Post by Rep. Dragón (I-TX) on Feb 22, 2017 0:02:49 GMT
Washington DC was fucking cold.
It was cold on January third, it was cold on January twentieth, and it was cold today. The sun was shining bright over a cloudless, mid-morning sky above the United States Capitol, but the air stung, and the wind needled at his skin and chapped his lips. Dragon knew cold, of course; West Texas was a diverse biosphere worthy of any Attenborough-narrated documentary on National Geographic, and he'd spent more than enough nights on either side of the Chihuahuan Desert, nestled in a blanket burrito under the stars. That kind of cold was much different than Washington's cold. The former was an open range of emptiness, a humbling reminder of a man's place in the universe, when the sun disappeared behind the mountains and unreachable galaxies came alive. The latter was bitter, mean, and terribly crowded. The more people he met here, the colder it got.
"... the fuck can it be this sunny and this fucking..." Congressman Dragon wondered aloud, despite himself. His eyes drifted down at the redheaded PA, fixing the microphone to his suit coat's lapel. He blinked back into focus. The camera crew had set up on the stairs of the Capitol Building like an Arabian peddler unfurling their carpet spread, and he'd hardly even noticed.
Life moved faster here. A lot faster.
"We're live in five... four... three..."
Dragon straightened his ruby red necktie, cleared his throat, and scratched at the side of his signature luchador mask. When the countdown from the cameraman went silent like Wayne's World, he didn't know if he was ready.
Historia de mi vida, Dragon thought. Story of my life.
... and welcome back to Special Report. The Presidential Election of 2016 was, to say the very least, filled with surprises. It took America eighteen months of campaigning, thousands of volunteers, and billions of dollars in fundraising to elect its forty-fifth President. On one side, the first female major party nominee in history. On the other, a celebrity businessman with no previous public office experience. While we certainly still feel the fallout of Donald Trump's unprecedented election, the same can be said for the elections down the ballot, on the state and local levels. One such dark horse comes in the form of our next guest, live from Capitol Hill, Congressman... Diamond Dragon, of Texas. Good morning, Congressman.
Good morning, buenos días. Happy to be here.
Now, for the viewers at home, tell us a little about yourself. Who you are, how you got here.
Well, I am Dragón Diamante. Diamond Dragon. I'm from a little town out in West Texas called San Elizario--
--and you were a wrestler, correct?
A luchador, yes. I am a luchador.
And how long were you doing that?
For about twenty-three years. Since I was nineteen years old.
Any college experience? Do you have a degree?
No.
And what party do you align with?
I don't. I am not a registered Democrat or Republican.
How politically active were you before your election to the House of Representatives?
I wasn't.
... would care to clarify that--
--I was not politically active. I had never voted in an election, local, national, or otherwise in my life, before entering Congress.
... you might be able to see how this raises a few more questions, Congressman.
Well, that's your job, isn't it? Go ahead and raise 'em.
How did the voters in your District--
--Texas' 37th District.
Yes. How did they vote for you, without knowing who you were? What did they write in on their ballots?
The fine folks of my District wrote in the name they know me by. And they know who I am, they know me. They know that I am Dragón Diamante, they know that I am from San Elizario, they know that I understand the problems they face in their everyday lives, and what little action either of their major party candidates were taking to address those problems.
Right. Now, the Congressional election split the vote three ways, and was hotly contested--
--between a guy who'd spent most of his life at the New York Stock Exchange and couldn't help but call over ninety percent of the local Latino population economically problematic and a guy who couldn't keep his polla in his pantalones.
... I assume you're referring to your Republican and Democratic opponents, Glenn Gilroy and Stacey Burkett?
Yes. Also, c'mon now, a guy named Stacey?
Congressman, it has to be addressed, how do you expect to be treated in the House, with the... circumstances that brought you here, and the way you present yourself?
The same way I expect to be treated in the ring: with respect earned and respect taken. And if not? Without ever turning my back on the other guys, whatever their intentions. I think I'll prove that on the House floor, and I'll prove that next week in the ring.
That remains to be... wait. Next week? Congressman, are you saying that you're still wrestling?
Of course! I am devoted to my public service, it is a duty I will not shirk, but I can't deny my passion in life. Next week I debut in Guerreros of Lucha, and I go head-to-head with Joey LeClair for a spot in the La Azteca Rumble--
Click.
The scene opens from the dashboard of a rusted Chevy pickup truck, aged sometime between the late-eighties and early-nineties, rambling down a lonely desert highway. Beyond the dust and sand kicking up from the road, it's flat land as far as the eye can see, under a smoldering orange sun, setting in the west. The deep blue of the infinite sky blends into indigo, and over the east, inky black night, pockmarked with stars. One of rock music's most iconic riffs plays from the tape deck.
"It's times like these that I have to drop by, say hola to mi familia. Constituents, too. After all,"
As Dragon slows to turn off the impossibly long highway onto narrower, dustier streets, we pass a humble sign etched in stone. It reads SAN ELIZARIO, carved into its sand-caked side.
"Home is where the heart is, eh?"
It's impossible to tell whether the streets are asphalt or completely dirt; they're old, paved out before anyone can remember and rarely ever tampered with since. The landscape, save for a few sparse, humble farmhouses, is either completely flat and brown or completely flat and green, acres of sun-beaten crops dividing the desert into neat squares.
