Post by Nathaniel Caraway on Aug 2, 2014 11:41:04 GMT -6
Heavy raindrops smacking against the windowpane has always been one of my favorite sounds. The constant pattering can at times be as subtle as a lullaby to carry one to slumber and at others overbearing to a near-threatening level, as though it might pound past glass and mortar alike like so many bullets. This storm rests within the middle of that spectrum as I observer from the armchair in my study, the rumbling of the storm mixing with the crackle of the fire in the hearth to create an ambiance perfect for putting one in the mind and mood to create. Resting my chin in one hand while the other cradles a glass of merlot, giving it a slow twirl more out of habit, I recall the message I’d received barely a day prior. I had been waiting for this for some time, the notification of my first step toward immortality.
Never had wrestling been of much interest to me and any time spent viewing it was simply on a lark. There were more permanent, fulfilling pursuits, after all, to spend my time indulging in. All of that changed a year or so ago and, now, every moment not spent within my studio or tending to the basic needs of life were concerned with learning the art of the so-called Sport of Kings. The soreness and fatigue has been a constant companion, muddling mind and body, but such pains are blissful to me. Taking a sip of the dark liquid in my hand, I tilt my head back against the plushness of the high-backed chair and close my eyes, letting my never-still mind wander.
With irritation, I find within moments that I’m to be denied such respite. Peripherally I hear the opening and closing of the door behind me with light footsteps on the carpet following. Perhaps he meant to deliver something without rousing me from my reverie. In that, he failed miserably.
“Richard,” I begin, my eyes still closed though my voice betrays my put-out attitude, “it is my fervent hope that you have a damn good reason for disturbing me against specific instructions not to do so.”
“I do not make habit of ignoring your instructions, sir,” he replies calmly, “unless I am convinced that my reasoning is sound.”
Exhaling quietly, I had to silently admit to myself that this was true. Beyond most people in this downward-spiraling world, Richard was one of the few that I trusted implicitly, a status that he had earned with loyalty and resourcefulness. If it were within me to possess such in the form intended, I would call him a friend. I gesture for him to continue, sitting up and staring into the fire as he remained several paces behind the chair.
“We’ve the identity of your first opponent at last, sir.”
That certainly earned my rapt attention. I didn’t dare hope that I would be leaping right into the thick of it from the beginning, though there was a twinge of anticipation in the back of my mind that teased the idea, not letting go despite logic.
“And?”
Only at this point did his voice betray hesitation and thus did the nagging tingle in my brain cease.
“Skylar,” he answers quietly. “Does that name have any meaning, sir?”
“Yes,” I say after a moment’s consideration. “She was present at that second pivotal moment. That is…closer than I expected to come so soon.”
“This is pleasing, then?”
Smiling thinly, I set my glass down on the end table and rise, glancing over my shoulder at Richard. He was truly a tower of a man, someone I both trusted and, at times, thought about in ways standing aside from his employment to me. Considering how he stared back at me, I contemplated what he might be thinking himself. This was, after all, a man who had given most of his life over to standing behind me, serving as my right hand when I could not reach as far as I wished. That takes a special kind of soul, one who will pledge themselves to another unequivocally.
“It suits my purpose if that’s what you mean.”
Walking over to the picture window, I throw the heavy drapes aside, widening my view of the storm-pounded courtyard of my home. The churning gray skies above, the whipping about of branch and blade and the earth-rattling force of the thunder were as beautiful as any summer sunset in my estimation. But that’s how we artists are: there’s beauty in almost everything if you know where to look.
“I trust you’ve already taken the information given you and produced something?”
A few long strides bring Richard to my side whereupon he places a folder in my waiting hand. Opening it, I peruse the information and pictures within, assimilating the important bits and skimming the rest. Despite my selectiveness in what is and is not appealing, especially when it comes to other humans, I must grudgingly admit that this…Skylar…is rather attractive in her own way, at least physically-speaking. Looking at the whole picture leaves her lacking in some ways. Richard detects my distaste merely by the reflection of my face on the window.
“Attractive as she may be on the outside, it is hard to look past her choice of employment beyond the ring, isn’t it?”
