Post by Virgil Barrick on Jan 16, 2022 20:43:44 GMT -5
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
---| Project:Underground IV |---
Consequences
---| The Smooth Operator |---
Virgil Barrick
He that eateth my flesh,
and drinketh my blood,
hath eternal life;
and I will raise him up that last day
---
?: "They want to know about your memories".
VIRGIL BARRICK: "I could just tell you something so mundane that it defeats the point. I don't think that's what you want...."
?: "Then what do you think they want, Virgil?"
VIRGIL BARRICK: "A look at whatever makes someone choose this for a living".
?: "Then by all means, start from the beginning. In your own time...."
---
---| So, What's Your Poison? |---
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
---| The Sumatra Kula |---
---| Project:Underground IV |---
Consequences
---| The Smooth Operator |---
Virgil Barrick
He that eateth my flesh,
and drinketh my blood,
hath eternal life;
and I will raise him up that last day
---
?: "They want to know about your memories".
VIRGIL BARRICK: "I could just tell you something so mundane that it defeats the point. I don't think that's what you want...."
?: "Then what do you think they want, Virgil?"
VIRGIL BARRICK: "A look at whatever makes someone choose this for a living".
?: "Then by all means, start from the beginning. In your own time...."
---
---| So, What's Your Poison? |---
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
---| The Sumatra Kula |---
March 22nd, 2015
11:51PM
The Kaleido Club
Bristol, England
VIRGIL BARRICK [V.O.]: "It started with the first job...The first drink"
Clinks of glass chime through the smokey room. Music far too loud to actually hear anything anyone is saying, but smiling and nodding anyway. The patrons all dressed formally, moreso than your usual club crawl, although most will end in dizzy disaster all the same. The pulsing lights in a kaleidoscope of colours beam around the main hall, making all the mixed drinks in their flamboyant glasses dance and pop with rainbow light. Hence the club's name.
A man stumbles over and leans against the bar to steady himself. Greasy hair, sunken eyes and not far away from drooling in his own disorientation. He speaks with a drawl to his words, having to practically shout anyway even with the ambient noise.
?: "Hey...HEY! Bartender!! I'm looking at you! I want the manager....Get me a fucking drink..."
The man suddenly hits himself over the head erratically as The bartender in question looks towards the man with confusion, hesitant to answer before his colleague steps up to the man. The second bartender dressed more formally than the other, with some liberties taken on what would be the dress code of the establishment. Despite that, a grey waistcoat with dark green trim, and a speck of gold from a designer pen in his breast pocket. Not a hair out of place on his head, and although not so built as present day, Virgil Barrick was still recognisable, eyes as perceptive as always.
VIRGIL BARRICK: "What's your poison?"
?: "A erm...Sum...S-Sumatra...Colder? Kula? Kula! Sumatra Kula!! Are you the manager?"
VIRGIL BARRICK [V.O.]: "He asked me that. Of course I wasn't, but I didn't deny it. Never needed to. When you look more the part than your actual superior, any patron immediately thinks you have more authority than you really do. They take your word as law because you look important".
"He starts rambling on as I'm making his drink; Rum, Orange, Lime, Grapefruit. Sumatra Kula. Most of the other guys that are actually hired to make drinks might not know about that one. He starts slapping himself in the head every time he swears. Whether he's drunk or crazy or both, didn't really matter to me. He was a red flag from the moment he stepped in".
? [V.O]: "Would you always prefer to stand behind the bar for these jobs? Wouldn't it be more logical to be right by your client?"
VIRGIL BARRICK [V.O]: "Maybe. I just took a liking to finding out more about the people that walk in. They always pick a poison first, try to act casual if they're up to something. Mr. Caldon didn't much care either way, too busy having a woman on his lap and powder on his nose to sweat the details of my conduct. This was before I really started doing the job. Was experimenting with it just as much as I was mixing the drinks".
