PROMO: A long way to the top

[Guest WhollyChao]

The night before the show.

 

A high-class hotel. One of the finest in all of the Emerald Isle.

 

In the lobby of this top dollar establishment, stands a man in a business suit.

 

“Where the hell is that elevator?” he thinks.

 

An impatient man.

 

The rest of the company is in a far more cost-effective hotel in a different part of town.

 

He likes it that way.

 

In fact, the less actual contact he has with the company outside of the shows, the better.

 

“The building’s only fifteen stories high…”

 

All he wants to do is get up to his top floor luxury suite, have a nightcap, read a bit of the paper, and go to sleep. He would consider this a decent night.

 

Of course, the commissioner knows that things rarely go according to plan.

 

So far, though, besides a rather rough flight, however short, his day hasn’t been abysmal. His luggage arrived on time and a bellboy is bringing it up shortly and carefully. A generous tip ensured that.

 

Now, if the elevator will just fucking get here.

 

“Come on…”

 

DING

 

The elevator finally lands and the doors glide open gracefully. Tom Flesher steps into the elevator and stands waiting.

 

And he keeps waiting…

 

Flesher pushes the “Door Close” button gently, but to no avail.

 

After a second, harder push, the doors begin to close. This could turn out to be only a mildly irritating day.

 

As the doors are about to close, an arm in a suit jacket reaches in and reopens the elevator. The man walks into the elevator, sporting a brown pinstriped suit and carrying a medical bag. Against every feeling in his body, Tom Flesher gives the man a harmless nod. The man responds, more than a little wobbly.

 

“I guess they really are all drunkards,” he thinks to himself “Poor bastard can barely stand up.”

 

Tom Flesher pushes the button at the top of the panel and the other man makes no motion to correct him. A very long pause and a couple of floors pass before Tom looks over at his fellow passenger and notices the man’s black fedora out of the corner of his eye.

 

“Nice hat,” he says aloud.

 

There is no response until…

 

“HEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHAAAAAAAAAHAAHAA!!”

 

An ear splitting cackle shatters the quiet of the small steel box. The high-pitched screech nearly destroys Flesher’s hearing, almost succeeding where a lifetime of wrestling in front of sold-out crowds has failed.

 

It is only then that Tom Flesher notices that beneath the classic black fedora lies a bright blue and orange wrestling mask.

 

“I should have fucking known,” he mumbles to himself.

 

The bizarre figure besides him teetering to and fro, sporting a suit, a fedora, and his wrestling mask grins maniacally. His gaze never leaves the commissioner’s face as Flesher stands uncomfortably in the elevator.

 

“So… Fulminatus,” he says, trying to remember the wrestler’s real name “I hear Jakey did quite a number on your knee.” He knows small talk is going to be difficult at best with this strange new acquisition.

 

That blank stare hasn’t moved. Fulminatus continues to simply sway back and forth as the elevator makes what is almost certainly the slowest trip to the top of the building it has ever made. The white screens covering the eyes of Fulminatus’ mask block Flesher from making out what his employee is really thinking. The only thing visible is that mad, wide grin. That and a four inch long beard extending from his chin.

 

Another attempt at conversation “So… what’s with the hood? It’s not like anyone’s gonna recognize you.” Silence. “I mean, you’ve only had one match here.”

 

This time at least Flesher manages to get a tiny giggle out of him, even if it’s through a mouth that refuses even to twitch.

 

He thinks to himself “Alright, this is just freaking creepy. I’ve got to get that jerk out of this elevator. What floor are we on now?” He looks,

 

EIGHT

 

“Son of a bitch…”

 

The ride continues quietly upward. Tom Flesher is growing increasingly uncomfortable with each passing floor. Fulminatus unmoving. His expression unwavering.

 

At floor eleven, the elevator stops to let someone else on.

 

“Good, I’ll take the damned stairs.”

 

The doors open and a smallish elderly cleaning woman prepares to step into the elevator. The Superior One makes a hasty dash for the door, completely prepared to shove the old bird over. Before he can do so, as quick as a summer’s breeze, Fulminatus blocks the doorway and yells at the old woman,

 

“KING KONG DIED FOR YOUR SINS!!”

 

He slams the “Door Close” button and the doors shut almost instantly, causing the old woman to run in terror, leaving Tom Flesher alone yet again with this frightening human being. This time it is Fulminatus who leans over to press the button for the floor; he too selects floor fifteen.

 

 

There is a pause.

 

 

 

It’s a doosy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Enormous.

 

 

 

 

All Tom wants to do now is drink and sleep. To hell with the paper.

 

As the elevator nears the fourteenth floor, Flesher is home free. Just ten more seconds and—

 

 

SMACK!!

 

 

“Crap…”

 

Fulminatus pounds his fist into the emergency stop button and the elevator grinds to a halt, giving it’s occupants quite a jolt.

 

“What? What the hell is your deal? Huh? I know you can speak you worthless bastard, you nearly gave that old bitch a coronary a few floors down!” he is screaming violently now. “What the fuck do you want from me? Oh, do you want a title shot too? It seems like I’m handing them out like razor-bladed apples on Halloween, these days.”

 

There is yet no reply.

 

Seething, Tom Flesher hisses “What… do you… want?”

 

Fulminatus simply and quietly replies “I merely wanted to thank you for allowing me to compete, Pope Flesher.” His voice rings with an accent high and untraceable.

 

Flesher isn’t even given time to respond before Fulminatus starts the elevator. No sooner have they started moving than the elevator arrives at the top floor. Both men step out in silence and walk down the hall, Flesher doing what he can to keep a step or two ahead of his elevator-riding companion. He gets to his door and fumbles with his key, trying desperately to get into his hotel room before having to interact any more with Fulminatus.

 

Just as he manages to get the door open and gets one foot inside the door, that accursed high-pitched voice pierces his eardrums once again from the door just to the right of his.

 

“Please have a pleasant evening, Pope Flesher. Try not to mind the noise; I’ll be working late!”

 

The Superior One is thoroughly baffled by that last statement. Fulminatus opens his door and Flesher catches him at the last second with the last word before he goes inside.

 

“Wait! How’d you afford a suite like this, anyway?”

 

Fulminatus simply holds up his black medical bag and taps it lightly. Then with his insane cackle he exits into his room, placing a do not disturb sign on his handle.

 

Tom enters his room and locks the door. He heads immediately for the mini-fridge and examines it’s contents. Wisely, he selects a bottle of native blended whiskey and sits down on the bed. Flesher cracks open the tiny bottle and is about to drink but stops.

 

“Did he just call me Pope?”

 

 

FADE

 

 

[Toxxic 0]

Don't call him Pope Flesher. The man already wants to be President, being Pope as well is surely pushing it.

 

In other news, this is a good promo, and Fulminatus is certainly an interesting character. King Kong died for your sins, indeed.

[Mad Scientist 0]

"King Kong died for your sins!"

 

That needs to be on a T-shirt. Or a bumper sticker. Something.

 

Great promo.

[muzz 0]

Fun promo, and you wrote Flesher pretty well.