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Post by supinesnake on Aug 24, 2024 7:33:36 GMT
The deadlines for this show are:
Sunday 1st September at 23:59, Pacific. Monday 2nd September at 03:00, Eastern. Monday 2nd September at 08:00, UK. Monday 2nd September at 17:00, Melbourne.
GLHF! |
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bongo
FWA Wrestler
Posts: 37
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Post by bongo on Aug 29, 2024 18:41:34 GMT
THE LUMBERJACKS
IN
"IT'S MY SISTER'S WEDDING THIS WEEK, THIS IS ALL YOU'RE GETTING"
Doug Lupone: TIIIIMMMMBERRRR |
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Post by tommy on Aug 30, 2024 0:26:59 GMT
Rocco tossed the large yellow envelope down on the table in front of Tommy, who was somewhat entranced by the view below. He had gone from a small apartment in Sweetwater, a place he wasnât sure he would ever see again, and was now overlooking the Pacific Ocean from his ocean-front condo in Los Angeles.
With plenty of help from Rocco, Tommy had masterfully navigated the momentum he picked up at Back in Business and had parlayed it into a new lifestyle. After beating FWAâs favorite Hollywood star, Tommy had decided that if Steiner could make it in Hollywood, he certainly could.
âFinally got the script in this morning, kid. They want you to give it a read-through and let them know if youâre interested.â
âAwesome. Do you know what it is?â
âYep. Armageddon 2.â
Tommy happily ripped the thick, yellow envelope open and looked at the cover page. He never would have imagined himself being pitched a Hollywood film, but life kept changing, and it was finally changing for the better.
âI remember the first one. What are they wanting me to play?â
âYouâre gonna be the lead, kid. Bruce Willis canât remember his lines anymore, and he died in the last one anyway. Affleck isnât gonna do this. Itâs all you. I heard they had talked about offering it to Brooklyn Steiner, but you knowâŠheâs old news because of you.â
Tommy pulled the script from the envelope and laid it on the table. He was immediately drawn to the large asteroid on the cover that looked like it was part octopus and part boulder.
âAny idea what time theyâll be here?â
Rocco was hoping Tommy wasnât going to ask about that. He had been talking to Randi, but he couldnât get her to commit to flying herself and Walker to Los Angeles. He had promised her that Tommy was clean, and as far as he knew, he was.
Rocco was afraid of telling Tommy that he wasnât sure that they were coming. He wanted Tommy focused on wrestling, he was the X Champion again. He also wanted him to focus on making money in Hollywood while the offers were still rolling in.
âLater this afternoon if she can get a flight. If not, tomorrow. Sheâll be here by tomorrow. Iâm sure of it. Donât worry about that. I need you to get that thing read. They didnât send the whole script; just the opening scene and the parts that youâll be in. It shouldnât take you too long.â
Tommy wanted to believe it, so he did. To get his mind off the waiting and wondering, he opened the first page of the script.
Armageddon
Fade in
Blackness. Then a hint of blue becomes EARTH. Lying across the expanse of space the camera zooms in closer as it becomes clearer to the viewer. Soon, rich colors pop from the screen.
Suddenly, a gargantuan asteroid cuts into the frame, hurling itself toward the pristine Earth. It free-falls to the planet and lands near the site of modern-day Guadalajara, Mexico.
Narrator (Probably Morgan Freeman):
With an impact equal to that of ten thousand nuclear weapons detonating simultaneouslyâŠ
The massive foot of a dinosaur stomps down onto the dirt, causing a cloud of sand to shoot skyward. With a flash of light, the foot vanishes, and a massive hole forms where it was standing.
Narrator (Probably Morgan Freeman):
One hundred trillion tons of rock and dirt hurled into the atmosphereâŠ
The camera pans back out to space, where the sphere that is Earth ripples as though itâs been hit with a shockwave. From thousands of miles away, you can see the vibrant colors from just moments ago fade under the burdensome weight of dust.
Narrator (Probably Morgan Freeman:
A blanket of dust so thick that the sun canât penetrate it. For five thousand years, planet Earth is robbed of light as nuclear winter befalls the planet. Under that cold weight, a civilization is removed from existence.
Earth is now entombed in a dark, cold hellscape. Letters push toward the screen from the abyssâŠ
ARMAGEDDON II
65,000,026 YEARS LATER
â-----------------------------------------------
NASA MISSION CONTROL
HOUSTON, TEXAS
DECEMBER 31, 2024
Dan Truman (Billy Bob Thornton):
How in the fuck is this happening again? 65 million years between the last two of these, and now itâs been 26 years and itâs happening again?
NASA Employee (Unsure: Maybe Aaron Harrows?):
Weâre not sure, sir. But thereâs no doubt about it. Thatâs an asteroid heading toward Earth. Based on our calculations, we have about 30 days.
Dan Truman takes a step toward the screen and pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his shirt pocket. He lights it as the NASA employee behind him looks uncomfortable.
NASA Employee (Unsure: Maybe Aaron Harrows?):
Sir, thereâs, thereâs no smoking in the facilâ
Dan Truman (Billy Bob Thornton):
30 days, and then what?
NASA Employee (Unsure: Maybe Aaron Harrows?):
Based on the measurements that weâve been able to gather, it will bring about the second ice age. The dust cloud will be so thick that the sun wonât be able to reach the Earth. Anything that survives the blast will freeze to death within 72 hours.
Dan Truman (Billy Bob Thornton):
Iâll be goddamned. The first armageddon didnât get me, but this one is.
â-----------------------------------------------
Rocco puts a cup of coffee in front of Tommy who instinctively picks it up and takes a long drink.
âDo you know how this thing shakes out? I mean, in the first movie, they sent Bruce Willis, Affleck, Michael Clarke Duncan, that one weird little dude with the crazy eyes, and some other guys up there, blew the thing up, Bruce died, and the world was saved. Am I an oil driller in this movie and have to strap my ass to this thing and die?â
âUh, no. Not quite. I havenât read the entire script or anything, but from what I was told, they want you to save the world without killing yourself.â
âAlright. Have you heard from her?â
âYea. She was having problems getting a flight out of Houston. Said sheâd try to get on standby, but it may have to be tomorrow morning.â
âBut she is coming, right? And bringing my boy? She wonât answer my texts.â
âYea. She promised me sheâd be here.â
That was a lie. She hadnât promised Rocco anything. He was pretty good at hiding the truth.
âGood. I get why she took off, but Iâm clean now, you know.â
That was a lie. He wasnât clean. But he had gotten better at hiding it.
The scene opens as a group of black SUVs pull into the underground garage of NASAâs Mission Control. A group of men in black suits jump out and make their way to the middle vehicle. They open the door, and an African American female steps out.
Dan Truman makes his way toward the group, dressed in his best.
Dan Truman (Billy Bob Thornton):
Madam President, thanks for coming. I wish I had better news.
President Justine Culpepper (Probably Queen Latifah)
So do I, Dan. Can I call you Dan?
Dan Truman (Billy Bob Thornton):
Of course. Can I call youâŠ
President Justine Culpepper (Probably Queen Latifah):
You can call me Madam President.
The President, the head of NASA, and the convoy of Secret Service agents make their way into the building and through a number of doors. No one says a word. Tension is palpable. After going through their third security checkpoint, the entire group stops at a large, red door.
Dan Truman (Billy Bob Thornton):
You boys are gonna have to stay out here. Authorized personnel only in that room.
Nameless Secret Service Agent (Maybe Aaron Harrows?):
Sir, we go everywhere the President goes.
President Justine Culpepper (Probably Queen Latifah):
Iâll be fine, Roger. I doubt any sitting President has ever been gunned down at NASA. Dan, this is your show.
Dan Truman (Billy Bob Thornton):
You boys can stay out here.
Dan opens the door, allowing the President to step into the room. He closes it behind her and locks it. In the room, we see a team of four NASA engineers all pecking away at their laptops as an entire wall shows different angles of an asteroid thatâs moving toward Earth.
President Justine Culpepper (Probably Queen Latifah):
Now that weâre in here, Iâm Justine. Youâre Dan. We can cut all the formal shit. What in the name of God is that thing?
The camera zooms in toward the screens on the wall, specifically, the biggest screen in the middle. We clearly see the image of a massive asteroid with its eight appendages moving toward the Earth. It appears to be some sort of giant, stone octopus.
Dan Truman (Billy Bob Thornton):
That, Justine, is an asteroid thatâs hurling towards our planet. These folks say we have about 28 days to do something about it or every living organism on this planet is dead within 31 days.
President Justine Culpepper (Probably Queen Latifah):
How big is it?
Dan Truman (Billy Bob Thornton):
Based on available imaging and our projections, we think itâs around 3 cubic tons of rock and dirt.
President Justine Culpepper (Probably Queen Latifah):
Forgive me if Iâm not up on my rock sizes. But how much damage can three cubic tons of rock do?
Dan Truman (Billy Bob Thornton):
Justine, if an asteroid the size of a football made its way to the surface of the Earth, it would cause a 7.7 magnitude earthquake that could level New York City. Itâd turn it into a parking lot. Assuming this thing hits us at its current rate of speed, one of two things happens.
Danâs voice trails off a bit as he once again goes for a cigarette. Some of the employees look a bit nervous, but he holds the pack out to the President who slides one out and puts it between her lips.
Dan Truman (Billy Bob Thornton):
I thought you quit.
President Justine Culpepper (Probably Queen Latifah):
I did. But it feels like youâre about to tell me that weâre all going to die in a month. What are they gonna do, impeach me for smoking?
Dan Truman (Billy Bob Thornton):
I always liked you. If this thing hits Earth at its current rate and based on our size projections, one of two things happens. It either ushers in the next Ice Age, or Earth gets knocked off its axis and flies into the abyss, out of the Milky Way Galaxy, and into nothingness. Of course, none of us are alive when that happens.
President Justine Culpepper (Probably Queen Latifah):
So youâre sayingâŠ
Dan Truman (Billy Bob Thornton):
Madam President, weâre fucked.
âSo the asteroid looks likeâŠan octopus?â
âThatâs the premise. Wait till you find out how you save the world.â
When The scene opens with Dan Truman standing in the room where he had been with the President. Everyone is gone except for the one nameless NASA agent (probably played by Aaron Harrows). Itâs clearly the next morning. Both men have a five oâclock shadow, and there are empty coffee cups everywhere around them.
Dan Truman (Billy Bob Thornton):
Show me the simulation one more time of what happens if we drill into the heart of this thing and blow it up.
The nameless NASA agent pecks away at his keyboard and a digital rendering appears on the largest screen. A drill goes into the center of the asteroid, a digital explosive is planted and detonated. Multiple fragments hurl toward the Earth.
Dan Truman (Billy Bob Thornton):
So if we blow this thing up, it just hits Earth in a bunch of little pieces instead of one big one.
NASA Employee (Unsure: Maybe Aaron Harrows?):
Yes, sir. You told the President that one football-sized asteroid would level New York. Based on how close the asteroid already is to Earth, this will unleash roughly seven billion football-sized asteroids; almost one for every human.
Besides, weâre not allowed to do that anymore afterâŠyou know, the last time?
Dan Truman (Billy Bob Thornton):
Youâre telling me that we canât sacrifice one person in order to save eight billion? What kind of ass backward math is that?
NASA Employee (Unsure: Maybe Aaron Harrows?):
Sir, the times are different now. If someone did what Astronaut Stamper did today, NASA would still get the blame for the loss of a single life instead of being championed for saving billions. We canât do that.
Dan throws an empty paper coffee cup across the room.
Dan Truman (Billy Bob Thornton):
If I donât do it, and everyone dies, no one will know, I guess. Show me again what happens if we use sound waves to try to break it and bust it up. You said those can travel.
NASA Employee (Unsure: Maybe Aaron Harrows?):
Sir, I can show you again, but the result is pretty much the same. Plus, thereâs the issue of what else the ultra-amplified sound waves would do to other objects.
Dan Truman (Billy Bob Thornton):
So the sound waves give me seven billion little asteroids too?
NASA Employee (Unsure: Maybe Aaron Harrows?):
More like four billion smaller asteroids, but yes. Still enough to destroy the world.
Dan Truman (Billy Bob Thornton):
What was our other option? Missile launch? We could try to hit this thing and push it into outer space. Does anybody really care if we blow Saturn all to hell?
NASA Employee (Unsure: Maybe Aaron Harrows?):
Yes, but thatâs the least likely to work. First, we would have to bring in other people, and you said that we canât let this leak. Second, by the time that we dialed in the missile and it got to the asteroid, the likelihood of it working is minimal.
Dan Truman (Billy Bob Thornton):
So what do we do then, Junior? We just sit here and wait to die? Thereâs what, 5 people here who know about this, the President makes six. So six people on Earth out of eight billion know that weâre four weeks from armageddon.
NASA Employee (Unsure: Maybe Aaron Harrows?):
He sighs and looks at the paper in front of him with a somewhat blank look on his face.
The only thing we can do is figure out how to somehow catch this thing before it gets to EarthâŠand drag it out into space.
Dan Truman (Billy Bob Thornton):
So I have less than a month to figure out how to tow an asteroid away from Earth without losing a single life.
NASA Employee (Unsure: Maybe Aaron Harrows?):
Thatâs pretty much where weâre at, sir. Listen, Iâve been here since yesterday morning, do you think I could-
Dan Truman (Billy Bob Thornton):
Yea, go home. Be back in about four hours. Not a word to anybody.
The NASA employee makes his way out of the room and we go into a timelapse of Dan Truman pacing around the room, recreating the simulations on the screen.
The timelapse continues as the four employees from the meeting with the President come in, and three eventually go out.
The nameless employee stays behind, as the camera pans into Dan Truman.
Dan Truman (Billy Bob Thornton):
I think Iâve got it. But I canât guarantee that no one is going to die.
NASA Employee (Unsure: Maybe Aaron Harrows?):
I donât think we have to guarantee that, sir. We just canât repeat a mission where someone died.
Dan Truman (Billy Bob Thornton):
The last time we saved the world from an asteroid, we used oil drillers. This time, I need a cowboy.
NASA Employee (Unsure: Maybe Aaron Harrows?):
Sir, Iâm sorry, but Iâve barely slept in the last three days. I know youâre tired too. ButâŠa cowboy?
Dan Truman (Billy Bob Thornton):
Yep. Weâre going to lasso one of the arms on that damn rock and drag it out into space where it belongs. How quickly can you figure out how far we need to take it to make sure it never comes back?
NASA Employee (Unsure: Maybe Aaron Harrows?):
1.6 billion miles.
Dan Truman (Billy Bob Thornton):
Damn. That was quick. But alright. We need a cowboy, and I think I know just the guy.
Listen, we need a codename for this whole thing. You and me, weâre the only people here who know it. Iâm gonna give the President a fake code name. She wonât know. What are you thinking we name this whole thing?
NASA Employee (Unsure: Maybe Aaron Harrows?):
Uh, I donât know. Operation Octorock? It kind of looks like an octopus.
Dan Truman (Billy Bob Thornton):
Nah, I hate that. Itâs three cubic tons, right? This, this is Operation: Ton Ton Ton
âIâm assuming this is where I come in? I was starting to wonder if I was in this thing at all.â
âYou mean when Truman says he knows the right cowboy for the job? Yep. Enter: Tommy, well, your name in this movie is Hank. Anyway, Hank is the cowboy who Dan Truman believes can save the world.â
Roccoâs phone buzzed and he stepped out of the room. It was Randi, but he wasnât about to let Tommy know that. He didnât know what she was going to say. With Rocco out of the room, Tommy walked over to the coffee table and jerked a piece of tape loose from the bottom. He jiggled a single pill in his palm for a moment and tossed it into his mouth.
Rocco reentered the room just as Tommy swallowed it.
âGood news, kid. Randi and Walker will be here in a few hours. Theyâre on the next flight out of Houston. Iâm going to pick them up at the airport. You should probably give that Oxy that you popped while I was out of the room time to wear off before you take anymore since sheâs on the way.â
Tommy froze for a moment. How did he know about that?!
âYea. I know where all your hidden stash is. Youâre not clean. But I get it; youâre in pain. Youâre willing to lie to Randi about it, Iâm willing to help you because I think you need the meds. You canât get as stoned as you were when you almost overdosed, but Iâm not gonna rat you out if youâre on some stuff.â
âRocco, Iâm starting to think Iâve corrupted you.â
âListen. I care about you. Youâre kinda like a son to me at this point. I like Randi because she does love you, and youâre better with her. I love your son because heâs my godson, and the best way for you to make a life for them is to be the most successful version of yourself.â
âAnd the most successful version of myself is popping Oxycontin that I tape under the table?â
âThe most successful version of yourself went 3-0 at Back in Business and won your title back. The most successful version of you was high as a fucking Georgia pine when you got there, but it worked. So yeah, Iâm gonna help you stay loaded if thatâs what it takes. Just donât kill yourself. We gotta keep it a little more controlled this time.â
âWe can do that.â
Tommy hoped it was true, but he had his doubts. It didnât matter, though. Heâd deal with it as he went. With Rocco helping him, he could have enough to manage the pain and keep it from Randi. He needed to get back to the script, anyway.
The scene opens to a large dusty field somewhere in the heart of Texas. A long-haired cowboy with a black cowboy hat is seen leaning against a fence watching his herd. Heâs startled out of his entranced state by a well-dressed man walking up behind him.
Dan Truman (Billy Bob Thornton):
Excuse me. Hank? Hank Snow?
Hank Snow (Hopefully Tommy Bedlam):
Buddy, youâre a little overdressed for these parts. If youâre here to talk to me about Jesus, Iâm good. Iâll figure things out with him when I die.
Dan Truman (Billy Bob Thornton):
Nope. Not here about the Lord. Iâm the Director of NASA, and I need a word with you.
Hank cautiously extends a calloused hand toward Dan.
Hank Snow (Hopefully Tommy Bedlam):
What in the hell does NASA want with a cowboy from East Texas?
Dan Truman (Billy Bob Thornton):
Iâm a big fan. Saw you at the Houston Rodeo a few years ago. Perfect score. Saw you again the next year, perfect score again. You do things with a lasso that nobody else in the world can do, donât you?
Hank Snow (Hopefully Tommy Bedlam):
I donât know about that, but Iâm pretty good with one. Think we can cut to the chase here? I assume youâre not here for an autograph.
Dan Truman (Billy Bob Thornton):
Nope. But I am probably going to ask you to sign something. I have a mission, and I believe youâre the man for the job.
Hank spits a wad of tobacco juice on the ground, splattering a bit on Danâs dress shoes.
Hank Snow (Hopefully Tommy Bedlam):
A mission. Listen, I think youâre looking for an astronaut, not a cowboy.
Dan Truman (Billy Bob Thornton):
How about you come to Houston with me? I think youâll see that Iâm looking for both.
Hank Snow (Hopefully Tommy Bedlam):
What the hell? Iâve got some free time. Let me grab a bag. I grew up wanting to see the inside of NASA.
Hank walks into his modest home as Dan stands outside.
Dan Truman (Billy Bob Thornton):
Cowboy, if I have my way, youâre going to see a lot more than the inside of NASA.
The scene opens with Hank and Dan stepping out of a long, black town car in NASAâs underground parking. Hank is obviously a bit awestruck by the enormity of his surroundings as they make their way in. No one even questions his presence as he walks in with the Director of NASA.
They make their way down the maze of corridors and walk straight through the large red door. No one is there, but the photo of the asteroid, now known only as Ton Ton Ton covers the largest screen.
Hank Snow (Hopefully Tommy Bedlam):
The fuck is that thing?
Dan Truman (Billy Bob Thornton):
Before we get into this, I need you to sign this nondisclosure agreement. This just verifies that youâre not going to tell anyone anything about what we talk about.
Dan slides the paperwork toward Hank who just looks at it. He doesnât sign anything.
Dan Truman (Billy Bob Thornton):
You know what, we can skip signing that. It doesnât really matter. If you go out and tell everyone you know what Iâm about to tell you, weâre all dead in 27 days anyway.
Hank Snow (Hopefully Tommy Bedlam):
27 days? And you think a cowboy is the answer to that? Sounds to me like you need somebody with some experience.
Dan Truman (Billy Bob Thornton):
Nope. I need somebody who can lasso that thing. That giant rock, three cubic tons of rock, known affectionately as Ton Ton Ton, is going to kill everyone in less than a month. My idea, NASAâs idea, involves sending you up there, with astronauts who know how to handle the spacecraft, use a specialized plutonium alloy that weâve created, rope it, and get it 1.6 billion miles away from Earth.
Hank Snow (Hopefully Tommy Bedlam):
1.6 billion miles? You think we can just fly out that far towing that big ass rock behind us?
Dan Truman (Billy Bob Thornton):
God, no. But you can get it so far from the orbital pull of Earth that it wonât find its way back here, and if it does, itâll take millions of years. You just have to get that thing 1.6 billion miles away. The whole thing will be timed down to the millisecond, and your team will know exactly how far you can go.
Hank Snow (Hopefully Tommy Bedlam):
And just out of curiosity, what am I destroying 1.6 billion miles away?
Dan Truman (Billy Bob Thornton):
Uranus
Hank chuckles.
Hank Snow (Hopefully Tommy Bedlam):
Sorry, you want me to destroy Uranus?
Dan Truman (Billy Bob Thornton):
Smiles a bit and chuckles for the first time in days.
Yes, smartass. I want yâŠ.yea. 1.6 billion miles. You up for it?
Hank Snow (Hopefully Tommy Bedlam):
Well, Mr. Truman, the way I see it, I can stay here on Earth and die in 30 days or less. Or, I can go to space, fail, and die inâŠless than 30 days, Iâm guessing. Or, and this is a longshot, I can go up there, lasso Ton Ton Ton, and sling its ass so far into space that we never have to worry about it again. That what youâre telling me?
Dan Truman (Billy Bob Thornton):
It is. Two of the three outcomes involve you dying, Iâll admit that. But, those same two mean that everyone else on the planet is dead, too. One of them, though. One of them makes you a hero.
Hank smirks a bit, grabs an ink pen, and signs the NDA.
Hank Snow (Hopefully Tommy Bedlam):
This probably isnât gonna work, but at least Iâll be one of the first people to die instead of the last. Letâs do it.
Rocco hustles through the townhouse and grabs his keys.
âYou done with the script? Want me to call and tell them something? Iâve gotta go get Randi and Walker. You sober?â
âUh, not done with the script. Donât call them yet. And sober enough. I just got the part where Hank signs the NDA and agrees to fly off into space.â
âGreat. Iâll be back as soon as I can. They should touch down in about an hour. Try not to take anything else while Iâm gone.â
Tommy was barely feeling the effects of the single pill that he had taken, but he knew he needed to at least look completely clean when Randi arrived. He went to the cabinet, pulled out a bottle of whiskey, and pulled a long pull into a Collinsâ glass. He threw it down in a single gulp and poured more, this time, nearly filling the glass. She wouldnât be able to be angry if he was having a nice drink on his day off.
The scene opens to a large room, obviously inside NASA Mission Control. We see Dan and Hank walking down a hallway toward the space.
Dan Truman (Billy Bob Thornton):
We have assembled a team, your team. They have experience in rocketry, long histories with NASA, and one of them was an astronaut.
Hank Snow (Hopefully Tommy Bedlam):
My team? I think Iâm just there to throw a plutonium lasso around a rock and sling it through Uranus.
Dan Truman (Billy Bob Thornton):
Itâs your team. Now, you should probably leave them all to do what theyâre good at.
Dan hands Hank a file with three large pictures in it. As he says each name, their face fills the screen.
Dan Truman (Billy Bob Thornton):
John Henderson: Life-long NASA man. Started here as an intern, worked his way up, and is now one of the most trusted people in the building. Heâs a navigational savant, and heâll know exactly where the vessel needs to go before, during, and after Operation Ton Ton Ton. Spent so much time working after hours that heâs never had time to find a wife; the man basically lives in the building.
(Henderson played by Mark Paul Gossellar)
Wilson Van Bueren: Another career man. Heâs been to space four in his career and would move there tomorrow if Musk could get his thumb out of his ass and make it happen. Guyâs so dedicated that heâs blown up two marriages and has three kids that he hasnât seen in 15 years.
(Van Beuren played by John Cena)
Pierre Jean Filippe: This oneâs a little tricky. Heâs actually not an astronaut anymore, but thatâs only because heâs been in prison for the last 22 years.
(Jean Filippe played by Jared Leto)
Hank Snow (Hopefully Tommy Bedlam):
The hell does an astronaut have to do to get 22 years in prison?
Dan Truman (Billy Bob Thornton):
He didnât get 22 years. He got life. Sold top-secret intelligence to Russia. He was here on loan from France because heâs a goddamned genius when it comes to rockets. Heâs been in ADX, the most secure federal prison in the US for the last 22 years. They locked him up with guys like El Chapo. The President of the United States coordinated his conditional release.
Hank Snow (Hopefully Tommy Bedlam):
Dan, I canât help but notice that youâre sending me, a guy who knows jack shit about space up there with a guy whoâs never had time to start a family, a guy who abandoned two families, and a guy who was doing life in prison. Seems like youâve picked guys who donât have much to loseâŠ
Dan Truman (Billy Bob Thornton):
Hank, you want me to be honest with you? None of these guys have anything to lose and thatâs why theyâre going. We have to recognize the fact that thereâs a chance that you guys go up, save the world, and donât make it back. In 1998, some guys didnât make it back, and in todayâs worldâŠ
Hank Snow (Hopefully Tommy Bedlam):
Nobody knows weâre going, and nobody will know if we donât come back. Thatâs what youâre getting at, right?
Dan Truman (Billy Bob Thornton):
Just make it back and we wonât have to worry about that.
Writerâs Note:
Tommy, weâre still writing the scene that will follow this one. During it, you (or a stunt double) will take part in some very extensive practice runs for the mission ahead. If you accept the role, we will try to have this scene to you within two weeks.
Tommy put down the script and checked his phone. Rocco should be at the airport, and he hoped that Randi and Walker were really going to be there. He had his doubts.
He went through the house to one of the other places where he had hidden some pills, taped to the bottom of the bedframe. He threw one into his mouth and carefully put the other one back. Thanks to the whiskey he had drank before reading the most recent part of the script it didnât take long for his head to start swimming, a feeling he had grown to love more and more.