“Mmm,” I say musingly in response, going from a picture of her posing in the ring to one of her in her other…occupation. “For someone to degrade themselves like that is a disgusting thing. Tromping about with the likes of these…Sin City Knights, was it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Yes…that does even less to ingratiate someone of character and distinction to her. Yet, she will still serve her purpose well, I feel. None of the rest of her ilk save the one known as Craven has such use to me. Though I do wish that plans could proceed at a more rapid pace,” I pause, inhaling a cleansing breath to help center myself, “practicality and logic dictate that this more gradual advancement is best. First I will deal with this instrument of sin and temptation known as Skylar, then perhaps her secret-peddling paramour…”
“…sir, if I may?”
Of the myriad irritations that life on a daily basis offers a purveyor of immortal beauty and remembrance, being interrupted is one of those that are most certain to set me off. Richard knows this beyond any doubt, so for him to do so did not bring anger but instead curiosity at what could have prompted it. I give him my full attention which comes with some relief if his expression is to be believed. He releases the breath he’d been holding and clears his throat.
“As correct as your statements are about this group and Miss Skylar in particular, do they truly have any bearing on what shall happen when the proverbial and literal bell rings? The woman may, forgive my vulgarity, eat the brains of newborn babies in back alleys,” he had to pause to allow the tremor born of his own off-the-cuff metaphor pass, “but even that would not alter her capability in the ring. I personally find her to be the most distasteful kind of harlot but her success speaks for itself. That, sir, is where your focus is best directed.”
Richard was right, of course. Closing the folder and tossing it onto the chest set before and beneath the window, I folded my arms and stared out into the storm which had begun to dwindle in force. Already the clouds were starting to thin and the waves rampaging against the sand in the distance were starting to taper down in size and strength. After a few moments of thoughtful silence, I responded.
“You’re correct, of course. Casting stones is beneath me, after all, and I must concede that her experience on a larger stage is greater than my own. However, her non-wrestling details do have bearing on this little soiree we’re about to have in the ring. Neophyte to wrestling I may be, but even I can see the way her past has shaped her present. Look at the desperation with which she battles, always looking over her shoulder, always in such a hurry to settle matters before taking her leave. There are advantages to be taken there, Richard.”
“Hers is a troubled past, sir. You seek to use that against her?”
“Do you think it improper?”
“I think,” he said as his gaze followed mine toward the window again, “that to not do so would be foolish. On the other hand, to use her hardships against her would paint you in an ill light to those watching.”
Belting out a little laughter at his reply, I turned and walked from the window. In but a moment he was dutifully following me down the hallway leading into the foyer of my home and in turn past the grand staircase. Past the parlor and dining room we went until we arrived in the kitchen, our path taking us to a bolted door leading down to the basement. I traced my fingertips over the steel locks and the polished oak veneer, still keeping a bit of laughter on my lips.
“And why, pray tell, should I give a damn what any other than my inner circle think about me, Richard?”
“I…can fathom no reason, sir.”
“They will think what they want of me and I leave them to it. Only when the moment comes that the reactions of the faceless masses can tangibly affect my acquirement of what is already mine shall I lend them credence. Wasting energy courting the affections of the fickle detracts from my ultimate goal. And that says nothing of those who will invariably be placed before me. This company, UWA, is in the midst of an all-consuming civil war. Precious are the few who have not become at least partially embroiled in the constant battles and intrigue brought on by the Children of Nephilim.”
Richard seems to be surprised by this information, perhaps thinking to himself that I had left all the matters of research and information to him. Sensing his inattention, I slam the main lock out of place, the crack of the bolt opening shaking him out of his trance.
“The entire company is under their sway, Richard,” I continue, undoing the deadbolt and chain to fully unlock the door, “and that means everyone who calls themselves an employee of the company walks on eggshells. But even then, no one is safe. There are those who have smartly kept themselves outside the conflict for protracted amounts of time, only to be pulled in later. Kyle Travis, a fellow Canadian, comes to mind in that regard. The aforementioned Sin City Knights, until recently, managed to stay on the periphery as well, but no longer.”
“Arsenal and their ally, Aerynn Donnelly, have been at the forefront for some time with little success,” Richard cut in as we descended the steps behind the door into the dim light of the basement. “But I see no one stopping these people from their goals.”
“No one will stop me either, Richard.”
“You, sir,” he responds, “are not after the same as they. They seek domination of all they see and the spreading of their message to the masses.”