"Before I tell you, the wonderful people of The Labyrinth - Joey LeClair too, don't worry hombre, I'll get to you - about what to expect from my GoL in-ring debut, let me give you fine folks a history lesson. A local history lesson."
As Dragon turns onto another, larger street, farmland and desert are obscured by what looks to be civilization: chalky, Adobe-style buildings, streetlights, and actual pavement on the roads.
"Long time ago, some hundred and fifty years, give or take a few, there was a war in San Elizario. They called it the Salt War. See, the people of San Elizario - Native Americans, Mexican Americans, mostly - they mined salt in the hills. It was their livelihood, the lifeblood of their community. It's what put food on the table for years and years, their finest export. When the salt mines prospered, the people prospered; the profit was shared, without rights or titles, for the betterment of their home.
"Then, as history often goes, everything changed when the white people showed up. Businessmen, land barons with corporate empires in the east, decided to claim the salt as their own. Entrenched in the state government, they enacted salt collection fees. They taxed the locals for doing their job, and then swept their livelihood out from under them. The law was not on their side... but justice was."
Dragon turns onto another side street, this one lined with scantily-foliated trees, beside a playground. A white-bricked Adobe chapel stands proud against the sunset. Dragon parks the truck by the curb.
"San Elizario was pushed. So, San Elizario pushed back. Fed up with the injustice, fed up with those in power believing they could rule over them without accountability, the people drove out their oppressors. And when their oppressors came back with a troop of Texas Rangers? San Elizario made them surrender! This is what this town, what the founding of this great country, is all about. Thomas Jefferson said a thing or two about the tree of liberty and the blood of tyrants, but at the end of the day, when destiny is placed in the hands of the people, that is when our true potential can be realized.
"So, what does this have to do with Chapter Nueve? What does this have to do with Joey LeClair?"
The pickup sputters back into gear, and the engine rumbles as we're on the move once again.
"Joey, let me tell you, chico; in spite of yourself, in spite of your attitude, I like the cut of your jib. You've got fire! The kind of fire that burns the brightest when you're young, and strong, and stupid enough to do what we do, and do it the way we do it. I should know; I had that fire, too. Don't continue to make the mistake you're making now, though; that fire hasn't left me yet. I still have gas left in the tank, a long ways to go before I'm finished... as do you, I'm sure. I haven't a doubt in my mind that you're here to offer me the greatest challenge that you can.
"As you were so quick to point out, I've been in the business of lucha libre for a long time, now. A damn sight longer than you have, I might add. I've seen a great many things, this side of the border..."
From the dashboard camera, running parallel to the intersection at the end of the road, Dragon gestures to a tall, imposing structure - as we drive closer and stop at the corner, it's chain link fence and thick metal beams, stretching well beyond the horizon, the last rays of daylight gleaming off the posts lining each section. It's the border between the United States and Mexico.
"... and the other. In all that time, all those years spent honing my craft, looking to do as best as I could to make a name for myself, I learned a thing or two about what lucha libre really meant. The masks, the fanfare, the rich history... it is all rooted in a single cause: respect.
"Joey, you're young. You're strong. You've got a pedigree of success in plenty of promotions across the country. But what you lack is respect. Respect for me. Respect for men like Tiger Mask Red, who fought and bled and ultimately sacrificed his well-being for this. Respect for lucha libre. It was disrespect that those corrupt land barons showed, when they thought they could take the salt from San Elizario. It was disrespect that blinded them enough to think even Texas Rangers could stomp out the will of the people. It's that same disrespect, chico, that will be your greatest weakness."
Dragon pulls the truck over once again, as the setting sun begins to disappear into the night. He reaches for the camera, and turns it on the dashboard to face him in profile; he's not dressed nearly as formally as his polished, Washington DC black and white, forgoing a suit and tie for a worn-out denim jacket and a blanched flannel shirt, but on his face is the signature mask he's worn for as long as he's wrestled as Diamond Dragon. La máscara del Dragón Diamante.
"This mask... this mask does not hide who I am. This mask is who I am. When I come home to San Elizario, when I represent my constituents on Capitol Hill, my people understand that I am Dragón Diamante, just as The Labyrinth will understand, when I step in the ring for our match at Chapter Nueve. When that bell rings, and all pretense of big talk and showboating turns to ashes in your mouth, I will not show you pain; that is something you're accustomed to, something you have a high threshold for. I will show you respect. And while you brag, and boast, and talk a good game, you might start to wonder why those kicks you're throwing aren't as stiff as you thought they were. You might start to wonder why your grip isn't as strong as you thought it was. You might start to wonder why it's getting harder and harder to get your shoulder up before three. It'll be a hard pill to swallow; for men like you, it always is. But it's a lesson I am more than prepared to teach you.
"Come Chapter Nueve, I am well aware that you will give me the fight of your life. I am fully prepared to take as much punishment as the Death Dealer is willing to dole out. But my goal isn't just to win this match, my GoL debut. Whatever it takes, I am going to get the respect from you that the art of lucha libre deserves.
"And I am not afraid to beat it out of you."