w€1[0me +9 †4& hum^n race Jun 27, 2020 22:45:52 GMT -8
Post by knox on Jun 27, 2020 22:45:52 GMT -8
“If one's different, one's bound to be lonely.”
― Aldous Huxley, Brave New World
“I don’t hate you,” his sister mumbled whilst twirling the longer side of her orange hair about her finger. “I just think that you could have been a bit more empathetic with my situation, Knoxley.”
He was disgruntled, per usual--which for Tyler, was infuriating because it meant her brother would remain silent. In his silence, he was utterly impossible. (But, when was he not?) She sank back against the plush of the couch and drew her legs up and beneath her. “Must you be a child?”
Knox did not reply--instead he tapped away at the mechanical keyboard atop his desk. His back was turned to Tyler and all attention washed over the monitor. Despite the amount of time she’d spent being his caretaker, for lack of a better word, she had not been able to yet decipher his work.
Admittedly, the brother she had known two years ago when he had entered the wrestling scene was not the brother that ignored her currently. When he and Tyler had shared a flat he had been known to not talk for days on end. Which of course, is where the translation came from--Knoxley being versed in computer science had a fondness for code. He had taught her enough nonverbal communication to interpret him without having to speak to her directly. It was a ridiculous pattern of childlike behavior attributed to an autistic, hyper observant, high functioning sociopath.
“Fine, don’t talk to me,” Tyler complained. “I’ll just sit here and mindlessly scroll TikTok.”
“Belling the cat,” Knox replied completely from left field. Tyler frowned. “You remember the story, yes?”
“I don’t see how that fits,” she responded though she knew he would more than happily explain.
“The mice come to council to discuss what to do with the cat—one mouse suggests they place a bell around the neck of the cat thus allowing them to hear the cat from afar. Whilst being such a brilliant idea—.”
It was Tyler’s turn to interrupt him. “Who would take the risk of placing the Bell on the cat. Yes—I know the story. Your logic is what I don’t comprehend.”
Knox merely grinned as if the answer was quite obvious to even the simplest of minds.
“Does the outcome outweigh the risk?” Knox asked.
“I’m not a mouse, Elliott,” she grumbled. For a moment, he stopped his work and turned to face her with a disapproving stare.
“Factual, yes, Tyler, but let us dig deeper--you are in fact head over heels in love with the current flame, yes?”
His sister said nothing.
“Yet--you juggle your music, traveling with your sister--traveling with me--and your relationship all at once--so I ask you--is the outcome worth the risk?”
“What risk?” Tyler asked.
“The risk of losing everything the moment you realize that you’re sitting here waiting to follow me into Iconic in hopes of perhaps sharing a beverage with a fancy talking boy.”
“Please, don’t make this a thing, Elliott,”she whined. “That ship sank before it even left the dock.”
“Pity,” Knox mumbled.
““Facts do not cease to exist because they are ignored,” he stated. She hadn’t the time to reply. He was on his phone without hesitation--then on his feet. “Be a good girl and see that let Maxx down easily.”
“What?!” his sister cried out. “Whatever it is you’ve convinced yourself I’m now doing for you--isn’t a thing. I didn’t agree to anything yet.”
But, he wasn’t listening.
“Well and good,” he said--that lovely English accent disregarding her completely.
She stomped her foot. It was now her turn to pout.
“I am I, and I wish I weren't.”
― Aldous Huxley, Brave New World
Stupid, how silly you sound proclaiming yourself the threshold with such faux modesty all the while questioning if I am even capable of facing your in the ring.
Your mind ticking alone is enough to drive me to madness--I beg of you next time you wish to address a being of my magnitude that you do so with absolute understanding that I am nothing you could possibly comprehend.
Can I wrestle? Yes, Mister Kostan, I can in fact wrestle as well as many other things--but let us start with the most obvious of those things and that is besting you in a game of wits. You see, Mister Kostan, it does not matter how well I wrestle--what matters is that I am already strategically placed 12 moves ahead of you.
That, sir--is how I function. I do not need to pass some ridiculous unspoken test that you’ve somehow found purpose in by embracing that Iconic places you in a position where you’re basically opening doors for someone better.
All the gold in the world wouldn’t make me move. Stack it as high as you want. I did not enter Iconic in hopes of taking some silly bauble of leather and metal home to my wife. I have much bigger plans--better plans. Plans that would cement myself in the books as one of the most memorable Iconic competitors.
While you are speculating and flexing your muscles and current Iconic record in my direction, I would kindly like to remind you that all dynasties have fallen at some point. Mister Kostan--you are not Mister Iconic--you are not even really Iconic outside of employment namesake.
You are as forgettable as the man before you--and the one that will come after you. It is not brawn that wins the battle when upon the chess board you are merely the pawn sent into battle first. It is an unfortunate move placed onto your shoulders by the Iconic Management, but your defeat will not be in vain, Kostan. I will leave you a digital memorial buried in the depths of the Iconic vault of forgotten souls.
Welcome to the human race, Mister Kostan--the lesser species. Be seeing you.