“Yet to that group of iconoclasts I will appear to be an obstacle. For the mere fact that I do not believe as they do and eschew their dogma for my own, they will see me as someone to be either indoctrinated or destroyed. That is their nature. It is their predictability, however, that will not allow them to do either. And besides,” the amusement filters back into my words, “it looks as if another group has placed themselves against their theocratic endeavors. I’m the whisper on the wind, Richard, the ripple in the water. I hide in plain sight. Even if they see me, they will neither notice nor care. And that is how I prefer it.”
“But for how long can that last, sir?”
A retort came immediately to mind but Richard had a point. I bit back the comment that came forth unbidden as we turned the corner into the large, central area of the basement. Several rooms were set up down here, all behind closed doors for the time being. This main room was little more than a hub, yet carried importance with me. Wrought-iron brackets were bolted into the stone walls between each pair of doors and, one at a time, I took to lighting the white candles settled into each while Richard watched. He didn’t get the immediate response he was expecting and when I met his stare the confusion registered immediately.
“It will last as long as I chose. My aims are beyond anything the Children or their opponents seek, which takes me out of their line of sight. The only way that will change is if what I seek finds its way into their sphere, an occurrence I am prepared for though I would hope it never happened.”
“It still stands alone at present, save for tenuous ties with Skylar and Craven, no?”
“Yes,” I murmur, my mind already shifting into the future when my muse shall come to me at last.
“You’re drifting again, sir,” Richard says almost reprovingly while wearing a curious smile. “Remember what you yourself said: one step at a time.”
Finishing the task with the candles, I blow out the stick and set it aside, walking back over to the man before me and meeting his gaze. Despite our respective sizes and abilities, my stare has him tensing in ways that aren’t altogether negative. I could have made the simplest gesture with my hand at that point and he would have dropped to a knee. Instead, I nod in agreement with his simple assessment and motion toward the steps.
“And that first step begins right now. When the crew arrives, send them to the parlor to await me once they have signed the proper papers.”
“Yes, sir.”
Quick to regain his composure, Richard bows slightly and turns to walk back up the steps. I watch him go quietly before turning and entering the centermost door from the staircase, closing it behind me.
[ Cut to live feed from the parlor of the home of the newly-signed UWA talent, Nathaniel Caraway, where the Unchained Camera Crew is awaiting his arrival. ]
[ The room itself epitomizes rich comfort with its mahogany furniture and surfaces, upholstered with silks and velvets that probably cost as much as the equipment they lugged up here to get his first words to the masses of the fledgling company. Some, in fact, look ill at ease about doing so much as sitting on the couches or chairs, as though they’d leave a stain that would cost them a full week’s pay or more. ]
[ The room’s west wall is near-entirely comprised of windows, giving an impressive view of the ocean beyond the edge of the island and clear sight of the sunlight peering through the remaining storm clouds. By the time sunset is nigh, they will have cleared enough that the fiery glows of the horizon will flood the room beautifully. This view offers contentment to the crew until the door opens and someone enters. ]
Nathaniel Caraway: “Good afternoon. I trust you are prepared for our session today? I have precious little time to wait for last-minute complications.”
[ From the start his tone is borderline harsh, that of a man who holds himself above most if not all others with time more precious than they could imagine. There is some scrambling among the small group before one of them nods hurriedly, perhaps having been appraised of Nathaniel’s attitude. ]
Head Technician: “No, sir. We’re ready when you are.”
[ Carrying a glass of wine in his left hand which he nurses periodically, Nathaniel moves toward one of the sofa sitting centrally across from the wall of windows. A second sip taken, he puts the glass on the nearby table and settles himself, his cold eyes gazing toward the camera as he, with a modicum of impatience, awaits the signal to begin. It is very soon in coming but that doesn’t seem to mitigate his mood. Once they’re rolling, he addresses the device without hesitation. ]
Nathaniel Caraway: “I dislike the idea of wasting time speaking about what I intend to do over taking steps toward accomplishing it. But before you, Skylar, make some snarky and derogatory comment about knowing beforehand what I was getting involved in…save it. I am quite aware of the requirements and idiosyncrasies of the wrestling business. Awareness does not necessarily temper dislike, you see, and if something displeases me I do not censor my actions or responses toward it.”
