+- X-treme Wrestling Federation (https://xwf1999.com)
+-- Forum: Pay Per View Boards (https://xwf1999.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=125)
+--- Forum: Leap Of Faith 2026 RP Board (https://xwf1999.com/forumdisplay.php?fid=236)
+--- Thread: The Hook (/showthread.php?tid=50145)
The Hook - Frances Marigold - 05-31-2026
| CITY: REEHC PROVINCE:YADILOH NATION: ARTLU PLANET: ECAEP A.K.A, MARS |
HHHOOO!!!!!!
Bob and Joan Martian erupted from the comfy seating of their hydrostatic relaxation devices -which are essentially metallic looking lazze-e-boys that float just a few inches from the surface of their dwelling- while observing the grotesque display of violence on their hypersonic broadcaster -known to the human species as a Television- … as Frances Marigold drove his forehead into another unfortunate Earth creature.
The broadcast crackled. Blood flew. Steel bent.
Young Tommy Martian looked horrified
Father... why does the large Earth mammal continue striking the other Earth mammal with furniture?
Bob Martian never looked away from the screen,
It is their courtship ritual.
I do not believe that is correct.
Mother Joan intercepts the answer
Nobody knows if it is correct.
Bob Martian cuts in before a pause…
The humans don't seem to know either.
The frightened younginling turns back to the broadcast, his oval eyes on an otherwise very humanoid looking face widen as we see Frances spitting on an opponent before lighting a cigarette, blood gushing from his forward and covering his face in crimson,
Why do they like him?
...the blood
Bob Martian answers with an almost hypnotized tone,
Tommy looks back at the screen,
Don’t all Earthlings bleed?
Bob’s antennae twitch as he searches for another answer...
The violence
But aren’t all Earthlings violent?
The cigarettes?
Mother, that cannot possibly be correct.
Perhaps the Earthlings love him because he’s unafraid
Young Tommy watches Frances eat another chair shot on the screen.. Observing the subjects pupils rolling back into his skull
No…
Tommy’s fingers reach out and drag across the screen,
I do not think he is unafraid
Bob finally looks away from the broadcast,
Then what is it?
Tommy stares at Frances,
The blood.
The chaos.
The smile.
The impossibly lit cigarette still gnawed between his teeth .
I think he simply forgot to be afraid.
The silence in the dwelling hangs thick, while the roar from the audience on the broadcast grows louder…
Nobody in the room has an answer.
I don’t give a shit, Ari…
| CITY: BRUNSWIK PROVINCE:NEW JERSEY NATION: UNITED STATES PLANET: WAR A.K.A, EARTH |
Ari Silversteen, the long-suffering former mailroom manager turned XWF corporate board member, physically turns Dolly Waters by the shoulders toward an entire row of empty warehouse shelving.
His tie is loosened, his eyes wide and sparkling.
He looks like a man happily witnessing the collapse of civilization.
Dolly, baby, you've gotta understand! Yesterday these shelves were FULL!
He points frantically.
The Bleeding Frances Action Figure! Gone!
Another shelf.
The Official Frances Marigold Barbed Wire Baseball Bat!
Sold out!
Another.
The Marlboro Cigarettes With Frances Marigold's Face On The Box!
A pause.
Those got recalled immediately, but they STILL sold out!
Another.
The "I Don't" T-Shirts!
Another.
The Frances Marigold Disposable Lighter Collection!
Another.
The Frances Marigold Beating Buddy™ Interactive Playset!
Dolly stares.
Slowly.
The what?
You pull a string and it leaks corn syrup from seven authentic wound locations.
Dolly groans, looking physically ill.
Jesus Fucking Christ.
Ari is pacing now.
We're talking numbers, baby! BIG numbers! This guy is hotter than Gator! Hotter than Nickles! Hotter than the Revolution! Hotter than- - -
Stop comparing him to products.
Ari freezes.
Because that's exactly what he's doing… not even realize it.
You think they bought all this because they wanna be him?
Ari blinks.
They don't even know what he is.
She gestures toward the empty shelves.
And neither do you.
For a brief moment, Ari has some semblance of empathy on his face, but quickly it twists into an expression like he’s smelled a fart.
You wanted a challenger to take down Dyson, didn’t you?.