"Anyway, he keeps on hitting himself. It's not some tick that he can't control either, didn't sound like that. Just that he kept doing it. There was a white band around the collar of his shirt. A priest. Other guests start shuffling away from him. The smell wasn't great either. Between the profanity that he's beating himself over, he's whispering scripture. Getting angrier".
The Priest: "He that eateth my flesh,
and drinketh my blood,
hath eternal life;
and I will raise him up that last day"
"So, I play the hand that'll show whether he needs to be dealt with or not....I start making his drink slower, and slower. Pretending to look for ingredients, fiddling with whatever, cleaning the surface. Anything. Makes them question the authority they've already afforded to me. All the little angers, they don't know where to put it".
The Preacher: "Hey! What's taking so long huh? I want my drink!"
Audio of the scene fades away with only the reverberating thrums of bass in the club breaking through. Virgil remains calm, as the man jumps to his feet, trying to reach across the bar towards his half-finished cocktail.
VIRGIL BARRICK [V.O.]: "He kicked up a fuss. And that was that".
The scene cuts to the Priest falling to the ground, now outside the club. A line of hopeful patrons in their lavish, if not tacky shirts and dresses watching on in concern. Some with smiles. The man's face is painted with red, flecks of the crimson staining his clerical collar as he scrambles away. Barrick is seen standing over him, watching as he scurries away. With an adjustment of his tie, he returns to the club, wiping his knuckles clean.
?: "What happened after that?"
VIRGIL BARRICK [V.O.]: "Saw the night through. And many nights after that. Many that were much worse. Turns out he was deranged. Thought he'd become a host of the devil. He'd already scoped around half a dozen other bars trying to find women to take home. Giving in to sin, I suppose. It's all bullshit anyway...He's probably still around there somewhere, became a local legend, started a cult. You know the drill with these types...."
"They're all liars to themselves..."
?: "What's your drink, Virgil?"
VIRGIL BARRICK [V.O.]: "You're assuming that I do drink at all".
?: "Trust me, someone as straight-laced as yourself wouldn't become a wrestler without a little demon of your own. Wouldn't jump behind the bar while you were the main bodyguard for whoever will pay for that privilege. Just an observation, Virgil. You never have to answer if you don't wish to. It's just a conversation as always..."
"What's your drink?"
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
---| Preacher's Poison |---
VIRGIL BARRICK: "I'm not here to get bogged down against the deluded. Thinking they're holier than thou for the mere act of speech. For preaching a salvation that doesn't exist. I left that magical world behind. There isn't anything like that anymore for me. All it takes is an enigmatic name like 'Joseph Blaze', an already-indoctrinated lump of a follower, and you're off to the races".
"You're only words, Joseph. That's what all preachers are, and all they'll ever be. Some might be taken with your smoke and mirrors...your sales pitch. But, all I'll see is the drunkard in everyone that tries it afterwards. Stringing it all together to try and convince the impressionable minds that would roll into a developmental like this, and take them under your wing. An angel to wash away whatever sins that brought them here".
"That's what you believe, right? You're here for that higher purpose..."
"It's never about the voice of another to make your badness go away, Joseph. I'm just as tainted as the next guy, even if I try to hide it under the suit and the decorum. But, I'm not naive enough to believe you. Because I have tangible purpose, and meaning, and drive to be here. Someone without a cause would come running to your arms, I'm sure. You'll be surprised to see just how many whack jobs do what they do in the name of someone, or something they look up to. Mentors. Family. Revolution. Retribution. Religion".
"Ideals".
"It all boils down to thinking things should be a different way. And as far as I'm concerned, I'd much rather put a halt to your little campaign before it gets off the ground. Last time on Project: Underground I put away the tangible vices of money and power in the form of Sterling. But this time, your phantom power will leave too".
"Not even that I'm better than you. You can believe what you want, not my place to stop you there. Where I can derail you, is with blood. Have you had to atone for something, Joseph? To really see error of your ways? If you did, there is no amount of repentance, or repayment that can fill that void. Everything that you put forward for the sake of betterment, for championships, and for legacy....it's a lie. Just like all of them".