[ Nathaniel dares a saucy retort from the woman who will serve as his first opponent, allowing a moment or two for his words to sink in before he speaks further. ]
Nathaniel Caraway: “There will be no promises of pain or of certain defeat for you in Scottsdale, only a guarantee that you will not leave the ring in the same state you entered it. It’s because I’m going to pick you apart, Skylar…one piece at a time. I want to see what you’re made of and what’s inside of you in those deep, dark areas where you don’t let the light shine. And I want you to feel me peel back every layer as I gradually expose the truth in front of every faceless man, woman and child watching.
You’ve given inklings of your dark past and shown that you have little in the way of reservations for how you now act as a result. As far as I can see, you care more about your little friends and relationships than you do that which pays your bills. Or are you satisfied shaking your unmentionables for a bunch of sweaty, leering tourists? There’s a shelf life on such an occupation, to say nothing of the lack of pride in yourself that it displays. Surrounding yourself with untrustworthy, unsavory sorts isn’t helping these perceptions any favors.”
[ He gives a shrug, half-smirking as he lifts but does not drink from the filled wine glass. ]
Nathaniel Caraway: “And they’re just that: perceptions. I comment on what perceive to be the truth. If you find that insulting, then it’s probably accurate, would you say? Because you bloody well ought to be ashamed of yourself for what you do.”
[ The tone alone smacks of distaste and disgust which he attempts to wash away with another sip of the dark wine. ]
Nathaniel Caraway: “What I do to you can be considered a favor. All those high-wattage spotlights shining harshly down on the ring will expose every revelation that I drag out of you one inch at a time. Not only will your employers see what they’re truly exposing their clientele to, but your darling Craven and your new little friend Katarina…”
[ Momentarily, he pauses to gaze down into his merlot with a shadowed smile before picking up his thought where it left off. ]
Nathaniel Caraway: “…they may come out of the experience shocked by what comes of my artistry. Are you prepared for that occurrence, Skylar? Are you ready for the mask and cloak to be taken away, leaving you figuratively naked before the eyes of the world?”
[ He’s glaring when he turns to look at the camera again. It adds to the tension the crew is feeling just by being in this place. ]
Nathaniel Caraway: “I am an artist, Skylar, and my subject matter is the undisputed truth. Relying on the perceptions of another to tell the story of my pieces is a horrid thought. Thus I am willing to dig as deep as I must to find the truth, beautiful or ugly, and expose it in a method that pleases me. There are those that resist my efforts, though few meet with success. More than once I have had to face what you would call authority figures in my pursuit of perfection.
They’ll never admit it as they call me monster, coward or something equally slanderous, but in their lonely moments left after my passing…they revere what they have become thanks to me. I don’t expect you to understand what I mean. And even if you claim to, you won’t…not until after I’ve gotten my hands on you.”
[ Replacing the glass upon the table, Nathaniel rises. The camera follows his short walk toward the large windows where, as predicted, the clouds are slowly dispersing and blowing off. Color-wise the sky remains fairly dreary but as the sun lowers toward the horizon some of the heated hues are beginning to overtake the gloom. ]
Nathaniel Caraway: “You’re not who I want, but you may prove to be a pleasant diversion. I’m going to enjoy watching and feeling you squirm as I expose you to everyone watching. The reactions of those close to you will only make the experience more delectable for me. So tell me, do I have your attention yet? Are you going to do as you have failed to do as of late and actually…address your opponent directly? Because all this talk of exposure and wandering hands has to be making something simmer inside you…”
[ The laughter is worthy of any Bond villain or animated bad guy. Toe-curling, hair-raising wicked but fostering dark curiosities. ]
Nathaniel Caraway: “…but that’s probably anger born of misunderstanding. I reiterate: you’re a distraction, a human proving ground as I move toward my ultimate purpose. You and all that come after you, save one, are living examples of what my muse compels within me. For so long she has been silent but with every passing day her sultry, musical whispers become a little clearer. Once she is where she belongs, all limits will be broken and old ideas shattered to make way for the new.
I don’t expect you to understand my ruminations here. And in case you missed the implication previously, allow me to say it directly: I’m not concerned with beating you. Victory is for those with aspirations of being a champion and raking in figurative piles of money thanks to appearances, t-shirts and other such novelties. In a vocation that devours its own history in order to make room for the future, what lasting strength do title reigns and magazine covers truly possess? But art…art is forever. Time may take its toll but the truly great pieces stand the test, showing their former glory hundreds of years after their creation.”