Well yeah… but who and how ain’t my decision to ma-
Really?
He cuts her off, laughing
When literally everybody else on this roster is scared shitless of Samael Dyson?
Spreading his arms back to the open shelves of the warehouse,
When this lunatic sells more merchandise every time somebody hits him with a chair?
Ari shrugs. Of course we booked him, babe!
It might hurt your feelings, but the audience wants blood! …And Frances bleeds for a living.
Ari grins, It’s practically marketing itself
That’s the problem!
Ari’s grin droops into a cartoonish frown,
You think this about blood. She points to the empty shelves You think it’s about the cigarettes, and the booze and the stupid little action figures.
…you think people are buying the image or something…
Ari folds his arms
They’re literally buying the image.
Dolly peers outside of the windows of the warehouse, where children are lining the sidewalks, smoking Frances cigarettes with cut-off t shirts and wielding various barbed-wire wrapped weapons as they stand in line for a ticket to Mars…
Dolly snarls,
No.
She turns back to the empty shelves,
[doly]They’re buying the thing underneath it.
They just ain’t got a name for it yet…[/dolly]
But neither does she…
Maybe.
He shrugs,
But the rest of us just call that good business.
Ari cracks his neck, and waltzes away from his old friend, snatching up a loose pack of the Frances’ branded Marlboro’s from the warehouse floor. Eyeing Dolly the entire time. He flips a cigarette into his lips and lights it, while simultaneously offering one to Dolly.
You wanted somebody crazy enough to take down Samael Dyson?
She grits her teeth and waves it away,
Ari points back to the empty shelves in the warehouse.
Turns out we found somebody crazy enough to sell while doin' it.
Dolly looks back toward the window.
Toward the kids.
Toward the cigarettes.
Toward the barbed-wire bats.
Toward all the people pretending to understand.
Yeah… That's what worries me.
RIVER: ELKHORN CREEK COUNTY: FRANKLIN COMMONWEALTH: KENTUCKY PLANET: DON'T KNOW A.K.A, FRANCES MARIGOLD |
The braid fishing line disappears beneath the water.
Nothing bites.
Nothing moves.
Nothing happens.
Which is all good…. Frances wasn’t paying attention anyway.
Jon from Brooklyn -Frances’ inexplicable chauffeur without a car or a drivers license who we met in the last episode- sits beside him in a dilapidated folding chair.
A sweaty six-pack of Natty-Ice resting between them. One can missing
You know, Frankie.. They’re calling you the hottest thing in wrestling.
Frances squints at the water. The balmy sweat wears away at the bandage on his forehead, as he studies the fishing line out in the water.
That good?
Jon quizzically stares out at the water, then back at Frances,
...what?
Being hot.
Jon looks like he’s about to have a stroke,
No, Frankie. Not temperature hot.
Oh…
Then I don’t know what you’re talking about, pal.
Look, I know you’re used to us muscling scrawny druggies out of hostel beds to find a place to sleep, eating out of trashcans or nuclear power-plant water but we don’t have to do this anymore:
You’re moving mountains-worth of merchandise
The XWF fans are buying tickets just to watch you beat people up.
You got kids smoking cigarettes with your face on the box, Frankie.
Frances grumbles into a chuckle,
That don’t sound healthy
That’s all you got from that?
What happened to Joe Camel?
Was Joe Camel ever the XWF Star of The Month?
Was Joe Camel ever fighting Samael Dyson for the XTreme Championship at Leap of Faith..
Frances pulls a can of the Natty-Ice up to his lips, and takes a deep swig… his eyes focused on the water…
Mmhm.. Don’t guess so.
You know what and x’ploding’ Barded wire Deathmatch is?
Got barbed wire in it?
...yes.
Sounds about right then.
Frances pauses, and looks out at the water.
He watches the braid line.
He feels the breeze.
He sniffs the waft of mash drifting up the river from the distilleries.
Can I ask you somethin’ Frankie?
You just did.
Jon Sighs,
What are you?
The fishing line drifts further out into the river. The water rippling gently.
Frances thinks about it… actually thinks about it… long enoug that Jon starts wondering if maybe he didn’t hear him...
Frances looks at the makeshift tacklebox laying next to him.
