Post by Toothpick Teddy on Aug 25, 2010 21:58:59 GMT -5
Jacques Fureau sits in his gilded chamber, having recently lost a match against Orion, a match he put no effort in, for he was much too occupied with the future of the company.
And all too well did his prophecy to life had come, for at Wrath, a new champion was crowned. As Jacques sits in his chambers and closes his eyes, he can see that, that, arrogant foolish smile that decorated the ruffian's idiotic face as his hands grasped the gold in a show for the foolish masses to behold.
Dolla Dolla! Dolla Billa! Dolla Dolla! Dolla Billa!
Like ghosts, their screams assail Fureau's mind. The image of the idiotic smiling man burns in his eyes over and over again. What level has the REW dropped to now that such a champion has been crowned?
A shameful thing indeed and one that must be rectified.
Like an arrow, Fureau feels the memory of his own loss, as he fell face down to the mat, victim to that heartless chameleon, Orion Dahaly. The memory stings, not because of the loss itself, not because of the pain the match had wrecked upon his body, but it stings because of the realization that it is he, Jacques Fureau who is to blame for such a state as that in which REW now stands.
If it were not for him going into matches with as much heart and desire as that of a slug on a droopy rainy morning, perhaps it would be Jacques and not Dolla in that match. Perhaps fate would not have smiled on such a fool, would not allowed the title to be defiled as much as it has been. Were it not for Fureau's, foolish, foolish, foolish lack of spirit!
Servant : "Some water, sir? Do you feel alright? Shall I draw the shades?"
Fureau's eyes open once more to the bright light and he looks down at his hands. Sweat pours from his brow and his hands are red from gripping the wooden feet of the chair upon which he sits.
He looks at his serving man and sees a rare look of true concern flicker above the bags underneath the man's eyes. A glass of water shakes nervously on a shining silver tray.
Jacques Fureau : No...no, I'm quite alright. How long have I been in this...state?
The man looks to the floor then to his master as if afraid to poke him sharply with the truth
Servant : Well, to be honest, since I came on duty this morning. I was told you had not left your room and were sitting here, eyes closed in front of the closed drapes. The others dared not disturbed you...but...but I became worried...p
A smile crudely crawls upon the face of Jacques as he turns back to the older man
Jacques Fureau : And for that, you deserve to be rewarded! For showing bravery, for not showing cowardice, for doing what you can even when others were afraid to do so! Take the rest of the day off, and take this!
Fureau shoves a wad of money into the servant's hands and the old man grasps it as if the money were a creature, rattling and crawling in his hands
Servant : But sir...I deserve no such thing. I showed no bravery...it was just concern...it is my job to be concerned, for it were not for you, the streets are what I would call home. Please sir, I am afraid reason must have fled an illness within you...
Jacques shakes his head, standing up, composing himself and looking squarely and confidently at the man before him. It is as if Jacques has shifted shape and form, no longer does he look distressed, but rather standing brave and fearsome.
Jacques Fureau : Fear not, for I am well. In fact, I should rather say that I have never been better than I am at this time. You have inspired me, drawn within me the force that was lacking for the months and months before. You, noble sir, have been a role model, one to be admired and one to be imitated.
You have done that which I have failed to do. You stepped up to the task, you overcame the fear and uncertainty that had plagued others in my company and you did that which is right. Now I shall overcome myself, now I shall too step up to the task that lies before me. I will clean the REW of the affliction that consumes it, overthrow the pest that sits upon it's throne and assume my rightful place!
Thank you dear friend, thank you!
The servant steps back in confusion as Fureau kisses his forehead before hugging him and rushing out of the room. The old man rubs his forehead and the remants of his now graying hair as he picks up the items that Fureau has dropped in his madness fueled tirade.
The old man has never seen Jacques in this state and it unnerves him, for it speaks of change to come. Now whether that change will be of ill wind or of pleasant fortune remains to be seen...
TBC.
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