Post by Ulysses Dare on Nov 21, 2020 23:23:58 GMT
Lithium sunset barely illuminates an arid ranch traversed by three slow striding silhouettes. The larger figure, Pablo Abraxas, whistles forcefully, beckoning three horses. He pats the mane of the tall Morgan with alpha swagger before mounting it effortlessly. His wiry, uncooth counterpart Ulysses Dare mimics the action to climb atop the snow-white Lipizzan, but is startled by its comparative lack of sturdiness. Meanwhile, the winsome brunette Viola Cassiel studies her stallion, by elimination; a raucous dusty Haflinger, with trembling trepidation.
Why exactly are we doing this? she complains. Abraxas, with furrowed accusatory eyebrows, rides towards her, offering a hand up onto her colt. He retorts: Horse riding is perfect training for our next OUTLAW Wrestling World Champ here - Balance, mastery, courage, determination, harnessing energy... what more could Uly need?
I get that... but why do I need to ride this thi... WHOA! As she ascends to the saddle, the steed flings her to and fro like a mechanical bull. As she almost topples, Ulysses rides alongside her and clasps her horse, subduing it instantly. Viola begins to enjoy the creature's more moderate trot.
See Vi, your colt was channeling the spirit of Savage, Uly's first Dead or Alive opponent. Perplexed, she asks: Explain? Pablo nods at Dare, prompting him to volunteer an extrapolation.
Yeah, I feel this, right. That Savage is elusive but the geezer clearly ain't all there in the 'ead. Truth is, I've come across many "Savages" on the streets. They share one thing in common. Destruction. Bloody psychopaths don't ever actually want anything but to inflict trouble and pain. They ain't winners. They ain't constructive. They're bonafide losers but they'll go through 'ell just to ensure everyone else loses too. This is the worst Night One match possible. No doubt I'll beat 'im; 'e ain't got the focus nor the talent to achieve a damn thing, but 'e will stoop to anythin' to do damage.
Throughout Dare's every word, Viola's horse becomes more and more sluggish, as if entranced by his voice like a soothing lullaby.
Just do exactly what you did to Vi's horse - DOMINATE. Psychopaths share a karmic inheritance. They were all bereft of a mother's love. Subconsciously, etherically, they yearn to be held like a crying infant. Hold that bitch down! You can't go toe to toe with a man, nay ANIMAL, like Savage. You have to assert your superiority from moment one. HEAL HIM, ULY! TAME THAT LOW CONSCIOUSNESS, PUERILE BEAST.
Viola appears aghast as her colt comes to a stumbling halt, dozing under her. Her ambivalent attempt to tap him into life proves fruitless.
You're spot on. I ain't letting 'im take even a scratch. I wanna go fresh as a daisy into night two against Jesse Roscoe.
The boss man! "Wild Buck" himself. How appropriate.
Abraxas manoeuvres his horse adjacent to Dare's and gestures to a nearby haylage bale beyond a low fence.
Why exactly are we doing this? she complains. Abraxas, with furrowed accusatory eyebrows, rides towards her, offering a hand up onto her colt. He retorts: Horse riding is perfect training for our next OUTLAW Wrestling World Champ here - Balance, mastery, courage, determination, harnessing energy... what more could Uly need?
I get that... but why do I need to ride this thi... WHOA! As she ascends to the saddle, the steed flings her to and fro like a mechanical bull. As she almost topples, Ulysses rides alongside her and clasps her horse, subduing it instantly. Viola begins to enjoy the creature's more moderate trot.
See Vi, your colt was channeling the spirit of Savage, Uly's first Dead or Alive opponent. Perplexed, she asks: Explain? Pablo nods at Dare, prompting him to volunteer an extrapolation.
Yeah, I feel this, right. That Savage is elusive but the geezer clearly ain't all there in the 'ead. Truth is, I've come across many "Savages" on the streets. They share one thing in common. Destruction. Bloody psychopaths don't ever actually want anything but to inflict trouble and pain. They ain't winners. They ain't constructive. They're bonafide losers but they'll go through 'ell just to ensure everyone else loses too. This is the worst Night One match possible. No doubt I'll beat 'im; 'e ain't got the focus nor the talent to achieve a damn thing, but 'e will stoop to anythin' to do damage.
Throughout Dare's every word, Viola's horse becomes more and more sluggish, as if entranced by his voice like a soothing lullaby.
Just do exactly what you did to Vi's horse - DOMINATE. Psychopaths share a karmic inheritance. They were all bereft of a mother's love. Subconsciously, etherically, they yearn to be held like a crying infant. Hold that bitch down! You can't go toe to toe with a man, nay ANIMAL, like Savage. You have to assert your superiority from moment one. HEAL HIM, ULY! TAME THAT LOW CONSCIOUSNESS, PUERILE BEAST.
Viola appears aghast as her colt comes to a stumbling halt, dozing under her. Her ambivalent attempt to tap him into life proves fruitless.
You're spot on. I ain't letting 'im take even a scratch. I wanna go fresh as a daisy into night two against Jesse Roscoe.
The boss man! "Wild Buck" himself. How appropriate.
Abraxas manoeuvres his horse adjacent to Dare's and gestures to a nearby haylage bale beyond a low fence.
Race to the haylage - how 'bout it?
YEAH BOI!
They rapidly frenzy their horses into a gallop. They're neck and neck approaching the fence. When Dare's horse tries to jump it, his legs are unable to muster the strength and he falls forward helplessly. Dare's launched onto hard land but nimbly rolls to cushion his landing. Abraxas' horse clears the fence and reaches the haylage in mere moments.
