Post by Seth Iser on Jan 14, 2017 1:04:49 GMT
The sunlight in the heart of San Diego is warm regardless of the seasons. It reflects down on the people as they either bike or drive through the busy city as winter has left this place untouched with how pristine the roads and breeze feels. As the occasional cloud pulls overhead and the bikers sprint forward ahead there’s Iser in the background and he sticks out like a sore thumb compared to everyone else with the hefty beard and long black hair of his looking truly like a man of the mountains of his home state and the black t-shirt and battered blue jeans don’t help this image either as many people gawk at this large man, some more intimidated than others.
“Jesus christ, Seth…” Moretti’s voice booms toward him, “You stick out so much I could probably locate you in a Japanese concert.”
Moretti sprints toward his long associate with a starbucks cup that unfortunately wouldn’t let imbeciles complain about the holidays with his silver and black suit and his hair slicked back. The former wrestler turned manager barks up a laugh at his own attempt at humor while Iser just has his arms crossed, his back slouched to the wall as he people watches.
“What gave it away?” Iser raises his eyebrow not even making eye contact, “The beard, or the fact that my arms and face have scars?”
“The charming personality is the biggest one…” Moretti dryly answers.
Iser just shakes his head as his eyes seem fixated in one particular direction. It’s almost as if he’s fixated on someone. And it comes into focus quickly as a man who stands closer to Moretti’s size height wise donning a particular black shirt that simply proclaims about Jesus’s love. And you just see the sweat drop from his bald head just from feeling Iser’s glare that’s progressively picking up in intensity.
“Fundamentalist...tries to hide his bigotry with the mask of ‘God’...sets back everyone that comes into contact in major ways…” Iser mutters coldly, unable to fully contain the malice in those words, “They’re everywhere. It’s almost a damn infestation. A disease…”
“Nobody ever said they were the sharpest crayons in the box…” Moretti coyly replies.
“They’re at least smart enough to try to sugarcoat their disease with the catchy line of ‘Thoughts and prayers’ to try to hide their problems,” Iser spits.
Moretti lets out a sigh while Iser just shakes his head in disgust as that topic has been broached. You can almost see the man twitching in anger to do everything he can to suppress letting all of that out before he takes a deep breath and at least for the moment controls that emotional impulse.
“Religion is a form of that disease but the source of it all is humanity itself…” Iser answers with a snarl, his face curled with a frown, “We’ve become a society where we don’t think for ourselves and would rather allow ourselves to be deluded in many forms of lies, deceit...anything really to make us feel good and ignore reality.”
As Iser is spouting off with his noticeable accent the religious man turns to face Iser and the two finally do make eye contact. He looks miffed as he tilts his bald head toward the much taller figure but after a couple moments of staring, the sweat going down his bald head increases much further almost as if he feels a specific vibe and he begins to walk down and blend in with the other people as fast as humanly possible. Iser lets out the faintest of smirks knowing he’s at least made someone uncomfortable just by glaring at them.
“It’s amazing you DON’T get into more fights…” Vincent lets out a sigh.
“My size dissuades most and if that doesn’t...it’s how I look that makes others shy away…” Iser answers knowingly, “Besides, when you’re thirty-six you can’t engage in fights as nonchalantly as you would say when you’re twenty-one...we both know this.”
The sun begins to set on them as the duo walk deeper into the city...deep in thought with that aggressive body language.
***
The dark confines of an old church have the opposite feel of the bright warmth of the California sun but even in the city of San Diego there are some homages to the Aztec civilization. With all of that Moretti holds a camera up getting a view of all the things like the usual church iconography with Jesus, the bible, and even the place where a pastor would deliver their sermons. And Iser, donning a hooded, sleeveless black hoodie zipped up with a tattered pair of blue jeans just sneers at everything around that while rubbing his right index finger on the giant prominent scar that goes down his left arm, observing everything with a bit of disgust on his face as he shakes his head.
“It’s amazing what experience brings in this world as when you’ve partaken in this industry for over a decade and are any good that you get to see the entire world a couple times over. From the hideous scars that riddled the Middle East to the unbelieveable culture that is Japan. You get to see the highs of the richest buildings of the world to the lows of scratching and crawling for two hot dogs and a coke just to survive...with the hope to thrive.”