"I won't see a better life when I look at you across the ring. I won't see the messiah you wish to be. I won't see the legions of supporters you crave to help prop you up over their heads. Chaos needs an equal force to oppose it, and that would be me. Coming against something that won't bend to your ideals, your world. That will reveal who you really are. I want to see what the lies are hiding, Joseph. Beneath the exterior. If I have to bloody you for that, then so be it. If I have to beat you for that, then I most certainly will".
"My crusade holds a single goal, Joseph. To be the best in what this untainted world will bring. And that requires you to be removed from it. Cleanly, if preferable...."
"Messy, If I must".
As Virgil's words fade, another voice quietly sings the opening verse of an ominous song.
Violins and Tambourines
Candy Canes and Magazines
Preacher's sermons on the street
I killed a man...
But life is cheap...
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Clinks of glass chime through the smokey room. Music far too loud to actually hear anything anyone is saying, but smiling and nodding anyway. The patrons all dressed formally, moreso than your usual club crawl, although most will end in dizzy disaster all the same. The pulsing lights in a kaleidoscope of colours beam around the main hall, making all the mixed drinks in their flamboyant glasses dance and pop with rainbow light. Hence the club's name.
A man stumbles over and leans against the bar to steady himself. Greasy hair, sunken eyes and not far away from drooling in his own disorientation. He speaks with a drawl to his words, having to practically shout anyway even with the ambient noise.
?: "Hey...HEY! Bartender!! I'm looking at you! I want the manager....Get me a fucking drink..."
The man suddenly hits himself over the head erratically as The bartender in question looks towards the man with confusion, hesitant to answer before his colleague steps up to the man. The second bartender dressed more formally than the other, with some liberties taken on what would be the dress code of the establishment. Despite that, a grey waistcoat with dark green trim, and a speck of gold from a designer pen in his breast pocket. Not a hair out of place on his head, and although not so built as present day, Virgil Barrick was still recognisable, eyes as perceptive as always.
VIRGIL BARRICK: "What's your poison?"
?: "A erm...Sum...S-Sumatra...Colder? Kula? Kula! Sumatra Kula!! Are you the manager?"
VIRGIL BARRICK [V.O.]: "He asked me that. Of course I wasn't, but I didn't deny it. Never needed to. When you look more the part than your actual superior, any patron immediately thinks you have more authority than you really do. They take your word as law because you look important".
"He starts rambling on as I'm making his drink; Rum, Orange, Lime, Grapefruit. Sumatra Kula. Most of the other guys that are actually hired to make drinks might not know about that one. He starts slapping himself in the head every time he swears. Whether he's drunk or crazy or both, didn't really matter to me. He was a red flag from the moment he stepped in".
? [V.O]: "Would you always prefer to stand behind the bar for these jobs? Wouldn't it be more logical to be right by your client?"
VIRGIL BARRICK [V.O]: "Maybe. I just took a liking to finding out more about the people that walk in. They always pick a poison first, try to act casual if they're up to something. Mr. Caldon didn't much care either way, too busy having a woman on his lap and powder on his nose to sweat the details of my conduct. This was before I really started doing the job. Was experimenting with it just as much as I was mixing the drinks".
"Anyway, he keeps on hitting himself. It's not some tick that he can't control either, didn't sound like that. Just that he kept doing it. There was a white band around the collar of his shirt. A priest. Other guests start shuffling away from him. The smell wasn't great either. Between the profanity that he's beating himself over, he's whispering scripture. Getting angrier".
The Priest: "He that eateth my flesh,
and drinketh my blood,
hath eternal life;
and I will raise him up that last day"
"So, I play the hand that'll show whether he needs to be dealt with or not....I start making his drink slower, and slower. Pretending to look for ingredients, fiddling with whatever, cleaning the surface. Anything. Makes them question the authority they've already afforded to me. All the little angers, they don't know where to put it".
The Preacher: "Hey! What's taking so long huh? I want my drink!"
Audio of the scene fades away with only the reverberating thrums of bass in the club breaking through. Virgil remains calm, as the man jumps to his feet, trying to reach across the bar towards his half-finished cocktail.
