Post by Jessica | Rémiel on Jul 28, 2018 20:54:27 GMT -5
REMI FONTAINE
Prince Sekhmethotep
Chapter 2-4: V o i c e s
West Coast Genesis: Crossroad: Spotlight
Aerial Warfare (Ryan, Sanders, Alejandro, Lark, Richardson, Hixx)
Prince Sekhmethotep
Chapter 2-4: V o i c e s
West Coast Genesis: Crossroad: Spotlight
Aerial Warfare (Ryan, Sanders, Alejandro, Lark, Richardson, Hixx)
NEW! Vlog by Rémiel Alessandro Fontaine
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When the static clears, the back of a hooded figure is revealed to the watchers. The visual is black and white, the figure standing within the confines of an empty dressing room. As they place their hands on the edge of the dresser, in the mirror before the figure is their reflection, the face of Rémiel Fontaine visible to the camera. Now the only color in the video feed is his bright blue eyes lightly shimmering in the strange lighting.
“Who are you in this vast multiverse…?”
Prince Sekhmethotep’s voice resonates without the young man parting his lips. In editing, he has created a voice over for the scenario being played out. He shakes his head slowly, closes his eyes, and grits his teeth. For a brief moment, the lights flicker and reveal the imagery of angel wings-- well-blended CGI-- stretching from his back.
“No… that is not who you are…”
The lights flicker once more and the angel wings begin to turn… completely black. The feathers are beginning to fall off the skeletal structure of the wings and scatter all around him.
“I know you still remember their words…”
The voices of his critics begin to fill the room, slowly at first.
“Rémiel Fontaine… Sure, he’s young. He has a lot of spirit. But when I watch his matches, I feel a sense of déjà vu. I’ve already seen this before. There’s nothing unique about him.”
“He’s a second-generation wrestler after Legacy Wrestling Alliance Hall of Famer, Xaria Linette. To take on an angel monicker after her… He’s in the shadow of the Rainbow Angel. It doesn’t work.”
Then they begin to speak with more vindication.
“Remi? I barely notice the kid. I look at the entirety of the West Coast Genesis roster and he doesn’t stand out to me at all.”
“Donovan and Danielle Basch? They’re rising stars.”
“Tasmin Richards? She’s a rising star.”
“Austen Blackwell? Adam Sanders? They’re rising stars.”
“Remi Fontaine is a falling star.”
Hurtful.
The young man lowers his hood and holds his head.
Infuriating.
“He’ll remain in the shadow of his aunt for the rest of his career. There is nothing significant about him aside from who he’s related to. He should focus on his education and become a master linguist, not a professional wrestler. In this industry, he’s a lost cause.”
Agony.
“Fontaine will never get anywhere.”
Remi releases a scream that is deafened by the voices of the critics. He cradles his head in his hands, the lights flicker once again, and then…
Darkness.
Darkness.
“No one could hear your screams…
Except for the Goddess.
Sekhmet.”
A single spotlight shines on a metal scaffolding. It crosses and meets in the center, forming an X, and the wrestling ring is right underneath. From the perspective of an overhead camera, Prince Sekhmethotep is laying down on the center of the metal scaffolding, the imagery still black and white, but this time his face is painted. The crimson snake-fanged lion is his creative representation of the Egyptian Lion Goddess. His hood is still lowered, his body a little too “relaxed” on the structure as if he’s a doll.
“Let me make something crystal clear…
The West Coast Genesis Long Beach Championship was good enough for Rémiel. It was the young man’s first-ever championship gold, something to put him on the map and silence the critics for a while. He was so proud to be the Long Beach Champion…
That championship is not good enough for me.
I do not wish to win Aerial Warfare for the sake of another opportunity at a low-rate title. On his own, Rémiel proved that he is a capable wrestler. He tells me he wants to become the first two-time Long Beach Champion. I tell him he needs to evolve… but not for the South Beach Championship.
With the exception of my Prince of Darkness, J.D. Ryan, I wish to rise as the Lord of Aerial Warfare so no one else can be victorious.
Not Alicia Hixx.
Not Jeremiah Richardson.
Not Anastacia Alejandro.
Not even Sela Rica-Lark.
And especially not the puppet… Adam Sanders.”
Shaking his head slowly, the Prince closes his eyes and sucks in a breath of air.