Just as he sat down to read the last part of the script that the studio had sent over, his phone buzzed. It was Rocco: âTheyâre here. Be sober! Be there in an hour or so.â
Tommy knew the best part of the high would be over by the time they got there. Everything was going to be fine.
UNDISCLOSED LOCATION
SOMEWHERE IN THE GULF OF MEXICO
JANUARY 28, 2025
Darkness surrounds the island as the night sky seems still, unaware of the impending doom. Ton Ton Ton is coming, and itâs coming quickly. Within 48 hours, it will penetrate Earthâs atmosphere and bring the apocalypse.
Wilson Van Bueren (John Cena):
Well boys, I always said Iâd devote my life to NASA. Didnât realize I might actually have to do that one day.
He chuckles
John Henderson (Mark Paul Gossellar):
Wanna know what sucks? Those kids who hate me might be proud of me if anyone in the world was allowed to know anything about this.
Hank Snow (Hopefully Tommy Bedlam):
What about the ex-wives?
John Henderson (Mark Paul Gossellar):
Fuck em. Theyâd hate me regardless.
Henderson and Van Bueren enter into the spacecraft. Hank and Pierre Jean Filippe stand on the outside next to Dan Truman.
Pierre Jean Filippe (Jared Leto)
Mieux que de mourir en prison
Hank Snow (Hopefully Tommy Bedlam):
UhâŠoui?
Hank and Dan share a confused look and they both shrug their shoulders, having no idea what Pierre Jean Filippe has just said. He enters the spacecraft leaving only Hank and Dan standing outside.
Dan Truman (Billy Bob Thornton):
I thought when I did this in 1998, itâd be the last time I had to do something like this. Listen to me, Hank. Your country, no, the world, thank you for what youâre doing.
Hank Snow (Hopefully Tommy Bedlam):
They canât thank me, Dan. They donât know anything about this, and they never will. Say, what happens if I were to tell somebody about this? You know, picking up a girl at a bar and I tell her that I went into space and saved the world.
Dan Truman (Billy Bob Thornton):
Officially? Youâd end up taking Pierreâs place at ADX. Unofficially? If I were guessing, Iâd say that some deep-cover fed takes you out. Probably shouldnât use this as a pickup line.
Hank Snow (Hopefully Tommy Bedlam):
Well shit, Dan. Whatâs the point then?
They stand there awkwardly for a moment before Hank lets out a loud laugh and slaps Dan on the back. He walks through the sand toward the unnamed spacecraft that only five people in the world know about, at least to his knowledge. He climbs in and takes note of the large metallic also thatâs hanging behind a panel of glass mounted to the wall. He climbs into the empty seat and takes a long, deep breath.
The scene flashes back to Hank riding horses, lassoing bulls, doing cowboy shit.
Hank Snow (Hopefully Tommy Bedlam):
Gentlemen, next stopâŠUranus.
Wilson Van Bueren (John Cena):
How long you been waiting for that joke, Cowboy?
Hank Snow (Hopefully Tommy Bedlam):
Just came to me, Willy. Just came to me.
The camera pans to the outside of the shuttle, allowing the gravity of the moment to set in as only Dan Truman stands in the sand, safely removed from the spacecraft that suddenly roars to life.
Pierre Jean Filippe (Jared Leto):
T Moins
Dix, neuf, huit, sept, six, cinq, quatre, trois, deux, un
John Henderson (Mark Paul Gossellar):
Whyâs the guy who doesnât speak English do the countdown?!
Pierre Jean Filippe (Jared Leto):
ĂTRE COSMIQUE, MESSIEURS!
As he finishes his statement, the flames shoot from the bottom of the spacecraft and it slowly lifts from the island. It quickly picks up speed and shoots into space.
Dan Truman (Billy Bob Thornton):
Godspeed, gentlemen. Itâs all up to you.
Tommy checked his phone. No more messages from Rocco, which could either be good or bad. They should be arriving sooner than later.
The camera rapidly pulls upward from the island where the spacecraft took off from, through the atmosphere, and into space. The view of Earth is quickly eclipsed by the ominous asteroid, now known as Ton Ton Ton.
The camera switches to inside the craft where no one says a word. Everyone is diligently working on their assigned tasks, other than Hank, who is simply sitting there, seeming to take it all in.
Hank Snow (Hopefully Tommy Bedlam):
So, how long until we come into contact with this thing?
John Henderson (Mark Paul Gossellar):
Eleven hours. Eleven hours, sixteen minutes, and seventeen seconds to be exact.
Hank Snow (Hopefully Tommy Bedlam):
Great. I love a good, long road trip.
Wilson Van Bueren (John Cena):
Hank, remember what we covered in those practice runs. When you open the hatch to throw the lasso, you have less than twelve seconds before youâll freeze to death.
Hank Snow (Hopefully Tommy Bedlam):
I gotcha, Willy.
Wilson Van Bueren (John Cena):
Itâs WilsonâŠ
The camera pans out. Weâre fast-forwarding a bit for storyline purposes here.
Pierre Jean Filippe (Jared Leto):
Le voilĂ , les hommes. Le voilĂ .
For the first time in the flight, all four men on board inch closer to the glass to take in the enormity of the enemy ahead of them.
Pierre Jean Filippe (Jared Leto):
Tonne Tonne Tonne
John Henderson (Mark Paul Gossellar):
Hank, you have thirty seconds. Break the glass and get the lasso in ten. We need to get one mile closer before you open the hatch.
The camera zooms in on Hankâs face, who for the first time is showing some anxiety. He starts silently counting to ten in his head. He gets to one, raises the tool in his hand, and slaps the glass. It breaks as he pulls the plutonium lasso out.
[Dramatic Music Swells]
Carefully, Hank makes his way through the craft and toward the hatch.
John Henderson (Mark Paul Gossellar):
Hank, flip the latch on my goâŠ
GO!
Hank flips the handle on the hatch and pushes his upper body through it, careful not to go too far. Wilson latches the shackles around his ankles that tether him to the wall of the craft.
The dramatic music stops in the middle of a stanza as he twirls the lasso over his head. We flash back again to Hank at the Houston Rodeo chasing a bull through the center ring. Sudden flashes between the rodeo and outer space. They get faster and fasterâŠ
Wilson Van Bueren (John Cena):
Youâve got eight seconds to let that thing go, Hank. SevenâŠsixâŠfiveâŠ
The flashes continue to speed up as Hank releases the lasso in the Houston Rodeo. It lands around the horn of a bull. He releases the lasso in space.
Time seems to stand completely still as the plutonium lasso leaves Hankâs hand. It smacks one of the arms of Ton Ton Ton, and a fragment breaks offâŠcausing the lasso to lose its grip.
Wilson Van Bueren (John Cena):
HANK! GET YOUR ASS BACK IN HERE!
Hank Snow (Hopefully Tommy Bedlam):
NO! Goddammit, I can take another shot.
Wilson Van Bueren (John Cena):
YOUâRE GOING TO FREEZE TO DEATH!
Hank feverishly pulls the plutonium lasso toward him, fighting the weightlessness of space (Weâll figure out a way to explain how to make this possible earlier in the film.)
Hank Snow (Hopefully Tommy Bedlam):
One more shot, Willy. Iâm dead either way.
The dramatic music swells again as Hank reels the lasso in. He pulls the broken fragment of Ton Ton Ton from it and shoves it into his spacesuit.
Once again, Hank begins twirling the lasso over his head as frost forms on his helmet, gloves, and chest. His face is turning a light shade of blue. Eight rotations and Hank releases the lasso, this time, it lands firmly near the base of Ton Ton Tonâs arm, just where it meets the bulk of the asteroid. Hank jerks the rope, cinching it in, and drops into the spacecraft, his ankles still shackled to the walls.
Wilson begins working to free his ankles while Pierre begins flipping switches and checking screens. Hank lies on the ground, the blueness of his face still evident, shaking, showing the effects of the cold.
John Henderson (Mark Paul Gossellar):
Weâre on a track for 1.6 billion miles. Fuel check?
Pierre Jean Filippe (Jared Leto):
Nous allons bien. Sous tension. Hank est-il mort ?
Wilson Van Bueren (John Cena):
Not yet
Writerâs Note:
Weâre still fine-tuning this part of the script. No, youâre not dead.
The camera pans out wide as we get a panoramic view of the spacecraft pulling Ton Ton Ton out into the vastness. The cinematic music builds as the camera flashes back into the craft. Hank gets the privilege of hitting the button, releasing the rope and Ton Ton Ton as it flies into Uranus and destroys the planet before breaking into countless pieces itself.
Pierre Jean Filippe (Jared Leto):
Ătre cosmique, Tonne Tonne Tonne.
âHoney, weâre home!â
Tommy threw the script down on the table and hopped to his feet. His head wasnât swimming, the effects of the pills worn off. Randi had Walker in her arms as Rocco carried their bags in. Tommy reached for his son who extended his arms out to him.
âIâm glad you all came.â
âRocco told me youâre clean. Is he telling me the truth?â
âHe is. Can we talk about that later, though? Iâd love to catch up with you both.â
âFine.â
She was still a bit chilly, but there was a look in her eyes that gave Tommy some hope.
âWhat are you reading?â
Randi nodded toward the script that was on the table.
âOh, they want me to be in a movie. I figured Rocco had told you.â
âHe did, but I didnât really believe him. So, youâre going to quit wrestling to be an actor?â
An actor. Thatâs what he had been, wasnât it? He was acting like a good man, a good father, good everything. Maybe being in the movies wouldnât be so hard.
âMaybe one day. Is that what you want?â
âYou care what I want?â
âI do. More than anything. Do you want me to quit wrestling?â
âI mean, itâs why you were hooked on pills, but youâre a champion again. I hate for you to walk away from that.â
âAlright. I mean, Iâd like to do both, if I even do the acting thing.â
âYouâll do it.â
âWhat makes you so sure?â
âBecause youâll do damn near anything to make life better for your son than it was for you.â
âYou know, heâs not the only one Iâm trying to make life better forâŠâ
She grinned at him. The charm was working. As long as she didnât know about the pills that were hidden around the condo, they would be fine. He just had to keep it under control.
âI know. So, whatâs the movie about?â
âArmageddon 2. They want me to play the lead.â
âWho else is in it? I kinda remember the first one.â
âBilly Bob Thornton, Jared Leto, Mark Paul GossellarâŠâ
âWho?â
âHe was Zack Morris.â
âOH! I remember him.â
âJohn Cenaâs gonna be in it.â
âNot sure Iâve ever seen him.â
She picked up the parts of the script that he had already read and started thumbing through them. Tommy picked up the remaining page.
The scene opens back on Hankâs ranch where heâs once again standing with one foot on his fence, watching his horses. Dan walks up behind him.
Dan Truman (Billy Bob Thornton):
How you feeling, Astronaut Snow?
Hank Snow (Hopefully Tommy Bedlam):
Dan. How you been? Havenât seen you in what, six months?
Dan Truman (Billy Bob Thornton):
Been a while. Howâs life out here?
Hank Snow (Hopefully Tommy Bedlam):
Helluva lot warmer than life up there. Youâre not coming to tell me that you need me to go back up, are you? I think Iâm done being a space cowboy.
Dan Truman (Billy Bob Thornton):
No. No more trips to space. I think youâre good on the ground. I just came out to check up on you.
Hank Snow (Hopefully Tommy Bedlam):
Iâm good. Havenât told anybody about anything. Whatever happened to the other guys?
Dan Truman (Billy Bob Thornton):
Wilsonâs working 100 hours a week, wants to go up on a mission people can know about. NASA offered Henderson early retirement. I hear he moved to Florida, gonna try to meet a woman, Iâm sure. Pierre, Iâm not so sure. Last I heard he had taken his secret pardon and moved to Cabo.
Hank Snow (Hopefully Tommy Bedlam):
Good for him. Never understood a goddamn word he said, but Iâm glad heâs not going back to ADX. What about you? You ready to hang it up?
Dan Truman (Billy Bob Thornton):
Nah. I figure Iâll work til Iâm dead. Who knows? There might be another giant asteroid in another 26 years. Theyâll need a guy with experience.
Hank and Dan shake hands and smile at one another.
Dan Truman (Billy Bob Thornton):
Thanks, Hank. Youâre a hero, even if nobody knows it.
Hank nods and turns back around toward his horses. Dan takes a few steps and then stops and turns around. He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls something out.
Dan Truman (Billy Bob Thornton):
Oh yea. Thought you should have this. You left it in your spacesuit when you guys landed.
He tosses the object into the air and Hank catches it. Hank turns it in his hand. Itâs the chunk of Ton Ton Ton that he managed to rip away.
Hank looks down at the piece of rock and for a moment, pulls his arm back like heâs about to throw it out into the field. Then he stops, shoves it into his pocket, and walks toward his house.
Hank Snow (Hopefully Tommy Bedlam):
Guess thereâs nothing wrong with keeping a trophy, even if I canât tell a soul about it. Might as well remind myself of the day I killed Ton Ton Ton.
Camera Fades
Credits Roll
Steve Miller Band - Space Cowboy
As Tommy put the last page down, he realized that Randi had moved closer to him on the sofa.
âSo, how long you planning on staying? I noticed that you only had a couple of bags with you.â
âI donât know. But the rest of my luggage will be here later. You paid to have it delivered.â
She smiled, leaned in, and kissed him on the cheek. Things were looking up for Tommy, on screen, in ring, and at home.
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Post by Dubb on Aug 30, 2024 14:23:03 GMT
Vengador Hates Cowboys
James Grimshaw walked away from Elysium, the weight of his actions began to settle heavily on his shoulders. He had removed his Vengador mask and held it in his left hand while he examined the gold coins in his right hand. The coins in his hand felt cold and heavy with the weight of his actions. Something that should've been a reward for a job well done had begun to feel hollow and empty.
His mission to Elysium... he had taken a life in cold blood. All under the orders of the victim's sister. Well, perhaps not sister by blood but someone that the young girl clearly felt was as close as sister. Someone that she trusted.
Bellatrix had trusted Blair and Celestia. Just as James had trusted his own brother Dominic.
And now, thanks to James, someone was dead. Much like Dominic.
Dominic had been killed, not because he was a bad man, but because of what he did for a living. For being Vengador. A mantle that James had now willing taken up to carry on his legacy.
But those doubts once again began to creep into his head. Especially now that he could reflect on his first mission.
All those people Dominic had killed along the way. They had people that cared for them. They had family. Perhaps friends. While her own "sisters" may have called in the hit... Bellatrix no doubt had someone that cared for her. Someone that will miss her now that she's gone.
So how as he stood with the mask of a killer in his hands... how was James any different than the man who killed his brother?
The thought gnawed at him. Was he any better? Was what he did truly justified, or was it just a cycle of violence, perpetuated by the need for revenge and the desire to stay alive?
The image of his brother, dying in his arms, flashed in his mind once again. The pain, the helplessnessâthose feelings were still raw, and they fueled the anger that had driven him ever since. No... he was not like them. And Dominic wasn't either. Some people deserve what is coming to them.
Dominic had always told him that what he did as Vengador was not for the faint of heart. The ends justified the means. He was delivering justice, dealing with those who deserved it. These were bad people. Sometimes justice needed to be served. That's why he put on that mask. That's why he had become Vengador.
The memories of his brother dying before him was all James needed to once again shake of his hesitations and doubts. It was that same anger that made him take the mask from his hand and pull it back on over his face.
The job was done. But there was still one loose end.
Johnny.
Johnny had stolen from him. He had abandoned the mission. He could've easily ruined the mission and left the team vulnerable. He had crossed Vengador and if Dominic had taught him anything, there must be repercussions for his actions.
Justice needed to be served.
Vengadorâs grip tightened on the handle of his blade as he made his way back into the wilderness, tracking the path Johnny had taken when he betrayed them. He had let Johnnyâs treachery slide once, but there would be no second chances. Not for this.
Not this time.
James moved through the wilderness with the precision and focus Dominic had drilled into him since he was a boy. Every broken twig, every footprint in the mud, every disturbed patch of grass.... they all pointed him in the direction he needed to go. For as clever as Johnny was as an expert conman, he was out of his element in those woods. Even with the supplies had stolen, he was not going to last by himself. James could tell just from the way each little twig had snapped so violently that Johnny was frantic. It was only a matter of time before James had tracked him down and Vengador would give him his own brand of justice.
But here's the thing about being a conman.
Much like being a mercenary, as a conman, you have a tendencies to make enemies. James was not the only person that has been wronged by Johnny in this realm.
In fact, he was not the only person in the woods that had been wronged by Johnny.
As he made his trek through the woods, James heard something unusual and unfamiliar. The rhythmic clatter of hooves, the sharp crack of gunfire. And not the typical fire of one of the blasters used in the Realm of Despair. It was much more of a... classic... the pop of the hand guns that hadn't been used in centuries.
Curiosity got the best of James as he followed the sound of the gunfire. James moved swiftly through the brush, his instincts guiding him closer to the source of the noise. When he finally reached a small clearing, he could not believe the sight before him.
A man atop a horse, dressed in weathered clothes that looked like something out of a long-forgotten era. A cowboy. It was a sight James had never expected to see, but there he was, holding a smoking Revolver in one hand, the other gripping the reins of his horse. Horses had been extinct for over a decade... but here was one right before him. James was so overcome by the majestic sight before him that he did not immediately notice who had fallen to the ground before the cowboy.
And on the ground in front of the cowboy lay Johnny with a pool of blood spreading beneath him.
Without thinking, James shouted out in anger, âHey!â
The cowboy turned his head slowly, his face shadowed beneath the brim of his hat. There was no fear or hesitation. He simply raised his Revolver and fired a shot in Jamesâs direction. The bullet whizzed past him, ricocheting off a tree. While it had just missed James, it was enough to give the cowboy the time he needed. With a sharp kick of his spurs, the horse reared and then bolted, carrying its rider into the dense darkness of the forest.
James watched helplessly as the cowboy disappeared, the sound of hooves fading into the night. Frustration boiled within him as he ran to Johnnyâs side, kneeling beside the body. The shot had been clean and accurate. But most importantly, it had been lethal.
The reality hit James like a sledgehammer.
Johnny was dead.
The justice he sought had been delivered... but not by his hand.
James was infuriated. While the result was what he wanted... it was not the way it was supposed to be. Much like Johnny... The Cowboy had taken something from him.
And Vengador did not take that lightly. There would be consequences for this.
The Cowboy had made himself a power enemy on this day.
Vengador had a new target for his justice. |
"I HATE COWBOYS!"
Vengador punched the hard brick wall of the dimly lit "Get The Dubb" fitness center owned by the one and only "The Dubb" Bobby Joel. His frustration was boiling over his lack of success recently, even since attaching himself to The Dubb, who had promised to reverse his fortune. Sure, he had managed to get Vengador a spot in the X4 at Back in Business and it looked like he would be able to easily pick apart Johnny Johnson in the first round of the mini-tournament, but of course, once again things would not go Vengy's way.
But once again he had something taken from him... by a fucking cowboy.
Tommy Bedlam robbed him of his X Championship aspirations.
Vengador had not been prepared to face off against the cowboy at Back in Business. He had prepared for Johnny Johnson. Oh how he had looked forward to snapping that little coward's spine in his hands.
He had prepared for Aaron Harrows. He would've took great pleasure in watching the little fool twitch in pain on the mat after succumbing to Justicia.
And he had prepared for Trixie Bordeaux. To take her X Championship to call it his own.
Instead Tommy Bedlam had rode in on his horse, metaphorically, and taken what should've been his.
While Vengador stewed, the door to the gym unlocked as Bobby Joel entered which immediately got the attention of Vengador. But all Vengy saw upon his manager's entrance was Joel's trademark black cowboy hat atop his head. His eyes locked onto it, and before Joel could even greet him, Vengador was on his feet, ripping the hat off Joelâs head.
âWhat the hell, man?!â Joel yelped as Vengador punched a hole straight through the hat. "Hey! That was my favorite hat!"
âThis is your fault, Joel!â Vengador snarled. âYou were supposed to have my back! I was supposed to destroy Johnny Johnson, not deal with that damn cowboy! But you weren't even there! You could've pulled your own little corporate strings... what good are you if not to handle the stuff I don't care to understand.â
Joel, while looking at his ruined hat with shock and sorrow, tried to calm Vengador down. âListen, I get it, alright? But you gotta relaxââ
âRelax?!â Vengadorâs voice boomed with anger. âHow can I relax when I was robbed of my moment? You let this happen, Joel. This is on you!â
âI know, I know,â Joel stammered, trying to regain his composure. âI was handling some business in Japan, setting up that big match for youââ
âI donât care about Japan!â Vengador shouted, cutting him off. âI care about what happened tonight! I care about bringing violence and justice to FWA, and now I want to bring it to Tommy Bedlam!â
Joel held up his hands in a placating gesture. âLook, I get it. You want Bedlam, and I promise youâll get your chance. But my hands are tied, man. Russnow made the call and I can't really do much to change that now. Bedlamâs the champ now... and we canât just go after him. But hereâs the thing.... you keep doing what you do best... causing destruction and yeah... bring that violence and justice, baby... and youâll get another shot, I promise you that. Just stick with me and I tell ya youâll get to settle the score. For now you just gotta take out your anger on the rest of the competition. And maybe try punchin' a punchin' bag instead of the walls...â
Vengador paced back and forth, trying to rein in his fury. Joelâs words were sinking in, but the fire inside him was far from quenched.
âAnd you can start with Mike Parr,â Joel added with a smirk. âHeâs the next guy standing in your way. You beat him... and you got the biggest win of your career. A win over a guy like that... then we can probably talk to Russnow about a rematch with Bedlam.â
Vengador stopped pacing and brought his head up toward Joel, his cold eyes peering directly at him through his mask. âParr? I have no qualms with him. I have not interacted with him but I know heâs a bit of a legend in this realm. However that matters not to me. Heâll just be in the wrong place at the wrong time. I will destroy him if it means I can get to the cowboy.â
Joel nodded, sensing that his words were starting to get through. âThatâs right. You take Parr out at Meltdown, and you send a message to Bedlam. Justice will be served, Vengy, you can bet your ass on it."
"I haven't seen a donkey since my meeting with Jackass Fenix in the Farmlands."
Bobby Joel shook his head... "Nevermind that. Point is... forget about Bedlam for now... focus on Parr."
Vengador nodded, finally brought back down from his rage. "Yes. Parr will fall. And so will any others who stand between me and the cowboy. Justice will be served. And this time it will be at my hands."
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Post by Dubb on Aug 30, 2024 16:16:30 GMT
The Buddy System
in
IT'S FINE
CLICK HERE FOR A BUDDY SYSTEM PROMO
{Spoiler}{Click here for plain text}
âJeremy? Oh, heâs here! Heâs here!â
âOh goody! Is he awake?â
âJeremy! Wake up, Jeremy!â
Jeremy slowly opens his eyes, feeling disoriented as to his current whereabouts. The last thing he remembered was the battlefield of Back in Business. The searing heat of the flames, the blood in his eye, and the excruciating pain that Krash⊠er⊠the Demon that has taken on the form of Krash had been putting him through⊠that was what he could last remember.
But as he opened his eyes, he quickly realized that he could suddenly see through both eyes. And he was not in a ring surrounded by flames. Krash was nowhere to be found.
Instead, he found himself inside a bright, colorful castle, the walls adorned with cheerful banners, and the air filled with a soft, melodic tune.
The disorientation quickly faded. There was no mistaking where he was.
He had returned to Friendtopia.
âOh, youâre awake!â The voice of his newest Friendtopia Friend, his pink haired young friend, Becky, who quickly embraced him with a big hug.
âOh thank goodness, youâre okay,â the other welcoming voice of his big, purple friend Bobo as he waddled over and wrapped his large arms around both Jeremy and Becky.
Jeremy struggled to grasp the transition from the torment and torture that he was going trough in the ring juxtaposed with his current setting filled with happiness and warmth (a different kind of warmth from the ring at Back in Business, mind you).
âErr⊠hiya pals..â Jeremy responded, realizing he was being a rude friend to not greet his pals. âBut.. uh⊠howâd I get here?â
âShhhh,â Becky hushed, bringing her finger up to Jeremyâs lips. âItâs okay, you are safe now. No more pain. No more suffering. Just happiness and friendship!â
Jeremy offered up a smile to his friends as they broke the embrace. âBut... what happened? The last thing I remember was... Krash, the fire, and... the pain⊠I couldnât even see out of this eye!â Jeremy frantically pointed to his right eye which showed no sign of injury in this wonderful land.
Bobo bounces closer, his eyes sparkling with excitement. âYou did it, Jeremy! You did it!â
Jeremy looks at them, wondering if this meant what he thought he meant. âI... I did it?â
Becky nods vigorously. âYes! You defeated the demon, Jeremy! You sent it back to Heck where it belongs! Youâve restored friendship across the land!â
âSo... I won?â Jeremy asks, his voice barely above a whisper, still trying to grasp the reality of it all.
âYes, you won,â Becky confirms, her voice softening. âBut your body went through a lot in the battle, Jeremy. You were hurt, and you needed a place to rest, to escape the pain. Thatâs why we brought you here. To keep you safe.â
Jeremy felt a sense of relief washing over him. âItâs finally over then?â
Bobo nodded. âI donât think youâll have to worry about him anymore.â
Jeremy let out a sigh. âMy friend⊠you can rest in peace now,â he said quietly, knowing that now that the Demon had been defeated, the real Krash that had passed away two years ago could finally move on. âAhhh. Friendtopia, so glad to be back here. But Iâm afraid I cannot stay long.â
âAww, why not?â
âBut Jeremy, your body needs rest.â
âThatâs fine. Iâll let it rest. But this is a joyous occasion, Bobo. We need to celebrate.â
âWhat do you think those banners are for? And we got a cake!â
Jeremy chuckled. âYou guys are great. But I also want to celebrate with my Friendship Wrestling Alliance. After all, I couldnât have defeated Krash without them, right?â
âYesâŠâ Bobo admitted softly, âyouâre right about that, Jeremy.â
âItâs okay Bobo,â Becky responded cheerfully. âWe showed Jeremy how much this place missed him.â
âOh yes, I definitely will be visiting you guys quite often. And Heck, you both can visit me whenever you want as well!â
âItâs just thatâŠâ
But Bobo was interrupted as Jeremy began to anxiously pace, continuing to talk about his plans to celebrate with his friends. âI canât wait to see Sir Stache, Mejor Amigo, Tonya, and Bryan. They were amazing, right? I need to thank them for everything they did to help me defeat Krash.â
As Jeremy mentioned Bryanâs name, Bobo and Becky exchanged an uncomfortable glance. Jeremy caught the look and his smile faded. âWhatâs wrong?â He asked with some confusion.
