An Idiot's Tale

Monday, January 20, 2003 - Memphis, Tennessee; Jack Lynch Theatre, after DDD vs Lancaster

The Duke of Wessex leaned against a wall just backstage in the Jack Lynch Theater.  Sweat pouring, his body aching from the powerbomb delivered by the returning Ripper Longshanks, and then Daniels' superkick.  Stephanie Lancaster, holding her husband's title, rubbed his shoulders slowly, her concern apparent to both Chris "the Thrill" Wright and Jeff Kushner, who had aided the fallen Lancaster minutes prior.

"Robert..."  Lancaster took his wife's hand, nodding his head to declare that he was okay.

Chris looked at the Duke as the other man still seemed to be somewhat disoriented.

"Who the hell was that?  And what the hell just happened besides Robert getting his ass kicked by a pair of psychos.  Someone wanna give me some answers here."

Jeff, in a rather quiet mood - as he had been as of late - took the liberty of answering. "That was Ripper Longshanks...one of the most infamous wrestlers in history.  Surely to God you've heard of him.  He's obviously reorganized the Darkness - they're going to be one helluva force to contend with.  The next several weeks and months are going to be hell."

Lancaster finally lifted his head up, turning his back against the wall, still using it for support.  He closed his eyes firmly, trying to reorganize his thoughts and body.

Chris quirked an eyebrow at Kushner and said, "Yeah I've heard of him.  But what in the hell is that sadistic bastard doing here?  Who the hell would give that freak a contract?"

Sticking his hand out, Chris offered to shake with Kushner, "By the way, I'm Chris Wright."

Jeff extended his hand out in return.  "Jeff Kushner.  Nice to meet you...too bad it wasn't under better circumstances."

The two exchanged polite smiles, when finally Lancaster broke his silence.

"Alright gentlemen..."  Robert blinked widely.  "Alright...thank you..."

"Bob, you sure you're ok?" posed Kushner.  His concern was genuine, but he knew Lancaster was tougher than many gave him credit for...as did Wright.

"He'll be okay...I gave him a bigger ass whipping last week than those two bastards did."

Kushner took to Wright's sense of humour.  "Yeah, all the booze he use to consume has made his skin all leathery and tough."  Jeff felt good, finally being able to break some of the tension that surrounded his life, and share in the spirit of camaraderie.

Lancaster, beginning to shake the cobwebs, and hearing the verbal barbs he was now taking, he too cracked a smile.  As did Stephanie.

"May I remind you that you're in the presence of your glorious Smokey Mountain Heritage Champion, and that I am the only one here with any gold..."

Wright looked at Kushner, and exchanged glances.  "How much did you say he used to drink?"

All three men laughed together, before Kushner interrupted the proceedings. "Well gentlemen...I have to go for my match now...take care Bob."  He gave the Duke a pat on the shoulder, and then shook Wright's hand again.  "Now I'm gonna show the world that it's...my time."

Kushner turned and walked towards the entry way, about to begin his Television Championship match.  Wright and Lancaster, along with Stephanie, turned the opposite direction, heading towards their locker rooms.  A taste of fear and ambiguity lingered in the air after Nemamiah's shocking revelation that he was indeed the purveyor of the shark toothed grin Ripper Longshanks.

They reached Lancaster's locker room, without saying a word.  "Take care, Chris," Stephanie said, kissing Wright gently on the cheek.

The Duke smiled at Wright.  "Thank you Mr. Wright...Chris...for giving me a hand.  And I promise you will get your rematch sooner than later."

Wright nodded his head, hoping his time would be at hand too.

"But until then Chris, watch yourself.  It's not going to be very safe around here from here on in.  But what do you see for the future?"

Good question, thought Chris.  "Well for one, that belt around my waist," he joked.  "But also...darkness."

Both men looked at the other somberly.  Lancaster narrowed his eyes, thoughtfully.  "We'll just see about that."  The Duke opened the door, and entered with Stephanie, as Wright left and headed for his locker room.

