BLAZE CLAYMORE in: "An Indecent POE-prosal"

INT. ROGERS PLACE HILTON. DAY. NATHAN LAKE sits up from his bed as the sun begins to peek over the horizon, beams of light accented by dust particles in front of the window. He soon realizes the sun is not the only thing that’s up as he looks down at his comforter sheet and sees a noticeable tent-like shape near his waist. NATHAN …fuck. Just then, a cell phone rings on the nightstand. The caller ID reads: SONJA. NATHAN FUCK! Rubbing his eyes, NATHAN leans over and snatches the phone from its charger and swipes up. His brain is foggy as he fumbles for the right words. NATHAN Hey. Uh? Sonja? Why are you calling so… early? We hear a laugh on the other end of the line. The sweet, chipper laugh of someone who is several drinks in. INT. TOKYO. APARTMENT. NIGHT. We see a woman, also lying in bed. She’s also sitting up with her knees pulled to her chest and comforter covering her lower body. She runs a finger through her ebony hair as a strap from her nightgown falls off her olive-skinned shoulder. She reaches for a half-finished glass of red wine, looking off into the distance through her apartment window at the Tokyo skyline. SONJA: It’s 9 PM here, Clay. I’m just getting ready for bed. Did you forget you were in Canada already?

INT. ROGERS PLACE HILTON. DAY.

NATHAN had a hard time keeping track of his surroundings on a good day thanks to his time in the Las Vegas prison system, and now hop-scotching from Japan to Canada within like a week especially after Manhunt… we hear his voice change - ever so slightly as he leans forward, somehow mirroring SONJA’s posture as he brings his his knees to his chest and lets out a confident and self-assured laugh. BLAZE Of course not! I’m just… it’s been so busy here. I’m getting all these offers to be in commercials is all. I may have been pretty big in Japan, but Canada is on another level. I’m sorry I haven’t called… SONJA pauses. But only briefly. SONJA I understand. Life of a big shot. Anyways, it’s the thought that counts. INT. ROGERS PLACE HILTON. DAY. NATHAN winces, his face uncomfortable as he uses a pillow to cover up his morning wood. NATHAN I…

A pause. A shift. BLAZE I think there’s something here. Something special. I know shit got weird with the last show, but Japan has always been a bit on the weird side anyways. I mean, tentacle porn and getting nuked twice will do that to a country, but CANADA… I mean everyone here is just like Marge Gunderson. INT. TOKYO. APARTMENT. NIGHT. SONJA Who? BLAZE

Frances McDormand! From Fargo. She was the local city cop who- nevermind. Fargo isn’t even in Canada anyways. I suppose a better analogy is Schitt’s Creek. Everyone’s like Moira. SONJA Oh! I love that show! I’m so glad everyone is so nice. After everything in Tokyo I just… it scared me. If I’m being honest. Seeing the footage of you getting beaten up and then the brawl on that train… you didn’t know who you even were when you stumbled to my apartment all bruised and bloodied. INT. ROGERS PLACE HILTON. DAY.

BLAZE’s intensity fades as NATHAN tenses up. His muscles contract as he reaches for his shoulder blade, the bruising from his fight at Manhunt still spread out like a rorschach painting across his back.

SONJA I… thought I had lost you, Blaze. Just after finding you again. And… I know it’s silly to say but when I thought about that? When I realized how scared I was that evening… NATHAN’s other hand grasps the phone, his breath accelerating and the beating of his heart racing, so loud you could hear it under the room’s floorboards, as his vision blurs. He puts his free hand to his mouth, his eyes squeezed shut. SONJA It’s something I never want to feel again. NATHAN lowers his hand from his mouth and looks up, his morning haze giving way to a bit more awareness of his surroundings. No surprise that the hotel room was clean and pristine, a carbon copy of every other room from every other chain with the only differences being what mints they leave on the dresser and what kitschy artwork they have on the walls. Somewhere… in that liminal space… NATHAN decides to lean in and give himself over… NATHAN pulls himself from his bed, sheets tucked and flowing behind him as he looks out onto the early morning Edmonton sunrise. NATHAN