Iser’s tone is low, but stern as he rubs the long hair out of his eyes and continues looking around this old church before he goes back to rubbing that particular scar down his arm for a brief moment. His expression is thoughtful as he mulls over all the experiences he’s had.
“And we’re in such a fragile spot where if you run into the one person with the wild hair up his ass and the balls to go through with it all that your career can be altered and ended and there’s no amount of ‘thoughts and prayers’ that can help get that next paycheck.”
The words ‘thoughts and prayers’ were spoken with an unearthly amount of malice as Iser’s glare. With that he sneers at the bible that is on that stand.
“And they can talk about Luke 24:47 about the claims of forgiveness but considering it’s the same book that says you should stone the infidels to death...I don’t find it a great source for life lessons due to its contradictions no matter how much my parents tried to force feed it down my throat. I didn’t believe them.”
Iser just shakes his head as he just looks down at that book for the faintest of seconds with a look of absolute hate before he buries that emotion behind his usual, more business first mask of an emotionless scowl.
“That brings me to you Finn. Seeing you snap a veteran’s arm right out of socket and then after roaring for someone to push you to the brink you then dump another man on his head with that same wild hair up our ass all in an intent to try to prove yourself to the entire world. And you got your wish too very next show. They stick you in with someone who has seen everything in this sport. All the more impressive with the stakes of being the next person to try to get some gold. But...I have a question for you.”
Iser’s thoughtful expression comes through as he has his arms crossed, calculating everything he’s about to say. His lips curl into a frown though.
“But I wonder how you’ll react when you’re hit. Really...really hit. Are you going to rise up and continue onward...or will you crumble?”
Iser pauses after that question...tapping his fingers across his arm as he thinks about what the answer might be himself.
“You rise up and continue you’ll survive our match. I promise that much. You’re capable enough otherwise you wouldn’t be in this spot...getting into a prestigious company is one thing, earning your way to be in position to challenge for gold after snapping someone’s arm is another.”
He shakes his head after that statement though.
“But if I were a betting man, you’re going to fold because you have no earthly idea what you just got yourself into when you popped your mouth demanding competition. It’s something that’s happened many times in wrestling. You, like many of those other potential wrestlers who made this mistake, will crumble and instead of mercy...you’ll just get the cruelest education of how vicious and violent our illustrious industry truly is. And there’s no God on the face of this earth that’ll be able to intervene to prevent this result from happening.”
Iser pauses for a brief second looking over that same bible with the disdain just bubbling through. The hatred he has for what religion is...don’t know if there is a direct word for that. But he rubs through the parts of his hair that have the grey in there. He just lets out a disgruntled sigh.
“It’s a shame for you, kid but that’s the price that might be paid when everything is on the line. It isn’t personal but rather the code of the sport itself. And it’s been too damn long since I’ve held a little gold and someone like you who's looking to make a name at my expense won’t stop me from achieving this goal. You can call me greedy for that...but that’s the nature of our industry...if you’re not in it to achieve success and make a good living for yourself...you might as well just beg for charity. And receive those dreaded...thoughts and prayers.”
With a swift motion Seth just yanks the bible and grabs a hold and just has a very tight, aggressive grip on that book. He’s mouthing the words ‘Thoughts and prayers’ repeatedly as the scowl on his face turns into full blown rage.
“I’m willing to be many of the damn fans when they aren’t drinking themselves into a stupor being absolute hypocrites would be willing to send you those thoughts and prayers. But...they didn’t give me anything. Those same fans that riled you up into helping make that ballsy challenge will just drop that line and not really give a damn about you or anyone else except their own selfish desires. But alas Finn Whelan...if you believe in them or don’t that’s all you’ll have left after I take one more step to glory.”
And the vein that pops up on Iser’s forehead just shows how angry he’s gotten talking about that sensitive topic.
“Just when you’re carted off when everything I say comes to pass the audience, every single fan that has crapped on me for sixteen years all over the damn world, the religious fundamentalist who shove their BS down their throat my entire life will all have to kiss my ass and acknowledge that they were wrong...and I am right. I will once again proven that I’m both one of the best in my craft...and soon to be...champion.”