“The Long Beach Championship is a mere trinket. It is not fit for my beloved… However, J.D. is hungry for blood. The single-handed destruction of Seis Muertos and Alicia Hixx was a thing of beauty, but it was just the beginning. Ever since he suffered the cowardly Huntsman’s attack, he has been starving for vengeance. Alas, the idiot responsible for hospitalizing him is long gone… So the rest of you will have to suffer in his place.
Snap, snap, snap will be the sound of the breaking of your bones. Your screams will serenade him and your agony will satiate him. It is an honor to be our sacrifices, mortals. You will understand this in just a few hours… and when the dust settles and it is down to the Princes, the Goddess will be most pleased by our glorious battle. Unlike many couples in this bloodsport, we are not afraid to unleash Hell against one another. We thrive on the best competition… What better competition than someone who knows you in every single aspect?”
A devious smile crosses his face. Sekhmethotep opens his eyes and they shimmer with a stark contrast from the bright blue: dark red. Everything else remains black and white.
“Alicia… I will not waste my precious time or energy with you. You are unworthy of being in the same ring at the same time as me.
Begone.”
He lets out a dark chuckle and shakes his head.
“Ah, Sela… well met. It seems we find ourselves on opposite ends yet again. How clever you were to outsmart me when it came down to our match. You’ve been rewarded with a guaranteed shot at the Long Beach Championship against the adorable lion cub. When the time comes? Do us all a favor and declaw him. Rip the title away from him and make the gold significant. It has lost meaning when his esteemed wife and our biased General Manager Mercedes granted him the opportunity he had already lost twice before.
While we do respect one another, you make a good point. In between the toll of the bells, we are enemies. Beyond myself and J.D., we will not allow anyone else to emerge victoriously… that includes you, my dear. You are no exception to my rule. You will suffer just like the rest of the mortals. Mercy is for the weak.
Show me that you are strong enough to survive your fall.”
Reaching into his front hooded jacket pocket, he pulls out a jet black lighter. In his hands, he flips it open and shut. Open and shut.
Open and shut.
“I know very little of Jeremiah Richardson. He is making his debut in West Coast Genesis, yes… He has a background in boxing and is a second-generation boxer after his father. Young man, I don’t believe you’re aware of this… This isn’t a boxing ring. This is a wrestling ring. Unless you’re quick to adapt, your experience in boxing will not help you here. I hope you’re not afraid of heights… Ha. Ha.”
Casually, the Prince crosses one leg over the other, flips the lighter open and keeps it open, then he lights it. The spotlight goes out and the small, controlled flame illuminates him in an eerie manner.
“Anastacia, Anastacia, your big brother is here… Yes, Rémiel still exists! You thought his vessel was empty, but he was simply dormant. The young man is alive and well. I’m taking good care of him. He talks to me about you quite a bit. After Rémiel, Quentin, Xaria, and her innocent children united as a family, she introduced you to the sweet boy and your lives were connected.
Rémiel doesn’t want me to hurt you… He really doesn’t. It’s a shame that you had to be chosen for this match. Otherwise, no harm would come to you… that is unless you decide you want to be a hero like your father and oppose the “villain”. Make the right choice, dear.
Don’t be a heroine. You’re already a casualty of war.”
He waves the only source of light back and forth... Suddenly, the flame disappears to the sound of the lighter’s shut. Then slowly, the lights of the empty arena slowly begin to illuminate the room.
In between his fingers, Sekhmethotep holds silver wires.
“How did it feel, A-d-a-m…?
When your blood was spilled onto the canvas. When you lost all control and let your hate fuel you. When you walked in the shame of defeat.
How does it feel, S-a-n-d-e-r-s…?
When your puppeteer kisses you, deceives you, and gives you a false sense of love and affection? When they pull your strings and make you do their bidding?
How will you feel, p u p p e t…?
Rémiel wants to help you… I, honestly, don't care if you fall from here. But he insists that I find some way to save you from your imprisonment. Lest you forget, he was a puppet just like you. His experience was far worse than yours. The people pulling his strings were pulling in the hope of ripping him apart. They wanted to dismiss him. Trash him. Remold him into becoming someone else. The people who manipulate your strings may not want to torment you, but they do want to shelter you, keep you in a bubble.
What happens when you are left to fend for yourself...? When no one can protect you...? When no one can save you, not even your precious Tasmanian Devil. . .?
You will perish. If you have any hopes of defeating me, you must break me. You can’t do that, can you…? Foolish boy. The war is mine to win. Shall we begin?”
With a wicked grin slowly forming on his face, static takes over.
"Listen to the voices.
They are your lullabies."
They are your lullabies."