To know my life, my strife, and my pain. Remains forever frozen, up on that silver screen– SONJA What? Are you sure you’re OK, Clay? NATHAN, trailing off, snaps back to some semblance of awareness. BLAZE Hey Sonja, Ever read any Poe? INT. TOKYO. APARTMENT. NIGHT. A confused SONJA pauses, setting down her glass of wine. She presses her pointer finger to the side of her mouth and then smiles, as if realizing something. SONJA I don’t think so, but I loved her album. INT. ROGERS PLACE HILTON. DAY.

BLAZE lets out a soft laugh, his body relaxing and shoulders dropping.  NATHAN places his free hand on the hotel’s window glass, bedsheets dropping to the floor as he stands exposed on the 16th floor of the Rogers Place Hilton. NATHAN Hey… INT. TOKYO. APARTMENT. NIGHT.

SONJA Yeah?

INT. ROGERS PLACE HILTON. DAY.

??? You have your passport handy?

***

INT. UNKNOWN. TIME UNKNOWN. A single spotlight rests on a lone chair. An empty chair. Footsteps. We see the white fringe first, then the red cape… sorry, robe. Like a prancing queen, BLAZE CLAYMORE steps into frame and places himself firmly on the folding chair. He removes his sunglasses and sets them down at his side before looking up and directly to camera. We zoom in on his surprisingly youthful face and well-maintained hair as his sapphire blue eyes seem to cut through the screen like the very gems they owe their color to. At that moment it’s honestly hard to believe that BLAZE wasn’t starring in a studio blockbuster or sappy romcom. Instead, here he was… at another audition. VOICE: OKAY. We have… uhhhh… BLAZE: BLAZE. BLAZE looks toward the camera confident, yet agitated. BLAZE: It’s BLAZE CLAYMORE.

There is silence for several seconds, but then the disembodied voice returns. VOICE: Alright. We have BLAZE CLAYMORE reading for the role of… NATHAN LAKE. BLAZE’s agitation turns to surprise as he leans back in the chair, eyes narrowing. BLAZE: Excuse me? Is this a joke? VOICE: Look, we don’t need any ad-libbing. We’ve got a lot of folks to get through today. Do you have your lines prepared or not? BLAZE’s eyes are searching back and forth, trying to find any semblance of stability. Something to lock on to. His foot raps nervously on the floor. VOICE: Hello? Sir? BLAZE closes his eyes and takes in a breath and everything goes silent except for his voice. The voice not of the boisterous, overconfident, and aggressive BLAZE CLAYMORE we are used to, but a softer and more reserved voice, with a bit of Minnesotan twang. He opens his eyes, the fire gone. A softness sets in. BLAZE: Yeah. VOICE: Alright, so why do you think you’re right for this role? BLAZE, or is it NATHAN? Whomever it is blinks, unsure still of who is actually speaking. But soon, the confident swagger of BLAZE takes over. BLAZE: Well, if I’m being honest, it’s the only role that I’ve felt born to play. This guy - he’s a nobody. Some fucking jackoff from St. Paul who got a hard on one time after sneaking into a skin show and forever equates self gratification with exhibitionism. What a headcase this guy is… VOICE: Go on.. BLAZE: I have to give your screenwriters credit, I mean… the background on this guy? Dead parents. Foster care. Juvenile detention? Hollywood, and then professional wrestling? Are you sure this isn’t too much? VOICE: Thank you. We’ll take your feedback into consideration if you’re cast, but for now, let’s stick to the script shall we?  What can you tell us about Annabelle Dean? BLAZE/NATHAN shifts nervously in his chair. His eyes go cold as he leans forward and lets out a wry laugh… letting the silence linger before speaking in a timbre so soft that it may as well be death itself trying to commune with the living. ???: It was many and many a year ago

