| Fate & The Fatherland; II, POTW | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Jun 22 2016, 02:48 PM (25 Views) | |
| Azrael Goeren | Jun 22 2016, 02:48 PM Post #1 |
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The MegaStar
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And remember kids, whatever you do...don’t do drugs. Not hard ones anyways. Like just stick to your hallucinogens, right? Don’t go any harder than cocaine. Definitely not heroin. Unless you can hide the needle holes from your parents. Think in your scrotum or anus. They’re like God’s hidden pockets. A bewildered group of native German schoolchildren confusingly walk away from the cafe table as Azrael signs the last piece of merchandise and sends the last little scamp on his way. Sitting next to him on this gloriously gorgeous summer afternoon is his longtime friend and personal assistant, Michael Robinson. Michael shakes his head in disbelief and holds his palms out in shock. Goeren turns back to face his friend and raises an inquisitive eyebrow. What? Those kids could NOT have been older than twelve. So? Did you have to tell them all of that weird stuff you saw when you were in Tokyo? Those monsters with dicks? You mean the futanari kaiju? THEY NEED TO KNOW THIS STUFF, MICHAEL. THE CHILDREN ARE OUR FUTURE! And then that shit about how to make grain alcohol in a toilet? These are European children. They are used to this. It’s a scientific fact that European children have a 99% resistance to alcohol poisoning. Where? Where what? Where did you hear that from? Your mother. Fuck you. No seriously, I have her on speed dial. We chat a few times a week. Mostly about recipes and knitting and how hard she wants me to plow her. God I fucking hate you. Potty mouth! There are children present, you animal! I’m pretty sure they ran off to go tell the police what you just said. Nein, not my fans! I’m sure they went to go gather daisies or posies or something to fashion into a crude floral laurel crown. Hey, that’s fun to say. Floral laurel. Floral laurel. You try. Go fuck yourself. No, that’s not right. Try again. Enunciate with your lips. Like I do with your mother every Oktoberfest when she calls for my German pork sausage. You are really pushing my buttons. You were way more tolerable when you were languishing over Grace. Go back to doing that. I was talking about my penis, by the way. Not a literal sausage. But my erect phallus. For your mother. Yeah, shockingly enough...I got it. You’re a real charmer there, Henrik. And you need to ditch the sarcasm my portly friend! No need to be such a brooding Broomhilda! And after I gave you this free vacation to the beautiful German countryside for the last week. That’s gratitude for you. Goeren leans forward across the small circular white table and flashes his iconic smile, causing Mike to flip him the bird in silence. Azrael rejoicing leans back and laughs, taking in a deep intake of air and pounding on his own chest for good measure. The duo find themselves in Eberswalde, Germany. Notable for its famous modern art museums, Medieval literature library collections and being the birthplace of Henrik “Azrael” Goeren some thirty nine years ago. The city, a mere hour or so from Berlin, was once just a sleepy river town but has recently undergone a tremendous renovation and rejuvenation thanks to Germany’s urban reforms over the last ten years. What once was empty warehouses and crumbling Soviet-era buildings have been transformed into a thriving art community with performance stages and more pretentious poetry cafes than in any hipster’s wettest dream. Goeren and his personal assistant find themselves at such a cafe, with Goeren daintily picking up his elegant espresso cup and downing the caffeinated goodness. Michael calmly reaches into his shirt pocket and puts on his reading glasses, removing a yellow notepad from his briefcase. Goeren quickly notices what he’s up to and folds his hands, looking alert. Ja! Perfect, okay so where did we leave off? Let’s see… Running his finger down the page, Michael stops near the bottom. Looks like a “Frau Schulze”. Ugh. This is going to be a bad one, isn’t it? Kinda. Explain. Well, it’s not all bad. See after the SHOOT Project closed and I was exiled from the States, I hired Frau Schulze as my personal assistant to help me build Schadenfreude.com...and...well...one thing led to another and… ...and? I may or may not have slept with her best friend. That’s...honestly, Henrik...that’s not as bad as I thought it would be. Not compared to some of the other shit we’ve had to apologize for this week. Yeah… You’re not telling me the whole story, are you? Nein, nein! I am! Sort of. Just replace “best friend” with “sister” and replace “slept” with “had extremely graphic bondage pornography made without her knowledge by secretly filming it from the closet”. Oh God. Well you weren’t there Michael, now were you? You knew what type of mindset I was in back in those days! Those types of things were bound to happen. Again. And again. And again. And again. If you had just moved here like I politely asked… You sent me letter bombs. They were low-grade explosives at