A contorting, dying worm being burnt by the sun.
The hook…
Hungry..
His fishing line drifts.
The river keeps moving.
Jon from Brooklyn cracks open another Natty Ice upon Frances finishing his.
You ever actually watched one of Sam Dyson's promos? as he hands the fresh can over..
Frances squints at the water. Nah.
Probably should.
Why?
Because he's your opponent.
I know what he looks like… desperate.
...that's not usually the important part. This guy is a fucking freak…
Frances shrugs.
A fish jumps somewhere upstream.
Neither man sees it.
He's dangerous, Frankie.
Mmhm. Is he? I heard that about his estranged lover, Kristoffer too. And I split his watermelon open on national TV.
No, I mean dangerous dangerous. He killed his own mother. Buried people. He’s got followers. Whole cult thing. Jim Jones type..Talks about violence like it's religion.
Frances finally glances over.
Talks about it, huh?
...yeah.
Frances looks back to the river.
That's the part I don't get.
What?
All the talkin'.
The line bobs.
Nothing hooks.
Every time somebody tells me about Sam Dyson they gotta start with some stupid speech he gave.
Every story starts with him explainin' himself.
Like a pathetic defendant on trial for being such a failure
Explain’ why he’s terrified of fighting someone.
Explainin’ why he’s been hiding from being booked in matches.
Explainin’ why he thinks violence is something you learn in a college text-book
Explainin’ why he’s still XTreme Champion even though he lost two matches while holding that belt..
Jon opens his mouth, but suddenly stops, because he's not entirely sure that's wrong.
Kills somebody.
Frances counts on his fingers.
Then explains it.
Hurts somebody.
Then explains it.
Buries somebody.
Then explains it.
Bites somebody's throat out.
Then explains it.
Frances scratches through his beard.
Hell, sounds exhausting.
Jon laughs despite himself.
I don't think that's the point.
Then what's the point? Angry white girl sadomaschism energy?
Jon doesn't have an answer.
Frances watches the water.
See, if you're really the meanest son of a bitch in the room...
He gestures vaguely.
Why you keep needin' presentations?
The river moves.
The line drifts out further.
The worm is twisting on the hook under the surface of the water.
I’ve seen mean people before.
Mean people don't usually carry microphones.
Mean people don’t usually roll their AI generated Momma’s head out on the entrance ramp to play hacky-sack to get a chubby.[/red]
Another long pause.
Mean people don't hold funerals.
Mean people don't build churches.
Mean people don't spend an hour tellin' everybody how mean they are.
His eyes never leave the water.
They just do it.
Jon shifts in his chair.
You think he's full of shit?
Frances thinks about it.Nah. A beat. I think he wants somebody to understand him….and that's the funny part, Johnny....
Everybody keeps tellin' me Sam Dyson wants to be somethin'.
More powerful.
More dangerous.
More important.
More feared.
More remembered.
More whatever the hell comes after all those empty platitudes.
The river rolls lazily by.
Every story I hear about him starts with what he's gonna become.
Frances shrugs.
That ain't how most people live.
Most people spend their whole lives tryin' not to become somethin'.
Jon glances over.
What the hell does that mean?
Frances gestures vaguely toward the river.
Means I knew drunks who were tryin' not to become corpses.
Knew good men tryin' not to become bad ones.
Knew fathers tryin' not to become their fathers.
Knew addicts tryin' not to become statistics.
The line drifts further.
And here's Sam Dyson spendin' all day tellin' everybody he's gonna become God.
Frances lets out a wet laugh… not necessarily a mean one, more sympathetic than anything.
Hell of a luxury, if you ask me.
The smile fades.
You know what I think, Jon?
What?
I think Sam's scared shitless that he's already become exactly what he hates.
The river goes quiet.
That's why he keeps talkin' about tomorrow.
That's why he keeps talkin' about destiny.
That's why he keeps talkin' about what comes next.
Because if he ever stops… He might have to sit still long enough to figure out what he already is.
Those words hang particularly heavy, like a weighted fishing line….
That's different.
Jon looks uncomfortable now.
But what if he's everything they say he is?
Frances shrugs again.
Then he's everything they say he is.
And that don't bother you?