Bobo hesitated before asking softly, âJeremy, do you remember what happened with Bryan?â
âRemember what?â Jeremy asked, a puzzled look on his face.
Becky spoke up, âBryan⊠didnât exactly help you the way you think he did.â
Jeremy shook his head, not believing what she had to say. âWhat do you mean? Of course he helped me! Bryan freed me from the handcuffs. Without him, I wouldâve been the one whoâs a pile of ashes right now!â
Becky sighed. âYes, he did free you. But, Jeremy⊠he also ignored your orders. He walked out on you when you needed him most.â
âNo, thatâs not true. Bryanâs my best friend. He would never turn his back on me. Heâs just⊠stubborn sometimes, thatâs all.â
âJeremy, this isnât the first time Bryan has turned his back on you. Remember?â
Bobo was referencing the instance from nearly a decade ago during the original Buddy System run on the independent circuit in North Carolina when Bryan turned on Jeremy, breaking up the team in order to seek glory on his own. A moment that fractured their friendship for many years until they reunited almost three years ago now. âYou know if it happened then itâs only a matter of time before it happens again.â
Jeremy felt himself becoming frustrated with his big purple imaginary friend. âNo⊠that was different. And youâve always been jealous of Bryan ever since he came backâŠâ
âNo.. Jeremy⊠I swearâŠâ
âLook, things have changed. Bryan is my most loyal Friendship Warrior⊠my Friendship Knight. He wouldnât betray me now⊠or ever again. He swore to me. Iâm sure heâs just upset from losing the North American title again⊠he just needs some time to cool down. Itâs going to be fine. Itâs going to be fineâŠâ
Becky and Bobo once again shared a look to one another as it almost seemed like Jeremy was trying to convince himself that his own words were true. But his eyes grew wide as an idea formed in his head. âIn fact, I have a plan!â He declared with confidence and excitement. âBryan and I are going to win the tag titles together. Yep! Thatâs the ticket! Yessir, that will certainly fix any issues between us and make him happy since he lost his title.â
âI.. donât know if thatâs such a good ideaâŠâ
âOf course it is! Thatâs what we are missing! Weâve had so much fun together the past three years but we havenât won the tag titles yet!â
âButâŠ. the tag champs⊠you know who won at Back in Business right?â
The answer was, of course, FTN. Bobo and Becky wanted Jeremy to close the book on the Krash chapter of his life but everything keeps circling back to him and his friends, Alyster Black and Chris Peacock.
âYeah? Itâs fine guys⊠I can handle this. The demon is gone, whether they like it or not. Iâve taken care of Alyster Black plenty of timesâŠâ
âAnd Peacock?â
âLook⊠this is what has to be done. I am not worried about who the champs are⊠this is what me and Bryan need. Iâm sure of it. And thereâs nothing you guys can do to talk me out of itâŠâ
âBut JeremyâŠâ
âI said HUSHâ Jeremyâs words grew louder and more determined. With that command, both Becky and Boboâs mouths completely disappeared. âYou both belong to me. You are parts of me. And right now Iâm the one telling you how things are going to work. This is my decision. Everything is going to be okay. Everything is fine. Now I think itâs about time I woke up.â
Becky and Bobo stood motionless, their now featureless faces frozen and unable to respond to Jeremyâs outburst. The colors of the animated world around them seemed to dim slightly as Jeremy breathed heavily. âIâll see you again soon my friends.â
With a final, resolute nod, Jeremy closed his eyes. The world around him began to blur, the colors swirling together as if being pulled into a vortex. The sights and sounds of Friendtopia faded into the background until there was only silence.
Then, everything went dark.
{{ElsewhereâŠ}}
Mejor Amigoâs home had become the temporary headquarters for the Friendship Wrestling Alliance following the blatant arson committed by Krash in the weeks leading up to Back in Business. Jeremy had been staying in Amigoâs basement, but currently he was still at the hospital, nursing the various injuries he received at the hands of Krash.
The tension in the home had been pretty thick since Back in Business. Jeremy hadnât been around to bring his normal optimism and Bryan had not been seen since he walked out of the ring during the main event.
But all that was quickly about to change as Amigoâs cell phone began to ring.
âItâs Jeremy!â Amigo announced, the relief in his voice palpable as he quickly answered the call. âJeremy, buddy! How are you feeling?â
âIâm⊠okay, thanks pal,â Jeremy responded somewhat weakly on the other end of the phone, clearly some discomfort in his voice. âBut⊠think Iâm ready⊠I donât want to be here anymore⊠I have too much to do⊠Krash may be gone⊠but we still have much to fight forâŠâ
âSi, I understand,â Amigo responded. âWeâll see you soon, my friend.â
Sir Stache could barely contain his excitement, even without knowing what was said on the other end of the phone - the words from Amigo said all he needed to hear.
âOh and one more thingâŠâ Jeremy said just as Amigo was about to hang up.
âSi?â
âIs Bryan there?â
âNo, sir. No one has seen him since Back in Business.â
âOh⊠darn⊠well Iâll try to call him now⊠thanks anywayâŠâ
âDoes that mean what I think it means?â Stache asked as Amigo ended the phone call.
âSi! Si! Jeremy is coming home!â
âAwww yeah! Thatâs what Iâm talkinâ about!â
But before they could celebrate further, the door to the house swung open with a loud crash, and in stormed Bryan Baxter. He paid no attention to Amigo or Stache as he entered. He gave them no salutations or even as much as a glance in their direction. Instead he headed straight toward the back of the house, down the hallway toward the room he had been calling home.
Confused, Amigo and Stache followed Baxter. âHey⊠BryanâŠâ
âNot interested.â
âBut⊠Jeremy just calledâŠâ
âI donât care.â
âHe wanted to talk to you.â
âYeah, I donât really want to talk to him right now.â
âHeâs about to get out of the hospital you know.â
âGood for him.â
âWhatâs wrong amigo, you know you can talk to us if something is bothering you.â
Bryan didnât respond, his focus solely on gathering his belongings. He tossed his things into a duffel bag with a kind of frantic energy that made it clear he was barely holding it together. Bryan zipped up his bag with a final, forceful tug and turned to face them. âIâm leaving,â he stated bluntly.
âHuh? What? No⊠you canât⊠why? Where are you going to go?â
âI need some time to figure things out. Kristy is letting me move in with her and Audrey for now.â
âBut⊠JeremyâŠâ
Bryan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as if trying to ease the tension that had taken root there. âAfter what happened at Back in Business⊠I just⊠I have a lot to think about. I canât stay here. Not right now.â
âHe needs you, you know.â
âHe was doinâ just fine before I got here⊠heâll be fine without me too.â
With that, Bryan slung his bag over his shoulder and walked past them, not offering another word to the duo. He didnât look back as he left the house, the door closing behind him with a soft but final click.
Amigo and Sir Stache stood in silence, the joy from Jeremyâs call had been replaced with a deep sense of unease.
âItâs going to be alright⊠right?â Sir Stache asked, looking for any kind of reassurance from Mejor Amigo.
âUh⊠si⊠si⊠Iâm sure⊠Iâm sure itâs going to be fine.â
âSo uh⊠what are we gonna tell Jeremy?â
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Post by Jimmy King on Aug 31, 2024 22:00:44 GMT
Jackson Fenix & Nate Savage in... The Undisputed Tag Team Classic
If The Undisputed Xperienx had a nickel for every time they lost a battle royale at Back in Business for the FWA Trios Championship, theyâd have two nickels.
Which isnât a lot, but itâs weird that it happened twice.
Jackson Fenix is the final member of his team eliminated from the battle royale, and once again, he has to watch someone else get their Back in Business moment. Jackson hangs his head low as he leaves the ringside area, but not before slapping hands with a few fans along the way. Heâs eventually joined by Monica, Antonio, and Bubbles the Clown, who do their best to console him. Bubbles even offers to let Jackson hop on his back and ride him to the back like Jackson does for their entrances, but Jackson politely declines.
Jackson and the gang reach the stage, where theyâre joined by Xtacee and Savage, and once they walk behind the curtain backstage, they all share one big group hug. The trio of Fenix, Savage, and Xtacee were no strangers to this feeling. This wasnât their first time trying to capture the FWA Trios Championship, and like those prior experiences, they came up short. This time, it felt like it was it. This time, it felt like they were so close they could taste it, but in the end, it slipped away from their grasp.
Later that evening, Jackson Fenix is watching the main event on a monitor in the back, and he watches as his former friend Jeremy Best retains his world championship in a brutal match over Krash. Jackson lets out a sigh as he watches Jeremy cradle the unconscious body of Krash as the show comes to a close, and outside of the room heâs in, he can hear the rest of The Friendship Wrestling Alliance celebrating Jeremyâs win. Nate Savage enters the room and shakes his head at the Friendship crewâs elation for Jeremy.
âBuncha freaks,â Nate says as he shuts the door.
Nate notices what Jackson is watching, Nate shakes his head and shuts off the monitor.
âWhat are you watching that crap for, huh?â Nate asks Jackson with a confused tone.
Jackson doesnât answer and responds with a shrug.
âWell, itâs not good for you, just like itâs not good for you to sit here and mope,â Nate says reassuringly. âHey, do you remember what I always say?â
âWhen one door closes, another door opens?â
âExactly, look, I get it. Losing sucks, and Iâm just as upset as you are about it, but weâll bounce back from this like we always do.â
âI know, but thatâs not it, Nate. I know weâll bounce back, but this time, it felt like it was THE moment. It just hurts to know how close we came this time, only to let it slip away like that. I let it slip away this time; this one is on me; I was the last one for our team, and I let us down.â
âJack, thatâs not even remotely true, and you know it.â
âThen where is Xtacee and everyone else, huh? Theyâre probably too embarrassed to be seen with me.â
âAgain, thatâs not true, not even close. They had to catch the next flight back to Vegas to check on their club.â
Nate wraps his arm over Jacksonâs shoulder and pulls in his friend close.
âListen, this isnât anyoneâs fault. Not me, not X, and certainly not you. The other teams were better than us tonight; thatâs all it is. I know youâre still upset about the loss in the CC, but that wasnât your fault, either. I donât want you to beat yourself up over this, okay? I know itâs still stinging right now, and thatâs fine, but you have to put it past you and look forward to what is next for us, okay?â
Jackson reluctantly nods at his friend, who stands up and looks down at Jackson.
âLook, Iâm going to see whatâs left in catering. If you want, you can join me, but take as much time as you need, okay?â
Jackson nods again, and Nate leaves the room.
Jackson pulls out his phone to check for any missed messages and finds a few missed text messages from his Mom.
Jackson laughs at the message and puts his phone away. He begins to change and throws on an Xperienx Xtacee t-shirt and shorts after removing all of his gear. Thereâs a knock at the door, and once he answers it, heâs greeted by an older-looking man. This man is oddly similar to Shooter McGavin in the movie Happy Gilmore, but an older version of that character. Heâs dressed nicely but casually as he stands in the doorway with a smirk.
âCan I help you?â Jackson asks the man standing outside the door.
âYes, you can, young man. I was wondering if I could have a quick word with you. I promise it wonât take long.â
âWho are you? How did you get back here?â
âI told them I was your Dad, so they let me back here.â
Thatâs weird.
Jackson thought to himself, âWhy would his Dad be here?â He hadnât seen or heard from his Dad since he was a kid. Thereâs no way that this guy is his Dad; he must be lying.
âOkay, but who are you?â
âOh right, the name is Jake, Jake Fenix.â
Wait a minute; this guy has the same last name as him. Either itâs a weird coincidence, or thereâs something fishy going on here with this guy.
âHey, my last name is also Fenix.â
âOh, you never were the brightest; I see that hasnât changed. Your Mom never liked when I would point that out.â
âWait, how do you know my Mom?â
âJackie Boy, son, itâs me, Dad.â
Jackson is flabbergasted. Heâs stunned. Heâs speechless. Any word you could use to describe someone as surprised would be good enough to describe Jackson right now.
âDad?â
âYes, son, itâs me.â
âDad?
âIn the flesh.â
âDad?â
âUh, kiddo, Iâm going to need that hand back so you could let go, please?â
Jackson snaps out of the trance heâs in and releases his grip on his Dadâs hand.
âLook, son, I know itâs a lot to take in. Itâs a lot to wrap your head around, but if you let me in, I can explain everything. I promise I wonât take up too much of your time, but if youâd allow me a few minutes to talk.â
âUhâŠyeahâŠcome on inâŠDadâ
Jackson eventually lets his Dad inside the locker room and shuts the door behind them.
********************
Meanwhile, in catering, we find Nate Savage walking up to the table with his beloved strawberry cheesecake. He has an empty plate covered in crumbs from previous slices that have already been devoured. Jackson chose to wallow in silence over the loss while Nate drowned his sorrows in a sweet, delectable treat. Nate heads back to the table to sit when heâs approached by FWA general manager Jon Russnow.
âNate Savage! Youâre just the man Iâm looking for! As a matter of fact, I knew Iâd find you here.â
Nate gives Jon Russnow a look like âwhat are you trying to say?â but Nate shrugs it off and starts to dig in.
âIs Jackson Fenix around?â
âHeâs in the locker room,â Nate says through chewing a mouthful of strawberry cheesecake.
Russnow tries to hide his disgust and shakes his head.
âWell, perhaps you can pass this news along to him when you see him. As you are aware, Iâve announced The Elite Tag Team Classic tournament, with the winning team earning a shot at the FWA World Tag Team Championship, and of course, you and Jackson will be participating, correct?â
Nate looks at Russnow like thatâs the dumbest thing heâs ever heard.
âDuh, of course, weâll be taking part.â
âWell, thatâs good because your first opponent in the tournament is someone you two should be familiar with, Trick or Trash. Itâll be The Undisputed Alliance vs Trick or Trash on Fallout 043 in Pittsburgh, PA, which I believe is your home state.â
âIt is indeed.â
âWell, good to know. Anyway, I wish you and Jackson Fenix the best of luck.â
Russnow smiles at Nate and takes his leave as Nate finishes off his cake.
Elite Tag Team Classic. Trick or Trash.
âPiece of cake,â Nate says to himself as he thinks about the match.
Itâs just like he told Jackson: When one door closes, another will open, and it didnât take long.
Nate disposes of his trash in a bin and makes his way back to the locker room; when heâs halfway down the hall when he sees an older man leaving their locker room. This man looks unfamiliar to Nate, but he looks a lot like Shooter McGavin from Happy Gilmore. Nate notices Jackson standing in the doorway, watching the man leave.
âJack, who was that?â Nate asks as he approaches Jackson.
âOh, um, an old friend of my Dadâs that was here for the show and wanted to personally say hi.â
For some reason Nate doesnât buy that, but he chooses not to push it further for now.
âOh, well, anyway, I was talking to Russnow, and weâre in that Elite Tag Team Classic. Our first opponents are Trick or Trash.â
âOh, nice. Itâs like you said when one door opensâŠyou know.â
âItâs when one door closes, another opens, but thatâs not important. What is important is that we get ready to wipe the floor with those Trick or Trash goobers and get one step closer to regaining those tag team titles.â
âHell yeah, brother! Pretty soon, theyâll have to change the name of the tournament to The Undisputed Tag Team Classic!â
âThatâs right, I like that name much better.â
âHey, since we want to get ready for Trick or Trash, I know how we can do that.â
********************
âAre you sure this is a good idea?â Nate asks Jackson as they pull up to what appears to be a dojo.
Itâs been a few days since Back in Business has come and gone, and The Undisputed Alliance find themselves in Southern California just days before they head to Pittsburgh for Fallout 043.
âYeah, of course, Iâm sure,â Jackson replies with assurance as he gets out of the passengerâs side of a silver Toyota Corolla. After Jack exits the car, he becomes distracted, walks over to a nearby dumpster, and lifts the lid to peer inside, but all heâs greeted with is an awful odor and trash.
âUh, Jack, are you okay?â Nate looks at his friend with confusion.
âOh, uh yeah, I thought maybe Trash Mammal might be inside that dumpster spying on us and to answer your question again, Iâm sure. If anyone knows how to combat Trick or Trash, itâs them.â
Nate follows Jackson inside the dojo, which looks pretty barren except for a mat and a beat-up-looking wrestling ring in the corner.
âOkay, I guess I get that, but didnât they lose to Trick or Trash? I beat Halloween Knight on my own, remember?â
âYeah, we lost, but if you want to beat them, youâll need all the help you can get!â
Jackson was about to answer, but he was cut off by Jimmy Boom Boom, one half of Kung Fu Boom, the former bag carriers for The Undisputed Alliance.
âWe donât necessarily need help, especially from you, and I donât know if you heard, but Iâve beaten one of these guys before.â
âThat was one-on-one, though, Mr. Savage. This is a different game youâre stepping into with those two.â
Kung Fu Karl nods accordingly as he joins his teammate Jimmy Boom Boom. Both of them are serious and have their arms crossed to show they mean business. Karl is dressed in his usual traditional karate gi, while Jimmy is in his usual blue stuntman suit.
âHe has a point, Nate. Yeah, you beat Halloween Knight one-on-one, but this is different,â Jackson says in agreement, which pleases both members of Kung Fu Boom.
âWhatever, letâs just get this over with.â Nate rolls his eyes and heads toward the small wrestling ring in the corner.
âWait, Mr. Savage, donât you want to stretch first before we begin our training?â
âUh, no, Iâm fine, thanks.â
Jimmy and Karl shrug as they limber themselves up before heading to the ring.
âOkay, who should I be? Should I be Trash Mammal, or should I be Halloween Knight?â Jimmy asks for excitement.
âWho cares? Just be you! You donât have to pretend to be either of them for us to fight you,â Nats says with irritation.
âIâll be Halloween Knight, and you be Trash Mammal, Jimmy,â Karl says to his friend and pats him on the shoulder.
Nate gets in the ring with Kung Fu Karl while Jimmy and Jackson are on their respective aprons. Nate is about to clobber Karl, but Jimmy stops him.
âWait! Ring the bell!â
âWhat?â
âRing the bell!â
âThereâs no bell!â
âDING! DING! DING!â Jimmy Boom Boom says with glee while Nate looks even more annoyed.
âAre you happy? Can we get this started?â
Nate is about to hit Karl again, but this time, he stops.
âHey, Iâve been meaning to ask since we got here, where did you find this place?â
âOh, thatâs a good question, you see we-â
Karl is cut off as Nate clobbers him with a right fist, and Nate mounts Karl and drives down more punches.
âThis is what you get for locking me in the locker room that one time and making Jackson wrestle Trevor Ocean on his own!â
Nate is clearly imagining Karl as Halloween Knight.
âWhat?! Karl didnât do that!â
âHeâs Halloween Knight, isnât he? Halloween Knight did that to me!â
Nate gets up and tags in Jackson.
âCome on, Jax, this is fun!â
Karl crawls over to his corner and makes the tag to Jimmy, who is hesitant about getting into the ring.
âYou know what? Iâve changed my mind, I donât want to be Trash Mammal. Iâm just Jimmy Boom Boom, okay?â
Jackson clobbers Jimmy with a right hand and then takes him down with an arm drag. Jackson wrenches back on Jimmyâs arm.
âThatâs right, break his arm, Jackie Boy.â
Jackson hears a familiar voice, but it doesnât belong to anyone in the room with him.â
âNo, I wonât do it. I wonât break his arm.â
âDo it, Jackie. Donât be a wuss; break his arm! Bring that killer instinct back out!â
Bad Jackson is in his head again, and Jackson tries to shake him off.
âPlease donât break my arm! Donât listen to that voice in your head!â
Jackson relinquishes the hold and heads back to his corner, where Nate looks concerned for his friend.
âAre you okay, Jack? What was that all about?â
Jackson didnât know what to say. Heâd had so much weighing on his mind lately with seeing his Dad for the first time in years, and now Bad Jackson has reared his ugly back.
âUh, itâs nothing,â Jackson lies.
âThat didnât look like nothing. Are you sure youâre okay? Youâve been acting funny since that friend of your Dad showed up at Back in Business.â
âYeah, Iâm fine. Iâm good, donât worry about me.â
Jackson hated lying to his friend but at the same time he didnât want to be a burden to Nate and make him worry.
âAre you sure? Jack, you can tell me. Look, we donât have to train. I know we can beat Trick or Trash, but do you know that? I donât think you do, man. I know weâve had a rough year, but we always find a way to bounce back. Whatever is going on in your head, you need to let it go, man.â
Nate was right; he always is. Jackson knew they could beat Trick or Trash. He didnât want to let Nate down again after Back in Business. Heâs afraid of letting the people down in his life that mean the most to him.
âHey, is everything okay, Mr. Fenix?â Karl asks with concern but all he gets for an answer is a superkick! Jackson turns around and superkicks Jimmy. Boom, Boom!
âIâm fine.â
Jackson says in cold tone as he leaves the ring and heads to the exit of the dojo. Nate watches on with concern; he briefly checks on Jimmy and Karl but waves it off and follows after his friend.