[ Cleansing is the breath he takes in and releases. He almost looks amiable for a moment or two before the hard edge returns to his voice. Staring hard into the camera, at Skylar presumably, Nathaniel resumes. ]
Nathaniel Caraway: “It begins very soon. They’ll never forget what I do to you, Skylar, but more importantly neither will you. And I do it all for her.”
[ His only indication that he’s finished is to turn and leave the room. The camera follows his departure and when he doesn’t return after a few moments, the feed is cut. ]
[ Fade to black. ]
Never had wrestling been of much interest to me and any time spent viewing it was simply on a lark. There were more permanent, fulfilling pursuits, after all, to spend my time indulging in. All of that changed a year or so ago and, now, every moment not spent within my studio or tending to the basic needs of life were concerned with learning the art of the so-called Sport of Kings. The soreness and fatigue has been a constant companion, muddling mind and body, but such pains are blissful to me. Taking a sip of the dark liquid in my hand, I tilt my head back against the plushness of the high-backed chair and close my eyes, letting my never-still mind wander.
With irritation, I find within moments that I’m to be denied such respite. Peripherally I hear the opening and closing of the door behind me with light footsteps on the carpet following. Perhaps he meant to deliver something without rousing me from my reverie. In that, he failed miserably.
“Richard,” I begin, my eyes still closed though my voice betrays my put-out attitude, “it is my fervent hope that you have a damn good reason for disturbing me against specific instructions not to do so.”
“I do not make habit of ignoring your instructions, sir,” he replies calmly, “unless I am convinced that my reasoning is sound.”
Exhaling quietly, I had to silently admit to myself that this was true. Beyond most people in this downward-spiraling world, Richard was one of the few that I trusted implicitly, a status that he had earned with loyalty and resourcefulness. If it were within me to possess such in the form intended, I would call him a friend. I gesture for him to continue, sitting up and staring into the fire as he remained several paces behind the chair.
“We’ve the identity of your first opponent at last, sir.”
That certainly earned my rapt attention. I didn’t dare hope that I would be leaping right into the thick of it from the beginning, though there was a twinge of anticipation in the back of my mind that teased the idea, not letting go despite logic.
“And?”
Only at this point did his voice betray hesitation and thus did the nagging tingle in my brain cease.
“Skylar,” he answers quietly. “Does that name have any meaning, sir?”
“Yes,” I say after a moment’s consideration. “She was present at that second pivotal moment. That is…closer than I expected to come so soon.”
“This is pleasing, then?”
Smiling thinly, I set my glass down on the end table and rise, glancing over my shoulder at Richard. He was truly a tower of a man, someone I both trusted and, at times, thought about in ways standing aside from his employment to me. Considering how he stared back at me, I contemplated what he might be thinking himself. This was, after all, a man who had given most of his life over to standing behind me, serving as my right hand when I could not reach as far as I wished. That takes a special kind of soul, one who will pledge themselves to another unequivocally.
“It suits my purpose if that’s what you mean.”
Walking over to the picture window, I throw the heavy drapes aside, widening my view of the storm-pounded courtyard of my home. The churning gray skies above, the whipping about of branch and blade and the earth-rattling force of the thunder were as beautiful as any summer sunset in my estimation. But that’s how we artists are: there’s beauty in almost everything if you know where to look.
“I trust you’ve already taken the information given you and produced something?”
A few long strides bring Richard to my side whereupon he places a folder in my waiting hand. Opening it, I peruse the information and pictures within, assimilating the important bits and skimming the rest. Despite my selectiveness in what is and is not appealing, especially when it comes to other humans, I must grudgingly admit that this…Skylar…is rather attractive in her own way, at least physically-speaking. Looking at the whole picture leaves her lacking in some ways. Richard detects my distaste merely by the reflection of my face on the window.
“Attractive as she may be on the outside, it is hard to look past her choice of employment beyond the ring, isn’t it?”
“Mmm,” I say musingly in response, going from a picture of her posing in the ring to one of her in her other…occupation. “For someone to degrade themselves like that is a disgusting thing. Tromping about with the likes of these…Sin City Knights, was it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Yes…that does even less to ingratiate someone of character and distinction to her. Yet, she will still serve her purpose well, I feel. None of the rest of her ilk save the one known as Craven has such use to me. Though I do wish that plans could proceed at a more rapid pace,” I pause, inhaling a cleansing breath to help center myself, “practicality and logic dictate that this more gradual advancement is best. First I will deal with this instrument of sin and temptation known as Skylar, then perhaps her secret-peddling paramour…”
“…sir, if I may?”
