Gold toothed grin.
Two rows. Light plays them like a piano as the camera pans out and abruptly stops.
It’s Johnny Olympus’ face from the scalp down to his broad mediterranean chin.
Yup that’s a man breaching 40 donning fronts and smiling harder than any SoundCloud rapper ever.
Johnny: How does one introduce themself to a different generation of executives, of talent, of fans?
His lips purse, a corner of them hits a semi Elvis, flicking out gold.
Johnny: Do you simply plant yourself in middle of the ring with 29 other similarly driven individuals?
We pan out. Johnny Olympus AKA King Midas sitting at a fine dining table wearing an Adidas track suit, gold obviously covers the emblem and stripes.
Johnny: Or do you simply just not give a fock?
He sits in front of a full course meal, a fork in one hand and a knife in the other.
Johnny: You don yourself a King, sign your contract for Golden Intentions, then you automatically ask for bookings on every card before the big show.
He pauses for a moment to let this information settle, exclaiming it to be daunting for the lame.
Johnny: Unsatisfied, you then ask for a second booking at Golden Intentions. The names and faces don’t matter. The elimination of those said names and faces is what matters. A King must see to any and all claims of power. A King must remain hungry.
Chopping into a fillet mignon, juices dripping and takes a bite, talking with a mouthful of food and the glint of gold teeth.
Johnny: King Midas is simply a taken namesake. There have been many, and just like the others I in-jest my solids and liquids just fine. The myth is to simply say greed, if taken to far, can ruin you if you allow it.
He takes another bite, this time of potato medley and vegetables.
Johnny: Everything I touch turns to gold..
He pauses, swallowing and washing it down, all the while a smile present on his face. King Midas with the Midas touch, just a selective one.
Johnny: ..and as you can see, I’m starving.
Winston Fitzpatrick. Johnny Olympus Butler, manager, father figure for what may seem a lifetime passed away a year to date from this weeks Evolution.
Having been shunned from home some time ago for having his own ideals he did not get to attend the funeral for the greater part of the rest of the family had attended back home in Athens, Greece.
This card was his liberation in the fact that though he spent all this time with a figure who he deemed a role model in all aspects, who he spend the most time with, who he considered his only family besides his younger brother Theon Leonidas.
The King picks up the phone. Some sexy tech, you know the color scheme. Teef like if jaws ate a treasure box. Genuine happiness in his voice. We’re in an Uber to a hotel.
Theo: What’s up big brotha!!!! I seen you on the tube just like old times, you ain’t missed a beat.
Johnny: You’re only as rundown as you admit to yourself!
They laugh. You can sense they miss one another. Family divides them.
Theon: But the Gold teeth?
Johnny: (laughing) I’ve got them in now.
Theon: (nauseated laughters) Seriously?
Johnny: Why not? Today’s world has created a weird place for people to just do whatever the fock it is that they want and call it art. That’s what I’m doing here.
Theon: I hear you. Being artistic is why the rest of the family detests you bro and yet you can’t not be yourself. I respect that, but it’s gotta be lonely.
Johnny: I’ve got the gold though!
They laugh. It feels like old time. Theon cuts the convo to a more somber tone.
Theon: Hey, I know you’re tuned into being King without a crown and all but I can’t believe you’re booked for The anniversary of Winston’s passing. I’m not doing shit that day.
Johnny: I didn’t get to send him off with him being buried out there, so this is me sending him off. This is my flaming arrow to his raft. Celebrating him with the rebirth of my career. Where he knew I wanted to be and where he told me I belonged.. This is for him!
A call comes through, Johnny peers at his phone. It’s his agent.
Johnny: Hey I’ve got a call, I’ll call you back okay.
Click. Arrogance is normality here. The phone call will be returned. Moneys talking.
The Westin, Jackson Mississippi.
King Midas sits at the desk area of his bedroom suite with a phone to his ear, just having finished a conversation with his agent urgent to share. Phone beside him, gold pimp novelty cup at corner of view.
Johnny: So I get a call from my agent and they tell me they’re about to send me an interesting contract..
He alludes to the contract by pointing to the machine that sits to his left on the desk.
Johnny: It’s faxed through.
Johnny points to the mobile fax machine setup to his right. His blue eyes beaming with bewilderment. Grinning his wild metal smile animating the page with his hands.
Johnny: I pull the fockin’ page from the dock and it won’t gold that put a twinkle in my eye.
A wink. Back to when he made the ladies say Oh!
Johnny: They wanted to book me against a female. I had always had my reservations here. Not because they are incapable. I have seen and trained many who have seen success at a high level. But because I’m a man who was raised a certain way, me in the ring with a woman over the extent of my career just never happened.
He waves his hands in his defense.
Johnny: But trust me, I’ve never been obtuse. I’m not a bigot, so in that I said to myself, ‘Johnny, you ain’t a fockin’ bigot, so go in there and beat that ass just as you would anyone. She wants what you want!’ So I hadda’ do some research. See her claims.
He pulls the contract to himself and the middle of the shot dotting the name on the page with a massive hand, rings of a certain color on all but the thumb.
Johnny: Lindsay Troy! The..
Hands up. Quotation marks.
Johnny: ‘Queen’ of Wrestling.
He shakes his head.
Johnny: I go to google Lindsay Troy, low and behold Brienne of fucking Tarth pops up.
Johnny chuckles, a half hearted laugh as if to acknowledge the joke but still see the toughness of the woman. He sighs.
Johnny: i could say some bullshit about a Trojan horse or I could simply explain to you that DEFIANCE wrestling was and will always be a direct byproduct of something that was much larger, WfWA, where I held rank over many DEFIANCE like territories. That Fist of defiance belt you’re so proud of ain’t shit but the scraps Eric Dane left behind.
He stops short winded, grinning all the while.
Johnny: But I won’t..
The man with the golden touch leans in, hands intertwined.
Johnny: Instead your queen-ship, I’ll tell you a little story since you like to decipher myths so much.
Story time. Gather around. Crisscross applesauce.
Johnny: There was a time you just like me were young and striking. But now, war has turned a once dashing Queen into a Gorgon. Snakes. The stone stare, to the nines baby. All these obstacles set in my way are a challenge. Doing things you have never done is challenging. Calling yourself a champion before you are a champion makes things challenging. And with challenge, come the spoils of war.
Teethy grin. Holds up hands. Gold everywhere. Mr. T’s younger Greek nephew. Veins still protruding from his neck as he goes from straining the pose to relaxation.
Johnny: In eliminating such a dangerous creature as a Gorgon you are rewarded, for Gorgon blood from each side of the body is a gift earned. Blood from the right side heals, blood from the left brings death, Lindsay Troy, woman with many accolades, come May 28th I’m gonna drop you on the canvas like a lion skin rug and drink both from the same chalice.
He chugs from the gaudy golden pimp cup that’s been in the scene since the beginning, for extra emphasis spilling its contents all over.
Fade out. But that grating gyrating Greek voice stays past it’s welcome.
Johnny: EVERYTHING I TOUCH!
Johnny: to gold!