Is the old Jackson Fenix back? If so, this could spell trouble for Trick or Treat at Fallout 043. |
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Post by supinesnake on Sept 1, 2024 20:31:36 GMT
âI know how you feel,â she said, between redundant drags from a cigarette sheâd already smoked down to the filter. âThat must be a strange thing to hear, given your current situation. But I understand more than you realise.âThe tombstone returned only a blank stare and cold silence. The sun had already given up on the day, the moon taking her place and overseeing the biting wind that chilled her bones. âIâŠâShe paused. Hesitated. The filter of her Camel fell from her limp fingers and landed upon recently disturbed earth. She stuffed her hands into her jacket pockets to shield herself from the cold. It was meant to be Summer but Summerâs Over. âI'm not exactly sure why I'm here. I thought it would be easier to talk to you than to him. And I'm not really sure I want to talk to him at all, anyway. I don't know if it would do any good. I've never had much interest in talking generally, or been particularly good at it. Invariably I end up making things worse.âShe halted for a moment in order to smile. Making things worse. Was that even possible? This was what rock bottom felt like, she was sure. Show me a barrel and watch me scrape it. Sure, she could have lost at the Garden, but she didn't really feel like a winner. She experienced a sense of deja vu, the memory of the kaiju one year ago rearing its ugly head. He had a habit of finding her when she was at her weakest. âMaybe throwing myself in again wasn't the best idea after all. Maybe I need some more time. Time to think. Time to heal.âHer mind was briefly drawn back to Shanghai, where she'd spent much of the latter half of 2023 as a recluse. She closed her eyes and could feel the stale, heavy air of her favourite den, buried underground in a disused Nationalist bunker. She could hear the slow, discordant notes of the lazy music and feel the weight of the pipe in her hand. Hiding was easy. She opened her eyes and regarded the tombstone again. It was unmoving and passive. She might as well talk to the moon. âThis is pointless,â she concluded. âAnd I don't like graveyards.âShe turned away and reached into her pocket for her cigarettes but found only the empty box. As she crushed it in her tightening fist, she let out a sigh that was caught by the wind. It rode on the back of it, rustling the branches of the surrounding poplar trees and howling against the tall walls of a looming church. The bells began to chime. The earth rumbled beneath her feet. She felt unsteady, as if the ground beneath her was churning. The pressure rippled through her, and between this alien force and the gusting winds she was caught. She closed her eyes again, fighting to hold on, to keep her fragile grasp upon the planet and to anchor herself down to it. The ground ripped beneath her and she was thrown from it. She thought, for a split second, that she might just float away, until she crashed back down with a thud. She realised that the wind had stopped and she opened her eyes. She was no longer alone. In front of her was a familiar man wearing a kindly expression that didn't fit upon his face. Rebirth suited him, apparently. His smile sat more comfortably without that ridiculous moustache cradling it. It didn't seem like a grin or a smirk. He wasn't his brother, after all. She couldn't judge him by the same standards. He turned around to consult his own tombstone. He read the dates inscribed beneath his name: 1986-2024. The man shook his head. âSo young,â Drew said ruefully, as he turned back to Michelle. âI don't like graveyards either. Especially my own. You want to get out of here?âShe nodded her head, and followed the dead man away from his grave.  âSo you're only here because I look like my brother?â Drew asked, as a pair of neat whiskeys were set down before then at the bar. âYou really know how to make a guy feel wanted, Michelle.âDreamer shrugged her shoulders. It wasn't really her responsibility to âmake a guy feel wantedâ, nor did she feel she owed much of an explanation to a dead man. âWhy now?â Drew asked. âWaiting until I was dead?ââWe have a match,â Michelle said. âYour brother and I.ââAnother one?â he scoffed. âNot tired of losing to him yet?ââI am tired of losing to him,â she shot back. âThat's why I'm here.ââWell, I'm not sure what you expect me to do,â he replied, whilst sipping at his whiskey greedily. âI am, as I keep reminding you, not alive, for a start. And even if I was still breathing, I'd hardly help you beat my brother. For all his flaws, blood is thicker than water, even if whiskey trumps them both. I'm sorry, but I think you wasted your time digging me up.ââI didn't dig you up,â corrected Michelle, with the tone of someone raising a point of order at a local council meeting. âYou climbed out of your grave of your own accord.ââYou didn't use a shovel, yes,â he accepted. He smiled at a nearby bartender, who was watching and listening to the bizarre conversation with a cocked eyebrow. He seemed to only have eyes for Michelle. âBut you are responsible for me being here, nonetheless. And I thank you for it, even if I can't help you. I've missed this.âHe held up his glass appreciatively, demonstrating what â thisâ was. He took a long and triumphant sip before indulging in a deep sigh and a satisfied smile. As he continued to stare at the amber liquid with a degree of fondness usually saved for one's family, Michelle shuffled on her chair and gazed at the scuffed surface of the bar. A great despondence was upon her, which in itself had become a cloak of clichĂ© that she'd worn uncomfortably for many years. Eventually, as if reminded that he wasn't here alone by the waves of her self-pity, he placed his glass down and turned to her. âWhat's wrong?â he asked, exhibiting what she felt was a strange and unearned concern. âAre you scared of him?âShe shook her head immediately. She wasnât sure of many things but this she was certain of. âI'm scared of losing to him again, probably,â she admitted, although this was hardly a surprising confession. She thought back to her previous handful of defeats to other opponents and the series of obsessions that invariably followed. âBut that's not it.ââDo you hate him?â he asked. âLook, I watch the show. Or I did watch the show, I guess. Some of the things you've said about him in the past⊠even if they've cut close to the truth, they were spoken with anger. Now, you just seem sad. Like the fight has gone.âShe thought about only the question, ignoring the analysis attached to the end of it. This one was much more difficult to answer and so she chose to avoid doing so. She pulled from her own whiskey - noticing that Drew had finished his and was unsuccessfully attempting to order another round - before reaching around in her pocket for her empty, crumpled cigarette packet. Instead, her fingers clasped around the rigid body of a full one. She pulled the fresh packet out and began to undo the seal. âYou know, I remember a time before all this animosity,â Drew began. He continued to stare at his empty glass impatiently. Dreamer signalled to the barman for replenishments. âThat time you tagged together? Chris used to mention you sometimes. I thought there was respect there.âShe remembered, too. It felt like a lifetime ago or a different one altogether, but she remembered. âIt's not like we were friends or anything,â Michelle responded, as the whiskeys arrived and Drew hurriedly snatched one of them. âWe had the match, and one night before the match. AndâŠâShe was reluctant to let the memory take hold. She spent too much time in the past already, a dark and sad place that was better off left behind. âAnd what?â he goaded. She sighed. Sipped her drink. Threw herself in.  I only remember brief glimpses of the night and, with the circumstances surrounding our misadventure, cannot be certain that those glimpses contain reality and not imagination. The acid was not good acid, given to your brother by a band of retrobates that I have not had the misfortune of getting to know properly. I think your brother might have been drugged. Your brother seemed to get drugged quite frequently in those days. Maybe that's why he wasn't so insufferably dull nor as tediously angry back then. The end of the night, or the morning I guess, was a mess. I remember a stick-up in a diner and sinking a knife into the thiefâs hand. Maybe that's an acid memory but it does seem like something I would do. I have clearer recollections of the hours before the drugs took hold. We sat in Highland Park - in your neck of the woods - and watched the moon rise. Gerald was there too but he predictably stayed sober. The boy's daredevil spirit didn't extend.this far. He did drink a full-fat Pepsi that night, which I guess is living dangerously in a relative sense. Chris started to feel it a lot sooner than I did and was âfishingâ in the river with his imaginary nephew and an invisible rod. He also sang a lot. He was surprisingly hyperactive considering it was his first time. Most people just stare into the middle distance and have fun with the colours. Gerald didn't really seem to approve. I wished he'd cool it with the theatrics but forgave him. He was simply throwing himself in. How could I begrudge him that? âDo you trust him?â Gerald asked me. We were sitting beneath a tree and he was idly picking at the blades of grass around him, all-the-while staring at your brother. âNo,â I answered, truthfully. âBut I trust him more than I trusted you before we first teamed together. It would be abnormal for me to trust him already. Out of character.âGerald didn't seem to like the response and pulled a face reminiscent of a hostile ex-lover beholding his replacement. Your brother was oblivious. He was in the process of tentatively dipping his bare foot into the black water of the reservoir. âHe's ambitious, Michelle,â began Gerald, carefully weighing up his words as he spoke them. âYou can see that, even through his disco shtick. It's all just smoke and mirrors. Beneath all the dancing lies a serious competitor.ââAmbitious and competitive?â I repeated his descriptors, matter-of-factly and unimpressed. âHardly abnormal either, for someone in our profession. Or a man in general, really. And serious isn't a word I'd use to describe Chris Peacock in any sense.âGerald wasn't convinced. âYou're about to challenge for the World Championship,â he reminded me, as if I needed it. âAnd you're likely going to win, which paints a huge target on your back.ââThere's already a target on my back,â I replied, somewhere between self-importance and paranoia. âBelt or no belt.âGerald huffed in a manner that I'd grown accustomed to. This usually meant that he was accepting defeat without changing his mind. âDon't underestimate him,â he warned. âI already beat him at the Carnal Contendership,â I said, lying back with my fingers locked behind my head and gazing up at the branches overhead. There was no wind but the leaves were beginning to dance. âDisco boy is green. Speaking of which.âI retrieved a joint from my tobacco pouch and busied myself in lighting it. Gerald continued to gaze mistrustfully at your brother. âHe won't stay green forever,â he muttered.  |
Drew queried, whilst nodding towards the cigarette resting between Michelleâs fingers. She was rhythmically tapping the bottom of it against the surface of the bar, causing loose strands of tobacco to overflow from the other end. The manâs questioning was her only tether to the present day. âOr do you want to go outside and smoke?âShe nodded her head and drained her drink. Drew had already done the same thing towards the beginning of her reminiscence. She placed a handful of bills next to the empties to allay the bartenderâs fears that she was about to dash before following the moustacheless Peacock through the exit. âYou have one of those for me?â he asked, after sheâd placed her slightly bent and crumpled cigarette between her lips. âI didnât know you smoked,â she replied, whilst offering him the packet. He took one out keenly and patiently awaited the lighter. âIâm already dead,â he reasoned, with a casual shrug. âNo point worrying about cancer now, eh?âOnly after they had smoked half of their respective cigarettes in contented silence did he acknowledge that heâd been listening to her story at all. âSounds like youâve got trust issues,â he analysed. âFirst Gerald, by your own admission, and then Chris.ââSounds like you werenât listening properly,â she answered. âGerald was the wary one. If anything, in retrospect, I was too casual about your brother.ââMaybe at that specific moment in time,â he said. âBut the pattern is pretty obvious. With Gerald, your relationship started off poorly. If I recall correctly, the beginning of your adventures as a team coincided with you losing the FWA X Championship and him picking it up. Your loss, brought about by a violent assault backstage, was his gain, and you spent the first month of the first Elite Tag Team Classic refusing to accept that heâd merely been an innocent bystander. Itâs only when you realised just how innocent he was - to the point of naivety, in fact - that you began to open up. You trusted him when he was no longer a perceived threat.
âNow, contrast this with Chris. At this stage, you are about to win the FWA World Championship, whilst my brother is languishing with Gerald for the title you left behind. You are operating in entirely different spheres. He poses no discernible threat, at least not for now. Itâs only when he started to pick up important wins, moving out of the midcard and beyond his disco dance mischief, that your relationship began to deteriorate. Itâs human nature, I guess. Geraldâs eyes were only open because he was closer to the danger. He had considered Chris properly because he knew he might have to face him. But I guess the Wizard saw to that.âMichelle considered the analysis in silence as she finished her cigarette. It wasnât without merit, but she felt there was more to it. âI didnât know you watched so closely,â she mused. âI watch about as closely as you do,â he said, with a nonchalant shrug. âAnd donât try to change the subject.ââYou mentioned respect before,â Michelle began, reluctantly returning to the conversational thread. âIâve always respected the threat that your brother poses. When he was nothing, when he was champion, and when he was everything between. You donât get to stand on top of this mountain if you donât know how to climb. But as a person? As a man?âShe scoffed derisively. Drew shuffled awkwardly before her. She sensed his discomfort, the implication about his brother stirring disagreement. For a moment, she sensed the power dynamic within this fraternal relationship. Drew saw himself as lesser, perhaps for reasons that she wouldnât understand, and an assault on Chrisâ character only brought him more low. âYour brother is driven by the basest of self-interests. He embodies anger and lust, sometimes both, and allows these instincts to cloud his mind. Lust. A versatile word, especially in relation to your brother. His gold quest was filled with ugly vanities, championships and accolades accruing upon his shelf, each one a further stroke of his ego, a step closer to the validation that he craves. He thinks he is building his legacy, and I guess he is. But it is the legacy of a huntsman. A mercenary.ââYouâre guiltless of this?â Drew asked, pointedly. The pair had begun to drift away from the bar, walking through the city streets on a path predetermined but plain. âI would forgive his lust for gold if it was the only one he possessed,â Michelle reasoned. âHe is another little boy obsessed with the appendage dangling between his legs. Not uncommon. But disappointing, nonetheless. I guess⊠I guess I expected more from him.ââSounds like thatâs on you,â the other replied. âYour expectations of Chris Peacock have nothing to do with the man himself.ââMaybe,â she answered. âAnd maybe he was always that way, and I just didnât know him. But it certainly feels like heâs dragging himself through the mud. I could forgive him if he was going down alone, but heâs pulling Alyster along with him.ââThatâs your problem? That heâs a bad influence?â Drew asked, with a hint of derision in his tone. âYou know, I think the same thing about you when it comes to Gerald. I think Chris and he were closer before he fell under Uncleâs yoke than your friend would care to admit. At least to you. And if you want to talk about influence, look no further than your captain. Uncle J.J. JAY! is about as manipulative as they come.ââThe Nephews have no captain,â Michelle shot back. âYour belief in that statement is an example of Uncleâs manipulation,â argued Drew. Michelle wasnât convinced. They rounded a corner and meandered eastwards in what she thought was the direction of Prospect Park. Neither of them spoke a destination out loud but their feet carried them there anyway. Michelle had produced a bottle of amber from her rucksack, the two pulling from and passing the whiskey as they drew ever closer to the park. âUncle is different,â she began, before issuing a slight correction. âUncle was different.ââPeople always think itâs different when it involves them,â replied Drew, with a wry smile. âCare to explain how itâs different?ââUncle isnât our leader,â she explained, with a slight snarl now present in her voice. The dead manâs questioning of Uncle and his motivations cut her more than his opinions on her own character. âHeâs our guide. Thereâs a difference. He opened doors for all of us: me, Gerald, and the rest of them.ââIâm sure that Alyster and Chris see it the same way,â Drew answered. âThere are more doors to be opened besides those to the pod bay.ââAnd what exactly has your brother shown him, in all this time?â Michelle snapped, her ire raised by the false comparison. âThe variety of vehicles that you can use to transport semen? This is now the limit of his ambition? Alyster used to be so different. So much more.ââYouâd rather he was still depressed?â asked Drew. The question was pointed and hit her hard. Is that what she wanted? Why did she even care? Alysterâs choices were his own to make, even if he so readily and frequently made the wrong ones. âChris Peacock is only a distraction,â Michelle said, dismissively. âYou canât shut out the world by stuffing your hands down your pants.ââIs that not what you did with Summers?â the other replied. Michelle offered no immediate response. In fact, she barely registered a reaction to it at all, except for perhaps growing even paler. By complexion alone, it was difficult to tell which of the two was recently undead. This wasnât a topic that she was willing to discuss with anyone, let alone the man walking silently beside her. Eventually, when the silence began to bite alongside the midnight chill, he tactfully shifted the subject. âYou knew Alyster before you knew Chris?âShe nodded her head, indicating that she was willing to forgive (or at least forget) his barb and continue to engage. âI spent a night in a bar with him back in 2020,â she confided. âNobody knows it, but I saw him without his mask that night. Both of them. And he saw me without mine. It wasnât something that we ever repeated, or that we ever spoke about. But it meant a lot to me. To know that there was somebody else beneath the big tent who wasnât a complete alien. And I donât mean the way in which Uncle and the Nephews are complete aliens. Every week, I look across the ring and I stare into my opponentâs eyes and I reach the same conclusion: you are not the same thing as I am. But with Alyster, it was different. It didnât matter to me that we never spoke. That we barely even saw one another. It was enough to just know that he was there.âHer next pause was more reflective, as if she was suddenly affected by a deep sense of nostalgia. There was defeatism in her tone. These were dead memories, not so easily risen from their graves. âAnd you fought him, too?â Drew reminded her. âThe first time was electric,â she reminisced. âThe old company was throwing one last party that saw us traipsing across Russia. I wasnât interested in most of my opponents. I signed up for the kaiju. For one last chance at defeating him before the real one last chance came and went in Mexico City. I donât want to talk about how that ended, and I imagine you arenât particularly interested in that story either. Along the way, I threw my matches against opponents I deemed irrelevant, picking up disqualifications and count outs that I saw as necessary blemishes on my record. It was all about the kaiju. But Alyster was a complication. He and I were drawn together in our pool, and back then the memories of the night weâd spent together were more acute. More fierce. I felt I owed more to him than I did the others, whose names I donât even remember now. We were both destined for early exits from the tournament, but that night we fought as though everything was on the line. And he beat me.ââJust like he did in the F1,â Drew commented, annotating the anecdote in a manner Michelle found unhelpful. âIâm sensing a running theme, when it comes to you and FTN.ââI sense the same theme,â Michelle admitted, electing to ignore the three letter initialism that sheâd thus far refused to utter. âBut those matches are comparable only in contrast. The result mightâve been the same, but my memories of those two days are very different.ââHow are they different?â he asked. She took another cigarette from her box and placed it between her lips. His continual questioning was beginning to verge on the incessant. Michelle sighed, and then meekly acquiesced.  Vienna was one of the few cities in Central Europe that I possessed very few memories of. I had been there a handful of times, but mostly in an effort to get somewhere else. As I smoked near one of the fire exits near the loading bay of the Allianz Stadion, a deeply unsettling feeling began to develop in the pit of my stomach. It was a sense of foreboding, coupled with general queasiness caused by the morningâs cigarettes and the previous nightâs drinking. I flicked the remaining half cigarette into a nearby drain and sat down on my rucksack, not quite ready to brave the innards of the big tent just yet. It was then that I realised that this was the feeling I would associate with Vienna from now on. The source of it was a sense of betrayal. Unjustified in several ways, but I felt it nonetheless. The man that I would face that night had let down an ideal that I had previously held him to. Perhaps naively. Maybe the ideal itself was flawed, and never existed in the first place. This sort of pariahâs code was in itself a sneering elitism, and expecting another to hold true to it when another option - one filled with happiness and companionship - was open to them was too much. But sitting on the concrete outside the Allianz I knew one thing to be true: that Alyster Black was a traitor to himself. At that point they had only teamed together once, but would again the same month in the Warehouse and by the end of the following summer they had taken the FWA World Tag Team Championships from Gerald and I. The brand split had forced a separation between us for much of the last eighteen months, and from afar Iâd watch Chris drag Alyster from the pedestal Iâd placed him on. I contrasted this with the feeling I had the morning I fought him in Yekaterinburg, almost two years before. Weâd spoken briefly before that first encounter. Even shook hands in the ring twice, once before and once after the match. I felt like I was sharing the ring with an equal. A peer. Someone like me. I was embarrassed Iâd ever felt this way, knowing what I now did, the shame weighing down on me alongside the betrayal and the hangover. I didnât expect or plan to encounter him before we climbed into the ring with each other that day. When I saw him across the parking lot, lighting a cigarette of his own and incognito without his mask, I half-hoped the concrete would open up to swallow me. The desire to hide, to be somewhere other, is never too far away. He approached without confidence. We hadnât spoken since the day weâd found out that heâd been drafted to Fallout, whilst I was going to Meltdown. Chris was there that night, too. Perhaps, if Iâd have been forced to remain in that sphere, I too wouldâve been dragged down into Peacockâs mire. Or maybe Uncle and Gerald wouldâve kept me aloft and sane. But now we were all back together, the gulf between us existing only in our heads. Yekaterinburg and Vienna,â he said, in place of a greeting. âWe pick the strangest places to do this.âI didnât say anything at first. Couldnât think of anything to say. âI thought it would shake out this way,â he continued, whilst we both watched a half-dozen crew members unloading a nearby truck. Iâd arrived early in a futile attempt to settle my nerves. This conversation, one-sided though it currently was, wasnât helping my disposition. âWhen I first saw the tournament draw. Even before all the dropouts, I had a sense that this match would decide the pool. And it turned out that way. Weâre both undefeated. A far cry from the Gold Rush.âThis last sentence was delivered alongside a warm smile. I found this attempt at familiarity sickening, unable to see its intent through my own discontent malaise. In hindsight, I couldnât expect Alyster to know how I felt. My feelings on Chris - on the danger posed by his anger and his lust, hidden from the world by wild theatrics and populist escapades - had been developed in isolation. As they had grown together, I had drifted away from both of them. With Chris, I had cut the cord willingly, driven to action by his developing grotesquities. The fact that Alyster was already beginning to cling to him was unfortunate, but collateral damage that I was willing to accept. The casual nature of his approach, albeit a nervous one, was a symbol of his betrayal. I felt unsettled and affronted. âNo handshakes this time,â I replied, with none of the same warmness that he had offered me. He sensed this. It wouldâve been difficult not to. âYou seem distant,â he said. âI seem distant because I am,â I replied, obtusely and unhelpfully. He smoked his cigarette and regarded me carefully. I didnât like the heaviness of his smothering gaze. âI know itâs been a while,â he mused. âBut I guess I didnât expect things to have changed this much. Do I need to ply you with whiskey again to loosen you up?ââItâs been a while,â I agreed. âA lot has changed. People⊠well, I guess people donât stay the same, either.âHe finished his cigarette whilst fixing me with another smouldering gaze. âWhat exactly has changed?â he asked. âIf youâre willing to share your wisdom.âWith my ire stirred, I couldnât help myself but share a small piece of my mind. His obliviousness was an affront, and ignorance at least can be confronted. âYou are falling, Alyster,â I said, both vague and blunt. âAnd not in the same way as you have before.âLike we both have before, I stopped short of saying. âI canât face riddles and a match on the same day,â he replied. âYour new friend is a problem,â I announced, more plainly. âHe is already weighing you down, and he will drag you into the pit before it all ends.âIf his anger had risen he didnât allow it to show. He only lit another cigarette, as if settling in for a conversation longer than I expected or wanted. My meaning, at least, was clear to him. âIronic, given your association with that tentacled megalomaniac,â he began, more flippantly than Iâd hoped. âIs this because of what happened in Miami?â He was alluding to the last time I had shared a ring with Chris Peacock, with three Nephews at my side and an assortment of all-stars on his. Like every time Iâve faced him since, that particular adventure didnât go my way. âNot everything is about wrestling,â I replied, even if the barb had succeeded in cutting. âThat wasnât a great week for Chris, either,â Alyster answered, taking my invitation to think outside of the ring a little too literally. âI heard they lost a car, or something. The details arenât clear. But if youâre upset about a loss, you should do something about it. You and Gerald have those championships and Chris has himself a partner. So I donât doubt youâll have a chance sooner rather than later.ââHeâs not like us,â I returned, simply and perhaps a little too loudly. The people unloading the truck momentarily stopped to look over in our direction. Fortunately, Alyster without a mask couldâve been anybody, and nobody thought twice about me quarrelling with a stranger in the parking lot before a show. To his credit, Alyster thought calmly for a moment about the statement, smoking his cigarette to the filter as if absorbed by his internal mechanisms and the impact my words had made on them. If Iâd have continued, Iâd have spoken about your brotherâs anger. It lies just beneath the surface, simmering over the top at the slightest of perceived injustices. In this way and many others he is like a child, unable to contain his emotions and oblivious to those around him. But it all serves to mask his fear. The fear of being unimportant. Forgotten. His incessant hunt for gold - whatever gold he can get his grubby little hands on - serves the same purpose, as does his obsession with the unimpressive stump between his legs. Chris Peacock will do what it takes for the sake of Chris Peacock. Any relationship built on that fact cannot be an equal one. But I didnât continue. No lengthy soliloquy on my part would change his mind on his ride or die, as they termed one another, in a clumsy and unfortunate attempt to assimilate into popular culture. Perhaps I was a coward. Perhaps I shouldâve explained the extent of my feelings, of my loathing for the man that would be - in my eyes - his downfall. Instead, I simply proclaimed that heâs not like us, and hoped the associated implications were obvious. âYouâre right,â he said, eventually, as he threw his spent cigarette into the drain. It bounced off the grate and smouldered next to it. âHeâs not like us. But thatâs not necessarily a bad thing. You started to give him a chance before we were split apart, and you started to see what I see. Maybe you should think about doing that again.âIf I had a response for him, it wouldâve been never. But he disappeared inside before I had the chance to utter it. I next saw him in the ring. |
she said, as the two entered Prospect Park through Bartel-Pritchard Square. âI had nothing else to say, and I didnât want to listen to his justifications. Instead, I continued to watch his descent into a peculiarly juvenile brand of madness, only occasionally playing a minor and regrettably unsuccessful part.ââI know you dismissed it,â Drew started, whilst holding onto the bottle for a period of time that Michelle deemed too long. She snatched it from his hands and pulled from it, before leading the way southwards along the parkâs perimeter. âBut losing to Peacock and the others in Miami couldnât have helped all of this. And letâs face it, losing and the associated requirement for revenge has been a recurring theme for you, hasnât it?âShe considered the question rhetorical and didnât answer it. She didnât silence him either, even if she found it strange that he was willing and able to offer such insight into her motivations. âThe more youâve lost to Chris, the greater the animosity between you,â he continued, reducing their three and a half year relationship to a simple and almost mathematical calculation. âIt canât have helped that they took your tag team championships before trading the big one back and forth. The one you havenât been able to win for a long time.ââThe world championship is the last thing on my mind,â she insisted, not without truth. She might not have been challenging for gold, but Kennedy, Snowmantashi, and Summers were unique and ominous challenges in and of themselves, belt or no belt. âTheyâre welcome to it.ââNot what you were saying at the Grand March,â Drew replied, with something just short of a derisive snort. He triumphantly took the whiskey back from Michelle. âWhat was that, then? Were you challenging for Chrisâ championship by accident?ââItâs not Chrisâ championship,â she returned, indignantly. âItâs the world championship.âShe thought about explaining that the opportunity to challenge for the title was a reward for winning the F1 Climaxxx, just like her second reign with the belt had begun following victory in Russnowâs tragically titled Tag Warz. The championships themselves really had little interest for her nowadays, but the opportunity to prove oneâs superiority in a tournament had retained its definitive allure. She thought about explaining this to a glorified pastry chef and decided against the endeavour. The correction would have to be enough. âWhat did you think of Chrisâ title reign?â the dead man asked, gently shifting the subject but continuing to goad and needle her. She shrugged her shoulders, as dismissive and flippant a gesture that she could muster. âItâs rare that I agree with Cyrus Truth on anything,â she replied, reluctantly giving in to the otherâs gentle interrogation. âBut he had the crux of it. He saw Chris Peacockâs goldlust for the vanity that it was. Nobody but Chris Peacock and his hangers-on saw him as a champion. He showed himself to be shallow and fragile, and that was to his ruin in the end.ââBut not at your hand,â Drew pointed out. âNor by the hand of the Exile. And you both had the chance in Chicago. Whatever your idea of a champion is, itâs the wins that really matter.âMichelle didnât know if she agreed. Losing always seemed to be a much bigger thing than winning. âDonât take my word for it, though,â he continued, as they turned left towards the lake in the heart of the park. âYou were there. What do you remember?âShe sighed deeply in lamentation. Remembering was one of her least favourite things to do.  I emerged through the curtain like a bundle of violent energy. Partly because of this, and partly through the exertions of the match Iâd just suffered and bungled my way through, I was suddenly overcome by a cocktail of fatigue, pain, and shame. I was doubled over in Gorilla, much like I had been in a park in Tokyo following the loss of my first world championship, howling into the wind and hoping nobody would hear. âFuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,â I screamed, all subtlety and subtext giving way to raw emotion. I braved the shooting pain in my left knee to lash out at my environs, kicking over a nearby table and sending a cluster of monitors and audio equipment crashing to the ground. It didnât make me feel any better but the anger had to come out somehow. I sensed I still had one more expletive locked inside and expelled it at full volume. âFuuuuuck!!âMy breathing was heavy and I was hunched over, hands resting on my knees in a bastardised version of the brace position. It took me an undetermined length of time to regulate and gain control. When I did, I noticed that the area had been cleared in advance. This room was teeming with people all night. The desk that Iâd destroyed was usually inhabited by at least three executives, some from the big tent itself and others from the network. This rage, it seemed, was expected of me, and the necessary precautions were taken to contain the deluge. My own predictability only served to amplify my shame. I didnât stay alone for long. As some semblance of calm and rationality was restored within me, Cyrus Truth - the eveningâs other big loser - walked through the door. He greeted me with a sneer I deemed unbecoming of a man who had been eliminated even before I was. I would have let him know as much, if only Iâd been the one to finish him. The fact that your brother had done for both of us was particularly painful. âWhat are you doing here, Truth?â I asked, almost spitting out the question. âCome to rub salt into my wounds?âHe didnât give me an answer. I never found out why he came to Gorilla to greet me. Perhaps he wanted to see me at my lowest. I deserved as much, given what Iâd done to him in the F1 final. Maybe he knew first hand the disappointment and the rage I was feeling. He was chasing his own version of lost glory, just as I was. Part of me thinks he was checking in on me, as baffling as that may seem on the surface. Or perhaps heâd gone to get treatment or whatever and left his water bottle at Gorilla. I donât know why he came. I only know that he was there. âHow does it feel?â he asked, calmly and quietly. There was no scorn in his tone but the deliberate and level way in which he spoke unsettled me. âTo lose?â I asked, flippantly. âYou should know yourself. You managed it before me.ââTo know that all of your antics over the past three months have been for nothing,â he elaborated. It was my turn to offer no answer. I didnât have one in my possession. âI wouldnât be so smug,â I said, in lieu of an earnest response. âThis means our mutual problem has escaped with the belt. And we both know what that means. What kind of a champion he is. Youâre well aware that he is one only in name. The belt means little to him beyond an addendum to his legacy. You know all of this to be true. Itâs the one thing we have in common.âThis brought a smile from the Exile, as though Iâd tickled him gently by presuming his mind. He didnât move from the spot, instead regarding me with a cool yet inherently hostile glare. âThe fact that Chris Peacock leaves Chicago tonight with the world championship that Iâve worked tirelessly to elevate sickens me,â Truth admitted, in a moment of unexpected candour. âBut I would not wish the belt on you in his place. You may think you value that title more than he does, and I even believe that around your waist it would be more than just a prop. But you have already sullied its name in the shortcuts youâve taken in your quest to reclaim it. Your exploits have devalued the little youâve done with it, for it, in the past.âI attempted to return his gaze and found it overwhelming. A wave of pain roared through my body, starting in my hip and searing through my back. My brain suddenly throbbed rhythmically like the banging of drums. I took a knee involuntarily, hoping to steady myself amidst the storm. The adrenaline of the match and the defeat was wearing off, the grim reality of being tossed around a ring for half an hour now beginning to grip me. âIâll get you a doctor,â he said, without even a hint of pity. âPerhaps youâll use your time in a hospital bed to think about the choices youâve made. The people youâre in league with. The wins youâve stolen. I donât hold out much hope. Youâre already lost, Dreamer.âI didnât have the strength to offer a response. Perhaps he already knew this. He left the room, leaving me to the open jaws of an oncoming blackout. I threw myself in. |
There were already too many memories that she could readily conjure like this. Losing to Chris Peacock had become an unshakeable habit, worse than any of the other addictions she happily indulged in. Recalling this one particular night only heightened the anxiety about the meeting on the horizon. I canât lose again, she thought, as she had done a thousand times since the match was announced. I canât lose again, I canât lose again, I canât lose again. Drew must have sensed this turmoil within her and decided not to push her on the point. He was happy to remain silent and stare out over the black water of the Prospect Park Lake. The two had situated themselves upon the railing of the Terrace Bridge. Michelle had left him to finish the dregs of the whiskey in favour of lighting a joint sheâd prepared for the graveyard. The moon was large that night. It dominated the sky and destroyed all hopes of seclusion. âI didnât have to go to the hospital,â she continued, after exhaling a thick pillar of smoke and watching it rise into the nightâs sky. âBut eventually I had time to think while I was in Shanghai. Far away from anyone, even the Nephews. Truth is undoubtedly sanctimonious, but heâs also often right. My name is in the history books as the first ever winner of the F1 Climaxxx. No amount of asterisks next to it can change that. These caveats, though, are the sort that allowed your brother to justify his own feeble reign. The record books list Chris Peacock as the fifty third champion of the world, with the belt around his waist for two hundred and thirty one days. They donât mention that he won his shot in a match for losers, enabling him to pick the time and place that heâd shoot his shot. But I remember.âShe paused to shake her head and to take another drag. It wasnât clear if Drew was even listening. He was more interested in the bottle and the water a few metres beneath their dangling legs. âCyrus remembers, too. He remembers how I won the F1 and it pains him, even if he got his championship opportunity regardless. In his eyes, I debased the whole tournament, and the belt that was its prize along with it. And once again he wasnât far from the Truth.âA sudden and surprising burst of laughter escaped her. She collected the bottle from Drew and emptied its contents between her lips, much to the otherâs chagrin. She placed the empty receptacle on the railing between them. âBut what does any of this matter, anyway?â she asked, when sheâd finished laughing at the futility of her own narrative. âI couldnât be further from the title if I tried. My policy of isolationism has worked.ââThe title,â Drew began. âOr any other title. Neither Chris nor Cyrus are challenging for the big belt anymore, but both have won championships elsewhere on the card. Titles that you and my brother have tussled over in the past. But this match is for nothing, beyond the pride and honour that the combatants place upon it themselves.âMichelle was no longer laughing but a smile remained fixed upon her face. âFor nothing,â she repeated. âSnowmantashi, Parr, Summers, Kennedy⊠even Cyrus himself. Most of my greatest matches with my greatest rivals were for nothing. At least on paper. But they were certainly for something in my heart because Iâd built them up as such. Until they were mountains on the horizon, sheer and vast and unconquerable.ââAnd all of these rivalries - or relationships - began with your defeat,â Drew commented. He was unwilling or unable to resist repeatedly pointing out her failures. âJust like with Chris. You intend on walking the same road with my brother and the rest of the FTN family?ââI never intend on walking that road,â said Michelle. âIt just sort of happens. But Iâd be a fool to want it. Too much destruction lies at the end of this path, and yet I am powerless to stop myself from walking it. Itâs in my nature. We were heading in this direction before, until Shawn came back to readjust my priorities. But now heâs gone and it feels unavoidable again. I can already feel myself sliding towards obsession, and I know that this way lies despair.âDrew had no great insight to offer her. She didnât expect him to. Her verbalisation of the problem offered a little clarity, which was unexpected and welcome. âYou donât have to throw yourself in,â Drew suggested, as though he were in her mind. âYou can resist.âShe nodded her head. Didnât feel the need to respond out loud. An understanding had developed between them. The hardest path lay before her. To defeat Peacock, and then to move on with her life. To realign her focus. A full reset. She busied herself in retrieving a cigarette from her half-full packet. As she did, the dead man unexpectedly pushed himself up to his feet, standing erect upon the railing of the bridge. He stared down into the water as if it was calling him. âYou know what youâll do?â he asked, without looking over to her. She nodded her head again, staring down at her empty and crumpled cigarette packet. âGood,â he said. âItâs later than you think.âWith that, he dived into the lake, disappearing beneath the black surface without a splash. |
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Post by supinesnake on Sept 1, 2024 20:52:35 GMT
The sound of an alarm clock blaring.