Frances finally puts on a smile. It's little. It’s crooked. Tired looking almost.
Jon...
His eyes stay on the river.
I'm fishin'.
A hush falls over the scene
Besides...
The rod bends, just slightly.
The first movement all afternoon.
Frances grips it.
If Sam Dyson really is a monster...
The smile widens.
He ain't the first one I've met.
The line pulls hard.
Frances yanks back.
And somewhere beneath the surface… something finally bites.
The rod bends harder. The reel starts hissing…screaming now.
Jon jumps up.
There he is! There he is!
Frances lets out a grunt. Not excited sounding, more tired than anything.... fed up almost...
The fish runs.
Frances pulls back, and the fish runs again. Frances pulls back again. Back and forth now. Back and forth again. The river itself deciding an argument neither participant -Fracnes, nor the fish- actually wanted.
Big one?
Dunno. he grunts,Well what do you think it is?
Fish, probably.
Jon groans.
The line cuts through the water. The surface erupts with a flash of silver.
A heavy largemouth bass launches clear into the air before crashing back into the river.
HOLY SHIT! Jon scrambles for the net.
Frances doesn't react, he just keeps reeling. Steady, and patient.
The fish tires. The fight gets shorter. The splashing river surface weakens, and eventually the bass breaks the surface one last time. Totally defeated.
Jon scoops it into the net.Look at this thing! The fish thrashes violently, gasping to breathe.
Frances finally stands and walks over.
He looks down at it. The hook buried perfectly in the corner of its mouth.
A clean catch. A textbook catch. The fish flopping helplessly against the mesh. Frances crouches… studying it.
That's a beauty right there.
Mmhm.
Hell of a hook.
Something about those words makes Frances smile, not because they're funny….because suddenly they're familiar.
The hook.
The merchandise.
The crowds.
The Xtreme title shot.
The studious Martians.
The idiot Earthlings.
The cigarettes.
The blood.
The violence.
Everybody trying to figure out what the hook is.
Frances reaches down and removes the lure.
The fish immediately tries to flop away.
Still fighting.
Still convinced it has a chance.
See...
He studies the fish.
Everybody keeps askin' the wrong question.
Jon blinks.
What question?
Frances tosses the hook back into the tackle box.
They keep askin' what the hook is.
The bass flops once. Twice…. It’s dying….But not dead.
Hook don't matter much after a while.
Street Fights.
Flaming Tables.
First Blood.
Exploding Barbed-Wire…
He nods toward the fish.
Once you're caught... you're caught.
Jon frowns.
What the hell does that mean?
Frances stands.
Looks out across the river.
Looks toward nothing.
Toward Mars maybe.
Toward Samael definitely.
Toward all of it.
Means everybody thinks they're huntin' somethin'.
A pregnant pause.
Most of the time they're the thing gettin' reeled in.
The fish finally stops thrashing.
Silence.
Frances takes another drink of his beer.
Corporate cunts like Ari’ think they’re sellin' me.
Dolly thinks she knows what they're buyin'.
The fans think they're watchin' me.
Sam Dyson thinks he's gonna make me part of one of those little porno stories he tells himself.
A crooked smile forms.
Funny thing is...
None of 'em noticed the hook was already set.[/red]
The fish finally stops thrashing.
Hell...
Most of 'em swallowed it years ago.
Frances nudges it with his boot.
The river keeps moving. Same as it always did.
You gonna eat it? Frances looks down at the fish. The hook mark, the blood, thhe fight… already over. Probably.
Jon stares at him.
You know what I mean.
Frances grunts.
All these people tryin' to figure you out.
The Martians. The XWF fans. The XWF board members. The wrestling reporters. The lockerroom. The done-to-death cult leaders. The dumb kids smoking cigarettes with his face on the box.
Don't you ever wonder what they're seein'?
Frances looks back toward the water, toward where the braid line will be again, toward where the hook will be again… toward another cast.
Nah.
He reaches for the rod.If they keep comin' back... He shrugs. Curt. Honest. Almost apologetic Must be somethin' in it for 'em.
He casts again.
The ripples spread outward…
Further.
Further more….
Until they're gone.
The lure vanishes beneath the water. And somewhere out there, something bit.
On that you can rely…