Of the myriad irritations that life on a daily basis offers a purveyor of immortal beauty and remembrance, being interrupted is one of those that are most certain to set me off. Richard knows this beyond any doubt, so for him to do so did not bring anger but instead curiosity at what could have prompted it. I give him my full attention which comes with some relief if his expression is to be believed. He releases the breath he’d been holding and clears his throat.
“As correct as your statements are about this group and Miss Skylar in particular, do they truly have any bearing on what shall happen when the proverbial and literal bell rings? The woman may, forgive my vulgarity, eat the brains of newborn babies in back alleys,” he had to pause to allow the tremor born of his own off-the-cuff metaphor pass, “but even that would not alter her capability in the ring. I personally find her to be the most distasteful kind of harlot but her success speaks for itself. That, sir, is where your focus is best directed.”
Richard was right, of course. Closing the folder and tossing it onto the chest set before and beneath the window, I folded my arms and stared out into the storm which had begun to dwindle in force. Already the clouds were starting to thin and the waves rampaging against the sand in the distance were starting to taper down in size and strength. After a few moments of thoughtful silence, I responded.
“You’re correct, of course. Casting stones is beneath me, after all, and I must concede that her experience on a larger stage is greater than my own. However, her non-wrestling details do have bearing on this little soiree we’re about to have in the ring. Neophyte to wrestling I may be, but even I can see the way her past has shaped her present. Look at the desperation with which she battles, always looking over her shoulder, always in such a hurry to settle matters before taking her leave. There are advantages to be taken there, Richard.”
“Hers is a troubled past, sir. You seek to use that against her?”
“Do you think it improper?”
“I think,” he said as his gaze followed mine toward the window again, “that to not do so would be foolish. On the other hand, to use her hardships against her would paint you in an ill light to those watching.”
Belting out a little laughter at his reply, I turned and walked from the window. In but a moment he was dutifully following me down the hallway leading into the foyer of my home and in turn past the grand staircase. Past the parlor and dining room we went until we arrived in the kitchen, our path taking us to a bolted door leading down to the basement. I traced my fingertips over the steel locks and the polished oak veneer, still keeping a bit of laughter on my lips.
“And why, pray tell, should I give a damn what any other than my inner circle think about me, Richard?”
“I…can fathom no reason, sir.”
“They will think what they want of me and I leave them to it. Only when the moment comes that the reactions of the faceless masses can tangibly affect my acquirement of what is already mine shall I lend them credence. Wasting energy courting the affections of the fickle detracts from my ultimate goal. And that says nothing of those who will invariably be placed before me. This company, UWA, is in the midst of an all-consuming civil war. Precious are the few who have not become at least partially embroiled in the constant battles and intrigue brought on by the Children of Nephilim.”
Richard seems to be surprised by this information, perhaps thinking to himself that I had left all the matters of research and information to him. Sensing his inattention, I slam the main lock out of place, the crack of the bolt opening shaking him out of his trance.
“The entire company is under their sway, Richard,” I continue, undoing the deadbolt and chain to fully unlock the door, “and that means everyone who calls themselves an employee of the company walks on eggshells. But even then, no one is safe. There are those who have smartly kept themselves outside the conflict for protracted amounts of time, only to be pulled in later. Kyle Travis, a fellow Canadian, comes to mind in that regard. The aforementioned Sin City Knights, until recently, managed to stay on the periphery as well, but no longer.”
“Arsenal and their ally, Aerynn Donnelly, have been at the forefront for some time with little success,” Richard cut in as we descended the steps behind the door into the dim light of the basement. “But I see no one stopping these people from their goals.”
“No one will stop me either, Richard.”
“You, sir,” he responds, “are not after the same as they. They seek domination of all they see and the spreading of their message to the masses.”
“Yet to that group of iconoclasts I will appear to be an obstacle. For the mere fact that I do not believe as they do and eschew their dogma for my own, they will see me as someone to be either indoctrinated or destroyed. That is their nature. It is their predictability, however, that will not allow them to do either. And besides,” the amusement filters back into my words, “it looks as if another group has placed themselves against their theocratic endeavors. I’m the whisper on the wind, Richard, the ripple in the water. I hide in plain sight. Even if they see me, they will neither notice nor care. And that is how I prefer it.”