Tuesday, January 21, 2003 - Memphis, Tennessee; condominium of Robert Lancaster

The events of the night prior had struck Lancaster to such an extent that he felt he had to address Ripper's return, and that of the Darkness.  He set up his Sony camcorder, and asked Stephanie to take the helm as it were.  Prior to beginning, the Duke sat quietly for a moment, his wife holding their son, a scotch in his hand.  Edward had been behaving quite well that day, and was quite sleepy, so the Lancaster's decided to capitalize on such a rare opportunity.

Stephanie however expressed her concern.  She believed that ripping on Ripper...so to speak...would reap horrid consequences.  The Duke was determined and threw caution to the wind.  The bastard warranted some words.

Lancaster positioned himself after finishing his scotch, sitting in a chair near their fireplace they had installed in the condo.  Next to him sat a small side table, with a large book sitting a top, as well as a cup of tea, and some crumpets.  Truly an English setting.

After checking the lighting and sound, Stephanie, despite her worries, told her husband to proceed.  The camera flashed on, and focused on the Duke, sitting, wearing a pair of Calvin Kleins, and his old Civil War t-shirt.

"Good evening ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to my humble home here in Memphis.  You may recognize me from various wrestling programs, such as 'The Duke Slaps His Treasonous Friend on Last Week's Championship Wrestling,' amongst others.  Tonight, I'm here to talk to you about a certain young man who made his triumphant return this past Monday - that's right, your friend and mine, Mr. "Ripper" Longshanks.  And tonight I shall be reading from his New York Time's bestseller, 'The Book of Ripper.'"

Lancaster took a sip from his cup of tea, placing it next to the lightly buttered crumpets.  He smiled at the camera, however, it faded quickly.

"This is not your everyday bedtime story however.  It is a tale of anger, of fury, of...darkness."

At that moment the lights dimmed, setting the tone for the scene and mood.

"Ripper Longshanks, a man I dealt with back in the NAWA in my final ever match...an elimination tag match as I recall, where Mr. Longshanks betrayed me, and had me eliminated...even though he was my partner."

Lancaster let out a chuckle, before returning to his stoic state.

"Ripper Longshanks.  A man who lives his life angry and spiteful at the world.  'The Book of Ripper,' his very own Mein Kampf; but just like his struggles...his struggles are more with himself than anything or anyone else.  He is the epitome of the pathetic, the weak, the truly foolish, the vain.  While his dashing companion may be megalomania's bitch, he is Satan's bitch...and like the Dark Lord, he too shall be obliterated.  For you see. The darkness is the weakest of all forces."

The Duke snaps his fingers, all light in the room then vanishes.  He speaks forth from the dark.

"Now I speak as he speaks.  He consumes himself with darkness in hopes that nobody shall reveal the true depths of his soul, that no light may expose the very flawed, impotent nature of men such as the one I address now.  Napoleon.  Mussolini.  Stalin.  Der Fuhrer.  He lines himself up with such men and history shall judge him accordingly.  He shall crumble, and his darkness shall be destroyed."

A single match is struck, piercing the darkness, sending it fleeing.

"See how easy it is?  Where is its strength?  Its might?  The hordes of darkness are defeated by the light of one match.  I often wonder about men like you Ripper.  For I myself used to count myself among your ranks.  But no longer.  What planted the seeds of your infirmity? Of your mental imbalance?  Of the cowardice imbued and engendered in your genetics?  He is to be pitied."

Lancaster blows out the match, only to have his fireplace well up in a burst of flames.

"His 'Book of Ripper. It is the greatest piece of fiction ever written.  It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury signifying nothing."

The Duke stands and places the book into the flames, engulfing it.  The camera zooms in on the burning book, the cover of which, bearing the words "Book of Ripper," and bearing the symbol of the darkness.  Music is heard, which grows increasingly louder - and increasingly familiar.

"The flames of hell breech the walls of the darkness.  And our light...our glory, our intelligence, our power...will leave you quivering, begging for mercy.  But you shall not receive it, lest we choose to allow you to live to suffer another day.  The apocalypse of the Darkness is at hand - if not now...it shall be."

Lancaster's voice deepens as he speaks his final thoughts, and the scene goes black.

"Woe to you...and may God have mercy on your soul."