On the Shoulders of Giants
May 29, 2016 12:08:44 GMT -6
"Mr. God" Benjamin Atreyu, John Gable, and 2 more like this
Post by Wentworth Updegraff Jr. on May 29, 2016 12:08:44 GMT -6
Grunting and labored breathing echoes through the large, workout space in the sub basement of Updegraff manor. Sweat drips down Wentworth’s shirtless, chiseled torso, as he holds a heavy bar across his shoulders, and does several squats in rapid succession. Pristine workout equipment sits all around him, gleaming under the harsh, fluorescent lighting. A young, curvaceous maid stands nearby, watching, holding a number of towels and a large bottle of water. His fingers grip the bar tight, as he struggles to dip down and stand up one last time, before racking the bar with a loud clang. He takes a towel from the maid, and winks at her, before wiping the sweat from his face and having a seat on a nearby bench. He takes a moment to let his breath catch up with him, and turns to the camera with a charming smile.
Wentworth: Hey there UCI fans. Well… I don’t know if we can even call you fans yet. We haven’t even had our second show. Let me start over. Hey there people who watch UCI for the time being. It is I, the standard of sophistication, Wentworth Updegraff Jr. Now, I know a lot of you fans out there lead trite, meaningless lives, but I want to let you know that that’s ok. That’s why you have me. I am here to offer you a weekly glimpse into a life of achievement and victory. Now, it is true that I lost last week, but even in the greatest life, a little rain must fall. That won’t be happening to me this week, however. This week, I’m bringing an umbrella… wait, that metaphor isn't very manly… a weather ray! That’s it. This week, I’m bringing a weather ray!
Wentworth lays back, and hooks his feet in the padded metal bars at the bottom of the bench. His ab muscles clench and unclench violently as he does several sit ups in rapid succession. The maid watching lets a small grin appear on her lips, before suppressing it almost immediately. Wentworth slowly gets the last twos it ups in, before unhooking his feet, and turning back to the camera.
Wentworth:You guys don’t see the full picture of what happened last week. You all saw me take a loss. What really happened was that I lost to a man who I would have killed to destroy in front of everybody. I lost to that self important, stuck up, old money douchebag, Jay Omega. A loss I’m going to get back, rest assured. I’m not here to talk about Omega though… not yet anyway. Today I’m here to talk about Alex Richards and Asher Bradley, the two men standing between me and my television title.
Updegraff stands to his feet, and grabs the water bottle from the maid. He also grabs her hand, and raises it to his lips with a wink.
Wentworth:Te veré más tarde, mi flor del desierto.
The woman giggles, and turns to make her way out of the gym. Wentworth reaches out and gives her a quick slap on her shapely backside, before getting back to his speech.
Wentworth: Now, far be it for me to speak ill of my competition, but why don’t I give it a shot? What you’re looking at in my opponents are two men who are in this match because UCI can’t just hand me my TV title. It wouldn’t look right, so they put together this match, or as I like to call it, the Wentworth Updegraff Jr. coronation challenge. Now, I’m all for decorum and ceremony, but how’s it going to look when they hand me my title, and I’m all sweaty with messed up hair? That won’t do at all. Therefor, as a favor to UCI, my personal grooming consultant will be on hand at the show to make sure your television champion looks professional and handsome at all times. If UCI management is worried about paying for her services, don’t. I’ll bill you later and we can work out a payment plan.
Wentworth makes his way across the room to a large wooden block that comes up to Wentworth’s shoulders. He pauses, contemplating it for a moment, before crouching down, and springing upward, the muscles in his legs exploding their power upward. He leaps into the air, and lifts his feet, just managing to land himself on the edge of the tall block. He drops back down, the soles of his tennis shoes slapping against the tile floor when he lands. He takes a deep breath, before repeating the action a few times. After he is finished, he continues talking while stretching his legs.