In a theater most never see,

I saw dreams of glory, I knew I’d never know. Dreams of escape, power, and relevancy. Still, I fought, and clawed, and chased my dream Through rejection, depression, and suicidal tendencies. And even when I made it, up onto that silver screen, All anyone could talk about were my inadequacies. VOICE: Please stick to the script, sir. What do you have to say about Annabelle Lee? They run a hand through their hair, leg still jostling up and down as they pivot and look up toward the camera. They continue. ???: But what is a silver screen compared to a silver spoon? To be born of privilege and favor? But what is determination compared to a victory assumed? By blood or by choice, which remains braver? Names can be bought and sold, just as quick as souls, So what value is a LAKE to a DEAN? Why does a debutant get to walk the red carpet while I walk coals? Why isn’t it me up on that screen? You’ve been handed the world while I have had to take, Every ounce, every victory – negated by one major mistake.

Yet, like those who tried to shield themselves from the Red Death, Your name and station will not prevent me from drawing your last breath.

And just like the House of Usher fell under the weight of sin, The House of Dean will atone with a Blaze Claymore win.

That pit in your stomach? It’s the pendulum of inevitability laying its claim.

For what are you, really? Beyond just your name? NATHAN - definitely NATHAN - pauses, abruptly, and lowers his head, his head now in his hands as he struggles to compose himself. VOICE: Take your time. Remember… your motivation. Remember you’re NATHAN LAKE. Now, can you take us to the next scene? NATHAN lets out a breath and looks up, his eyes wet. NATHAN: Shit. NATHAN’s breathing slows, controlled now. His fingers flex, curl into fists. When his eyes open again, they burn—not with fear, but with certainty. BLAZE is smiling now… not a cheeky, silly smile, but one that makes you understand why his last known address was High Desert State Prison. BLAZE: Once upon a PRIME show evening, I sat alone and unbelieving, Over the many a quaint and curious array of wrestlers fans adore. Yet there was one name standing out amidst the chaffe, Not to be feared, but instead to laugh like they had done before. “I thought they put him away,” they said. “For what he did before.” “That guy’s a lunatic. A lunatic and nothing more.” But it was hard not to clock, in the wake of Culture Shock; Just what path lay ahead for those most ignore. With Heroes and Russians - and constant Jolf discussions,

There was no time, no time for Blaze Claymore. For the rare and radiant talent, who holds the name Claymore. Nameless now, but nevermore. Revival is PRIMED for ultraviolence, so why offer any pretense? In the ring will step a future champion, one never seen before; He’s been laughed at and he’s been underestimated, yes, But with time and with patience he sits ready for something more. Ready to take on a legendary name, yes; but a name, and nothing more. Blaze is perched, PRIMED, provoked. Knowing now, he has something worth fighting for. His opponents remain engaged in guessing, but no rationale expressing,

To the fighter whose fiery eyes now burn into your heart’s core; And while you may be asking, what is the reason for all his masking?

What secrets, still, does someone like him hold in store? We know who he is. We know what he’s done. What is left to explore? These are the words of those who should fear Blaze Claymore. Be that the name, the sign of our parting, NATHAN! Get thee back and let me settle this score. Leave no remnants of your cowardice, because we are going to win for us! Leave your loneliness behind and embrace what you were meant for! Place your fate into my hands, lose one battle, but win the war! Remember now, and forevermore, you are nothing without Blaze Claymore! In that moment, BLAZE throws the chair he was sitting on behind him as it doesn’t crash or shatter, but simply gets sucked into the black void behind him. He breathes heavily, wiping at his face as he shakes with energy. BLAZE looks up, toward the camera - and toward us. VOICE: Thank you… we’ll be in touch, Mr. Nevermore. The spotlight cuts out and the voices fade. The room goes silent, a decision already made. But in that void, we hear spoken, in a voice unbroken —- My name. Is BLAZE CLAYMORE.