“But for how long can that last, sir?”
A retort came immediately to mind but Richard had a point. I bit back the comment that came forth unbidden as we turned the corner into the large, central area of the basement. Several rooms were set up down here, all behind closed doors for the time being. This main room was little more than a hub, yet carried importance with me. Wrought-iron brackets were bolted into the stone walls between each pair of doors and, one at a time, I took to lighting the white candles settled into each while Richard watched. He didn’t get the immediate response he was expecting and when I met his stare the confusion registered immediately.
“It will last as long as I chose. My aims are beyond anything the Children or their opponents seek, which takes me out of their line of sight. The only way that will change is if what I seek finds its way into their sphere, an occurrence I am prepared for though I would hope it never happened.”
“It still stands alone at present, save for tenuous ties with Skylar and Craven, no?”
“Yes,” I murmur, my mind already shifting into the future when my muse shall come to me at last.
“You’re drifting again, sir,” Richard says almost reprovingly while wearing a curious smile. “Remember what you yourself said: one step at a time.”
Finishing the task with the candles, I blow out the stick and set it aside, walking back over to the man before me and meeting his gaze. Despite our respective sizes and abilities, my stare has him tensing in ways that aren’t altogether negative. I could have made the simplest gesture with my hand at that point and he would have dropped to a knee. Instead, I nod in agreement with his simple assessment and motion toward the steps.
“And that first step begins right now. When the crew arrives, send them to the parlor to await me once they have signed the proper papers.”
“Yes, sir.”
Quick to regain his composure, Richard bows slightly and turns to walk back up the steps. I watch him go quietly before turning and entering the centermost door from the staircase, closing it behind me.
[ Cut to live feed from the parlor of the home of the newly-signed UWA talent, Nathaniel Caraway, where the Unchained Camera Crew is awaiting his arrival. ]
[ The room itself epitomizes rich comfort with its mahogany furniture and surfaces, upholstered with silks and velvets that probably cost as much as the equipment they lugged up here to get his first words to the masses of the fledgling company. Some, in fact, look ill at ease about doing so much as sitting on the couches or chairs, as though they’d leave a stain that would cost them a full week’s pay or more. ]
[ The room’s west wall is near-entirely comprised of windows, giving an impressive view of the ocean beyond the edge of the island and clear sight of the sunlight peering through the remaining storm clouds. By the time sunset is nigh, they will have cleared enough that the fiery glows of the horizon will flood the room beautifully. This view offers contentment to the crew until the door opens and someone enters. ]
Nathaniel Caraway: “Good afternoon. I trust you are prepared for our session today? I have precious little time to wait for last-minute complications.”
[ From the start his tone is borderline harsh, that of a man who holds himself above most if not all others with time more precious than they could imagine. There is some scrambling among the small group before one of them nods hurriedly, perhaps having been appraised of Nathaniel’s attitude. ]
Head Technician: “No, sir. We’re ready when you are.”
[ Carrying a glass of wine in his left hand which he nurses periodically, Nathaniel moves toward one of the sofa sitting centrally across from the wall of windows. A second sip taken, he puts the glass on the nearby table and settles himself, his cold eyes gazing toward the camera as he, with a modicum of impatience, awaits the signal to begin. It is very soon in coming but that doesn’t seem to mitigate his mood. Once they’re rolling, he addresses the device without hesitation. ]
Nathaniel Caraway: “I dislike the idea of wasting time speaking about what I intend to do over taking steps toward accomplishing it. But before you, Skylar, make some snarky and derogatory comment about knowing beforehand what I was getting involved in…save it. I am quite aware of the requirements and idiosyncrasies of the wrestling business. Awareness does not necessarily temper dislike, you see, and if something displeases me I do not censor my actions or responses toward it.”
[ Nathaniel dares a saucy retort from the woman who will serve as his first opponent, allowing a moment or two for his words to sink in before he speaks further. ]
Nathaniel Caraway: “There will be no promises of pain or of certain defeat for you in Scottsdale, only a guarantee that you will not leave the ring in the same state you entered it. It’s because I’m going to pick you apart, Skylar…one piece at a time. I want to see what you’re made of and what’s inside of you in those deep, dark areas where you don’t let the light shine. And I want you to feel me peel back every layer as I gradually expose the truth in front of every faceless man, woman and child watching.
