. . . but thrilled. “It must be that time eh Ol' Boy.” He laughed licking his lips. “I'm sad we didn't get to talk much. I'm sad we didn't get to play catch.” He shakes his head and snickers at his own sick sarcasm as I stand in the doorway nonchalant. “Most of all I am sorry I wasn't around to kick your fuckin' ass when you acted like a little punk.”
“Is that supposed to intimidate me? Or do you just have that shit of a sense of humor?” I ask casually as I walk to the other end of the table. Dad isn't tied up, his arms are free. He understands now. . . it's useless to fight. He knows the power I have. He felt my reputation the moments my eyes met his months ago. “I don't think you would of made much of a father. I mean you were a serial rapist after all.” I look around the room, fixing my hair in the two way mirror that rested behind my father. I gaze around in the room generally and let out a sigh turning back to father. “Now Dean, you are smart enough to know that you were going to die here, but I bet you had no idea it was going to be like this. I bet you had no idea I was going to destroy every relationship you had in here. I bet you didn't think you were going to get beaten and raw dogged by people you called friends. I bet you didn’t think you would be tortured for two months emotionally and physically.” I smile to myself, and restrain myself from pulling out a cigarette. A butt would be something easily forgotten that would connect me to this. “That was only a portion of the pain you inflicted on my mother, on my family, on me. See Dean you didn't just rape my mom once. You did it over and over. Every man that abused her, that took her and tore her apart when she longed to stay whole. That was you Dean. . . every single time.” He still seems proud of what he has done, but what is he going to do. . . relent. . . beg. . . after all of this? “Every time she snorted a pill to avoid the new reality you placed her in. . . it was you assaulting her. You attacking her mind. That time she forgot she was bathing Andy and he turned blue. That was you drowning him.” I shake my head as tears come to my eyes; I hate to give him the satisfaction. . . so I suck them back. I become the thing he never taught me to be; a man. I meet him what the ice cold glare. “I hated my mother. I hated my family. I hated myself Dean. When I watched the only father figure I have deteriorate into a bag of fucking soup I died too. I didn't know that it was you that I hated. I didn't know that it should have been you lying in that hospital bed suffering. Now I do; now I know that. Now my void has a name.”
“Well fuck. You didn't get that poetry ridden mouth from me boy. That must be from your mama.” He snickers leaning back in his chair. “Come to think about it she was pretty good with that thing.”
I wanted to drag his head down into the table over and over and over till it was painted red with brain matter, but there was a plan. I couldn’t give into impulse. “You really must be under the impression it can't get any worse. Well. . . then you don't know me at all. What was it you asked me when I first came here?” I pause giving him a second to rebut, but he doesn't. “Who the fuck are you? I think you have some idea now don't you dad? I am power. I am born in sin, I am The Modern Day Messiah. My conception was not immaculate, but I promise you Dean my life will be.” I breath deep, and I can smell him. The filth, the sweat that has soaked his skin for weeks. The shit scent lingers in the air of a barely wiped asshole. A pure sign that he gave up, or maybe it was a defense mechanism. I shake my head at the scent of the decrepit old man that sit pathetically hunched in front of me. He tries to straighten his back. He tries to cut me with his words, but he only drives the blade deeper into himself.
“I used to be a dreamer. I used to want to be an artist. I loved painting. I loved painting women. . .” His head fell into his hand. “Naked women. I loved to paint the curves, the elegant little freckles that discreetly scattered throughout cracks and crevasses you wouldn't see when clothed.” He swallowed hard looking at me. I think maybe he thought I would understand, that I could see where he was coming from. It wasn't like he wanted mercy. He just wanted me to know his story. How it happened so innocently and spawned into sin. “Then one day. . . painting them just wasn't enough. I had to reach out and touch them. Reach out and taste them. . .” He shook his head at how stupid it sounded.
He wasn't apologizing for my pain, or my mothers. He just wanted me to know. At one point he wasn't evil. I was sitting here as his executioner and I was here for him. Here to listen to his final words. Now it was his turn to finally do something for me. “You are going to die here Dean. . . tonight.” He nodded in acceptance. Tears welled up in the corners of his eyes. “I need you to do something for me. I don't want you to cry. I don't want you to beg. I want you to embrace it. I want you to teach me how to die. That is the last thing a father teaches his son. It'll be the only thing you teach me. You think you can do that Dean?”
He once again lifts his head up to nod in agreement, but as he lifted his head a figure stepped from the shadows; grabbed the top of his head. They drug a blade across his throat slowly. Dean howled like a wild dog until his carotid artery exploded blasting crimson across the table and onto my chest. That was the sign and Stu smashed the button in the van letting out the general population. The alarm sounded and the whole place turned into a frenzy. The silence was broken, but not for me. I couldn’t hear anything. Dean; my father sat there his esophagus wide open. His wound matched his eyes; wide open. They spoke to my soul, but not sweetly.
Bang! Bang! Bang! The guard smashes on the door and opens it up. “Come on. We have to move. The van is going to meet you at the East exit” He looks up and down the hallway frantically. “Follow me sir.”
I was frozen for a moment, but I get up and follow the guard. He stops in front of the stairwell. “Follow the stairs all the way down. There is an exit on the left for fire, run to the east wall where a small hole was cut and get in the van.” I smile to him, just as the criminal I hired to kill my dad drops a sharpened toothbrush six or seven times into the guard's kidney. He touches his wounds confused. “The fuck.”
The guard tumbles to the ground breathing softly. As the criminal continues his walk to mix in the madness caused in general population. I kneel down before I go downstairs and meet Stu. “Thank you soldier. You did good. Your work is done. You aren’t an Orphan anymore. . . go home.” The weight of his eyelids were too much as he fell into abyss. I couldn’t risk it. I couldn't have this be traced back to me. Most people are disposable. In the process of eliminating a target there is often collateral damage. On my way to Ryder Blade, my collateral damage would have a name and a reputation. . . Constance Chapin.