Post by Knight on May 14, 2014 21:36:50 GMT -6
Truman Capote once described New Orleans as "of all secret cities, the most secretive, the most unlike, in reality, what an outsider is permitted to observe." This thought should ring in the mind of the observer as the camera approaches the exterior of Lafitte's Blacksmith Shop. The building, supposedly the former headquarters of the famed pirate and reputedly the oldest building standing in a city known for many "oldests", is now a haven for those seeking the thriving nightlife the Crescent City offers to both visitor and native. The camera pans up to the sign indicating Bourbon St. before settling on the couple seated at the small table outside.
Dressed in dark clothing, both seem like decorations...a part of the ambiance, almost. The man lifts a beer to his lips as he notices the camera. He motions toward the camera and his companion, an attractive woman clad in a blood-red corset and black leggings, looks over her shoulder. She turns her attention back to him, and at her snapped command, he shrugs, finishes the beer, and tosses the bottle over his shoulder. He smirks at the sound of glass shattering as both rise from their seats. The woman glances toward the bar, where dozens of flickering candles and loud piano music contribute to the unique atmosphere. She shakes her head and motions for the camera to follow as the big man falls into step behind her. Rounding the corner, they continue almost a block down Bourbon before the woman holds up a hand, bringing the procession to a halt. She turns to face the camera as the big man steps dutifully behind her. Both cast glances up and down the street before the woman begins to talk.
Mistress Lovecraft: I see you found us after all. I am the Mistress Lilith Lovecraft, and the hulking specimen of manhood behind me is my Black Knight, Scott.
The big man flexes almost subconsciously, his t-shirt straining to contain the expanding chest and biceps. Mistress Lilith allows a slight approving smile before returning her attention to the camera.
Mistress Lovecraft: "Visionaries of Wrestling." I would ask just what your visions for this company are, but honestly, they do not matter. The reality is...my vision will be the one realized. I too have a vision...a vision of your world burning around you, one "Visionary" at a time. One by one, Knightfall shall come for them. This world will recognize true strength, know true power. And the first cut shall be the deepest. The sword of my Knight shall be drawn first against...this...Scott? What was his name again?
Knight leans forward, his voice barely audible as he answers his Mistress's question.
Knight: Blue Suede Bruce, m'lady.
A smirk crosses the face of the Mistress as she glances back at Knight.
Mistress Lovecraft: Right...Blue Suede Bruce. A sad little mockery...a pathetic attempt to grasp at the "glory" of an equally pathetic role model. Long before "reality television" reduced fame to a matter of stupidity and bad behavior while cameras are near, one celebrity reveled in decadence and excess on a global scale. A sad excuse for humanity, he allowed drugs and vices to lead him straight into an early grave. The miserable piece of living excrement died, fittingly enough, on a toilet. Mr. Bruce, I almost pity those who would seek to emulate such a man. What sort of turmoil would drive a man to idolize such a waste of humanity? I ask out of professional curiosity...I am a bit of a connoisseur of human misery myself. But unlike those who actively follow the examples of those who have suffered before me, I choose instead to experiment...to inflict new wicked delights upon my willing victims.
Without warning, the Mistress spins and drives a backhand across the face of Scott Knight. The sudden blow causes the big man to take a step back. His hand raises to rub the angry red mark spreading across the side of his face as he smiles a macabre grin. Mistress Lovecraft turns back to the camera as if nothing had happened.
Mistress Lovecraft: Not all my victims are as dedicated as dear Scott, but they are willing nonetheless, Mr. Bruce. You signed the contract and agreed to step into the ring with my Blackguard. That is just as binding an agreement as the one my dear Knight entered into. You have stepped forward and volunteered your services to me...
The Mistress's voice trails off as a cell phone rings in her pocket. She pulls out the phone and glances at it, then she turns to Knight.
Mistress Lovecraft: Scotty, dear, could you run get me another drink?
Knight: Of course, Mistress.
Lovecraft watches Knight make his way back up Bourbon. Leaning against a wrought iron fence, she presses a button to answer the phone as she holds a finger up to the camera.
Mistress Lovecraft: What is it? No...I'm working on it. Of course I...no, no. I don't know what he...no, forget it. Scott will do what I...I'll take care of everything.
The Mistress exhales deeply as she presses the face of the phone and returns it to her pocket. A look of anger flashes across her face.
Mistress Lovecraft: Blue Suede Bruce, you will be the first casualty in a war against everything this world holds dear and decent. Unearthly horror is all that awaits you in that ring at Breakthrough. Sing your little songs and do your happy dances...you're only whistling past the very graveyard that my Knight will bury you in. When I get done with these so-called Visionaries, the whole world is going to suf...oh, thank you, Scott.
The Mistress's face softens into a smile as she takes a large plastic hurricane glass from the returning Knight. With a slow sip, she allows her eyes to close briefly. Eventually, she returns her gaze to the camera.
Mistress Lovecraft: Scott, my dear, tell us...what do you intend to accomplish at Breakthrough?
Knight steps forward and looks to his Mistress, who smiles and nods encouragingly. He turns and levels his gaze at the camera.
Knight: My one goal is to serve my Mistress. She desires a victory, so that is what she shall have. Blue Suede Bruce will be crushed by my hand, laid low and drug, broken, to be an offering at the feet of my Mistress.
Mistress Lovecraft: And why is that, my dearest?
Knight: Because such is the wish of the Mistress. There need be no other. I bow to no man...
Lovecraft smiles as Knight prostrates, kneeling in front of her. He raises his gaze to meet the camera.