VIRGIL BARRICK [V.O.]: "He kicked up a fuss. And that was that".
The scene cuts to the Priest falling to the ground, now outside the club. A line of hopeful patrons in their lavish, if not tacky shirts and dresses watching on in concern. Some with smiles. The man's face is painted with red, flecks of the crimson staining his clerical collar as he scrambles away. Barrick is seen standing over him, watching as he scurries away. With an adjustment of his tie, he returns to the club, wiping his knuckles clean.
?: "What happened after that?"
VIRGIL BARRICK [V.O.]: "Saw the night through. And many nights after that. Many that were much worse. Turns out he was deranged. Thought he'd become a host of the devil. He'd already scoped around half a dozen other bars trying to find women to take home. Giving in to sin, I suppose. It's all bullshit anyway...He's probably still around there somewhere, became a local legend, started a cult. You know the drill with these types...."
"They're all liars to themselves..."
?: "What's your drink, Virgil?"
VIRGIL BARRICK [V.O.]: "You're assuming that I do drink at all".
?: "Trust me, someone as straight-laced as yourself wouldn't become a wrestler without a little demon of your own. Wouldn't jump behind the bar while you were the main bodyguard for whoever will pay for that privilege. Just an observation, Virgil. You never have to answer if you don't wish to. It's just a conversation as always..."
"What's your drink?"
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
---| Preacher's Poison |---
VIRGIL BARRICK: "I'm not here to get bogged down against the deluded. Thinking they're holier than thou for the mere act of speech. For preaching a salvation that doesn't exist. I left that magical world behind. There isn't anything like that anymore for me. All it takes is an enigmatic name like 'Joseph Blaze', an already-indoctrinated lump of a follower, and you're off to the races".
"You're only words, Joseph. That's what all preachers are, and all they'll ever be. Some might be taken with your smoke and mirrors...your sales pitch. But, all I'll see is the drunkard in everyone that tries it afterwards. Stringing it all together to try and convince the impressionable minds that would roll into a developmental like this, and take them under your wing. An angel to wash away whatever sins that brought them here".
"That's what you believe, right? You're here for that higher purpose..."
"It's never about the voice of another to make your badness go away, Joseph. I'm just as tainted as the next guy, even if I try to hide it under the suit and the decorum. But, I'm not naive enough to believe you. Because I have tangible purpose, and meaning, and drive to be here. Someone without a cause would come running to your arms, I'm sure. You'll be surprised to see just how many whack jobs do what they do in the name of someone, or something they look up to. Mentors. Family. Revolution. Retribution. Religion".
"Ideals".
"It all boils down to thinking things should be a different way. And as far as I'm concerned, I'd much rather put a halt to your little campaign before it gets off the ground. Last time on Project: Underground I put away the tangible vices of money and power in the form of Sterling. But this time, your phantom power will leave too".
"Not even that I'm better than you. You can believe what you want, not my place to stop you there. Where I can derail you, is with blood. Have you had to atone for something, Joseph? To really see error of your ways? If you did, there is no amount of repentance, or repayment that can fill that void. Everything that you put forward for the sake of betterment, for championships, and for legacy....it's a lie. Just like all of them".
"I won't see a better life when I look at you across the ring. I won't see the messiah you wish to be. I won't see the legions of supporters you crave to help prop you up over their heads. Chaos needs an equal force to oppose it, and that would be me. Coming against something that won't bend to your ideals, your world. That will reveal who you really are. I want to see what the lies are hiding, Joseph. Beneath the exterior. If I have to bloody you for that, then so be it. If I have to beat you for that, then I most certainly will".
"My crusade holds a single goal, Joseph. To be the best in what this untainted world will bring. And that requires you to be removed from it. Cleanly, if preferable...."
"Messy, If I must".
As Virgil's words fade, another voice quietly sings the opening verse of an ominous song.
Violins and Tambourines
Candy Canes and Magazines
Preacher's sermons on the street
I killed a man...
But life is cheap...
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------