The sunlight peeking through drawn blinds.
A man stirs in the bed of his upscale Washington, D.C. penthouse, covered in fine black Turkish cotton sheets that have been tousled and wrinkled from a night of restless sleep, his hand slowly fumbling towards the nightstand to try and stop the pulsing klaxon calling him to the waking world.
Eventually, after much drowsy fumbling, the manâs hand finally reaches the clock and hits the snooze button, quieting the noise and returning peace to his bedroom. He reluctantly rises from his bed as the sheets fall to his waist, his hands rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
Jean-Luc Watkins is in a position heâs not terribly unfamiliar with. Itâs not the first time heâs had to wake up later than he wouldâve liked to after a hard night of drinking and carousing, one made feasible by his family name and easier by his ability to communicate and charm. He hadnât become the lead announcer for Fallout - along with one of the parent companyâs key executives - for no reason, after all.
Still, this hangoverâs a bit more of a headache than others. Jean-Luc winches from the throbbing between his temples as he staggers out of bed and walks over to slowly open the blinds. Mulling over the past evening, a celebration of another successful Back in Business with members of the management consortium for the Fantasy Wrestling Alliance, Jean-Lucâs still hazy mind tries to recall the nightâs reverie, trying its best to remember what exactly he did to earn yet another reminder of his bodyâs limitations when it came to imbibing alcohol in massive quantities.
RightâŠhe got into a bit of an unofficial drinking contest with someone who introduced themselves as a vice president, presumably of some conglomerate in the capitalâŠwhat was her name? Harold, Harlan? NoâŠHarris, thatâs the one. Ten years ago, Jean-Luc couldâve probably drunk anyone under the table and still had enough left in the tank to go out on the town and find more pleasurable company, but now?
Itâs hell, getting older.
The consequences of his choices still reverberating in his head, the voice of Fallout eventually finds a nearby robe and slips it over his frame, tying the sash tightly as he contemplates how late it is in the morning and the upcoming headaches heâs gotta deal with thanks in part to his ties to the management team for the worldâs premier wrestling federation.
Back in Business is in the rearview mirror, meaning that FWA basically has undergone a bit of a soft reset. Thereâs much that needs to be considered for the upcoming year. Venue bookings, talent negotiations, vendor agreementsâŠitâs enough to make Jean-Luc want to go back to bed and sleep off the rest of the day. Maybe even the rest of the week.
Thereâs times that he envies the wrestlers. Jean-Lucâs not been an active wrestler for a decade now, and heâd be lying to himself if he said he missed the physical punishment that came from suplexes, bodyslams, and superkicks. ButâŠthere was at least a simplicity to the violence. In the ring, he didnât have to worry too much about how headbutting an opponent in the face and breaking their nose would appeal to some stuffy executives in ill-fitting suits worrying about their quarterly earnings.
Either way, whatâs the point in dwelling on it, right? Jean-Lucâs not a wrestler anymore. Heâs a commentator, and a damn good one at that. And he has a broadcast partner that isnât a complete and utterâŠ
âAyzosk vuq, Jubakara?â
âŠWait, what?
Jean-Luc shakes his head. Is he still drunk? Did Harris slip something else into his drinks and heâs still detoxing? Because he swore he heardâŠ
âNo, no, not quite yet, my dearest minion. The waffles will be done exactly when theyâre done, and not a bloody second before. You know that!â
âŠThe fuck?
Pushing past the drumming in his head, Jean-Luc stomps towards the door of his bedroom and opens it, revealing the rest of the luxurious domicile. A massive high-end TV mounted on the wall with a large wrap-around sectional made of the finest-quality leather. Thereâs a world-class sound system tucked away in the corner not too far from the television with a selection of rare vinyls. To the left is a relatively small dining room with a table that has been set with quality china for three people, and right behind thatâŠ
âNow, about those eggs, Epsilon? Do make sure we donât burn them. Thereâs absolutely NOTHING worse than burnt eggs. Except MAYBE runny eggs. Or a sorceress thatâs been studying ancient Sudanese spellcraft. Either way, burnt eggs are awful.â
âEzols vallapop!â
Standing in the kitchen of his penthouse, using his waffle iron and wearing an apron that proudly demands âOffer your souls to the chef!â stands Jean-Lucâs masked commentary partner. And using a step stool while tending to skillets frying bacon and cooking scrambled eggs is his partnerâs loyal, incoherent, and vertically-challenged minion.
Completely gobsmacked by the sight before him, Jean-Luc struggles to find the words before Konchu Hao looks up from the waffle iron with a beaming smile. âKEHAHAHA! Well, itâs about bloody time you arose from your slumber, Jean-Luc! I was concerned for a minute that the alarm I set would not be loud enough to awaken you in time for breakfast. Honestly, I had considered using something else to stir you. The screams of a damned soul, the shriek of a banshee reminiscing about their lost loveâŠâ
âKonchu.â
âHmm? Yes?â The Mad Wizard says as he opens the waffle iron and pops the now-completed pastry from the griddle onto a platter with the rest of the waffles.
âTHE FUCK ARE YOU DOING IN MY PENTHOUSE?!â
âMaking breakfast, of course,â Konchu says with not a single hint of indication as to how bizarre it is. âNot to be that individual, but Iâve seen how you eat while weâre on the road, my friend. Clearly you need some assistance when it comes to dietary concerns.â
Jean-Luc grits his teeth as he stomps over towards the small island that Konchuâs set the waffle iron on. âYou know what I mean. How did you get into my apartment?â
âThrough the front door. Why do you keep asking such silly questions?â
âUrghâŠhow did you break the lock?â
âOh, hells. I did no such thing. Such crude methods are far beneath me.â
âThen HOW did you get the door open?â
âIâm sure if you give it a bit of thought, youâd realize that the answer to that question is unimportant.â
âITâS IMPORTANT TOâŠARGH!â Jean-Luc clutches his head. The hangover is bad enough. Having to deal with Konchuâs eccentricities and shouting at him isnât making things better. While Jean-Luc has grown fond of Konchu as a broadcast partner, dealing with the Mad Wizardâs warped way of looking at the world can be troublesome at the best of times.
Konchu, seeing Jean-Luc clutching his temples in pain, simply shakes his head before nodding to Epsilon, whoâs finishing up the bacon and eggs and pulling the skillets from the stovetop. As the pintsized powerhouse hops off his stool to start bringing the food to the table, the Mad Wizard grabs a nearby tea pot filled with steaming water. He pours the liquid into a couple mugs and hands one over to Jean-Luc.
âHere, drink this. It should help.â
Jean-Luc, almost forgetting how upset he was, takes the mug and brings it to his face. The liquid is somewhat brackish-looking and, as he takes a sniff, his nostrils flare and his nose crinkles with the strong, pungent, earthy aroma.
Seeing his partnerâs hesitation, Konchu rolls his eyes and takes the other cup. âI promise, itâs not poison. Honestly, does nobody trust a wizard these days?â
After seeing Konchu take a long drink of the tea, Jean-Luc relents as he takes his own sip. The taste isâŠodd. Almost exceedingly bitter before finishing sweet, the tea is overpowering and Jean-Luc has to stop himself from gagging.
However, after swallowing, the tasteâŠlingers. Itâs almost pleasant, in a way. And as Jean-Luc continues to drink, he feels the migraine from his hangover start to fade like ripples in water.
âMy headacheâŠâ
âGone? Of course it is. A delightful rosebay willowherb tea consumed for centuries. Ancient Scandinavian warriors needed a quick remedy from a long night of consumption and debauchery before going on their merry pillages and raids, so itâs more than up to the task of curing your standard alcohol-induced headache. Admittedly, this particular brew is of my own modifications to work more quickly, but thatâs neither here nor there.
âNow, can we please quit with the needless yelling and just enjoy this lovely breakfast? I even went through the trouble of procuring some Sicilian blood oranges.â Konchu simply motions to the table at that, as Epsilon has divided out the breakfast food equally amongst the three platters.
Jean-Luc, still annoyed by this uninvited house guest, canât deny the growling in his stomach as he relents and has a seat at the head of his table. With an air of smug satisfaction, Konchu takes a seat at his right as Epsilon, seated at Jean-Lucâs left, has already begun to dig in.
As Jean-Luc takes a quick second to ponder exactly HOW Epsilon eats, he decides to not give it more thought as he digs in. Again, he finds himself surprised with the quality of the food that Konchu and Epsilon have prepared. Whole-grain waffles, freshly scrambled eggs with chives and peppers, and perfectly crispy bacon sate Jean-Lucâs empty stomach. As Konchu begins to peel one of the oranges, Jean-Luc pauses mid-bite before turning to the Mad Wizard.
âLook, Iâm sorry for yelling at youâŠbut Iâm still a bit mad that you broke into my penthouse without telling me.â
Konchu takes a bite of the orange as he uses a napkin to mop up the juices from the corner of his masked face. âOh, that? Yes, I suppose it would be ill-mannered of me to not apologize for not gaining your consent. Still, I felt it was important. After all, partners like you and I should be close by for the trials to come.â
âTrials?â Jean-Luc laughs at that as he picks up his mug. âKonchu, weâre commentators. The biggest trial we have to deal with is production not getting us our notes and the ever-looming threat of Allen Price joining the table uninvited. Horrid as that is, I donât think it justifies youâŠâ
âWhat the devil are you talking about, Jean-Luc?â
Konchuâs interject stuns Jean-Luc for a second. âWhat do you mean? You said weâre partners.â
âWe are.â
âAnd weâre partners on commentary.â
âAlso correct.â
âSoâŠâ
Konchuâs expression, harder to read than most thanks to the mask, still relays that sense of confusion in the Mad Wizardâs face, which only serves to breed confusion in Jean-Luc. After a couple of awkward seconds of silence, Konchu snaps his fingers, as if realizing or remembering something.
With a nod towards his faithful minion, Epsilon drops the mangled piece of bacon he had been munching on and digs through his goblin backpack at the foot of his chair. He produces his trusty tablet and, after a few taps and swipes, hands it over to Jean-Luc to review.
It takes just a few seconds before Jean-Luc bellows, âWHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!â
âWhat did I JUST say about yelling?â
âKonchu! What the hell is this?â
âExactly what it looks like!â Konchu retorts with a sharp, cutting rebuke. âWe are slated to be tag team partners in the upcoming Elite Tag Team Classic.â
âBut WHY?! Iâm retired! I never agreed to this.â
âCorrect. Hence why I requested to Russnow that you be my partner for this upcoming tournament.â
âWHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?!â
âIf youâll stop YELLING AT ME FOR A MINUTE OR TWO, IâLL BLOODY WELL EXPLAIN!â
Thereâs a heavy shroud of tension after that shouting session, broken up slightly by the sound of oranges being chewed on by Epsilon, who has completely no-sold the exchange in favor of eating his breakfast. Eventually, the ire in Jean-Lucâs eyes dies down enough as his shoulders relax and he slumps back into his chair.
Konchu, taking that as acceptance, drapes his napkin back across his lap. âJean-Luc, commentating matches with you on Fallout has been one of the most rewarding and enjoyable experiences Iâve had in the circus that is professional wrestling, and I wouldnât trade it for the riches of Atlantis. And let me tell you, thatâs quite a lot of riches. That being said, Back in Business has stirred my competitive blood and I find myself eager to return to the arena as a wrestler again. And Iâm still not entirely over the fact that mine and Truthâs tag team championship reign ended at the hands of a pair of mewling miscreants who have abandoned FWA. SoâŠwhen I learned of this tournament, how could I not sign up? And of course, as a tag team tournament, I needed a partner.â
âSo, why me? Why not Cyrus?â
âQuite simple, really. Cyrus went and crowned himself North American Champion at Back in Business. Between the responsibilities of being a new champion and his chance at the Golden Opportunity briefcase, both he and I feared that his focus would not be sufficient to compete in a tournament like this. And seeing as my usual partner is unavailable, my immediate thought was to tap my OTHER partner.â
Konchuâs explanation, the ease and matter-of-fact tone in which he delivers his summation, still doesnât change Jean-Lucâs expression as he simply leans forward with his head in his hands.
âAreâŠyou still suffering the effects of last nightâs little bender? I do have a poultice that I couldâŠâ
âNoâŠâ Jean-Lucâs voice, muffled a bit by his hands, cuts Konchu short as he leans back in his chair, exhausted in every way that matters. âKonchu, Iâm retired. The most Iâve wrestled in ten years is a one-off in the Carnal Contendership, and I barely lasted a few minutes before your friend tossed me out.â
âAnd? I trust that youâre not so petty as to blame ME for that.â
âNo, thatâs not the point! Iâm not a wrestler anymore, Konchu. Iâm not in ring-shape, I spend most of my time behind a desk. The most exertion I have these days is putting up with a bunch of greedy sycophants and corporate suits. Why would you want someone like ME as your partner?â
âBecause I trust you, of course.â
That blunt answerâŠit stings Jean-Luc a bit due to not expecting such a simple answer as Konchu continues. âOh, sure. I could have just picked any random wrestler in the back as my partner and probably done well enough. After all, Iâm me. But tag wrestling requires a certain level of trust in order to truly be successful, and I am not someone who engages in professional wrestling without the intention or desire to be successful. And I do trust you, Jean-Luc. Iâve spent enough time with you to ascertain that you take whatever undertaking you put your mind to incredibly seriously and give it your absolute best. You ask me why I would want a man like that as my tag team partner? Why would I not?â
Thereâs a part of Jean-Luc that isâŠtouched. Moved by the Mad Wizardâs summation and, from everything he can tell, his genuine affection for him. And Jean-Luc canât deny that Konchu joining the commentary table hasnât been some of the most fun that heâs had since transitioning to the broadcast booth. The manic masked wrestlerâs infectious enthusiasm and professionalism as a broadcaster has been a welcome oasis from the obnoxious desert that had been Allen Priceâs later tenure with the headset, andâŠmaybe, yeahâŠthereâs a friendship thatâs been created between the two.
Still, Jean-Lucâs shoulders slump as he sighs. âKonchu, I appreciate that, I really do. Youâre a good friend and a great partner in the booth. ButâŠI canât.â
âIâm fairly certain you can. Wrestling is like riding a bicycleâŠor is it? Come to think of it, grappling and bicycling are completely different disciplines. Point being, one doesnât simply forget how to wrestle.â
âYeah, Iâm sure I can wrestle, but I havenât been an active wrestler for ten years. Ten years away from a ring. âRustyâ doesnât begin to describe how out-of-practice I am.â
âOh, poppycock! Youâre a brother of violence who has marched under the banner of the X. What ring rust you have is easily buffed out with a bit of practiceâŠâ
âKonchu.â
The Mad Wizardâs rambling is cut short with the force by which Jean-Luc says his name. âLook, Iâm flattered. Truly, I am. But IâŠcanât. I know you love wrestling, and I know you want to be a part of this tournament. But I'm not the guy thatâs going to be able to help you win the damn thing. Iâm sorryâŠbut Iâm not about to tag with you if it means Iâm going to drag you down with me, all right?â
Another uncomfortable silence comes over the dining room table, as the last wisps of steam from partially eaten waffles waft up towards the ceiling. Eventually, however, Konchu simply shrugs.
âAs you wish.â
âWait⊠what?â Jean-Luc again canât help but be stunned by the casual response of his broadcast partner.
âAs I said. If thatâs what you wish, then Iâm not going to force you to do something you do not desire to do. Iâm not a monster, and Iâm not about to ensorcell you into compliance. If you truly donât wish to compete, to feel the thunder of the crowdâs applause and the pounding of your heart in the heat of battle? Then thatâs fine.
âHoweverâŠâ Konchu finishes off the last of his eggs as he takes a sip of his tea. âAll that I ask is that you donât commit to not competing. We have time before Meltdown and the beginning of the tournament. At least give it some thought. I will find another tag team partner if I must, but Iâd rather not. Iâd like to share in the joys of victory and, if unavoidable, the sting of defeat with a friend. I trust Iâm not asking too much of you, am I?â
Jean-Luc lets out another long sigh. âNo, but Iâm pretty sureâŠâ
BZZT!
BZZT!
Jean-Lucâs business phone starts to vibrate from the kitchen countertop where itâs charging. He stands up from the table and walks over. Unlocking the screen, Jean-Luc looks it over and rolls his eyes.
âSon of aâŠI almost forgot.â
âForgot what?â
Jean-Luc turns back to Konchu, whoâs still seated at the table. âManagement meeting. Apparently, thereâs some discussion among the executives about bringing in some Hollywood producers onto the team to work with the wrestlers on presentation. Thereâs mention of crossing over into the movie business, too, given the day jobs of a couple of our most recent signees. I canât say Iâm thrilled about it, but I have to be there regardless.â
âOh, I see. Well, then I will accompany you!â
âWhat?â
âTrulyâŠyou must allow me to conduct a proper examination of you when we get the chance, because with all the âwhatsâ youâve been levying at me this morning, I have to question whether your hearing is going out. Iâm saying that I will accompany you to this meeting. Iâve always been morbidly fascinated by the corporate laborings of FWA, so this is an opportunity for me to educate myself!â
Jean-Luc shakes his head as Konchu rises from the table. âHold on, I donât think youâd be allowed into the meeting. Youâre a contracted talent, and Iâm pretty sureâŠâ
âOh, thereâs nothing to be concerned about, my friend!â Konchu boldly proclaims as he closes the distance between him and Jean-Luc and wraps his arm around Jean-Lucâs shoulders. âIâm simply attending to observe. And you OWN the company! Or at least part of it. Besides, Iâm certain your corporate cohorts will have absolutely no problem with me sitting inâŠâ
******
Devious Productions PresentsâŠ
Konchu Hao with special guest star J-L Watkins inâŠ
A Trial of Trust and Conviction! Rising to the Challenge with Resolve and Fury!!!
******
âWhat is he doing here?â Russnow asked, as Jean-Luc took his customary seat at the opposite end of the table. This in itself wasnât particularly remarkable, but the Mad Wizard dragging a chair into the boardroom and positioning it in a corner, along with his faithful Epsilon sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of him, was a more peculiar start. Not on todayâs agenda.
The faces of the other executives around the table - Burns from the network, Al-Samari from accounting, the three Johnsons from the marketing department, Fromage from talent relations, and two others that Jean-Luc didnât recognise - all indicated general distaste for the interloper. Particularly Fromage, who had previously been the victim of several strange and unpredictable meetings with the Wizard.
âWell, I guess you are to blame, Jon,â Jean-Luc answered, whilst shuffling the pages of notes in front of him with idle hands. âIâll have to remember that weâre booking each other in matches, next time Iâm putting a card together.â
âWhen do you ever put cards together?â Russnow replied, with a cocked eyebrow. It was true that Jean-Lucâs talents were better suited to other areas of the companyâs maintenance. He generally let Russnow, his other partner, get on with the organisation of the actual show. âBesides, youâre always talking about how youâd love to roll back the years and step into the ring again. This is your chance!â
The other executives shuffled in their seats uncomfortably, almost in unison.
âI donât think this is the time or the place to get into that,â Jean-Luc said. âAnd it appears our colleagues would agree.â
âThen itâs settled!â Konchu declared, from his seat in the corner. âYou will all continue with whatever it is you do in these meetings, and Iâll sit quietly in this corner to observe. You can rely on my discretion, ladies and gentlemen, regardless of what you mightâve heard about me from the underbelly of society. In which case, why are you asking the opinion of the underbelly of society?â
The executives stared back blankly at Hao. A few eyebrows were raised. Jean-Luc glared at the Mad Wizard admonishingly. Konchu drew his fingers over his closed lips, as if fastening them with a zip.
âMy lips are sealed,â Konchu said. Jean-Luc thought about pointing out that heâd sealed them before heâd spoken, but thought better of opening up another conversational tangent. Instead, he indulged in a flabbergasted shake of the head, picked up his notes, and started the meeting.
âApologies come from Venables from the post room,â he began, diligently following the points as they were laid out on his agenda. âSeems like theyâre having something of a crisis down there. New IT systems. I didnât know people even still posted things. First item is introductions of our two new colleagues from Universal Movies. Karen and Glenda Warner. The Warner Sisters.â
âYes, Iâd like to welcome both of you to the board as well,â Russnow interjected, with a wide smile aimed in the direction of the two middle-aged women in business suits. âKaren and Glenda will be heading up our new FWA Film division, although weâre still ironing out the details with regards to what exactly that will be. In the meantime, theyâll act as liaisons between us and the studio, as well as providing talent support. This is an exciting opportunity for our company, even if not everyone at this table is exactly onboard with your involvement.â
Here, Russnow offered a sidewards glance towards Jean-Luc. Heâd made his feelings on this business venture clear at previous meetings, but now that the Warner Sisters were here he didnât much fancy the confrontation.
âI only worry that weâre spreading our focus too wide,â he offered, meekly. âWe are, after all, a wrestling company. My father failed because he didnât want to accept that. He was almost ashamed of the product. I have concerns that weâre doomed to relive the mistakes of history.â
âDiversifying our portfolio of income streams wouldnât be a bad thing,â Al-Samari from accounting said.
âSome of the guys could use the help,â Fromage from talent relations explained. âThe promos weâre asking them to do are getting more and more elaborate, and some of them donât have the talent or the training to match.â
âMovies are still the holy grail,â added one of the Johnsons from marketing.
âCanât hurt to get a few of our stars out on the silver screen,â the second Johnson mused.
âGet more eyes on the product,â concluded the third Johnson.
âAnd with two movie stars on the roster now, we should be capitalising on those additions to the talent pool,â Russnow said.