best and they barely would have singed your chest hair. My dog still is afraid of thunder because of you. Okay, we’re missing the point here. Let’s just find out where she lives and send her a very nice fruit basket to apologize. What type of fruit says “Sorry about those clothespins on your clitoris?” Kiwi? I’m thinking kiwi. Let me get my kiwi guy on the phone while you look up her address… Why are we doing this? It would be rude not to send a fruit basket, Michael. Fruit baskets make everything better. You classless heathen. No, I mean all of this? For the last week we’ve spent almost every waking second finding people that you’ve fucked with over the last two decades and tried to make things right. It’s like I’m living in some fucked up “My Name Is Earl” sitcom without Jaime Pressly around to distract me. A waiter passes the two men by and Azrael politely asks for a refill in German. He leans forward again and clasps his hands tightly together. Why is it so hard to believe that I actually regret the things I’ve done? No, see...I know you have. I know that. If you didn’t regret being such a heartless, soulless, miserable, disgusting, sadistic, twisted, psychotic, perverted… Easy, easy. For fuck’s sake, I’m sitting right here. I’ve got feelings you know. Didn’t Oscar the Grouch teach you anything about manners? I’m amazed you even know who that is. We had that show over here, you know. We just called him Oskar der dunkelgrüne Pelzmonster das alles und lebt in einem Müll hasst kann damit er nicht Kopf Miete zahlen müssen. Doesn’t have the same ring to it. No wonder it never caught on. German is a complicated language, mein freund. But all I’m saying is that it seems like we are wasting our time by doing all of this. The people that we’ve apologized to seem they’d rather kill you then hear you apologize. Why keep trying? Azrael lets out a laugh as the waiter wanders back with another espresso. After taking a quick sip, Goeren peers out from over the chinaware rim of the coffee cup at his friend. That’s what I do, Michael. I keep trying. Consider me the constant optimist. I’m always going to keep trying, no matter how many doors are slammed in my face or how many times you’re kicked in the genitals. Four times so far. I apologize about my schoolmarm. I should have warned you that she always wore heels. But the point I’m trying to make is I’m just gunning for The One. The One? The One. That’s some Jet-Li shit right there, mein freund. I know that somewhere on that list is someone who is going to forgive me for what I did to them. I’m not hoping for it, I just know it. Somewhere there is a name there that has been waiting for me to call and tell them that the shitty person I used to be is not the man I am today. They need to hear that. They need closure. I’ve said it for a long time, but the next chapter of my life can’t be written before the last page is turned. By the time this list is over, we’ll have officially moved on. I need that type of mental freedom for everything I’ve done. I need to know that when I step into the ring at Path of the Warrior, in the biggest match of my career...I need to know that I’m ready. Well you’re definitely ready. When we aren’t working down this list we’re at the gym training. Oh physically I’m there. I’ve never felt this good in my entire life. Funny what happens to your cardio when you stop ingesting condoms full of cocaine on a regular basis, huh? I wouldn’t know. But just being physically ready for this match isn’t going to be enough. I know how to counter a superkick from Seton or a Koji Clutch from Kage in my Ambien-fueled sleep, what I need to do is know that I’m spiritually ready to be the EWA World Heavyweight Champion. I’ve been so close to that ultimate goal so many damn times that after awhile you start looking at everything else in your life as the reason you weren’t able to achieve what you set out to do nearly two decades ago. Maybe I had to suffer before I could reach the top. Maybe each and every time I see another mistake greet me at the door and I let them berate me, I wash another sin off my soul. I let them get their frustrations out and reap the vengeance they want to throw at me because that is the right fucking thing to do after what I did to them. Maybe I have to pay the ferryman before I can pass through the River Styx. Whether or not you may think this is fruitless, i need to see it through to the end. Because once this over with and we’ve cleaned up everything that I’ve done...then my soul will be at the same place my mind and body currently are. Fucking perfection. And that is a truly terrifying thought. I’ve been operating at low capacity for almost my entire career. Bogged down with physical impairments or mental instability for so damn long. Even when I stripped those issues aside, I was still saddled with the crippling realization of my failure as a father. I have, at least for the moment, negated all of those ailments. What am I capable of when I’m at my best? What dreams can I achieve? What moments can I create? The unknown is the only thing to fear in this world and that is something that my opponents are going to have to deal