With those last words being spoken Iser just stomps off, chucking the bible onto one of the wooden seats of that church with every bit of anger seeping through.
Word count: 1890
“Jesus christ, Seth…” Moretti’s voice booms toward him, “You stick out so much I could probably locate you in a Japanese concert.”
Moretti sprints toward his long associate with a starbucks cup that unfortunately wouldn’t let imbeciles complain about the holidays with his silver and black suit and his hair slicked back. The former wrestler turned manager barks up a laugh at his own attempt at humor while Iser just has his arms crossed, his back slouched to the wall as he people watches.
“What gave it away?” Iser raises his eyebrow not even making eye contact, “The beard, or the fact that my arms and face have scars?”
“The charming personality is the biggest one…” Moretti dryly answers.
Iser just shakes his head as his eyes seem fixated in one particular direction. It’s almost as if he’s fixated on someone. And it comes into focus quickly as a man who stands closer to Moretti’s size height wise donning a particular black shirt that simply proclaims about Jesus’s love. And you just see the sweat drop from his bald head just from feeling Iser’s glare that’s progressively picking up in intensity.
“Fundamentalist...tries to hide his bigotry with the mask of ‘God’...sets back everyone that comes into contact in major ways…” Iser mutters coldly, unable to fully contain the malice in those words, “They’re everywhere. It’s almost a damn infestation. A disease…”
“Nobody ever said they were the sharpest crayons in the box…” Moretti coyly replies.
“They’re at least smart enough to try to sugarcoat their disease with the catchy line of ‘Thoughts and prayers’ to try to hide their problems,” Iser spits.
Moretti lets out a sigh while Iser just shakes his head in disgust as that topic has been broached. You can almost see the man twitching in anger to do everything he can to suppress letting all of that out before he takes a deep breath and at least for the moment controls that emotional impulse.
“Religion is a form of that disease but the source of it all is humanity itself…” Iser answers with a snarl, his face curled with a frown, “We’ve become a society where we don’t think for ourselves and would rather allow ourselves to be deluded in many forms of lies, deceit...anything really to make us feel good and ignore reality.”
As Iser is spouting off with his noticeable accent the religious man turns to face Iser and the two finally do make eye contact. He looks miffed as he tilts his bald head toward the much taller figure but after a couple moments of staring, the sweat going down his bald head increases much further almost as if he feels a specific vibe and he begins to walk down and blend in with the other people as fast as humanly possible. Iser lets out the faintest of smirks knowing he’s at least made someone uncomfortable just by glaring at them.
“It’s amazing you DON’T get into more fights…” Vincent lets out a sigh.
“My size dissuades most and if that doesn’t...it’s how I look that makes others shy away…” Iser answers knowingly, “Besides, when you’re thirty-six you can’t engage in fights as nonchalantly as you would say when you’re twenty-one...we both know this.”
The sun begins to set on them as the duo walk deeper into the city...deep in thought with that aggressive body language.
***
The dark confines of an old church have the opposite feel of the bright warmth of the California sun but even in the city of San Diego there are some homages to the Aztec civilization. With all of that Moretti holds a camera up getting a view of all the things like the usual church iconography with Jesus, the bible, and even the place where a pastor would deliver their sermons. And Iser, donning a hooded, sleeveless black hoodie zipped up with a tattered pair of blue jeans just sneers at everything around that while rubbing his right index finger on the giant prominent scar that goes down his left arm, observing everything with a bit of disgust on his face as he shakes his head.
“It’s amazing what experience brings in this world as when you’ve partaken in this industry for over a decade and are any good that you get to see the entire world a couple times over. From the hideous scars that riddled the Middle East to the unbelieveable culture that is Japan. You get to see the highs of the richest buildings of the world to the lows of scratching and crawling for two hot dogs and a coke just to survive...with the hope to thrive.”
Iser’s tone is low, but stern as he rubs the long hair out of his eyes and continues looking around this old church before he goes back to rubbing that particular scar down his arm for a brief moment. His expression is thoughtful as he mulls over all the experiences he’s had.