Wentworth:I don’t mean to totally trash my competition. Lord knows you’re talented, or you wouldn’t even be here. The problem isn’t you, the problem is who you got matched up against. See, you guys are good, just not as good as me. I guess it’s only fair of me to explain why. Let’s start with Alex Richards. The thing with Alex is that if you react, you lose. I heard what he had to say, and it’s all so utterly ridiculous that I refuse to even acknowledge it. It was cute. That’s all I’ll say. He’s got jokes and funny slideshows for days, but that’s not wrestling. He acts like a buffoon, making the crowd laugh seems to be his priority, and he’s good at it, but that’s not wrestling. He calls himself the archduke of mass confusion. I honestly couldn’t think of a less fitting name. He doesn’t confuse me. To the contrary, he’s the easiest target in this match. See, he’s big, and intimidating, and a fucking goofball supreme, but every last bit of that is simply meant to cover up for the fact that he’ll never be anywhere near the caliber of athlete I am on my worst day.
Updegraff wipes his sweat away again, and sets the towel across his shoulders, as he weaves in and out of the shiny new workout equipment, making his way toward the locker room.
Wentworth:The other point I want to make about Alex is that this isn’t a joke for me. He can laugh and joke and drink it up all he wants. I’m not laughing, because I know what’s on the line. Unlike Alex, this isn’t funny to me. Unlike Alex, I gave up alcohol this week. I’m going to be at the top of my game this Sunday, and if Alex Richards isn’t, he’s going to get run the hell over. Ask all three of my state championship opponents what happens when you don’t take me seriously? That was teenage me. You can’t even imagine what an adult Wentworth Updegraff Jr. can do when he’s this serious. So joke around, make your slideshows, have a damn good time Alex. You’ll need the memories to console you.
Wentworth steps into the sterile locker room, making his way to the large, communal shower. Stepping behind a half wall that obscures everything beneath the waist, he removes his sweat soaked shorts, and hangs them over the wall. He kicks his shoes across the room, and turns the shower on, letting the water run down the peaks and valleys of his muscular torso.
Wentworth:I know what you’re thinking. No, I didn’t have to shower during my promo, but the crowd last week didn’t have a lot of females in it. I figured I’d help the company out. No need to thank me. Anyway, let’s move on to Captain Emo McShortstack himself, Asher Bradley. I don’t know quite what to think of this guy,but I sure as hell know what he thinks of himself. Hey Asher, here’s some news, you’re not the Punisher. You’re just a tiny little man who’s about to blow another huge opportunity. I don’t know who the hell your little Batman act is fooling, but it’s not me. You can be as whiny and brooding as you want, it’s just going to get worse when I drag your ass all over the arena on Sunday. You have to understand, this is where I belong, and I’ll be god damned if I’m going to let some goofy behemoth, and Hot Topic Napoleon stand in my way. Neither of you has what it takes to beat me, and it’s time you admitted it. Not just to the crowd, but to yourselves. It’ll be less painful that way.
The shower stops, and Wentworth grabs a white towel from a rack on the wall. He wraps it around his lower half before stepping out and having a seat on a wooden bench.
Wentworth:Boys… understand one thing. I’m not here to be famous. I’m obviously not here for the money. I’m here to prove to the world that I am the greatest wrestler this generation has ever seen. I am a prodigy and a half, a king among ants, a gleaming fucking man god! All UCI could muster up to fight me was a drunk clown with gigantism and Lord Littlebrook’s angry cousin. I’m going to give you one last piece of advice. At some point during our match, you might find yourself with a split second opportunity to take me out. My weakness might show, and you’ll get the slimmest of shots. Don’t hesitate. You’re going to need everything to go absolutely perfectly if you want to stop me from holding that TV title above my head. Good luck gentlemen.
The camera fades out, as Wentworth opens his locker and begins removing his suit.