Knight: ...but I kneel at the boots of the Mistress.
Mistress Lovecraft: Well said, my dear. All will take their place at my feet. Whether you do so as a loyal dog like Scott, or under my heel like a worm, the decision is yours to make. The outcome, however, is inevitable. See you at Breakthrough, Brucie...
Dressed in dark clothing, both seem like decorations...a part of the ambiance, almost. The man lifts a beer to his lips as he notices the camera. He motions toward the camera and his companion, an attractive woman clad in a blood-red corset and black leggings, looks over her shoulder. She turns her attention back to him, and at her snapped command, he shrugs, finishes the beer, and tosses the bottle over his shoulder. He smirks at the sound of glass shattering as both rise from their seats. The woman glances toward the bar, where dozens of flickering candles and loud piano music contribute to the unique atmosphere. She shakes her head and motions for the camera to follow as the big man falls into step behind her. Rounding the corner, they continue almost a block down Bourbon before the woman holds up a hand, bringing the procession to a halt. She turns to face the camera as the big man steps dutifully behind her. Both cast glances up and down the street before the woman begins to talk.
Mistress Lovecraft: I see you found us after all. I am the Mistress Lilith Lovecraft, and the hulking specimen of manhood behind me is my Black Knight, Scott.
The big man flexes almost subconsciously, his t-shirt straining to contain the expanding chest and biceps. Mistress Lilith allows a slight approving smile before returning her attention to the camera.
Mistress Lovecraft: "Visionaries of Wrestling." I would ask just what your visions for this company are, but honestly, they do not matter. The reality is...my vision will be the one realized. I too have a vision...a vision of your world burning around you, one "Visionary" at a time. One by one, Knightfall shall come for them. This world will recognize true strength, know true power. And the first cut shall be the deepest. The sword of my Knight shall be drawn first against...this...Scott? What was his name again?
Knight leans forward, his voice barely audible as he answers his Mistress's question.
Knight: Blue Suede Bruce, m'lady.
A smirk crosses the face of the Mistress as she glances back at Knight.
Mistress Lovecraft: Right...Blue Suede Bruce. A sad little mockery...a pathetic attempt to grasp at the "glory" of an equally pathetic role model. Long before "reality television" reduced fame to a matter of stupidity and bad behavior while cameras are near, one celebrity reveled in decadence and excess on a global scale. A sad excuse for humanity, he allowed drugs and vices to lead him straight into an early grave. The miserable piece of living excrement died, fittingly enough, on a toilet. Mr. Bruce, I almost pity those who would seek to emulate such a man. What sort of turmoil would drive a man to idolize such a waste of humanity? I ask out of professional curiosity...I am a bit of a connoisseur of human misery myself. But unlike those who actively follow the examples of those who have suffered before me, I choose instead to experiment...to inflict new wicked delights upon my willing victims.
Without warning, the Mistress spins and drives a backhand across the face of Scott Knight. The sudden blow causes the big man to take a step back. His hand raises to rub the angry red mark spreading across the side of his face as he smiles a macabre grin. Mistress Lovecraft turns back to the camera as if nothing had happened.
Mistress Lovecraft: Not all my victims are as dedicated as dear Scott, but they are willing nonetheless, Mr. Bruce. You signed the contract and agreed to step into the ring with my Blackguard. That is just as binding an agreement as the one my dear Knight entered into. You have stepped forward and volunteered your services to me...
The Mistress's voice trails off as a cell phone rings in her pocket. She pulls out the phone and glances at it, then she turns to Knight.
Mistress Lovecraft: Scotty, dear, could you run get me another drink?
Knight: Of course, Mistress.
Lovecraft watches Knight make his way back up Bourbon. Leaning against a wrought iron fence, she presses a button to answer the phone as she holds a finger up to the camera.
Mistress Lovecraft: What is it? No...I'm working on it. Of course I...no, no. I don't know what he...no, forget it. Scott will do what I...I'll take care of everything.
The Mistress exhales deeply as she presses the face of the phone and returns it to her pocket. A look of anger flashes across her face.
Mistress Lovecraft: Blue Suede Bruce, you will be the first casualty in a war against everything this world holds dear and decent. Unearthly horror is all that awaits you in that ring at Breakthrough. Sing your little songs and do your happy dances...you're only whistling past the very graveyard that my Knight will bury you in. When I get done with these so-called Visionaries, the whole world is going to suf...oh, thank you, Scott.
The Mistress's face softens into a smile as she takes a large plastic hurricane glass from the returning Knight. With a slow sip, she allows her eyes to close briefly. Eventually, she returns her gaze to the camera.
Mistress Lovecraft: Scott, my dear, tell us...what do you intend to accomplish at Breakthrough?
Knight steps forward and looks to his Mistress, who smiles and nods encouragingly. He turns and levels his gaze at the camera.
Knight: My one goal is to serve my Mistress. She desires a victory, so that is what she shall have. Blue Suede Bruce will be crushed by my hand, laid low and drug, broken, to be an offering at the feet of my Mistress.
Mistress Lovecraft: And why is that, my dearest?
Knight: Because such is the wish of the Mistress. There need be no other. I bow to no man...
Lovecraft smiles as Knight prostrates, kneeling in front of her. He raises his gaze to meet the camera.
Knight: ...but I kneel at the boots of the Mistress.
Mistress Lovecraft: Well said, my dear. All will take their place at my feet. Whether you do so as a loyal dog like Scott, or under my heel like a worm, the decision is yours to make. The outcome, however, is inevitable. See you at Breakthrough, Brucie...