“And we’re in such a fragile spot where if you run into the one person with the wild hair up his ass and the balls to go through with it all that your career can be altered and ended and there’s no amount of ‘thoughts and prayers’ that can help get that next paycheck.”
The words ‘thoughts and prayers’ were spoken with an unearthly amount of malice as Iser’s glare. With that he sneers at the bible that is on that stand.
“And they can talk about Luke 24:47 about the claims of forgiveness but considering it’s the same book that says you should stone the infidels to death...I don’t find it a great source for life lessons due to its contradictions no matter how much my parents tried to force feed it down my throat. I didn’t believe them.”
Iser just shakes his head as he just looks down at that book for the faintest of seconds with a look of absolute hate before he buries that emotion behind his usual, more business first mask of an emotionless scowl.
“That brings me to you Finn. Seeing you snap a veteran’s arm right out of socket and then after roaring for someone to push you to the brink you then dump another man on his head with that same wild hair up our ass all in an intent to try to prove yourself to the entire world. And you got your wish too very next show. They stick you in with someone who has seen everything in this sport. All the more impressive with the stakes of being the next person to try to get some gold. But...I have a question for you.”
Iser’s thoughtful expression comes through as he has his arms crossed, calculating everything he’s about to say. His lips curl into a frown though.
“But I wonder how you’ll react when you’re hit. Really...really hit. Are you going to rise up and continue onward...or will you crumble?”
Iser pauses after that question...tapping his fingers across his arm as he thinks about what the answer might be himself.
“You rise up and continue you’ll survive our match. I promise that much. You’re capable enough otherwise you wouldn’t be in this spot...getting into a prestigious company is one thing, earning your way to be in position to challenge for gold after snapping someone’s arm is another.”
He shakes his head after that statement though.
“But if I were a betting man, you’re going to fold because you have no earthly idea what you just got yourself into when you popped your mouth demanding competition. It’s something that’s happened many times in wrestling. You, like many of those other potential wrestlers who made this mistake, will crumble and instead of mercy...you’ll just get the cruelest education of how vicious and violent our illustrious industry truly is. And there’s no God on the face of this earth that’ll be able to intervene to prevent this result from happening.”
Iser pauses for a brief second looking over that same bible with the disdain just bubbling through. The hatred he has for what religion is...don’t know if there is a direct word for that. But he rubs through the parts of his hair that have the grey in there. He just lets out a disgruntled sigh.
“It’s a shame for you, kid but that’s the price that might be paid when everything is on the line. It isn’t personal but rather the code of the sport itself. And it’s been too damn long since I’ve held a little gold and someone like you who's looking to make a name at my expense won’t stop me from achieving this goal. You can call me greedy for that...but that’s the nature of our industry...if you’re not in it to achieve success and make a good living for yourself...you might as well just beg for charity. And receive those dreaded...thoughts and prayers.”
With a swift motion Seth just yanks the bible and grabs a hold and just has a very tight, aggressive grip on that book. He’s mouthing the words ‘Thoughts and prayers’ repeatedly as the scowl on his face turns into full blown rage.
“I’m willing to be many of the damn fans when they aren’t drinking themselves into a stupor being absolute hypocrites would be willing to send you those thoughts and prayers. But...they didn’t give me anything. Those same fans that riled you up into helping make that ballsy challenge will just drop that line and not really give a damn about you or anyone else except their own selfish desires. But alas Finn Whelan...if you believe in them or don’t that’s all you’ll have left after I take one more step to glory.”
And the vein that pops up on Iser’s forehead just shows how angry he’s gotten talking about that sensitive topic.
“Just when you’re carted off when everything I say comes to pass the audience, every single fan that has crapped on me for sixteen years all over the damn world, the religious fundamentalist who shove their BS down their throat my entire life will all have to kiss my ass and acknowledge that they were wrong...and I am right. I will once again proven that I’m both one of the best in my craft...and soon to be...champion.”
With those last words being spoken Iser just stomps off, chucking the bible onto one of the wooden seats of that church with every bit of anger seeping through.
Word count: 1890