âWe also have a couple of lumberjacks,â Jean-Luc returned. âDo you want to start chopping down trees, too?â
âThe FWA lumberyard accounts for 4% of our annual income,â Al-Samari replied.
âIt seems that you could have had these discussions before our introduction to the board,â Karen Warner, the younger Warner Sister, interjected.
âIt is quite normal to resist change,â Glenda Warner added. Konchu let out a chortle at this, perhaps finding it relevant to his current situation with Jean-Luc. Watkins shot him a glare, to which Hao again mimed the zipping of his lips. âBut Russnow is quite right. Your two recent signees are quite marketable. Aaron Harrows has a familiar face in that Iâm sure Iâve seen him before in a minor, insignificant role sort of way. And Brooklyn Steiner has the makings of a bona fide star. Iâm sure that we could use both of them, if we find the right vehicle.â
âBe that as it may,â Jean-Luc began, clearly in disagreement but tactfully approaching his response. âSteiner and Harrows are contracted wrestlers. Shooting a movie will doubtlessly get in the way of that, if they would even have an interest in such a project. They joined the FWA to get away from that world, after all. I donât know if we should be offering them a distraction.â
âGiven that theyâre our first round opponents,â Konchu cut in, clearly unable to control himself. âI think a distraction is exactly what we should be offering them.â
Jean-Luc narrowed his eyes in the Wizardâs direction, his patience clearly dissipating.
âLips are sealed!â Konchu said, quickly and defensively.
âEither way,â Jean-Luc continued, after running a hand through his untidy hair and loosening his tie. âIâm sure we all look forward to what will be an⊠interesting partnership, whatever form it eventually ends up taking. Our next item concerns contract negotiations?â
âYes, a few issues have arisen,â Fromage, head of talent relations, began. âTriple J Securityâs contract is up for renewal again. We only gave them a twelve month extension last time around.â
âDo they want more money?â Russnow asked.
âTheyâre willing to take less money,â Fromage explained.
âThen it seems like a no-brainer,â Russnow said, whilst smiling at the table as if celebrating a great triumph.
âHold on,â Jean-Luc instructed, not quite so confidently. âTriple J Security must be at least fifty by now? Fifty five?â
âJugem Jugem is sixty one,â Fromage said.
âMaybe itâs time we looked to the future?â Jean-Luc suggested. âBring in some younger guys?â
âDepends how much you value loyalty,â Fromage replied.
âGive them a contract,â Russnow said, whilst waving his hand in dismissal of Jean-Lucâs concerns. âTheyâre cheap, and itâs good to have experience in the locker room.â
âBut Jugem doesnât say anything besides his own name,â Jean-Luc argued, his exasperation growing. âWhat are the younger guys supposed to learn from him?â
âContract!â Russnow declared, decisively. The head of talent relations nodded his head.
âThereâs also another ongoing negotiation,â Fromage continued. âAn on-air talent is currently contracted as a wrestler, and scheduled to be in the Elite Tag Team Classic. But he also wants a second contract as a commentator. Heâs doing two gigs at once, I guess.â
âYouâre talking about me, arenât you?â the Mad Wizard asked. Jean-Luc sighed heavily. âSealed! Sealed! Theyâre sealed!â
âSeems pretty straight forward?â Jean-Luc asked the board. âIf heâs doing two jobs, he should be properly remunerated?â
âIn theory, I agree,â Fromage went on, quite clearly uncomfortable with Haoâs presence in the room. âBut his negotiation strategies are quite⊠ugly. He turned me into a wheel of brie last week. My own wife ate part of me in a baguette. Iâm not sure we should give into these tactics.â
Konchu and Epsilon stifled giggles in the corner. Watkins closed his eyes, wishing the day to be over.
âVery well,â he said in defeat. His acquiescence silenced Hao and his minion. They folded their arms hrmphed simultaneously. âAny other business?â
âThereâs the Christmas party,â Russnow added, perkily.
âItâs September, Jon,â Jean-Luc pointed out.
âCanât hurt to be organised!â
âIâm not sure another Christmas party is a good idea after last year,â Jean-Luc said. âAllen Price got locked in the dark room with one of the Eternal girls and hasnât been the same since. Gerald Grayson was so drunk he drove his motorcycle into the swimming pool. And FTN are still refusing to pay the clubâs dry cleaning bill after dousing the place in yoghurt. The whole evening was a disaster. You said it yourself: never again.â
âThat was a long time ago, Jean-Luc!â Russnow replied, dismissively. Nine and a half months didnât seem quite so long to Watkins. âPeople were just letting off some steam! 2023 was a tough year, and I intend on making 2024 even harder for them. There has to be a Christmas party. People will expect it. Al-Samari, allocate me a budget. An excessively large one. Iâm thinking last days of Rome as a theme.â
There was nothing to do except accept defeat and adjourn the meeting. Jean-Luc did both of them, quietly and meekly, and remained in his seat as the other executives filed out of the room. Russnow was the last to go, clasping a hand on Watkinsâ shoulder before exiting. It did little to shake Jean-Luc from his malaise. He was meant to be chairing the meeting, but felt as though it had washed over him like a tsunami. He was shell shocked and dumbstruck.
He had almost forgotten that Konchu and Epsilon were still in the room until the Mad Wizard placed a hand on his other shoulder. He turned to face him with a glazed over look on his face.
âThat was rough, Jean-Luc,â Konchu said, in lament. âIâm sorry that I had to see that.â
âOh?â was all that Watkins could offer in response.
âI have some knowledge of what itâs like to be on a committee,â Konchu continued. âItâs difficult. I didnât expect them to give you everything, but I expected them to at least give you something. Then again, you didnât exactly help matters yourself. You were dishevelled and unprepared for an ambush, if I was to be kind. You were weak, if I was to be more honest.â
Jean-Luc said nothing. He slumped back in his chair and let out a long, laboured breath.
âMaybe you should come to my meeting this afternoon,â Konchu suggested. âI donât proclaim to have all of the answers, and your world admittedly has very different rules to mine. But you might learn something, at least!â
âI canât just leave to go toâŠâ Jean-Luc paused, unable to conjure an image of where exactly an individual like Konchu Hao would hold his meetings. âI have other commitments. Itâs a full time job here, Konchu.â
âDo I need to remind you that you own the place?â Konchu asked. It was his turn to grow impatient. âBesides, youâre not going to accomplish anything more here today. Youâre spent. That meeting took it out of you. And your team of executives have their own tasks to busy themselves with. Besides, you owe me.â
âI owe you?â Jean-Luc asked, in confusion.
âIt doesnât sound like Iâm getting that second contract,â Konchu answered. âGet your coat. Itâll be cold.â
******
âColdâ doesnât begin to describe this small, stony chamber that Jean-Luc finds himself in, standing in the darkest corner wearing a heavy woollen coat over a set of black robes, the hood drawn up to hide his face at Konchuâs instruction.
The entirety of the situation seems ridiculous to Jean-Luc. As he shivers due to the cold, the FWA executive ponders exactly what the hell heâs doing here. Konchu had become increasingly tight-lipped about what it was that he was doing here or what Jean-Luc was supposed to observe, and Konchu had insisted that he be silent upon arrival.
How long has it been since Jean-Luc arrived here with Konchu? Hours? Longer? Time seemed to matter little in this frigid sanctum, and Konchu had confiscated Jean-Lucâs phone and watch when they got here for some nebulous reason that the Mad Wizard refused to elaborate on, so Jean-Luc had nothing that could ground him to reality.
All he had was his broadcast partner, who seemed more focused on a collection of strange herbs and a bubbling cauldron resting over a small cookfire that did nothing to add any warmth to this sanctum.
Eventually, Jean-Lucâs frustration won over his patience as he angrily said, âKonchu, Iâve been standing here for God only knows how long. What the hell am I doing here?â
âObserving,â Konchu simply replies as he adds a few ground-up salts and herbs to the cauldron before turning back towards a table on the opposite side of the wall, where several scrolls in a language that hurt Jean-Lucâs eyes to read when he stole a glance had been strewn atop. âYour patience is about to be rewarded. I told youâŠIâm about to show you a glimpse of something few in your world of dawn are meant to see. Truth might kill me for doing it, but itâs arguably long overdue.â
âWhat does Truth have to do with any of this?â Jean-Luc bitterly asks, as he contemplates grabbing Konchu by the lapels of his robes to get him to pay attention. âIf this is just some cheap magic trick bullshit that youâre trying to pull like you did with FromageâŠâ
âNothing I do is cheap, Jean-Luc. And Fromage understands little and less about the nature of what I did to him. Now, pleaseâŠbe SILENT,â Konchu replies, his tone as icy and biting as this chamber. He points a bony finger at the entrance to the sanctum and, without looking up from his work, adds, âTheyâve arrived.â
Before Jean-Luc can ask a follow up question, the large, somewhat rotted oaken door creaks open as Epsilon scampers in. He speaks to Konchu in that incoherent language of his, but thereâsâŠfocus behind it. Itâs as if Epsilon is all business, doing his duty as Konchuâs minion in delivering a message to his master.
Konchu, rolling up the scrolls carefully to prevent the ancient texts from crinkling or cracking, simply says, âVery good. Bring them in. This meeting shouldnât take long.â
Epsilon nods as he exits the room, but leaves the door open. A couple seconds later, two figures dressed in heavy, high-end coats that, while theoretically designed to keep out the cold, seem more designed for form over proper function. No heavy wools, no hoods to keep their heads warmâŠthese two figures seem ill-prepared for the environment that theyâve been summoned to.
But none of that surprises Jean-Luc as much as the fact that he recognizes these two figures.
Itâs Karen and Glenda Warner. The film producers from Universal Movies that had recently joined the FWA Executive board.
It takes not an insignificant amount of willpower to not just blurt something out, to not just bluntly ask what the hell is going on or who the Warner Sisters were to KonchuâŠbut, Jean-Luc stays his tongue. He hold position in the dark corner of the room, hood still drawn up. As far as the Warners were concerned? Jean-Luc was just another observer, a silent acolyte attending to the Mad Wizardâs court.
Karenâs the first to speak, cheeks puffed up in absolute indignation. âWhat the hell is going on, Konchu? What were you doing in that meeting this morning?â
Konchu, not even looking Karen or Glenda in the eyes, simply walks back to his cauldron and stirs it with a large tin spoon and sprinkles more herbs into the mix. âI thought that was particularly clear when I said as much at the beginning. I was there to observe. Nothing more or less. Tell me, what seems to be the problem with that?â
âThe problem is that you had no business being there!â Glenda now chimes in, with a sharper tone than her sister. The malice behind her tone is undercut somewhat by her unsuccessful attempts to keep her teeth from chattering, her coat too ineffective at keeping the chill out. âWe were invited to join the Executive Committee by our own accord and through our own influence, so we didnât needâŠâ
âOh, spare me the lies, Glenda,â Konchu interjects with a razor-sharp tone, taking a nearby cloth to wipe his hands as the concoction in his cauldron continues to bubble, low and slow. He finally turns to the sisters as he stands in front of them, a couple feet apart. He stands tall, he speaks with a tone of absolute authority.
âYou two witches have accomplished nothing save for knowing the right people and whose table to beg for scraps from like the curs you are. I made it painstakingly clear in our last meeting that FWA is off-limits to anyone from the world of shadows without going through myself or Truth for permission. The Church of 9 incident from a few years back has made it clear that, if FWA is to continue to thrive, shadow denizens who wish to make their names or fortunes at FWAâs expense have to be vetted properly. Truth and I have claimed FWA as our domain, and since I never gave you permission and I know Truth damn well wouldn't let you sink your claws into FWA, you stand in violation of our terms.â
âYour terms donât mean a damn thing, Konchu,â Glenda retorts. Thereâs a moment where it seems that Glenda wants to approach, but Jean-Luc notices something. The confidence, the aura, the mask of control isnât there anymore. Glenda and her sister lookâŠnervous. As if whatever pedestal they stood on is now rotted and cracked at its foundation, and that pillar stands only on the whims of the man theyâre confronting. âYour claims only matter so long as people are willing to accept them and you and your âfriendâ Truth are strong enough to defend them.â
Konchu chuckles at that. Not his full-throated cackle, but the laugh of someone who is amused by this declaration, like a parent humouring a child. âAnd you think weâre not? Then what are you doing here? Certainly, if you thought my ability to back up my claims was too feeble to be concerned with, you wouldnât have bothered to answer my summons. NoâŠmore like than not, you still need me. You and your Hollywood brood, especially the stupid, craven, and greedy, need individuals such as myself to stay relevant and retain positions of prestige. SoâŠdonât come into my sanctum with your chest puffed out, pretending you have anything resembling power or influence. Iâve flayed the souls of greater men and women for less.â
Thereâs a sinister, foreboding undertone to that last sentence, which serves to shut Glenda up and keep her from responding. Her sister, however, speaks up with a more conciliatory tone, âWe mean no disrespect, Primogen. But what choice did we have? If you had considered our alternative proposal that we presented months ago, we wouldâve had no reason to ingratiate ourselves into FWA the way we did. We werenât asking for much, and youâŠâ
âIncompetence and faithlessness should never be rewarded,â Konchu interrupts, his tone biting and colder than this chamber. He glares at the Warner Sisters, as Jean-Luc silently observes.
Jean-Luc has worked with Konchu on commentary for months now, and the Mad Wizardâs infectious enthusiasm for professional wrestling made the team-up between the two an effectiveâŠand perhaps more importantly, fun endeavor. But here? Jean-Luc finally realizes that his friend, the madman in the locust mask, is something far more dangerous and darker than he realized.
âFWA is more than just a platform for feckless wretches like yourselves to bleed like the leeches you are. It matters to me, and more so to Truth. I, personally, am done allowing blights and parasites to bloat themselves on the lifeblood of a company that has survived when so many have fallen. I cannot tolerate and will not allow faithless fools like you who have neither the stomach or passion to dedicate yourselves fully to the art and business of professional wrestling to use FWA for anything other than what it was intended to be. I may not have a voice on the executive committee, but that matters little. You will NOT be permitted to remain. And if you choose to defy that? WellâŠthen your bones will find plenty of company in whatever sepulchre I deign to toss them into.â
Behind his shrouded hood, Jean-Luc watches in stunned silence. Much of what the Mad Wizard was saying was going over his head, but KonchuâŠa man with no power on the executive committee, a wrestler and commentator, was speaking with authority and brooked no defiance. Whatever resistance the Warner Sister brought to the table? Meaningless. It might as well be wind for all it does to deter Konchu.
Was this what Konchu meant after Jean-Lucâs own meeting? That ability to command the room, to bring the rabble to attention and command influence like a knight wielding a sword or a mace? To stand tall while others kneel?
âŠHad Jean-Luc lost something? That instinct, that commanding presence since hanging up his wrestling boots?
The Warner Sisters look as if they want to retort, but Konchuâs glare is withering. Heâs heard all heâs willing to hear from them, and thereâs the undercurrent of fear of what will happen if they try and plead their case.
âThatâs enough of that, wizard.â
Though neither of the Warners notice, Jean-Luc noticeably flinches upon hearing that voice. His eyes widen in shock and horror.
He thinks to himself, it canât be. Itâs not him.
But indeed, it is.
Emerging from the other side of the oaken door, dressed in a much more practical heavy coat over an immaculately-tailored suit, sharpened eyes on a weathered and wrinkled face, is Rupert Watkins. The displaced former owner of FWAâŠJean-Lucâs father.
It takes every bit of Jean-Lucâs willpower to not say anything, to maintain his composure and the facade in the presence of his father. But he does so, as both of the Warner Sisters turn to him with pleading eyes, like dogs begging their master for yet more scraps from the table.
âLeave us. The wizard and I will continue this conversation.â
Thereâs a hint of defiance that is quickly quenched in the Hollywood producers, as like the whipped dogs they are, they obey and immediately exit the chamber. Epsilon barges past them, angrily chittering to Konchu, who simply holds his hand up.
âItâs quite alright, Epsilon. Mr. Watkins was not invited, certainlyâŠbut his presence was not unexpected. Please escort the Warner Sisters outâŠand make sure they stay out,â the Mad Wizard simply commands as Epsilon gives a chirp of affirmation and walks out, presumably to follow his masterâs request.
Three men remain in the chamber. Konchu, almost absentmindedly, returns to his cauldron and stirs it again. Giving it a bit of a sniff, Konchu lets out a pleased smile before turning back to Rupert. âYou would have been better served not to make your presence known, Mr. Watkins. I had suspicions that you were behind the Warner Sisters worming their way into FWA, but no hard proof. At least, not until right this second. A bit of a poor strategic choice, if you ask me.â
âYou will back off from the Warner Sisters, wizard,â Rupert bluntly says. Itâs as much a command as it is a simple declaration of fact. Unlike the Hollywood executives, Rupertâs will is forged of iron and superiority.
âWill I?â Konchu retorts, almost playfully. âThat doesnât seem like something I would do, nor do I have much incentive to do so.â
Rupert scoffs as he closes the distance between himself and Konchu. Jean-Luc knows what heâs doing. His father was always someone who tried to strong-arm his way into power and influence, and much to the bastardâs credit, it has worked more often than not. StillâŠit doesnât sit well with the younger Watkins, as heâs been the recipient of this treatment more times than he cares to remember.
Rupert is trying to use his presence and cold, ruthless aura to get Konchu to buckle under the pressure.
And what impresses Jean-Luc more than anything since arriving here? Itâs that the Mad Wizard stands his ground, a smarmy smile on his masked face.
âConsider your position, wizard,â Rupert says, refusing to use Konchuâs name or title in the world of shadows. Another of his fatherâs tactics, Jean-Luc recallsâŠdismissing his opposition as little more than a peasant or serf in the presence of a king. âYou can claim dominion over FWA with that Exile friend of yours as much as you please, and perhaps others within the world of shadows might actually heed it. But FWAâs business is conducted in the world of dawn, where you have no power. In the world of dawn, you are nothing more than a novelty wrestler and barely competent commentator. Any actions you might take to remove the Warner Sisters from power in FWA would likely bring questionsâŠquestions that threaten the veil between the dawn and the shadows. You might care less than you probably should about such things, but your Exile partner? How would he react if you were to actâŠrecklessly in pursuit of this pointless endeavor?â
Konchu tilts his head at that, contemplating Rupertâs words before shrugging. âHmm. You might have a point. However, all that means is that I must use means beyond my usual methodology to ensure that those harridans are disposed of.â
âWhat means?â Rupert interjects with a disrespectful chuckle. âOnly the FWA Executive board can make any changes or excuse members. WhatâŠdo you plan on getting into Russnowâs ear? That buffoon does whatever he thinks will make him more money or fuel his various addictions. Al-Samari cares about nothing but balancing the books. Fromage, the JohnsonsâŠall lemmings that will follow whoever is leading them, off a cliff if it comes to it.â
âThere is your son, of course.â
That gets a larger laugh out of the elder Watkins. âMy son? That weak-willed fool? You would put your faith in him? That boy has let others dictate his actions ever since he came out of his motherâs womb. If not me, then whatever other wrestler, executive, or random stranger that comes strolling in with even a modicum of authority. You think just because you two share a commentary table for half of FWAâs shows that you can put your trust in him?â
Jean-Luc bristles and clenches his teeth. His fists, tightened to the point of threatening to draw blood, refuse to relax as Rupert continues. âJean-Luc has been nothing but a disappointment for a long time. The fact that he owns that company and forced me out is an insult Iâve had to live with for far too long. But thatâll change. Nobody can keep me out of FWA, or stop me from getting back to power. The Warner Sisters are just another step, as was being Shawn Summersâ advocate. You, TruthâŠneither of you have the kind of influence to stop me. And my son? Pfft. Heâs even less of an obstacle to my plans than you are.â
Finally, Jean-Luc breaks his silence. âIs that so, father?â
Rupertâs face, a mask of confidence and stony defiance, cracks ever so slightly as he hears from the shrouded figure that he assumed was one of Konchuâs acolytes. His eyes, narrow and focus, flare just a bit wider at the surprise as Jean-Luc walks up to stand at Konchuâs right side. Wordlessly, he takes his hands and lowers his hood, showing his face to his father.
Whatever chill Jean-Luc was feeling is not as biting as it was before. His anger and rage at the disrespect shown by his flesh and blood is more than enough to light a fire in his belly.
Jean-Luc stands there, wordlessly with righteous fury in his eyes as Rupert snarls and glares at Konchu. âWhat have you done, wizard? My son was notâŠâ
â...a denizen of the world of shadows? Oh, Iâm well aware of that,â Konchu replies with an almost cheery and bemused tone. âAnd Iâm certain Truth will never let me hear the end of this particular indoctrination into our world, but quite frankly? You should have done this long ago.â
âI agree,â Jean-Luc finally says as he meets his fatherâs gaze. Thereâs not a shred of reticence, not one iota of yielding in the younger Watkins as he addresses his father. âSoâŠthis is what you are, when everything else is stripped away. Just another bloodsucker, trying to worm his way back into something that heâs not welcome in anymore.â
âListen, boyâŠâ
âDonât call me âboy,â you bastard!â Jean-Luc retorts, biting and commanding. âYou were kicked out of FWA because you overextended your reach and you let your greed rule you. You failed, father. Itâs about damn time you accepted that. FWA isnât yours anymore. Itâs mine. And Iâm not keen on sharing it with a bastard like you who isnât brave enough to share his opinion about his son with his son, much less the secret life he lives beyond board meetings and corporate networking.â
Rupert scoffs and sneers. âYou have no idea what this world is, Jean-Luc. Your wizard friend just exposed you to something far more dangerous than the cutthroat world of corporate politics. Youâre weak, boy. Youâve always been weak, despite my best efforts to toughen you up and teach you. If you werenât such a disappointment, maybe I mightâve taken you into my confidence before your friend here led you stumbling into itâŠâ
Jean-Luc does not let his father finish his thought, as he gets right into Rupertâs face. âThat âwizardâ is a friend of mine, father. And heâs been better at being a friend than youâve been at being a father. But you are partially right about a couple of things. Iâve learned a lot today. More than I ever thought Iâd learn. And I have a lot of questions that I canât even put into words right now. But I do know thisâŠâ
Thereâs a hardness in Jean-Lucâs face as his eyes almost burrow past Rupertâs stony, determined face to the rotten soul behind them. âKonchuâs right. If you only see FWA as a stepping stone or second choice like the Warner Sisters do? Like you always have? Youâre not welcome in FWA. FWA is wrestling. It always has been. And you were right about another thing. I have been weak. Iâm the owner of that damn company, and the other corporate suits? They serve at my discretion and at my confidence. And itâs past time I started acting like it.â
Jean-Lucâs grimace softens into a confident, self-assured smile. The first heâs had in a long time. âBut unlike you? It wonât be for my own benefit or profit. Because Iâve seen what that does to people like the Warner Sisters, Hollywood types who keep pursuing a spotlight without the grit to commit to the grind, who show up only to leave when things get tough. And Iâve seen what it does to a bitter old bastard like you who thinks power is all that matters, instead of it being a means to an end.
âIn other words, Father? Fuck you.â
As if smelling something foul, Rupertâs face scrunches under his sonâs withering rebuke. âYouâre going to fail, boy. Youâre not strong enough to bring the Executive Committee to heel, and youâre not good enough for this stupid tournament your friend signed you up for. Youâll go back to being a feeble executive and a second-rate commentator, and thatâs about the extent of your potential.â
Jean-Lucâs muscles tighten. His jaw clenches. But, instead of knocking his fatherâs head off his shouldersâŠhe relaxes. And shrugs. âMaybe. Maybe not. But even if I fail? It still wouldnât make me the worst failure in our family. You already have a monopoly on that titleâŠFather.â
The last cracks on Rupertâs facade shatter as he sneers. However, itâs Konchu who speaks up as he puts a reassuring hand on Jean-Lucâs shoulder. âThe Warner Sisters will resign from the Executive Committee. We canât stop them if theyâre brought on as consultants, but they will abdicate their positions on the committee and surrender whatever power that fool Russnow gave them. If they donât, then I wonât be held responsible for their inevitable fate. As for youâŠIâm not sure what to do about you.â
âYou donât have to do anything, Konchu,â Jean-Luc chimes in as he keeps his gaze focused on Rupert. âFather can keep clinging on to Shawn Summers for what little that does for him. Nothing I can do to stop that, but itâs nothing in the grand scheme of things. You can keep weaving whatever plots you want, FatherâŠbut youâll never sink your teeth into FWAâs power structure ever again. If you try it? You wonât have to worry about whatever Konchu will do to you. Because Iâll be the one to put a stop to it.â
âYouâre threatening your own father? Your flesh and blood?â
âThreaten? No. Itâs not a threat if itâs going to happen and you have every intention of following through. Itâs a fact of life. Isnât that what you always taught me?â
Thereâs a silence that lingers for what seems like forever. Rupertâs twisted, angered expression, howeverâŠeventually softens. Thereâs still indignity in his face, but thereâs an undercurrent beneath it that somewhat resembles pride. âIt is. You at least learned that, if nothing else. Weâll see if youâre smart enough and strong enough to follow through.â
Rupert turns on his heel towards the door. He doesnât hesitate, doesnât say anything else. Heâs been beaten here today, but he walks out with what remains of his poise and aura.
With the elder Watkins gone, Konchu wordlessly walks over to the cauldron. Taking a couple of roughly-made clay mugs, he uses a nearby iron ladle to fill both cups with the liquid. Returning to a tense Jean-Luc, he hands one of the mugs to his partner and holds up the cup.
âWell, welcome to the world of shadows, Jean-Luc. With all the opportunities, knowledge, and dangers that come with it.â
âKonchu?â
âHmm? Yes?â
Jean-Luc, without asking whatâs in the cup drinks from it. The liquid becomes a warm core in the middle of his cold body, and it seems to kindle a fire that has been burning since coming face-to-face with his father.
âLetâs win that fucking tournament.â
Konchuâs smile, wide and manic, underlies his pleasure at that proclamation. He takes a long sip of his own from his cup. âKehahahaâŠI hoped youâd say that. We have much to do.â
âAnd a lot to learn, apparently,â Jean-Luc adds as he turns to Konchu, extending his hand. Konchu, without a secondâs hesitation, takes it into his own.
âI wouldnât expect anything less, my friendâŠâ |
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beavie
FWA Wrestler
Posts: 114 
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Post by beavie on Sept 1, 2024 22:06:10 GMT
{Plain Text} Empty room.