You’ve given inklings of your dark past and shown that you have little in the way of reservations for how you now act as a result. As far as I can see, you care more about your little friends and relationships than you do that which pays your bills. Or are you satisfied shaking your unmentionables for a bunch of sweaty, leering tourists? There’s a shelf life on such an occupation, to say nothing of the lack of pride in yourself that it displays. Surrounding yourself with untrustworthy, unsavory sorts isn’t helping these perceptions any favors.”
[ He gives a shrug, half-smirking as he lifts but does not drink from the filled wine glass. ]
Nathaniel Caraway: “And they’re just that: perceptions. I comment on what perceive to be the truth. If you find that insulting, then it’s probably accurate, would you say? Because you bloody well ought to be ashamed of yourself for what you do.”
[ The tone alone smacks of distaste and disgust which he attempts to wash away with another sip of the dark wine. ]
Nathaniel Caraway: “What I do to you can be considered a favor. All those high-wattage spotlights shining harshly down on the ring will expose every revelation that I drag out of you one inch at a time. Not only will your employers see what they’re truly exposing their clientele to, but your darling Craven and your new little friend Katarina…”
[ Momentarily, he pauses to gaze down into his merlot with a shadowed smile before picking up his thought where it left off. ]
Nathaniel Caraway: “…they may come out of the experience shocked by what comes of my artistry. Are you prepared for that occurrence, Skylar? Are you ready for the mask and cloak to be taken away, leaving you figuratively naked before the eyes of the world?”
[ He’s glaring when he turns to look at the camera again. It adds to the tension the crew is feeling just by being in this place. ]
Nathaniel Caraway: “I am an artist, Skylar, and my subject matter is the undisputed truth. Relying on the perceptions of another to tell the story of my pieces is a horrid thought. Thus I am willing to dig as deep as I must to find the truth, beautiful or ugly, and expose it in a method that pleases me. There are those that resist my efforts, though few meet with success. More than once I have had to face what you would call authority figures in my pursuit of perfection.
They’ll never admit it as they call me monster, coward or something equally slanderous, but in their lonely moments left after my passing…they revere what they have become thanks to me. I don’t expect you to understand what I mean. And even if you claim to, you won’t…not until after I’ve gotten my hands on you.”
[ Replacing the glass upon the table, Nathaniel rises. The camera follows his short walk toward the large windows where, as predicted, the clouds are slowly dispersing and blowing off. Color-wise the sky remains fairly dreary but as the sun lowers toward the horizon some of the heated hues are beginning to overtake the gloom. ]
Nathaniel Caraway: “You’re not who I want, but you may prove to be a pleasant diversion. I’m going to enjoy watching and feeling you squirm as I expose you to everyone watching. The reactions of those close to you will only make the experience more delectable for me. So tell me, do I have your attention yet? Are you going to do as you have failed to do as of late and actually…address your opponent directly? Because all this talk of exposure and wandering hands has to be making something simmer inside you…”
[ The laughter is worthy of any Bond villain or animated bad guy. Toe-curling, hair-raising wicked but fostering dark curiosities. ]
Nathaniel Caraway: “…but that’s probably anger born of misunderstanding. I reiterate: you’re a distraction, a human proving ground as I move toward my ultimate purpose. You and all that come after you, save one, are living examples of what my muse compels within me. For so long she has been silent but with every passing day her sultry, musical whispers become a little clearer. Once she is where she belongs, all limits will be broken and old ideas shattered to make way for the new.
I don’t expect you to understand my ruminations here. And in case you missed the implication previously, allow me to say it directly: I’m not concerned with beating you. Victory is for those with aspirations of being a champion and raking in figurative piles of money thanks to appearances, t-shirts and other such novelties. In a vocation that devours its own history in order to make room for the future, what lasting strength do title reigns and magazine covers truly possess? But art…art is forever. Time may take its toll but the truly great pieces stand the test, showing their former glory hundreds of years after their creation.”
[ Cleansing is the breath he takes in and releases. He almost looks amiable for a moment or two before the hard edge returns to his voice. Staring hard into the camera, at Skylar presumably, Nathaniel resumes. ]
Nathaniel Caraway: “It begins very soon. They’ll never forget what I do to you, Skylar, but more importantly neither will you. And I do it all for her.”
[ His only indication that he’s finished is to turn and leave the room. The camera follows his departure and when he doesn’t return after a few moments, the feed is cut. ]
[ Fade to black. ]