Leap back, step forth
Claim my adore
Sunder thee to me amour
Leap back, step forth
And say no more
Thy heart now rent nought but a spore
The world is a warm place. She is here.
-Please, I beg of you, don’t let me fall asleep. In all my dreams I drown...-
We arrive with a beautiful vista, it’s Nami Island, Korea, on a beautiful summer’s day. We pan back and we’re sat on a grassy hill, with vegetation all around, all in bloom. It looks like some idyllic scene from a movie; Cherry blossoms falling from their branches, and a small lake encircled by the same trees. It’s springtime, its perfection, its beauty.
And then...
Into view comes the visage of human beauty. It’s the girl who seems to keep appearing around Neonero, though his interactions with her have been...foggy.
Oh, no more pictures by the way.
As she removes her waistcoat, petals falling all about her, we’re struck by her natural radiance, a beauty that captivates us in such an un-contrived way, not sexual allure, not jaw on the floor ‘look at the size of dat a’ kind of captivation.
This is the kind of sensation one feels when watching a beautiful sunset.
Rain falling, pattering gently against a windowpane.
The first time a newborn opens its eyes.
That elusive first kiss.
Yes, there is something almost unnaturally beautiful about her, as if our very vision is being clouded by the sensations, emotions and feelings that someone has for her. And at that thought, here is Neonero. This time, however, he sees her just fine. They embrace, and we realise this is a different Neonero. This isn’t the constantly focused, erratic miscreant we are so used to seeing. This is simply a man.
A happy man.
It doesn’t take long for us to realise that this moment is short for life, though. In almost the blink of an eye, the skies become grey and overcast, reminding us of the Kraken and the galleon at Gauntlet City...The heavens open and rain pours down, and as we retrain our eyes through the blurry damp, we realise that the woman is quite gone. Neonero, however, remains. He stands looking forlorn; his gaze cast far across the lake, as if willing the blossoms back to their place in the trees, as if wishing the clouds from the sky. As if rewinding time itself.
He drops to his knees.
?How does it feel,
How does it feel?
When you're alone,
And you're cold inside??
His head sinks, and all of those positive feelings, the perfection, the beauty, the sentiment, the romance, all turn to rot. Fucking rot. We almost feel sick looking at the screen. Nero falls forwards, his face landing in a muddy puddle, slapping him across one cheek. We feel immeasurably distraught, with little comprehension as to why.
A hand rests itself on Nero’s shoulder.
And then...
We fade
*Commercial for ‘The Bryce is Right’, the new Game show hosted by none other than XWF’s own “TheXtremist” Bryce!*
The essence of Cyaneyed
There’s something direly wrong within these eyes. Sorrow. Anger. Betrayal. Heartache. Sehnsucht.
...Death?
Nero’s eyes are wide open. Staring. Something has shifted within him. Something that was previously imperceptible within his own psyche now rears its head and rushes to the front of his skull, barraging his frontal cortex as if trying to force its way out of his third eye (metaphysical one, not an allusion to his penis).
It hurts.
It hurts with a pang that seeps insidiously from his temple and down into the pit of his battered and bruised heart. It pulses through every artery and vein, his body reeks of it.
His eyes close.
He lowers his head, and we recognise our surroundings, its Nero’s office. Strangely, his bust of the Emperor Nero is absent. Perhaps he has no place, in this place...Nero pushes his chair back, and ducks under the table, and it sounds as though he is regurgitating. Then he snaps up, as if nothing had happened.
Do you know what cyanide is?
Nero grins suddenly, a big toothy grin as if he were emulating some of Jeff Hardy’s artwork.
Cyanide is a poison. It has many uses, folks. It can be used in agriculture. It can be used to kill pests. Or it can even be sprinkled on a hamburger and used to kill someone.
Nero winks.
You know what an assassin is?
Nero points at himself proudly. Like a child.
Someone sent to kill. Someone sent to take out his target at any cost; someone who achieves his success through subterfuge. Do you know where I am going with this, people? Let’s look at another word, one that I used to confound the likes of Cyren – when he was still good – Hisoka Itazura, Mark Flynn etcetera. The word is Trapdoor.
Nero raises his eyebrows. Are we catching on at home?
A trapdoor is when I say something that I know will get a reaction. It might be an insult, or it might be a throwaway comment. It might be an exaggeration about myself. It might be the most inane set of words you can imagine. It might be deliberately base trash talk. Or it might be a compliment.
Nero reclines, looking self satisfied.
Let’s remind ourselves of something here; I’m not a nice guy. I’m not here to make friends. And I am certainly not here to share platitudes. Ursula, you have fallen for the simplest trapdoor in the book. I told you I respect you...and your response is to say the same in kind. Let’s look at that reaction, it can mean one of two things, either;
You think that by speaking of me nicely, I will give you an easy ride, I will avoid targeting you in the ring. I sincerely hope this is not the truth because if it is, you are in sore need of repatriating yourself as French. This is not the place for niceties, and I am especially high on the list when it comes to people you shouldn’t underestimate.
Thoughtful.
Or the other possibility...you think that we have genuine respect as combatants. We’ll go hammer and tongs but we’ll respect each other throughout and beyond this match. I’m wondering if this is closer to the mark, because once you were done wetting yourself consumed with self doubt after Gauntlet City, you spoke of ‘many battles to come’.
Nero composes himself, sitting forwards a little.
Do you think the GG NORE tour just pauses and takes a detour when it reaches your tits? Do you think that one compliment means you are off the list? Ursula, everyone is on the list. No one is immune when it comes to being on the list. I could tag with anyone, and I could do it convincingly, and I could do it for years. But even that person’s time would come.