Four walls. Three of them are painted with a tree landscape. Peaceful.
Thereâs a comfy chair in the corner of the room with a stand next to it. The wall reads in the middle of the room. The pillows on it are worn and have stuffing sticking out.
Occupying it, Nova Taylor.
Not wearing her look from Back in Business, she has her dark hair down, wearing a plain white dress. Her hands are on her lap as she looks forward. Looking down slightly, she appears to be deep in thought, trying to comprehend not just the events of the past week, but the past months.
In front of her is text on a white wall reading âWelcome! Everything is Fine!â
Then-
A knock on the door.
Entering the room is a familiar face. A creation of Keres. âDr. Dolan.â The woman who sent her through the âMotherbird: Rehabilitation Centre.â The one who âguided herâ back to her place in the TORN Universe. She has her usual polo shirt on and her plastered smile.
âHowâs my favorite client? Iâm so proud of you!â
Nova doesnât say anything. She takes a deep breath and doesnât look at her. She knows she isnât real. But, she is the only one here with her.
âShy? Itâs okay. I know you must be tired. But I have to knowâŠâ
Dr. Dolan gives a devious smirk on her face, leaning down in front of Nova.
âHow did it feel⊠to finally let go?â
Nova flashes back mentally to her walking down to the ring, mask on her face, body moving and swaying, as if being pulled by something or someone. The hush over the crowd, unnerved by her presence. Looking across from Sawyer, eyes blank, cutting through him without doing a thing.
âHow did it feel to be guided by a story? To be part of a grander vision.-â
She remembers going to the corner, violently beating up Xavier, putting her hands down-
Letting him take the story further.
Smiling on her face while trapped in a Last Chancery submission, feeling pain, but joy, as if sheâs doing something.
âBefore being rewarded, being center stage where you belong.â
As Sawyer Xavier is distracted with the referee, losing control of his emotion, strings fall down from the heavens and pull Nova up off the mat as she kicks up. Life rejuvenated.
Finally looking at Dr. Dolan, Nova Taylor covers her mouth. Still feeling a mix of emotions. Finally, her voice is almost breaking, she admits.
âIt felt breathtakingâŠâ
As she puts the mandible claw on Sawyer Xavier. He squirms around, trying to escape. Nova is smaller than him, but this simple hold is capable of putting down anyone of any size.
âIâŠâ She clears her throat. âI never felt like that e-ever. It was amazing.â
âAmazing to hear, dear.â
Dr. Dolan reaches forward and pinches Novaâs cheek.
âOur dear Maiden, learning her place. But, you have pieces to put back together.â
Covering her mouth, Nova remembers. Keres. She showed feelings for Sawyer!? That shocked even her, who knew her perhaps better than anyone. Seeing someone she sees as family have their heart torn in two. It was gut-wrenching to see. Then⊠Elizabeth. No longer in Eternal. Breaking down in the match that created her, not wanting to go on any more.
âIt doesnât feel right.â Nova comments. âI never seen Keres like that before. Iâve never seen that side of her, ever. I didnât think she could feel that way about anyone and she leapt forward to say it in front of the world. I donât want to see her heartbroken like that again. And Elizab-â
She catches herself and corrects.
âNo. Lizzie now I guess. Iâm going to miss her. I miss her so much already. People will not understand like Gabby, but I saw a lot of her in me. Iâve been hurt like her. In the end, I just wanted to protect her and make sure she could stand up for herself, and I think we could have done so much more together.â
âYour family is broken.â Dolan tells Nova. âBut you are still their angel. Their nurturer. Keres needs you now more than ever.â
Nodding her head, the Marionette Maiden agrees.
âPut the pieces back together. Like Eden would, sew your fates together again. Your trials are coming.â
She proclaims.
âThe bonds of many will be changed. This will be your chance.â
Finishing for Dolan. Nova says.
â-A chance to grow again.â
Holding her hand up, Dr. Dolan gives a smirk before snapping her fingers-
Nova wakes up in the living room of The Residence. Wearing her doll-like dress, mask on her face, she is back to her world. Her mind feels at ease. She is comfortable. This is her home. This is her place. Seated on the couch, she looks down at the table and it is a written invitation from FWA. âThe Elite Tag Team Classicâ it reads. It has Nova and Keres in one corner of the bracket, lined up with, you guessed it, the Lumberjacks.
âThey wish for more Canadians on Canadian violence?â Nova mutters to herself, her voice is monotone.
Looking up, Nova Taylor sees a family picture. One with her, happy as can be, wearing a princess dress, with Keres seated in the middle. To the opposite side of her, Elizabeth Rose. Or, rather, Lizzie. Still in her TORN guise, she is moody, crossing her arms, but appears to show a slight smirk, as if deep down, she liked it there for her time. Before Novaâs eyes-
Elizabeth fades from the picture. Leaving just her and Keres.
Her and heartbroken Keres.
An empty feeling is in Nova. The loss of their sister weighs heavily on her heart. All she has left is Keres. She is her sole purpose for existing-
And she needs to keep this family together.
Standing up, Nova Taylor moves rigidly, as if she is an actual puppet. She walks carefully down the hall and up the stairs. She is toward the room which Keres has occupied since Eden and Slateâs âendingâ the master bedroom. Standing in front of the door, Nova does not enter. She knows she does not have permission, and she does not dare disobey Keres.
In the bedroom. Keres is on her bed, her large bed. This is not the almighty creator of the TORN universe. Just a young woman with her heart broken. Spread out on her bed are pictures of Sawyer Xavier with disturbing outcomes. From the juvenile drawing a fake mustache and horns on his head to him being burnt alive and more gruesome outcomes, Keres is heartbroken. Mixed in are pictures of her with Elizabeth. Their now exiled sister. Though her mind has been on her rejection by Sawyer, this loss too affects her.
Revenge is on her mind. She wants those two to suffer.
But she canât. Not just because of the fact she feels hurt, but because FWA itself has put all of them in separate paths, chasing titles, whether earned or not. Looking up, Keres sees in front of her-
Herself.
The younger version of herself.
Though her spirit and mind is much older, it occupied the daughter of Slate and Eden.
The younger version of Keres has a dress on with ribbons, here hair in pigtails. Wiping her face, Keres mutters.
âYou did this to us.â She grits her teeth as the young version of her has a plastered on child-like grin.
âYou had to develop feelings. You had to leave us to be hurt⊠And now look at meâ
Holding up a picture of Sawyer, she points to it.
âHIM!?â She crumples up the page. âHE was the one you had to develop feelings for?! You embarrassed usâŠâ
The child-version of Keres does not flinch. Keres looks down at the picture of Elizabeth.
âAnd now look⊠Elizabeth is gone. I was not able to give her the focus and care to help her reach her true potential. And sheâs dead. You killed her.â
Folding her arms, Keres looks towards her younger self. âYou donât care, do you? Get out⊠Get out!â
She throws the piece of paper at the younger version of her and it simply phases through her. Keres looks down and up to see the younger side of her has disappeared.
Looking towards the door. Keres senses Novaâs presence. The only person she has left. Swallowing up her anger and sadness. She simply commands.
âCome in, sister.â
Nova Taylor opens the door and walks into the room. Like a puppy, she walks up to the bed and sits beside Keres. She knows she needs her. Looking at Nova, Keres sees her loyal sister.
âAt least I still have you.â She mumbles. âMy parents were right in choosing you. If they did not I am not sure where I would be.â
Lifting her hand up, Nova pats Keres on her shoulder, trying to comfort her. No matter how much of Novaâs behavior was done through TORN âmagicâ or whatever, one thing that is consistent is that she cares for the well-being of Keres. The Marionette Maiden tilts her head slightly.
â...Should we go out for a bit?â She asks. âEscape.â
Nodding her head, Keres agrees. She raises her fingers andâŠ
Snaps
(Ambiance)
Much like Nova suggested, the two âsistersâ find themselves escaping to a forest to escape. They have set up a campsite for themselves (Well, more than likely Nova at the request of Keres) and find themselves seated in front of a campfire in the middle of the night. The moon gives a gentle glow over the mountains as a thin fog rolls in. The fire crackles as it burns. Nova sits across from it, head tilted, blank look on her face. Nova doesnât flinch. She is completely under Keresâ spell and doesnât appear bothered to break out of it. If it means she remains at her side to give her comfort, protection, then it is her duty to do so.
But right now, Keres is inside the tent, still emotionally shut out.
Nova doesnât want to see her sister like this. Raising her voice, Novaâs voice remains dull and monotonous.
âHow do you like it here, sister?â She asks. Hoping to spark up conversation.
âI suppose there is some beauty here.â Keres admits. âSeeing the flow of nature. Everything in its place⊠The food chain in action.â
âAs long as I am with you, then this place is home.â She responds, moving her head up slightly, her hair covering part of her face. âIt is the right place to escape.â
Glancing away. Keres still remains distant, cold. Thus, silence. Silence again.
Looking for something to get Keres talking more, Nova comments
âI can see why the Lumberjacks live out here-â
âThose dimwitted Canucks...â Keres interrupts. âI do not wish to fight them. We will withdraw from that tournamentâŠâ
Withdraw? This confuses Nova. She looks towards her sister.
âIs it about the championships?â
âI am indifferent to it.â Keres grits her teeth. Finally standing up, she explains.
âBack in Business, I⊠I had my heart broken. Twice. Elizabeth gone, Sawyer⊠embarrassed me, and for no reason other than FWA needing âtitle matchesâ and to keep afloat a tag team division, they put us in a tournament while also putting Gabrielle and Sawyer in matches they do not need.â
Commenting, Nova Taylor makes note. âMontgomery has a contenderâs match, Steel Roulette, the week after, and Sawyer has barely won a match in a long time.â
âAnd on top of it⊠The Lumberjacks are hardly a threat. We simply need to show up and we will beat them.â
She gives little credit to the Canadian team. Nova sits, listening.
â-We need to get rid of Sawyer, Gabrielle. TheyâŠâ Keres voice catches. She takes a deep breath. âThey deserve to suffer. What would dealing with Dan and Doug do for us apart from a canvas to express our anger? It would mean nothing to them in the first place. They could be crushed single handedly by you, or myself, and they would go back to their home in the Yukon, make humor about wood or watch hockey, and go on about their lives as if nothing had happenedâŠâ
Reaching down, Keres grabs a stone and throws it into the fire-
âOUR UNIVERSE HAS LOST A PART OF IT AND NOBODY CARES! THEY JUST LAUGH! We are misunderstood while everyone falls back to old favorites, juvenile jokes, and the same oldâŠGAHâ
Keres screams, practically pulling out her hair. Sitting next to the fire, she is near Nova. Holding her knees, she mutters.
âI donât want to do this.â
Reaching over to her sisterâs shoulder, Nova comforts her. Keres puts her hand on Novaâs patting it. She didnât even âcommandâ Nova to do so. Nova is here doing everything she can to comfort her.
âYou do not need to do this right now.â
âI do.â Nova says, plainly. âMy purpose is to serve and care for you. I understand your emotion and pain. But, I do wish for you to consider branching out.â
âBranching outâŠâ Keres repeats.
âYou say fate works in mysterious ways. It binds us. My fate has always been to be here. This tournament, fighting the Lumberjacks, can serve a purpose. Our journey to Gabrielle and to Sawyer will result in us meeting again soon. That is the truth. When Sawyer falls to the swarmâs queen, we can be there. If Gabrielle is slain by a wild kitsune, a dragon, or other warrior, we will pick up the pieces.â
Looking at the fire in front of them, Nova says.
âThose flames will not die. Your flame will not die. You are the strongest person I know. As your dear maiden, I will gladly serve whatever mission you.â
âAnd what shall we use this tournament for?â Keres asks.
âWhatever you decide, I will support.â Nova answers with zero hesitation.
Hearing that from Nova Taylor, Keres slowly shows a smirk. Holding her hand up, she-
Snaps
Her fingers and Nova stands up, obedient. Keres faces Nova and holds her âsisterâsâ chin.
âIn that case, we will start by chopping the Lumberjacks down a pegâŠ. No mercyâŠâ She grits her teeth, showing a devious grin as Nova Taylor nods. âAfter, tabula rasa. We will see. But I need you for it.â
Taking a deep breath, Keres admits.
âYou are all I have left now. Promise to me you will be by my side.â
âI will remain by your side, Keres.â Nova promises. There is no hesitation in her voice. âWe only have each other. We may not share the same DNA, but our roots run together.â
Looking off in the distance, two shadowy figures stand. Tall as redwood trees with long red beards and flannel shirts
âAnd maybe that means we share a bond stronger than anyone else⊠Letâs go, sister.â
Keres motions for Nova to follow. âI have a feeling this will be therapeuticâŠâ
Walking down the path, the two sisters head towards the shadowy figures as the scene fades. |
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ETE
FWA Wrestler
Posts: 8 
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Post by ETE on Sept 2, 2024 3:16:09 GMT
The roar of the crowd is still at an absolute fever pitch.
They ate up every last second of what theyâd just watched.
That atmosphere is enough to dull any and all pains, which is perfect considering what Gabrielle has just been through.
Her entire body aches and throbs, she can barely stand. Having to lean on a referee who helps her through the curtain where sheâs greeted by a round of applause from the FWA Staff members all around Gorilla position.
But the sounds of the FWA fans and those staff members begin to grow distant as sheâs helped further backstage. Being led towards the medical office where her wounds can be tended too. But she doesnât step through the doorway where a Doctor awaits her. Instead she pushes herself off of the referee who has guided her along.
âNot yet.âShe mutters.
The medical staff protest but Gabrielle can barely even hear them as she walks away. Stumbling slightly as crimson trickles down her body. She makes her way with purpose to exactly where she wants to be.
Her Private Lockeroom. Now afforded to her not merely because of her Starpower like in years past, but because people like The Gentleman, Desmond and Arthur require having somewhere they can be alone with Gabrielle whenever they may accompany her. In fact sheâd spent the earlier hours of the night prior to her match here with Desmond. Her bra is still draped over the back of the couch where heâd left it.
Thatâs nothing new for Gabrielle though. Sex was a great stress relief for her throughout her career. A way to relax before sheâd saunter down to the ringâŠ
Desmond is gone though, she has no idea where, and frankly right now she doesnât care. The last thing she wants right now is to be fucked.
So she locks the door behind herself and then approaches the floor to ceiling mirror thats always installed into her lockeroom. She stands before it and doesnât hesitate to look at herself. Sheâs covered in blood. Thereâs open wounds and scratches all over her face, her arms, her legs, everywhere. But as she looks at herself she cant help but smile.
She looks beautiful in her own eyes, even as her own blood (and some of Lizzies) has covered her eyes.
Her Coating is not of Caramel or Cum right nowâŠbut of Blood, and she couldnât be prouder.
You never realise how much you can miss brutality until you stop experiencing it.
The Goddess was born in Brutality.
The Caramel Coated Goddess had to endure it, she had to suffer to prove herself. She had to willingly step into the Fire for her Trial to see if she deserved greatness. She had to go through Mile High Massacreâs, Cage matches, Chain matches, Whip matches. She had to endure it all to become a Goddess. Looking back now, all of the pain was worth it.
The Broken Goddess had to suffer her most heartbreaking loss. She had to lose all sense of self worth. She had to endure the losses pilling up. She had to see so many Championships just out of her grasp. The heartbreak, the loneliness, the feelings of total failure. She had to experience all of that to earn her Goddesshood again. Looking back now, all of the suffering was worth it.
The Sinful Goddess had to take it all with a smile and beg for more. No matter what the people around her wanted of her she had to be willing. She had to let so many different men use her, sheâd lost count of just how many. She had to submit to the Deepthroat sessions, the Anal Fucking, the Gangbangs that went on for hours, and so many Cumshots to be a Goddess again. Looking back now, all of the humiliation was worth it.
The World has seen so much of Gabrielle, theyâve seen her go through so much. Theyâve watched her stand on the top of the World, and watched her in the Gutter. But tonight was the most Hardcore thing weâve ever watched her endure, and she couldnât be prouder of herself for surviving it.
⊠⊠âŠ
âMy Dad said he went to the Right Side of the Bed last night and your Mom gave him a lapdance!â It's a classic schoolyard insult isnât it, calling another kids Mother a Whore.
âThen for a few dollars more My Dad fucked your Mom up the ass!â The Mother insults continue, though this isnât just classic schoolyard insults being thrown around.
âShe even sucked his Dick afterwards!â This could all actually be true, because the Mother in question is none other than Gabrielle Montgomery. Though she hasnât worked at the Right Side of the Bed since the nights before Back In Business. Her scars and injuries suffered on Night 2 arenât exactly appealing.
The teenage boy then pulls out his phone, with a video lined up to play on Pornhub. It is definitely Gabrielle, the beautiful features of her smiling face as she looks back over her shoulder into the camera lens are unmistakable. It is taking place at the Right Side of the Bed as well, inside Gabrielleâs Office/Private Room to be precise, we can recognise this room by now. And yesâŠwith her bent over her desk, with her Championships in the background on the wall and a handful of her brunette hair being pulled from behind you could see that sheâs indeed being fucked up the ass if you watched the video.
But its not this terrible Kids Father doing the Ass Fucking of this other Kids Mother. It's The Gentleman, and this was recorded on the mobile phone of a potential Business Partner of his, as a VIP perk when visiting the Club; a special live show for his eyes only. Of course he filmed it. Gabrielle was not phased by this at all, and then he âleakedâ it, again Gabrielle was again not too phased by that. What's one more Butt Sex video on top of countless others really?
But while Gabrielle was not at all bothered, another woman definitely is. Carmella Kennedy, her only child. Gabrielle was largely immune to any blowback from her career choices in recent years, feeling almost proud of what sheâs done Carmella cant be proud of her Mother. Now being 13 years old the other kids she goes to school with are acutely aware of what Carmellas Mum does, and how it goes beyond just being a Wrestler.
Chris Kennedy, her Father has already moved her into a different school twice now, but it doesnât take the other kids long to realise they can find endless videos of the new kids Mum all over the internet.
The bully laughs in Carmellaâs face, even turning up the volume on his phone so her and everyone else around them can hear all the noises Gabrielle is making. The moans and groans, the sound of body slapping against body, even Gabby exclaiming how much she loves this, and the glee of The Gentleman. Things that are traumatising the poor young woman.
His laughing is suddenly stopped though as young Carmella rears back and clocks him right on the nose with a closed fist. He drops to the ground already bleeding as the young Kennedy stands over him.
âŠ
A loud delighted squeal escapes Gabrielle's soft lips as she tosses her head back in absolute ecstasy. Though those noises are then muffled and replaced by the sound of two bodies slapping into each other as a thumb is crudely stuffed into her mouth. Her moans now much softer as she playfully sucks on it.
All her clothes have long since been removed as The Gentleman has her laid out flat on her back in her Office at the Club like he has so many times before. Heâs got her spread out on the black leather couch in the middle of the room, her legs wrapped around him loosely as he bucks his hips back and forth rapidly while standing over her with his Stetson hat on.
Nearby in the room, with their phone in hand recording this is another potential Business Partner of The Gentlemans. Another free show for a VIP. Youâd be right in thinking this is a weird tactic for a business meeting, come and watch The Gentlemans 60 something year old balls slapping off the body of a woman much younger than him. In reality this is a power display from him. When dealing with these matters he showcases his domineering nature by having an FWA Hall of Famer put on a strip tease, and give out some lapdances for them. Then he outrageously fucks her just to really drive home the point.
To really illustrate that he pushes her legs up in the air and mounts her. Something the World will get to witness within a few hours after this âVIPâ also âleaksâ his own video of Gabrielle getting fucked up the ass. She gasps out in joy loudly, loving every second of this, like she always has.
⊠⊠âŠ
The Gentleman is once again dressed in one of his fine suits, with his wide brimmed hat on and a glorious smirk upon his face as he sits in his Office with the soundtrack of Gabrielle groaning and moaning sinfully filling his ears.
But sheâs not under his desk, or laid out atop it. Nor is she bent over the back of the couch with someone else behind her. In fact sheâs just finished getting dressed, doing up a single button of her very short, very revealing little plaid top. Sheâs also wearing a very tiny denim skirt, and a knee high pair of black boots. A sexy little cowgirl outfit he has picked out for her for the night, or at least the next 10 minutes or so.
The Gentleman chuckles, pulling his attention away from his Computer screen where he had been watching the video that had already been uploaded to pornhub of himself and Gabrielle earlier in the night. She saunters over to him, letting him slap her on the ass playfully as he directs his attention back to his screen.
âLook at you goâ He bellows as they both watch the video of her straddling his lap and bouncing up and down. âThat's my little Cow Whoreâ.
She just smiles at the comment, after which he takes his hat off and places it on her head. âIâve invited a special guest tonight, theyâre upstairs in that section that overlooks the main stage waiting for you.â
Gabrielle smiles again. âI should go get to work thenâŠâ She says with a devious purr.
â
Upstairs wide eyed and with no idea what sheâs meant to do with her hands or how sheâs meant to sit, or if sheâs allowed to stare is a young woman with blonde hair and heavy makeup. She looks down at the main stage below for a moment, glancing at the scantily clad woman currently working the pole.Then her attention is pulled to someone much closer to her, a woman dressed in the smallest denim skirt sheâs ever seen, with a single button holding her plaid shirt on and a Stetson hat atop her head.
This woman is gorgeous, and her caramel skin sparkles under the light. âGabrielle?â The woman exclaims.
Gabrielle leans in close to the stunned young woman. âYes TrixieâŠâ She whispers softly into her ear.
Trixie Boudreaxâs eyes have grown even wider, she cant look away from Gabrielle who stands back up and then with a shake of her hips turns around and dances seductively. The Goddess runs her hands up her own body as she gyrates her hips, swaying seductively as Trixies jaw drops open.
âI-I-I didnât even know what a Stripclub isâŠâ She stammers.
Gabrielle giggles and then bends over in front of her, running her hands down her black boots until her palms are on the floor. Trixie is speechless, but she reaches a hand out, and just ever so lightly touches Gabrielle's ass eliciting a chuckle from her.
She âslut dropsâ and then stands back up, turning on the spot to face Trixie who gulps nervously. Gabrielle then slides her knee between Trixies, attempting to part her legs, but the young woman is so nervous sheâs locked her legs in place. Gabby drops down to her knees in front of her, soothingly, softly sliding her hands along Trixies thighs as she looks up into the young inexperienced woman's eyes. Trixie for her part has a brief thought to run her hands through Gabrielleâs hair but sheâs too nervous to do so.
The Cowgirl smiles and then slides up Trixies body, rubbing her skin against her until sheâs sitting in her lap. Trixie doesnât know where to look, but she settles for just staring down at Gabrielleâs breasts, as she feels her wrap her thighs around her waist warmly.
âI-thisâŠyouâŠmanâŠman, he invited me hereâŠâ She nervously states.
Gabrielle just smirks. âLucky youâŠwant to help me undo this button?â
Trixie nods her head and then nervously tries to undo that one single button on Gabrielle's top, but she just can't get it. Her fingers fumbling as she tries to slide it back through the hole. After several moments she resorts to biting at it, managing to pull it off with her teeth crudely.
âRelaxâŠâ Gabrielle sweetly states as she leans in to whisper into her ear again. It's too much for Trixie though who jolts forward, sending Gabrielle tumbling out of her lap and onto the floor. The Goddess lands with a thud, head down and ass up. For a second she scowls at Trixie, but that was hardly the roughest sheâs been treated in this Club.
She holds her unbuttoned top closed as she slides back onto Trixies lap, wrapping her thighs around Trixie a bit more securely now. Gabrielle then simply grinds her upper body against her before then leaning right back until her hair touches the floor. Largely out of Trixies view she slides her top off completely and then slowly sits back up.
The young woman's jaw drops open as she just stares at Gabrielle's famed 34DDâs. Before she then has them rubbed in her face as Gabby presses her body tight to hers. Trixie tries to say something but stammers and then accidentally bites Gabrielle right on the boob.
The Goddess yelps out and pulls away, sliding out of Trixies lap she gets to her feet and dances again, swaying her hips before she slides her little skirt down her legs, revealing a tiny white g-string. She giggles and places the skirt around Trixies neck, noticeably covering her mouth with the denim material.
Gabrielle sways her hips and then sits in Trixies lap again, this time facing away from her as she grinds and gyrates her hips against her. Trixie looks around, noticing elsewhere that another naked woman is dancing in some man's lap, she sees him stuff a few dollar bills into her underwear and a light goes off in her head.
As Gabrielle leans forward, and prepares to arch her back into Trixie, the young woman pulls a dime out of her pocket and slides it between Gabrielleâs buttcrack. The Goddess pauses.
âIs that not enough?â Trixie nervously asks, before quickly grabbing another dime which she also drops down Gabrielle's buttcrack. This causes her to stand up, confusedâŠwhich gets worse as Trixie grabs the waist strap of Gabrielle's underwear and drops a third dime down the front.
âIâve got more.â She states before pulling out some more coins.
âNo, NO!â Gabrielle exclaims. âJust relax, no more coins.â Gabrielle grabs Trixies hands in hers and then presses them to her breasts, helping Trixie to feel her up and relax. The remaining coins fall out of her hands and tumble down Gabrielle's curves as she sits in her lap once more and gyrates slowly.
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Post by đąđȘđ·đœđȘ đąđŸđ”đ”đ on Sept 2, 2024 3:25:49 GMT
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Post by Wolfie on Sept 2, 2024 4:31:40 GMT
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Post by willis on Sept 2, 2024 4:42:07 GMT
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Post by C.R./P.F./L.E. - Lost_Stoner on Sept 2, 2024 5:01:14 GMT
TITLE: RIGHTEOUSLY F**KED!...
NEW YORK. PRINCE TOWERS AND INDUSTRIES.
The scene unfolds on the top floor of Prince Industries in the left tower, Prince Towers as the common folks called them, and inside the left tower for the better part of the man who currently occupied the space was the residence of the Prince family. Only that man didn't go by his adopted name, he was much more than a mortal named after his âDadâ, the thought made Righteous scoff. The man had been a putz, a fucking cosmic joke of unflattering mundane cum stain.
Captain Righteous: â...and I was fucking weirdâŠand weakâŠwhose dead bitches?â
He mumbled.