___ _ _ _ ___ _ _ ____
The mid-day sun shines bright through the giant, panoramic window into Wentworth’s spacious condo. The wrestler steps out of his room, black bathrobe wrapped around himself, and taps a display on the wall. The large window instantly darkens, dulling a harshness of the sun. The smile on Wentworth’s face is that of a man who is incredibly pleased with himself. He takes a bottle of water from the granite counter top, and takes a long swig, as a young woman makes her way out of his room. Her long, tan legs stick out from beneath a tiny, pink robe, as she skitters across the hardwood floor. Her curly, blonde hair falls over his shoulder, as she wraps her arms around his waist, and gives him a quick kiss on the back of the neck.
Woman:Last night was amazing.
Wentworth:You don’t have to tell me. Though… would you mind if I used you as a reference?
The woman throws back her head, letting a high pitched giggle escape. Through the robe, he can feel her hands rubbing his shoulder muscles. The relaxation spreads through the rest of his body, as his gaze stays out toward the city of Danbury.
Wentworth:Listen, I have a meeting an-
Woman:Is this the part where you pretend you have to rush off to a meeting, but you’ll call me next week? Don’t worry about it. I’m not that stupid. That was fun though. If we bump into each other, we should do it again. You mind if I at least use your shower before I take off?
Wentworth chuckles lightly, and gets an impressed half smile on his face.
Wentworth:Yeah. No problem.
The woman gives him another quick kiss, before heading to the bathroom. Almost as soon as he hears the water start running, his phone goes off. He pulls it from the pocket of the robe, and opens the text message.
Hey, Allen. It’s Alicia, from church. Gonna be in town next week. Figured we could get together and you could have that second chance.
At first a look of surprise crosses his face, but it slowly fades. He stares at the message, his mind drifting back to the day in church. He hadn’t forgotten a single detail. The way she smiled at him. The way she smelled like a mixture of peaches and roses. The mystery of her curves beneath the modest dress. Thinking of it brings a smile to his lips. His attention is ripped away from the phone by the blonde woman’s head peaking around the corner.
Woman:Hey, you feel like joining me? I have plenty of time. Assuming you don’t have a real meeting to go to.
He looks up at her, then down at the phone a few times. After a moment or two of contemplation, he tosses his phone onto the leather recliner, swallows another mouthful of water, and makes his way toward the bathroom.
Wentworth:You’re in luck. They moved it to next week.
They both disappear into the fog of the hot shower, their robes lying forgotten on the ground.
____ _ _ ____ _ _ _ __
Wentworth sits at his long, glass dining room table. Tall backed chairs surround, waiting for guests who will never arrive. In front of him sits a glass of scotch that he hasn’t touched. He has been starring at the glass for the better part of an hour, but has yet to raise it to his lips. Reginald steps into the room, dressed as pristine as always.
Reginald:Master Updegraff?
Wentworth’s tired eyes shoot up to the old, black man, and then immediately back down to the drink.
Reginald:I just thought I should check and see if there was anything else I could do for you before I was dismissed for the day.
Wentworth stays silent for a long time, his eyes refusing to move. Reginald gives him a concerned look.
Reginald:Sir-
Wentworth:Yeah… yeah, can you dump this out for me?
Without questioning his employer, Reginald lifts the glass, walks it over to the sink, and pours it out, before turning back to the man.
Reginald:Are you alright, sir?
Wentworth:Yeah… yeah I’m ok. Hey Reginald… do you think I’m making the right decision?
Reginald:How do you mean, sir?
Wentworth:I mean wrestling. I was a great amateur wrestler, but this isn’t even close to the same thing. The last thing I want is to tarnish the family name.
Reginald:It would seem your brother, Hunter is well on his way to achieving that goal, sir.
Wentworth:Exactly. All the more reason I need to not mess this up. After last week though… I’m just nervous I guess.
Reginald ponders this thought silently for a moment, before replying.
Reginald:Sir, I am going to ask you the same question you asked me last week. Do you love it?
Wentworth pauses, but not for long.
Wentworth:Yeah... Yes I do. There’s nothing like it in the world, Reginald. Even when I lose, it’s an amazing feeling. I can barely describe it.
Reginald:Then it seems you have your answer.
Wentworth smiles for the first time since the conversation started. He lets his mind walk back and forth across the sentence for a while.