Fuck sake!
Abraxas dismounts, walking over to Dare's horse, motionless besides a wearied twitch and strained whinny. Pablo pulls a gun from his waistcoat. Viola rides over, face uncharacteristically pale, haunted. As Dare gets up, dusting himself off, Viola cautiously slides down off her lethargic colt.
What are you doing?!
Uly, this nag is slipping off the mortal coil. You need to end its suffering.
As Viola shrieks, Pablo hands Ulysses the gun. He hesitates before turning away and pulling the trigger. Pablo embraces him but Dare backtracks, disgusted.
You did the right thing, Uly.
... But why me? I never even rode a horse before today. Now I just ended one.
You may've pulled the trigger but it is I who killed what needed to DIE today. Your biggest weakness - sympathy. Sympathy shouldn't be confused with compassion. Compassion's helping those who can be helped. Sympathy's not accepting destiny and refusing to take the most compassionate course of action, even if it involves putting someone or something out of their misery.
But 'ow did ya know that 'orse had no 'ope? Shouldn't we 'ave consulted an equine vet or some s#~t?
I didn't. The horse might've been fine for all I knew.
Viola slaps his chest, not even impacting him a slither.
PABLO! You're an ass!
As I said, SYMPATHY! This really isn't about the damn horse. It's about Roscoe, don't you see?
That's tenuous BS.
Yeah mate, what you sayin'?
Abraxas removes his waistcoat and lays it over the horse-corpse in a pathetic gesture masquerading as respect.
The narrative's intoxicating. Rusty veteran, long in the tooth, cobweb-ridden in the bones but full in heart. Builds a wrestling company in the place he calls home. Hires the most exciting newcomers on the scene. Decides to have one last dance to prove he still got moves, to go out in a blaze of glory. First ever OUTLAW Wrestling World Champion before passing the torch to some young foal. What a story. What a dream. What a... dull, nauseating burger of fecal matter!
He pretends to hurl.
ROSCOE IS SUFFERING! AND EVEN WORSE, HE WANTS US TO SUFFER TOO! PUT US ALL OUT OUR MISERY! SHOOT HIM IN THE HEAD!
Whoa, steady there, blood. There's gonna be no shooting in the 'ead. Roscoe's been sound so far. I'm gonna defeat 'im 1, 2, 3. No drama, no 'ard feelings, no sweat.
You really think you'll kill his dreams and he'll play the supportive boss from then on out?
It's in 'is interests that I'm who I'm touted to be - a FN superstar. Not that The Apparition gives a flying arse about that. I'm just 'ere to fight, win and stamp on anyone who's looked down on me. But Roscoe wants me to make 'im copious moolah, ultimately. I say I down 'im fair and square and let 'is ego find solace in the fact 'e lost to 'is golden goose. We can let 'im believe he MADE me or some bollocks. Anything to keep 'is pride intact, you get me? What better way to retire than to open the gate for the first ever OUTLAW Wrestling World Champion - me, Uly D?
Hmm, you're right. I sense my wisdom is rubbing off on you, young shaiksha.
Viola rolls her eyes as Ulysses looks away, disinterested in Abraxas' attempts at rapport.
Give me a break...
So anyways, what equine analogy ya got for my third opponent next week, John Blade?
Abraxas looks around, trying to connect the metaphorical dots.
Got nothing. This one's yours.
Flogging a dead horse?
Works for me.
Dare kneels before the deceased horse, stroking it sentimentally, before rising up and facing the camera. Breaking the fourth wall, he addresses the watching public.
My name is Ulysses Dare. Let's slay the elephant in the room. The rumours are true - I'm a tramp, vagabond, drifter... an OUTLAW if you like. Uly D thrives on discomfort, on not just being a step ahead of the game but making up my own rules. I won't let this place neuter me and put a roof over my 'ead but I intend to make OUTLAW Wrestling my 'ome. Gonna own the place. Blade, I look at you and see a comformist, a bad prototype. You don't belong here and I'll evict you quick, d&!k.
Gangster rapper? You breathe that soft s£"t anywhere near me and you'll get f%*!#~g merked, son. You're an insult to 'ip 'op, a stain on my 'eritage. There's literally nothing creative or skilled about you. Your only SICK FLOW will be that brown trail dribblin' down your legs when I pop your doughboy arse. You ain't got BEATS boy, but I'll 'appily pound your 'ollow skull so the ringing will never stop. BRAP BRAP BRAP, you're mincemeat mate. Uly gonna paint your grey matter all over that mat in iambic pentameter... only thing you'll ever spit vaguely resembling rhymes, shammer b~#$h.
Ulysses spies Viola's visage straining in his peripheral vision. Her disapproval tempers him somewhat. Meanwhile, Pablo's almost chanting along with Dare in delight.
Savage, I'll euthanise quick. Roscoe? Plan on letting 'im play a while before saying goodnight, reading 'is bedtime story, retirement edition. You, 'owever Blade, are my torture victim. My scalp. You're the one I 'old up before the petrified face of whoever prevails outta the other side of that Dead or Alive bracket. But HEY, it'll be the first time you'll ever incite fear... so... you're welcome.
I will be the first ever OUTLAW Wrestling World Champion. As for the others... If you dare to dream, Dare'll be your NIGHTMARE.
Abraxas claps slowly as Viola covers her face in prudish unease.
OUTLAW World Championship
VACANT