Ship: â...what?â
Captain Righteous: âwhat?...â
Captain Righteous seemed to have pulled himself from hisâŠmomentâŠhe often forgot his strong connection to Ship. Ship was exactly what one would suspect with a name like Ship, because Ship is a spaceship! In fact, Ship was the pod that brought Righteous to the planet. The true shepherd of the flock, or he was supposed to be but during the entrance and crash landing some of his wiring got crossed and he now sounds like The Dude and has the mentality of a teenager.
Captain Righteous: âI didn't say anything Ship..â
Ship: â..whose dead bitches?â
Captain Righteous: âFigure of speech Ship, you won't understand. Um what's on the itinerary for the day?â
Ship: âIt starts with a meeting with Madam Vice President in DC, then an interviewâŠwith yourselfâŠaboutâŠyourself, for the people.â
Righteous knew his schedule already, and he really didn't care for it whatever kept Ship and his inner thoughts from bothering him or escaping the better. The Captain had his big debut match coming up! Xyz! Lord of the Mommy Issues and boy did the Captain not like that, it was pity for the other man instead. What human felt good about beating down an already beaten down human? Righteous smirked looking out his big window, it was funny as Righteous wasn't human so it didn't bother him. At the end of the day a man with mommy issues and a fancy wrestling belt was going to be a formidable opponent, too bad for Xyz he was stepping into the path of a God.
Him and his stupid little cape and his dumb mommy issues. The thought made Righteous snarl and a very annoying voice cut the plot of a sad sack of shits career short was interrupted.
Lady Liberty: âWhy's your face all sour like that Captain?â
Captain Righteous: âJust thinking. We leave for training soon LibertyâŠâ
Lady Liberty: âTraining?â
Captain Righteous smirked blue eyes staring out the window once again.
Captain Righteous: âYes. I've got an important match coming up and if you are tagging along..you'll need to be prepared. Presentable. A manager.â
Lady Liberty looked very confused and she crossed her arms.
Lady Liberty: âI'm not really a part ofâŠthatâŠI'm here to make sure there aren't any more planetary incidents.â
The Captain rolled his eyes.
Captain Righteous: âWell who's to say I'm not plotting such a thing? Neptune is a hop and skip away for me, assassinating their President? Come on! Let's have a little fun, for fucks sake we're aliens! We've got super strength and powersâŠâ
Before Liberty could further resist Righteous reached over and grabbed Liberty by the back of her super suit launching into the sky!
...FloridaâŠ
Darkness as the scene unfolds but the sounds of cows mooing, roosters cawing, goats gleating, and the sounds of laughing children fill the air. Lady Liberty was blind folded blindly following Captain Righteous or rather being dragged, he had promised to bring her into the fold of the wrestling world in exchange for her being a little lenient with her reporting to The Board. When they had landed the first thing she realized was the stifling heat and the terrible smell.
Lady Liberty: âCaptainâŠoh..what's that smell?â
She wanted to rip the blindfold off but she kept her promise of keeping it on.
Captain Righteous: âIt's your future! Well part of it, this will be the first step in my 788 step training programâŠtake it off..â
He sounded proud as she ripped the blindfold off, it was exactly what she thought but worse: a petting zoo except a sign had been spray painted FALLOUT.
Lady Liberty: âWhat is all of this about?â
Captain Righteous looks at her flabbergasted that he has to explain.
Captain Righteous: âWhat do you know about wrestling? About entertaining a bunch of degenerative meth fueled long history of alcoholics in the family sister brother fucking people they call fans?â
Lady Liberty: âWell not a lot.â
Captain Righteous: âExactly! And if we are going to do this togetherâŠeventuallyâŠand you are going to be tagging alongâŠfor a little bitâŠI figured Fallout is the prime place to get you in!â
Lady Liberty: âThis is a farmâŠâ
Captain Righteous: âPittsburgh is a fucking farm and Fallout is a zoo! What does it matter? You'll do fine, just âŠâ
A kid tugs on Captain Righteous cape, as he turns looking for the biggest animal for her to train with, but he brushes the kid away.
Captain Righteous: âPick the biggest animal..beat the hell out of itâŠjust go wild childâŠand you take what you do here and apply it to my match!â
The kid persists, still ignored but the Captain is reaching his annoyed level.
Lady Liberty: âSo you want me to assault farm animals at a petting zoo for YOUR match?â
Captain Righteous: âWelll, you might need to lay low for a few days after.. * he makes a sad face and clicks his tongue* bummerâŠHEY KID CAN'T YOU SEE I'M DOING A THING HERE?! TUG ON MY CAPE ONE MORE TIME I WILL THROW YOU TO NORTH CAROLINA!â
[/color] The kid stood and defiantly crossed his arms, though not alone, hundreds of kids. Captain Righteous: âDarlakians*Âč! What are a race of alien children doing at a petting zo-...you bastards! Food!âWhen the kid speaks again, it was in a rough growling guttural language with shrilling peaks at certain points. They were angry with Captain Righteous that their favorite wrestler Xyz was going to defeat him. That was when all hell broke loose, a fight. A battle. The background noise as Lady Liberty turned to the distance staring at the hot sun of the setting Florida sun. The camera rolled as she made her silent pleading to whatever God existed... Lady Liberty: âWhat the hell is going on?â...back in New York⊠Darlakian*ÂČ blood dripped across the floor as heavy blood sod boots tracked across the floor of Captain Righteous penthouse in New York. Captain Righteous was actually soaked in the green ichor of the Darlakian blood but his eyes were an intense electric blue that shone through any color blood. Captain Righteous: âShip.âShipley: âYes, sir. Dude. How can I help you Captain?âCaptain Righteous: âCall Mister Han, I need my suit cleaned before my battle with Xyz.âThe TV plays in the background⊠*âan entire class of children from Jupiter Florida are missing along with a local famous Petting Zooâ*.Shipley: âYou bet baby! So. Xyz?â Captain Righteous is watching the news report but moans, turning his attention to a large steel door marked âCAPTAIN RIGHTEOUS CLUB HOUSE SUPER SECRET NO GOVERNMENT!â. Captain Righteous: âDon't even get me started, I was perplexed myself but every superhero needs a fourth villain to keep the filler people happyâŠXyz is just the first bump in the road, Ship.âCaptain Righteous laughs maniacally as the door to his secret room opens, he steps into the darkness and that darkness swallows him for just a second before a red light comes on. Inside the room was a creepy homage to various stars of the FWA; drawingsâŠphotosâŠreally weird photosâŠequally weirder drawings of them and him doing really weird things. Everything seemed to really point out that Captain Righteous was no friend of anyone within the company. Some photos had blood drawings of various nasty doodles of Xyz, for example in one Captain Righteous is beating Xyz with his own fake mother; other small doodles of various FWA talent pointing and cheering as Righteous did it. Laughing at Xyz. Captain Righteous: âO'hark and deliver said the angels Ship, I'm going to be fine it's that Xyz who has to worry about being used like a coke whores puss, Im literally going to beat his head in so bad mommy issues âŠ*Righteous whistles blowing a raspberry imitating something like a balloon deflating*... a thing of the past! He MIGHT learn to walk again before he remembers that sad shit, he might even remember the high of his previous accomplishment before dealing with even what the fuck that was at BiBâŠâShip whistled. Then produced the AI sounds of rolling a joint, the lighter striking and a deep inhale. Ship: âThat's a lot to unpack Captain. Violent, I don't even think, like, legally you can do thatâŠ? Literally. What is it you want? What in the wrestling world do you want?âRighteous falls silent, but a dry smirk plastered his features and the laughter remained in his eyes. Captain Righteous: [color=eb6123 âWhat I want will come soon and I will fucking blow his balls offâŠoh yes I will.â[/color] He then dives into his next art piece.[/blockquote] 1* -Darlakians are an endangered species of aliens who disguise themselves as children to eat petting zoo animals and watch earth wrestling. 2* - Darlakians are extinct. |
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Post by tonton on Sept 2, 2024 6:59:38 GMT
TRES TRES TRES
TRES TRES TARD
TETE-A-TETE
AVEC
TON TONTON!
featuring... Cowboy Thomas Bethlehem, Vengador the Luchador, Devin Golden's Taxi Driver, Trixie are for Kidsies Boredo, Not JJJ-1J, Tee, Andrews, Randi, Walker, Jon, Producer, The Brooklyn Original Names Do Not Remember. "So she was like, 'Uncle, where have you been all this time. I thought you left me?' And, I said, 'Madame, je ne sais pas ces qui l'oncle dont vous parlez, mais je suis sur qu'il serait decus que tu le confondrait pour un autre individuel, a cause de la couleur de leur peau,' and she says, 'Et les tentacules?'"Everyone laughs, except you. The producer looks at you oddly. "You don't get it?" You don't. How could you? You don't speak French. "Is everyone here bilingual?" You hadn't yet learned the name of the show, it would've made it obvious. "Oufff. Tonton, il va l'avoir difficile avec celui-ci." You don't need to know French to know he isn't being pleasant, facial expressions like that translate. Condescension can be made as discreet as one likes, but it's no longer condescension if you can't detect the sense of superiority within. This man, the producer, he had perfected it by virtue of his job, but it wasn't new ground for you either. And yet, against your better judgment, against a history of rash and violent behavior to any similar offense, you let the man keep his charade going. "Okay, you're a go 5... 4... 3..." he mouths the last two and a door slides open onto a stage, though the lights are too bright to make out much, or, any of it. That wasn't smart on your part. You know better than not to walk around with spare sunglasses somewhere on you. Few things more precious than that. You step into the light. "You alright there, Cowboy?"You don't say anything immediately. You try not to show it. It grates on you to admit your frustration. But you get tired of holding back. "How the hell can anyone see a damn thing with all these lights?""Oh, my bad, my bad. Y'all didn't give him any glasses?""We assumed he had some of his own. Regarde-lui!" The producer chimes in, closing the door he momentarily opened. "I don't want to hear excuses, this man is our guest, he deserves an 8 Star Experience! Here Cowboy, take my glasses. I'd rather I go blind than you go blind, that's how much I respect you."You happily take on the glasses, and though you feel at the back of your mind that this is a trap, you crave one of your most prized senses back enough to accept whatever might follow. You can see once again, and you get a good look at the eight spotlights centered on you and the tentacle'd host. "Boy, howdy, Cowboy, you are a violent man. I know you are. You are one of the individuals responsible for one of my most favorite heroes going away: Capitaine Fantaisie. Ah! Un vrai hero. You know he was French Canadian?""No.""You wouldn't. No. Because you attacked that man before you could even get to know him properly. Don't you understand how much better it feels to destroy a man's dream when you've gotten to really know them, to really know how much destroying that dream means to them."You have somewhat of an idea, but it sits at the edge of your memory. You try to reach for it, just like you try to will yourself to reach for the tentacle'd man's throat, but it's no good. Your will doesn't translate. "Longhorn Championship Wrestling, is that what it's called?" He doesn't let you get a word out when you don't answer right away. "Cowboy doesn't look sure, we don't want to put you on the spot. This isn't one of those shows where we make money off clips and snippets just mocking our guests. I hate shows like that. Let's just fact check that. Someone? Anyone? No AI Generated answers.""Je l'ai, Tonton!" You recognize the voice though the language sits oddly. To your right (screen left) appears Jon Russnow. Your boss. You muster a sneer, and he appropriately moves his chair a bit further away. "What is it, Jon? You know what, doesn't matter. Impressive of you to finance your own company. I, myself, have been part of the successful management of professional wrestling events. We didn't do anywhere as nice as Madison Square Garden or your high school gym, but I believe we had a sortie in the I.S.S.?""I... I know you.""Of course. I'm the host. Ton Tonton." "J.J-""No. My name is pronounced with the french J. It's J.J. JI!"
"JAY! You used to run around with the rest of the-"
"I don't know who you're talking about Thompson Bethlehem, but-"
"It's Tommy Bedlam," you correct him with half-assed effort at the cheap provocation. "Oh, Tommy Bedlam. That's my mistake, Cowboy. See, if you talked more about yourself, I might've known enough not to make that mistake. Now, can we get on with the interview, or do you really want to talk about me? I see that look on your face. You're holding it back but you do actually just want to talk about me, but I can't. You invite me to come talk at LCW and I'll talk about myself all night long, mon neveux, but today is about you. Now, you've had a tough road. Ligament damage in your right shoulder. Title run ending injury. Awful. You had overcome the devil. And that was your reward."It was awful, but you no longer felt bad about that anymore. You can't quite put a finger on it, but you're over it. BANG!
Your eyes widen as a red stain spreads out from your right shoulder. You look at Tonton whose eyes are wide and do nothing to betray his foreknowledge of the shooting. He turns to his side to see if Jon Russnow had some worthwhile answer to the increasingly worsening pain, but Jon Russnow was not there. He stood not too far directly in front of him, holding a pistol out in his best imitation of the year's great Olympian sharpshooters, but with his eyes firmly blindfolded (self-branded blindfolds, such had he decreed, its popularity had become). "Great job, Russnow. Right where you wanted it!""I GOT IT?!" "You got it!""You're damn right, I got it. I knew I was gonna get it." He peaks under his blindfold and grins to find out Tonton was not making a fool out of himself, or, that's the safe assumption given that grin coincided with his spotting the bullet wound in your shoulder. You try to blink away the pain. "Don't worry, Cowboy. If these were the times of the real cowboys, you might have something to worry about, especially with how fragile you kids are these days, but on this show -"The crowd joins in. "TRES TRES TRES TRES TRES TARD - TETE-A-TETE - AVEC - TON TONTON" "We have a doctor on hand in case anyone is in need of healthcare of any sorts. Don't worry about your insurance. Don't worry about your lawyers. We've got you covered. Dr. Andrews. Please! This man-"
"I know exactly what this man needs, Tonton. Don't worry." "You heard Dr. Andrews. I trust this man with one of my tentacles. He tells me not to worry, I have zero worries. We'll get you back into fighting shape. Or unsanctioned fighting shape. That is, not medically cleared fighting shape, in no time. Back to where we found you, if nothing else. Well, get on with it, Doc."
The lights are blinding. Or would be blinding, but the glasses nullify them. You're laying on a medical gurney, and the doctor is ready to cut you open. The crowd watches studiously, as if the surgical performance is the highlight of the evening. "Aren't you gonna give me something to-"
"I'll give it to you straight, Cowboy. We are not going to enable you here. You're gonna have to take this on with a yee haw and a prayer. You're a baaaaad man, Bethlehem, you'll make it."
"Ah, FUCK!"
You were feeling good. And you rolled your eyes at the dumb bells Tonton strained to lift, you knew well enough that neither could weigh more than 5 pounds, and this charlatan, as much the fool as he made himself out to be, could only be trying to make you feel less bad about the exercise. But you were feeling good. Tonton underestimated you, much like Dr. Andrews did. Or they simply didn't understand that to do what you needed to do, this wasn't going to cut it. You reached to pick up the dumb bells and felt yourself at the risk of losing both shoulders at the unexpected strain. "Look, I can't do this, feeling like this."
"Mon neveu, do they not have the cinemas down in Sweetwater? Did you miss all the sports movies warning against the risks of - well, everything it is that you're doing. Don't you understand what comes after the highest of highs. The sudden, unexpected low. And in the tale of heroes, when a low comes this late in the story, we call such a story a tragic one. But I do not wish to see things that way, Cowboy."You give the man more time than you realistically would ever give. You try to view his dramatics as earnestness. "Then meet me halfway, give me something."Ton Tonton looks at the crowd. You forgot they were there. They're shaking their heads, and jeering. Of course they would, we lived in the sort of universe where heroes are hardly ever recognized until its too little too late. And to demand such recognition just gave them license to point out why you weren't a hero after all.
"Well, Cowboy, you hear the people - but Tonton does not bow to mob rule. Tonton looks out for les neveu. Here you go."The plastic bag is unmarked and filled with white vitamin-like capsules. You do know better but you still stuff them down your throat, with more urgency than you ever remember feeling. The pain in his shoulder flares up with an eerily rapid response. "Ne vous inquiettez pas les amis, je l'ai donne des placebos."You could understand the last word well enough but the pain is too much for you to stand doing anything about it. Tonton's eyes twinkles, and he curses. "I can't take it. Look at the pain in his eyes. I can't lie to this man and let him suffer. Besides, we all know that here, we have all access to any of your pharmaceutical needs with a Dr. on hand to validate any necessary conditions. So, let's bring in our resident pharmacist, Dr. Tee!"
The young man is eager to be in the spotlight, and carries a tablet over to you. The list of options surpasses your (respectfully, vast) knowledge of them. And definitely, you should know better than to trust it. You even see NZT-48 on it. The drug from Limitless. Tonton gives you the name after you get curious enough to name the first fictional one off the top of your head. "They even got the secret stuff," Tee lets you know. "Space Jam." "Remember that thing Konchu almost took that one time that would've made him lose himself? We got that too!" Tonton shouts. Tee doesn't look pleased to see the host betraying the necessary inconspicuousness needed of the transaction. As soon as you hand over the tablet, a drone flies into the scene, piloted by Tonton himself. With instincts that by all rights should not exist, you leave your mouth wide open for a mouthful of a thing you did not expect to state as it did. "So, what did you get?" Tonton asks, putting aside the remote. You think to answer but with the fading pain, so goes your consciousness. "Oh, look at that, Daddy's waking up." Tonton looks you dead in the eye. "And I use the word 'Daddy' loosely."Walker sits on Tonton's lap behind the host's desk while Randi sits closest to Tonton, with you relegated to the side show. "Cowboy, I was just telling Walker here, that growing up without a father is difficult. It is. There's countless people in the FWA family who have grown up without fathers. But here's the thing. Look at how far they made it. Look at how far they made it with grit and determination. And you know who makes it the farthest, among even them... the ones who had a proper Tonton to rely on. A Rocco? A Uncle? And Walker - Walker has to be grateful, because il a un Tonton. He may not have a father, right Randi?"Randi doesn't wound him with verbally confirming the matter, but those eyes are clear cut enough. "Imagine if you were young Maxwell, you happen to be on the side of the multiverse where your father must die, and you are left with... well... the realization that the role you've been given is that of Hamlet, and, err, his uncle is Claudius, and he killed Drew. I think that's the way it goes. My Shakespeare escapes me.""How could you do this to me?" Randi asks. You take a deep breath. You show remarkable restraint. This is all the proof you need. This isn't real. The real you would kill him, right there and then. But the restraint tells you it isn't real. You don't need to deal with this. You stand up and leave. You're impressed with yourself. This must be what they mean when they talk about lucid dreaming. You get out easily enough. Nothing forcing you to endure the rest of the mind numbing show. You swing the sliding door forcefully open, to the disdain of the condescending producer. Walk down a lengthy hallway, in which, no one is stupid enough to get in your way, though you wished to smack the shit out of someone, the glaring pain in your shoulder you're trying your best to mind-over-matter through, isn't quite going away. You open the door at the end of the hallway, right under the Exit sign. Thankfully, since that was the only door down the hallway. Dreams don't come with unlimited budgets. You open the door to the cab. You want to magic it away for your truck but you don't have that much control yet. You get in. The driver takes off without a where to. You recognize the voice playing on the radio instantly.
"As you well know, there are over nine thousand eight hundred and sixty four submissions in my arsenal build around taking apart the shoulder. Here's one I really like. Have you all seen The Iron Claw? Well, this is a Shoulder Claw. Russnow, you'll let me demonstrate, won't you. Dr. Andrews is right there.""Can you turn this off?" You interject. You should expect better. The volume turns up. "L'aile du poulet. Underappreciated. Classic. I'm putting on a masterclass for the whole of the FWA locker room. Someone is going to get a chance while the ole Cowboy is still getting back to one hundred percent, and if they're smart, they brush up on their basics. Learn how to do a Chickenwing. The X will follow.""Alright, stop the car." The realization dawns on you far too slowly. "You never even started it," you mumble more to yourself than the driver. You open the taxi door, your brilliant escape at adversity thwarted, and get out, to find only the entrance back into the hallway you'd left before you. You open the door, determined to see this miserable dream through. You try to push your way back onto the stage but the producer stops you, immovable in a way you realize would be futile to try and overcome. "Wait your turn." Your turn? "I thought I was the guest.""And then, you tried to run away. Of course, we lined up a few alternatives. You know how the business is, if you don't expect people to bail at the first sign of a challenge, you're too naive. I'm impressed you came back though. But you gotta wait your turn." You recognize the man on stage immediately. The Workhorse. Brooklyn Steiner. He doesn't belong on that stage, and you were sure you'd made sure there was no way he could be on that stage. But there he is. "Brooklyn, Neveu. Mr. Russnow has been telling me how talented you are. The face of the next generation. Hot, he says. Hotter than a ghost pepper, he assures me. But among the critics, some have called you a fraud. A Hollywood dropout. Me, I don't care about any of that stuff. But I know a real wrestler, from a fraud. And real wrestlers know when you threaten to burn another individual in the pursuit of victory - when you put that spectacle into the minds of your audience, you must deliver. And you two did not deliver. So, I mean to have one of you pay up. And since you're here."Brooklyn Steiner newly notes the silver bracers keeping his arm, and self, bound to the couch. Jon Russnow apologetically lathers Brooklyn in gasoline, then with slight reluctance, commits the very act he forbid on that special night. Brooklyn lights up, a blazing inferno, but you only feel disappointed you couldn't have done it yourself. The inferno goes on for a torturous amount of time. You ask the producer if you can go on often enough but the answer remains a conclusive no. The couch is dragged out and replaced, yet you're no closer to seeing yourself through to the end of what you have settled on is a nightmare. The agonizing wait only served to center the pain in his freshly scarred shoulder. Mind had not won over matter. "It looks like my guest for the evening won't be able to make it through."You stare at the producer confused. "It was JJ, we didn't really think he'd show up anyways." "How many other guests do you have?""Three more. Including you. You're last, if we still need you." Although not having to deal with the interview any longer wouldn't be the worst way to see this dream through, how could you allow yourself to be the back-upmost act to your own show... in your own dreams, no less? Tonton ropewalks across two makeshift structures, in which drops into particularly positioned wooden tables await anyone who would fail to hold their balance. Despite your best wishes, Tonton makes it across and descends from the structure. "It's like I told you all, I know a little thing or two about lucha libre, who do you all think taught Chubby, it was Los Tonton. But there's a man who I am willing to admit, luchas, the dor, almost as well as I do. And to prove that, he is going to accomplish the skill all luchadores know. The rope walk. Monsieur Vengador! S'il-vous-plait!"El Vengador isn't too concerned with the task and climbs up the structure and onto the ladder with a point to prove about the mundanity of the exercise. "Alright, Monsieur Vengador, we get your point. You're a luchador. Naturally, balance is a skill you've completely mastered. Even if you were to be assaulted with a systematic onslaught of clothelines, and low drop kicks, and knees to the guts, you would evade all such maneuvers, and remain firmly on your feet anyways."Tonton is merely narrating what proceeds to happen. A rotating set of poles charge at him, an arm for the head, a knee for the mid-section, two boots for the shins. Vengador manages to dodge all three, even as they made multiple goes, until Tonton sheepishly shoved the structure, Vengador slipped, and an arm sent him flying into the sea of tables. You turn to see that where your island entrance (admidst the black chasm that surrounded the centerpiece of your attention) into the stage once remained on it's own, there's now a second far across. Trixie, equipped with the X Championship, once again leaves onlookers uncertain of her prowess or lack there of, as she trips and falls. She loses her hold on the X Championship, and the gold flies onto the stage, through the stage, past the stage, through the other entrance and into your hands. The other entrance, Trixie's entrance, closes. You're not comforted by that knowledge. You know that what Trixie lost just now pales in comparison to what she now stands to gain. But you ignore the fortune that led to her fall, and remember with sufficient satisfaction to make this entire nightmare bearable, that you are the X Champion. You put Brooklyn in the hospital. You had the performance of the biggest weekend in pro wrestling. A historic performance. This nightmare. Maybe you indulged a bit too much again. But you'd make it through. You always made it through. It was weird to say, but you were getting used to it now. It wasn't so bad, being on the edge. You sit next to Tonton - Uncle, you remember clearly now. The man you'll be facing next. You hardly feel any concern for what other theatrics he'll put up. After what you've been through, this one doesn't seem like such a bad match-up. If Russnow really hated you, he wasn't showing it. "Tommy, you know that feeling, when everything is going amazing, and you have the dread that things are going to go absolutely wrong. And people might say, Tommy, you're just being paranoid. But you know things are going to go absolutely wrong because you are quite fortunate for having gotten away with this current series of circumstances, and for things to go wrong, it would be the world coming into balance." You know the feeling. You weren't ready to come back, but you did. And you pushed it further than that. You turned your back on a former partner-in-crime to satiate your greed and need for validation. The belt you had on you now, no one even factored you going into Back in Business as a contender for it, but now you were the whole X once again. Things were going too well, and you weren't an idiot. You didn't do the things you do and expect the world to give you a free pass. But Tonton wasn't the man you were afraid of doing it. "Even clever people who know what's gotta happen, and try to stop it, they fail because they never see the threat for what it really is. They gotta sufficiently dramatize it, because by this point, they have sort of tricked themselves into thinking they are as good as they think they are. So the threat, the real threat, hidden in plain sight, goes on to do its job, because it was never bombastic enough to meet quota. The threat that is custom-made for you. The threat that knows where you've been hurting, and where you are hurting. The threat that knows that there's a coward inside of you, and it's not too hard to get him to come out. The threat that knows that you've been a bit too reliant on tools that admittedly, while I am a fan of, will not be at your disposal. Which is a shame, for you, because while the countless variables afforded to fighters in X and Unsanctioned affairs are delightful to consider in enacting a gameplan, we both know that without it, there's not much to the Cowboy is there. At 100% Cowboy, there's a bit to worry about, for sure. But you're not 100% Cowboy. And after what you've been going through, you're not even 50% Cowboy. And when your shoulder goes through a few operations, you will be, maybe 25% Cowboy. And of the 25% of the 50% Cowboy that disappeared, it's definitely the shittier 25% remaining. Which, if you understand Tonton, you know Tonton needs 2% to be competitive with the FWA roster. So your 100% at Tonton's 2% is what you hope for on a good day. But Cowboy at his 25% while Tonton is at his 2%, I don't need to make the calculations for you, you all have calculators on your phone. You're going to have to smarten up, Cowboy. If you do, you might-"
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