Wentworth:It seems I do… Reginald, why don’t you take tomorrow off? You deserve it.
Reginald:Are you positive, sir?
Wentworth:Yeah. Go paint or visit your family or whatever it is you do. I think I can make my own eggs.
Reginald:Thank you sir.
Wentworth can only nod, as the man turns and makes his exit. The wrestler sits in silence for about fifteen minutes, before standing to his feet, and walking toward his changing room.
Wentworth:Time to be awesome.
Wentworth: Hey there UCI fans. Well… I don’t know if we can even call you fans yet. We haven’t even had our second show. Let me start over. Hey there people who watch UCI for the time being. It is I, the standard of sophistication, Wentworth Updegraff Jr. Now, I know a lot of you fans out there lead trite, meaningless lives, but I want to let you know that that’s ok. That’s why you have me. I am here to offer you a weekly glimpse into a life of achievement and victory. Now, it is true that I lost last week, but even in the greatest life, a little rain must fall. That won’t be happening to me this week, however. This week, I’m bringing an umbrella… wait, that metaphor isn't very manly… a weather ray! That’s it. This week, I’m bringing a weather ray!
Wentworth lays back, and hooks his feet in the padded metal bars at the bottom of the bench. His ab muscles clench and unclench violently as he does several sit ups in rapid succession. The maid watching lets a small grin appear on her lips, before suppressing it almost immediately. Wentworth slowly gets the last twos it ups in, before unhooking his feet, and turning back to the camera.
Wentworth:You guys don’t see the full picture of what happened last week. You all saw me take a loss. What really happened was that I lost to a man who I would have killed to destroy in front of everybody. I lost to that self important, stuck up, old money douchebag, Jay Omega. A loss I’m going to get back, rest assured. I’m not here to talk about Omega though… not yet anyway. Today I’m here to talk about Alex Richards and Asher Bradley, the two men standing between me and my television title.
Updegraff stands to his feet, and grabs the water bottle from the maid. He also grabs her hand, and raises it to his lips with a wink.
Wentworth:Te veré más tarde, mi flor del desierto.
The woman giggles, and turns to make her way out of the gym. Wentworth reaches out and gives her a quick slap on her shapely backside, before getting back to his speech.
Wentworth: Now, far be it for me to speak ill of my competition, but why don’t I give it a shot? What you’re looking at in my opponents are two men who are in this match because UCI can’t just hand me my TV title. It wouldn’t look right, so they put together this match, or as I like to call it, the Wentworth Updegraff Jr. coronation challenge. Now, I’m all for decorum and ceremony, but how’s it going to look when they hand me my title, and I’m all sweaty with messed up hair? That won’t do at all. Therefor, as a favor to UCI, my personal grooming consultant will be on hand at the show to make sure your television champion looks professional and handsome at all times. If UCI management is worried about paying for her services, don’t. I’ll bill you later and we can work out a payment plan.
Wentworth makes his way across the room to a large wooden block that comes up to Wentworth’s shoulders. He pauses, contemplating it for a moment, before crouching down, and springing upward, the muscles in his legs exploding their power upward. He leaps into the air, and lifts his feet, just managing to land himself on the edge of the tall block. He drops back down, the soles of his tennis shoes slapping against the tile floor when he lands. He takes a deep breath, before repeating the action a few times. After he is finished, he continues talking while stretching his legs.
Wentworth:I don’t mean to totally trash my competition. Lord knows you’re talented, or you wouldn’t even be here. The problem isn’t you, the problem is who you got matched up against. See, you guys are good, just not as good as me. I guess it’s only fair of me to explain why. Let’s start with Alex Richards. The thing with Alex is that if you react, you lose. I heard what he had to say, and it’s all so utterly ridiculous that I refuse to even acknowledge it. It was cute. That’s all I’ll say. He’s got jokes and funny slideshows for days, but that’s not wrestling. He acts like a buffoon, making the crowd laugh seems to be his priority, and he’s good at it, but that’s not wrestling. He calls himself the archduke of mass confusion. I honestly couldn’t think of a less fitting name. He doesn’t confuse me. To the contrary, he’s the easiest target in this match. See, he’s big, and intimidating, and a fucking goofball supreme, but every last bit of that is simply meant to cover up for the fact that he’ll never be anywhere near the caliber of athlete I am on my worst day.