with. They’ve only seen me at my worst. Time for them and the rest of the world to experience Azrael Goeren as the man he was born to be. At his best. See, I’m not afraid of Laura Seton or Chris Kage. How can I be afraid of either of them when I know exactly what they are both capable of doing to me? They hold no mysteries for me, I’ve studied them and dissected them for weeks now. I know that Seton will have the crowd behind her and will give me everything that burns within her body. The proverbial kitchen sink is just the tip of the iceberg in terms of what that woman will throw at me. She will be in front of her loved ones, fighting with everything she has to reach the top of the mountain again. There are few people I respect more in this business than her, and that is not an exaggeration. So trust me when I say that what I have to do to her to win the EWA World Heavyweight Championship is nothing that I am going to look back on with pleasure or a smile. For all of those little Setonites out there and the family that make the trek to watch her, I beg them not to do it. Watching what happens to her live on The Network is going to be bad enough, but the trauma that she’s forcing me to put those people through to see her flesh being ripped and bones being broken in person is just cruel and unusual punishment. Laura says that she can take whatever Hell I dish out to her. I say she only thinks she can based on what I’ve shown her so far. But I have so many wonderfully paingasmic things to share with her. Things she’s never seen. She has no idea what fresh, horric nightmarish violence I can muster up when given a clear head and a good night’s rest. And I’ve been sleeping awfully good lately. So, much like with the list...I ask for Laura Seton’s forgiveness. She will get her moment in the spotlight one day, but it will not be at Path of the Warrior. She’s going to realize that no matter what she throws at me, I’ll always be there to sink lower and throw it right back at her a thousand fold. I will very likely owe her a fruit basket when Path of the Warrior is concluded. As for our champion, Chris Kage...he is an open, angry book that has been read countless times by countless people over countless years. I know what type of mischief he’ll likely be up to. He’ll be looking to escape from me any way possible, through any means necessary. I’m sure I’ll be getting a heavy dose of The Youth at some point or another in this match. Might as well just break out the folding chairs and hot dog wieners at ringside so they can kick back and relax before they decide to jump me from behind. That’s what absolutely kills me about Kage. He doesn’t have to do this. He’s got enough skills on his own to take on any one of the crazy sons of bitches we have stomping around the EWA locker room, but he still feels the need to Assemble the Shitvengers and send them into battle while he scurries away with his bottle in his hand and soiled diaper around his rosy cheeks. I have no time to deal with cowards. His mere presence in EWA offends me down to my core. No matter how many cronies or yes-men filled my life, when things had to get downright filthy I was the man who sludged through the dirt and grime and got shit done. Kage is a man who is terrified of losing what he has. When I break him like a dog and he looks up at me with those bloodshot and beady eyes, I will pause. I won’t finish him off. I want to see in his eyes that he knows that everything that he has done in his life up until the main event of Path of the Warrior has been one huge colossal mistake after another. I want him to see the error of his ways and beg for ME to forgive HIM for everything he’s done wrong. I want to pass it forward. I want to save Chris Kage from himself. Right before I crash the side of my boot into his skull and claim what is rightfully mine. One moment in time. That’s all I’ve ever wanted, Michael. I need to hear that three count and need my hand raised. I need to feel the belt on my shoulder and realize that this entire journey has been and always will be worth it. They’ll never be able to take that away from me. That moment. My moment. That one sliver in time where Azrael Goeren was on top of the wrestling world. I’m here now. I’m ready. I have fought for so long to achieve this dream. A part of me worries about what will happen to me when I finally do get what I’ve been fighting for. Will I devolve? Will I collapse back into old ways? Or will I be what I’ve always believed myself to be, even in my darkest days? A legend. Taking another sip of his espresso, Goeren rests the cup back down and leans back in his chair. I guess we’ll see. I guess we will. It’s not been easy, working with you for this long. I know. If you look at the end of the list, you’ll find your name. You don’t need to… Yes, Michael. I do. Maybe you’re my Jet-Li. I’m more like a Steven Seagal. Goeren gives a chuckle and looks out towards the rolling hills that stretch out behind the buildings of the city. He takes another deep breath of air and nods his head knowingly. It’s time, Michael. It’s finally time. |
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10:51 AM Jul 11