Reflection
Scene I: Tuesday, July 27, 2004 -
Lancastrian Ancestral Estate, Wessex, England
"Clearly, this wasn't the right time."
The voice of the Duke of Wessex, Robert Lancaster II, is obvious.
Fade in, to the Library, where Lancaster is seated in his favourite high back burgundy leather chair, in front of a slowly burning fire, which is almost at its last embers.
As was the Big West Wrestling Alliance.
The ghosts of the fire place danced around the room, casting their shadows upon the countless tomes that lined the walls, which included some of the earliest known printed books, some from Guttenberg himself, and some of the first known Shakespearean editions.
History was alive, echoes from the past resonated, and now the Duke of Wessex, let his voice echo, his expressions of yet another federation consigned to the past.
He sits quietly, wearing as always a fine tailored suit, a glass of port in his hands.
"Clearly, this wasn't the right time. We had so much more in store. So many more minds to win over, so many more hearts to conquer, and of course," with a hint of mischief, "more bodies to destroy and sacrifice, in the name of the glorious Triumvirate."
Lancaster shakes his head.
"Clearly it was not to be. But yet, we have some measure of satisfaction. Knowing that in the short few months that we were present - myself, Seamus, and Thane - we became the most successful faction in the history of the BWWa, since its inception."
"I hope you're listening, Sinful Experience...Larger Than Life...in the hands of two men we held three quarters of the BWWa's gold...surely that's unprecedented, or, bloody well near unprecedented. I believe that speaks volumes about us."
He sips from his port.
"And if it speaks volumes about us - it speaks endlessly about you. You dismissed us all the instant we stepped foot into your league. Clearly you did not heed the lessons of history. Several months ago, while still in CSWA, myself and Seamus stepped into your ring and won the World Heavyweight Tag Team Championship from you, Sinful Experience. You did not respect us then. Then we arrived and called the BWWa home. And still," pointing to the lens, "you did not respect us. Well."
Lancaster places his port down on a side table, and picks up the two objects resting on his lap: the BWWa Tag Team Championship and the BWWa Silver Dollar Championship belts.
"Respect us now."
He places them back down on his lap, crosses his legs, and places his port back in his hands.
"But as noted, it is with some sadness that we did not get all we wished accomplished. Even with these accolades, we still had not finished our conquest. The even lamentable part still, is that you, James Vincent, my good fellow, you once again must be the one to put your neck out for the blade of the Triumvirate to fall mercilessly upon once again. I feel I've come to know you almost. So many times we have met, and yet, I feel I still do not know you. I do hope," with an obvious condescending tone, "that will be rectified in four days' time."
The Duke finishes the last of his port, and looks at the glass dismally.
Empty.
Finished.
"C'est ça, or so it would seem, my dear friends, at least for the time being. BWWa, you were a grand old lady...I thank you for all you gave us. We prospered, we were vindicated in our faiths, in our beliefs, in our principles, at the cost of so many who Fate decreed unworthy."
A wry smile.
"All that is left now, is for all of you who have, who do, and who will dare to step in the path of the Triumvirate. Today, now, and tomorrow. Remember these words, and never let them slip your mind:
Doxa. Nous. Nomen romanorum. Generosus. And know that the world has not seen the last of the power that is the Triumvirate."
Lancaster emerged from his seat, his two titles firmly under one hand. Staring deeply into the eye of the lens, he cast in a quick, abrupt sudden movement, his glass into the fire.
The glass smashed, the fire reacted to the drops of alcohol remaining.
"Now tremble."
"Clearly, this wasn't the right time."
The voice of the Duke of Wessex, Robert Lancaster II, is obvious.
Fade in, to the Library, where Lancaster is seated in his favourite high back burgundy leather chair, in front of a slowly burning fire, which is almost at its last embers.
As was the Big West Wrestling Alliance.
The ghosts of the fire place danced around the room, casting their shadows upon the countless tomes that lined the walls, which included some of the earliest known printed books, some from Guttenberg himself, and some of the first known Shakespearean editions.
History was alive, echoes from the past resonated, and now the Duke of Wessex, let his voice echo, his expressions of yet another federation consigned to the past.
He sits quietly, wearing as always a fine tailored suit, a glass of port in his hands.
"Clearly, this wasn't the right time. We had so much more in store. So many more minds to win over, so many more hearts to conquer, and of course," with a hint of mischief, "more bodies to destroy and sacrifice, in the name of the glorious Triumvirate."
Lancaster shakes his head.
"Clearly it was not to be. But yet, we have some measure of satisfaction. Knowing that in the short few months that we were present - myself, Seamus, and Thane - we became the most successful faction in the history of the BWWa, since its inception."
"I hope you're listening, Sinful Experience...Larger Than Life...in the hands of two men we held three quarters of the BWWa's gold...surely that's unprecedented, or, bloody well near unprecedented. I believe that speaks volumes about us."
He sips from his port.
"And if it speaks volumes about us - it speaks endlessly about you. You dismissed us all the instant we stepped foot into your league. Clearly you did not heed the lessons of history. Several months ago, while still in CSWA, myself and Seamus stepped into your ring and won the World Heavyweight Tag Team Championship from you, Sinful Experience. You did not respect us then. Then we arrived and called the BWWa home. And still," pointing to the lens, "you did not respect us. Well."
Lancaster places his port down on a side table, and picks up the two objects resting on his lap: the BWWa Tag Team Championship and the BWWa Silver Dollar Championship belts.
"Respect us now."
He places them back down on his lap, crosses his legs, and places his port back in his hands.
"But as noted, it is with some sadness that we did not get all we wished accomplished. Even with these accolades, we still had not finished our conquest. The even lamentable part still, is that you, James Vincent, my good fellow, you once again must be the one to put your neck out for the blade of the Triumvirate to fall mercilessly upon once again. I feel I've come to know you almost. So many times we have met, and yet, I feel I still do not know you. I do hope," with an obvious condescending tone, "that will be rectified in four days' time."
The Duke finishes the last of his port, and looks at the glass dismally.
Empty.
Finished.
"C'est ça, or so it would seem, my dear friends, at least for the time being. BWWa, you were a grand old lady...I thank you for all you gave us. We prospered, we were vindicated in our faiths, in our beliefs, in our principles, at the cost of so many who Fate decreed unworthy."
A wry smile.
"All that is left now, is for all of you who have, who do, and who will dare to step in the path of the Triumvirate. Today, now, and tomorrow. Remember these words, and never let them slip your mind:
Doxa. Nous. Nomen romanorum. Generosus. And know that the world has not seen the last of the power that is the Triumvirate."
Lancaster emerged from his seat, his two titles firmly under one hand. Staring deeply into the eye of the lens, he cast in a quick, abrupt sudden movement, his glass into the fire.
The glass smashed, the fire reacted to the drops of alcohol remaining.
"Now tremble."