Updegraff wipes his sweat away again, and sets the towel across his shoulders, as he weaves in and out of the shiny new workout equipment, making his way toward the locker room.
Wentworth:The other point I want to make about Alex is that this isn’t a joke for me. He can laugh and joke and drink it up all he wants. I’m not laughing, because I know what’s on the line. Unlike Alex, this isn’t funny to me. Unlike Alex, I gave up alcohol this week. I’m going to be at the top of my game this Sunday, and if Alex Richards isn’t, he’s going to get run the hell over. Ask all three of my state championship opponents what happens when you don’t take me seriously? That was teenage me. You can’t even imagine what an adult Wentworth Updegraff Jr. can do when he’s this serious. So joke around, make your slideshows, have a damn good time Alex. You’ll need the memories to console you.
Wentworth steps into the sterile locker room, making his way to the large, communal shower. Stepping behind a half wall that obscures everything beneath the waist, he removes his sweat soaked shorts, and hangs them over the wall. He kicks his shoes across the room, and turns the shower on, letting the water run down the peaks and valleys of his muscular torso.
Wentworth:I know what you’re thinking. No, I didn’t have to shower during my promo, but the crowd last week didn’t have a lot of females in it. I figured I’d help the company out. No need to thank me. Anyway, let’s move on to Captain Emo McShortstack himself, Asher Bradley. I don’t know quite what to think of this guy,but I sure as hell know what he thinks of himself. Hey Asher, here’s some news, you’re not the Punisher. You’re just a tiny little man who’s about to blow another huge opportunity. I don’t know who the hell your little Batman act is fooling, but it’s not me. You can be as whiny and brooding as you want, it’s just going to get worse when I drag your ass all over the arena on Sunday. You have to understand, this is where I belong, and I’ll be god damned if I’m going to let some goofy behemoth, and Hot Topic Napoleon stand in my way. Neither of you has what it takes to beat me, and it’s time you admitted it. Not just to the crowd, but to yourselves. It’ll be less painful that way.
The shower stops, and Wentworth grabs a white towel from a rack on the wall. He wraps it around his lower half before stepping out and having a seat on a wooden bench.
Wentworth:Boys… understand one thing. I’m not here to be famous. I’m obviously not here for the money. I’m here to prove to the world that I am the greatest wrestler this generation has ever seen. I am a prodigy and a half, a king among ants, a gleaming fucking man god! All UCI could muster up to fight me was a drunk clown with gigantism and Lord Littlebrook’s angry cousin. I’m going to give you one last piece of advice. At some point during our match, you might find yourself with a split second opportunity to take me out. My weakness might show, and you’ll get the slimmest of shots. Don’t hesitate. You’re going to need everything to go absolutely perfectly if you want to stop me from holding that TV title above my head. Good luck gentlemen.
The camera fades out, as Wentworth opens his locker and begins removing his suit.
___ _ _ _ ___ _ _ ____
The mid-day sun shines bright through the giant, panoramic window into Wentworth’s spacious condo. The wrestler steps out of his room, black bathrobe wrapped around himself, and taps a display on the wall. The large window instantly darkens, dulling a harshness of the sun. The smile on Wentworth’s face is that of a man who is incredibly pleased with himself. He takes a bottle of water from the granite counter top, and takes a long swig, as a young woman makes her way out of his room. Her long, tan legs stick out from beneath a tiny, pink robe, as she skitters across the hardwood floor. Her curly, blonde hair falls over his shoulder, as she wraps her arms around his waist, and gives him a quick kiss on the back of the neck.
Woman:Last night was amazing.
Wentworth:You don’t have to tell me. Though… would you mind if I used you as a reference?