Consider yourself lucky.
Lucky that your time is now. You wont have to worry about me mauling you more than once. I’ll tear you apart like a Christian in the amphitheatre, and you wont want anymore of this. Careful honey, don’t let that feeling in your stomach swell any further. Rage is not a useful trait in the ring. It makes you clumsy. It makes you illogical.
Nero quirks a brow.
But then, so is being depressed every time you lose. Let me tell you something, since it seems to have flown happily under the radar. I lose matches. I especially lose these clusterfuck matches which for some reason I put myself in line for. War Games. Lethal Lottery. Gauntlet City. Neonero is not built for teamwork, or gangbangs. And truth be told, I don't want to be wearing a crown. I think that’s the most ludicrous accolade going. Let’s celebrate monarchy in America, the land where thousands died banishing it! Yes, before you say it, the ‘crown’ was handed over in London. But don't you think that’s even more insidious and suspicious? And not at all a coincidence that the power crazed despot we were already used to has just created the damn thing as another way of reminding the poor tossers on Shove it that they are on Shove it.
He sighs.
You know, when I first came here, I played those stupid mind games with the heads upstairs. I had my PA type up official looking documents then claimed they were BS storms from the XWF management. That schtick got old fast. But you know what I never did? I never sent myself one restrospectively claiming I was employed to ‘do the job’. You’re confused girl. Did you come here to job for a paycheque or did you come here to compete? I thought you were a competitor, but after your promo, I really don’t know what to make of you.
He chuckles to himself, unfolding his legs, then crossing them the opposite way.
The Next Big Thing...here she is folks. The girl who couldn’t win the ufowtfbbqwhocaresherearesomenumbers43525245 title is the next big thing. Take it all in, folks. This is the girl who is so dedicated to her career as a ‘warrior’ that she legitimately – I shit you not – took time out to pursue ‘modelling options’. Now, lets forget how broad a term modelling is. Lets forget the myriad of XWF photo shoots she would have and probably is getting; lets forget that the world of pornography and glamour magazines exists. Lets pretend that Ursula left the XWF to become a model for over 60’s winter wear. Cardigans, scarves, woolly coats etcetera. Why? Because its fucking inane that’s why. Call me the ‘Thane of Inane’.
Shrug, what else do you really expect from Nero?
You left what you call your dream. Your ultimate goal. Your life’s work.
To give some pensioners a flutter.
To wear cardigans for a camera.
Christ.
What commitment. To throw away your career just to wear clothes. You could do that in your spare time. You seem to find infinite opportunities to fly to and from Buenos Aires; London Sunday, Buenos Aires Friday, Florida Monday. I hope you get air miles. And deep vein thrombosis.
Nero wipes away his last comment with his hands.
Really though. If you can find all that time to travel around, and I don't really blame you for not wanting to live here, if you have all that time, then why couldn’t you just allot some of that time to your cardigan fetish? Why does it come to retiring? It comes down to a deep dark secret, doesn’t it Ursula? It comes down to the reason you were named after the constellation for Bear. Because you’re a big (see: butt), cuddly (see: chest) animal (see: [RUNTIME ERROR: PLEASE REFER TO FILE N.CAP.BEASTIALITY.AVI]) who is all snarls and swipes, but you still have to lie down in the winter.
You don't have what it takes to hang at the top.
And its my unfortunate duty to drive that home to you this Monday. You and little cappy, who’s certainly not been yappy. I am not even sure which of you I respect less at this point. You fall for the simplest mind games, and Cappy offers fuck all. Which, to be fair, is still more than Jeff Hardy on a good day.
Nero’s eye twitches a little.
But back to you, Ursula. Since this is your moment in the sun. Your ‘big shot’. If I haven’t spelled it out by now, let me put this in terms even Game Genie wouldn’t need to cheat to decode: I fucking duped you. I do not respect you anymore than I respect the next competitor. I saw a chink in your armour, that beautiful weakness all women seem to share; naivety. You claim to be a warrior, but you don’t realise that 50% of a battle is mental. And right now you might as well already be flat on your back, shoulders pinned down, tits pushed up against your knees as I pin you missionary style.
Nero rolls his eyes, clearly chastising himself internally for using a sexual line. He couldn’t resist it.
And the golden rule in battle? Know your enemy. I cant even begin to describe to you how naïve of you it was to think that Neonero was treating you of all people with respect. What do you think just because your post-production guys have started modelling your promos on mine that I’m going to be flattered? It’s actually rather tragic. I mean I’d be flattered if it wasn’t so tragic. It’s so try-hard.
Where’s Ursula Areano? She’s turning into a Neonero pastiche. It’s like I turned on to TV mundial and there's a badly dubbed episode of Madness airing. And I’ve grown tits. And an Argentinean tongue.
Nero looks flabbergasted.
Oh on that note, the Falklands? Fucking have them. I have no time for people who wave Union Jacks anyway. Send them up to the other border, you know, the one where you pay a toll to cross if you don't have a green card. The one that leads you into Mexico. Jeez. I cant imagine how bad life must be if you’re willing to risk running foul of sicarios, zetas and the like just to get into America. I mean, you must surely take a plane, but your compatriots...and I am not knocking Argentina here. I am just seriously scratching my head. Are people really that in love with the postcard version of America that they’d risk all that for a slice of American pie? Jeez.
A very disparaging shake of the head.
At any rate, I grow weary of this talk. I seriously hope I have reinvigorated you after this. Perhaps you will actually show me something if you bother to make a second promo. I know I will look forwards to it if you do. Give me something to work with other than your naivety, and your half assed aspirations, por favor?
And Cappy, where you at fool?
And with that last pertinent question...
We fade
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