The Paper Game
It’s a funny old thing isn’t it?
People go into The Groves and give trees a good wallop, taking plants and whatever else in the process. Thanks to the smashing up of trees and plants, they get themselves some fibres, mix it with water and create pulp.
That pulp becomes paper.
You know Stubbins, I liken you to a big ol’ tree.
Sturdy, firm – powerful in your own way. You don’t realize it, but someone is coming to give you a wallop. Like all trees in Arcadia, you exist to become something else; something better than you were before.
I think he knows you’re coming, Scissors. You can’t expect a man like that to not know.
You think the trees know?
You think these trees somehow realize they’re going to get a bashing?
Don’t be so ridiculous, Felix.
C’mon, little buddy, think about it. Trees are stuck in place. They don’t move. They can’t. How would they know? They aren’t sentient, silly. They don’t watch the bashers coming and accept their fate. They’re none the wiser and nor is Stubbins Doom.
Doom has been stuck in place ever since he lost his OSW World Championship.
And now, I’m coming to beat him up…
To smash him.
To wallop him.
To beat him to a pulp.
Because as a tree, Stubbins Doom is a powerful and mighty prospect. But when I beat the living pulp out of that tree, he becomes something else. I force him to become something else.
You’re catching on!
And do you know what I’m gonna do with a nice flat pristine bit of paper?
Write on it?
Stubbins wants to go on an Odyssey and I’m going to take him there. I’m going to beat the pulp out of him, turn him into a piece of paper and write on it.
I’m going to change Stubbins Doom.
I’m going to break him.
I’m going to mold him.
And by the end of our Odyssey, I’ll have a Tag Team Championship partner worth having.
What happens if your master plan doesn’t work? What if you write your devious manifesto of puppetry upon him and he doesn’t obey? What happens if Stubbins Doom isn’t as easily broken as me, Scissors? What happens then?
Well, if that happens, we’ll have to play ourselves a lovely little game of Rochambeau, won’t we?
If Stubbins Doom doesn’t take to the writing upon the page I create; if he doesn’t break like I want and obey my writing, then we’ll play a little game.
And in this game, I’m Scissors.
What do you think he’ll be, little buddy?
You know what always beats paper in Rochambeau?