The woman throws back her head, letting a high pitched giggle escape. Through the robe, he can feel her hands rubbing his shoulder muscles. The relaxation spreads through the rest of his body, as his gaze stays out toward the city of Danbury.
Wentworth:Listen, I have a meeting an-
Woman:Is this the part where you pretend you have to rush off to a meeting, but you’ll call me next week? Don’t worry about it. I’m not that stupid. That was fun though. If we bump into each other, we should do it again. You mind if I at least use your shower before I take off?
Wentworth chuckles lightly, and gets an impressed half smile on his face.
Wentworth:Yeah. No problem.
The woman gives him another quick kiss, before heading to the bathroom. Almost as soon as he hears the water start running, his phone goes off. He pulls it from the pocket of the robe, and opens the text message.
Hey, Allen. It’s Alicia, from church. Gonna be in town next week. Figured we could get together and you could have that second chance.
At first a look of surprise crosses his face, but it slowly fades. He stares at the message, his mind drifting back to the day in church. He hadn’t forgotten a single detail. The way she smiled at him. The way she smelled like a mixture of peaches and roses. The mystery of her curves beneath the modest dress. Thinking of it brings a smile to his lips. His attention is ripped away from the phone by the blonde woman’s head peaking around the corner.
Woman:Hey, you feel like joining me? I have plenty of time. Assuming you don’t have a real meeting to go to.
He looks up at her, then down at the phone a few times. After a moment or two of contemplation, he tosses his phone onto the leather recliner, swallows another mouthful of water, and makes his way toward the bathroom.
Wentworth:You’re in luck. They moved it to next week.
They both disappear into the fog of the hot shower, their robes lying forgotten on the ground.
____ _ _ ____ _ _ _ __
Wentworth sits at his long, glass dining room table. Tall backed chairs surround, waiting for guests who will never arrive. In front of him sits a glass of scotch that he hasn’t touched. He has been starring at the glass for the better part of an hour, but has yet to raise it to his lips. Reginald steps into the room, dressed as pristine as always.
Reginald:Master Updegraff?
Wentworth’s tired eyes shoot up to the old, black man, and then immediately back down to the drink.
Reginald:I just thought I should check and see if there was anything else I could do for you before I was dismissed for the day.
Wentworth stays silent for a long time, his eyes refusing to move. Reginald gives him a concerned look.
Reginald:Sir-
Wentworth:Yeah… yeah, can you dump this out for me?
Without questioning his employer, Reginald lifts the glass, walks it over to the sink, and pours it out, before turning back to the man.
Reginald:Are you alright, sir?
Wentworth:Yeah… yeah I’m ok. Hey Reginald… do you think I’m making the right decision?
Reginald:How do you mean, sir?
Wentworth:I mean wrestling. I was a great amateur wrestler, but this isn’t even close to the same thing. The last thing I want is to tarnish the family name.
Reginald:It would seem your brother, Hunter is well on his way to achieving that goal, sir.
Wentworth:Exactly. All the more reason I need to not mess this up. After last week though… I’m just nervous I guess.
Reginald ponders this thought silently for a moment, before replying.
Reginald:Sir, I am going to ask you the same question you asked me last week. Do you love it?
Wentworth pauses, but not for long.
Wentworth:Yeah... Yes I do. There’s nothing like it in the world, Reginald. Even when I lose, it’s an amazing feeling. I can barely describe it.
Reginald:Then it seems you have your answer.
Wentworth smiles for the first time since the conversation started. He lets his mind walk back and forth across the sentence for a while.
Wentworth:It seems I do… Reginald, why don’t you take tomorrow off? You deserve it.
Reginald:Are you positive, sir?
Wentworth:Yeah. Go paint or visit your family or whatever it is you do. I think I can make my own eggs.
Reginald:Thank you sir.
Wentworth can only nod, as the man turns and makes his exit. The wrestler sits in silence for about fifteen minutes, before standing to his feet, and walking toward his changing room.
Wentworth:Time to be awesome.
