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Post by Jimmy King on Oct 12, 2024 17:39:21 GMT
The deadlines for this show are:
Sunday 13th October, 2024 at 23:59, Pacific Time.
Or Monday 14th October, 2024 at 03:00 Eastern Time.
Or Monday 14th October, 2024 at 08:00 UK.
Or Monday 14th october, 2024 at 17:00 Melbourne.
No extensions.
GLHF!
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Post by theprodigy on Oct 13, 2024 16:33:46 GMT
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Post by supinesnake on Oct 13, 2024 19:26:27 GMT
The sound of an alarm clock blaring.
The sunlight peeking through closed curtains.
A boy stirred in the bed of his luxurious suite, although he is too young to understand the extent of the decadence that is his childhood. He pushed his Mulberry silk sheets off his body, his Sea Island cotton pyjamas hugging him as he stretched, sliding into his designer slippers as he placed his feet on the ground. He smiled as he opened the curtains, finding the sunlight shining off a white blanket of snow. The snowman that he’d made the day before smiled at him broadly from the grounds. It was going to be a good day. A special day.
He pushed the button on the top of his alarm clock, surprised to find that it was already nine o’clock. Usually, he woke at seven on Christmas day, but this Christmas day was in many ways going to be a peculiar one. It was the first that he’d spent away from one of his homes, which admittedly could mean many things to Jean-Luc, even at the age of eleven and three quarters. Either at their Albany apartment, the estate in Vermont, their beach house on Le Croissant, or with his maternal grandparents in their chateau in the south of France. He’d lived for varying periods of time in all of these places, and had grown attached to them all for different and highly personal reasons. This year, though, they were in the penthouse suite of the Four Seasons in Lower Manhattan, a location with appeal lost on a boy of eleven and three quarters, and with none of the amenities that made Albany, Vermont, Le Croissant, and the South of France his homes.
Still, Christmas was Christmas. It was the one day of the year that he could be certain that his mother and Father would be in the same place. Granted, Mr. Watkins would usually spend the day drinking whiskey and smoking cigars, listening to his Wagner records and ignoring mama. But in a childhood characterised by long absences and periods in the care of nannies, the 25th of December was an annual reminder that he was still part of a family. He didn’t quite understand what that meant, but knew that it meant a lot. He had learned about it in school.
He pulled his cotton bathrobe down from the back of his door and threw it over his shoulders whilst visualising the presents under the tree. He’d seen them last night, held some of them even, the moment that was now upon him seeming so far away. He could almost smell Mr. Watkins frying bacon in the kitchen, and mama’s Chanel perfume with peculiar overtones of coffee and cigarettes. Serge Gainsbourg or Jacques Brel or Edith Piaf would be playing at mama’s discretion, Father usually not taking control of the stereo and drinks cabinet until later in the morning. It didn’t matter where it was, even if it was an alien penthouse suite in a foreign and confusing city, it was still Christmas.
His Father was indeed in the kitchen, but it took Jean-Luc a while to locate his mother. She was sitting on the balcony, facing away from him and towards Central Park, a black coffee in one hand and a vanilla-scented cigarette in the other. It was strange that she wasn’t there to greet him, on this of all mornings, but that wasn’t nearly the strangest thing about the scene. In between spying his Father in the kitchen and his mother on the balcony, Jean-Luc’s eyes fell upon a third person. A boy - a little older than himself and with the comfort and ease of some of the more popular and roguish boys at his boarding school - sat next to the Christmas tree, an action figure in wrestling trunks in his hands. Between the boy and the tree were a mound of gifts, the wrapping paper torn away and discarded all around him.
“Oh, Jean-Luc, you’re finally up,” his Father said, without turning to face him. He peeled the thick slabs of bacon from the pan and placed them onto two plates, sliced avocado already waiting on a third. Toasted sourdough was removed from the oven as he continued. “You’re usually up a lot earlier than this, especially on Christmas. We expected you hours ago.”
Jean-Luc didn’t look at his Father as he spoke to him. Instead, his eyes flitted between the action figure in the older boy’s hands and the cigarette hanging limply between his mother’s fingers, slowly smouldering towards the filter. He didn’t know it but his mouth was slightly agape.
“Jean-Luc?” his Father repeated, a little more loudly and a little more sternly. “Up and about, but not awake, I see. Typical.”
“Who is he?” Jean-Luc asked, after finally turning to face his Father’s glare. He lifted a finger to point at the older boy, who finally placed his new action figure - ostensibly, in the younger boy’s eyes, originally meant for Jean-Luc - down on the carpet. He turned to face Jean-Luc, a mischievous glint in his eye.
“You would know, Jean-Luc, if you’d been on time,” his Father explained. “That is your problem: never quite prepared. Always busy building snowmen and sleeping in. Head in the clouds.”
His Father shook his head wistfully. Jean-Luc considered pointing out that he hadn’t actually answered the question, but was dumbstruck in a way he often was around Mr. Watkins, and particularly so in light of the empty space beneath their Christmas tree where, last night, his presents had been.
“I’m Danny,” the older boy said, as he pushed himself up to his feet. He wasn’t only older but also taller and stronger, more handsome in the way that girls his age liked, and confident enough to offer a hand to the boy whose Christmas he’d just stolen. Jean-Luc took it limply and cowered in Danny’s firm grasp. “We’ve never met, but I’m sure we will again.”
“Danny is going to be staying here for a while,” Mr. Watkins said. The balcony door slid open, mama stubbing out her cigarette before joining them in the lounge.
“But there’s not enough room,” Jean-Luc protested spitefully. He noticed that he was still holding Danny’s outstretched hand and tried to relinquish his grasp, but the older boy held on tightly. “Where will he stay?”
“In your room, obviously,” his Father answered, as if this was obvious and Jean-Luc was being impertinent with the query. “You will have to go, of course. It is time. We’ve given you enough chances, and with each squandered opportunity I’ve become increasingly convinced that a change is in order.”
Mr. Watkins placed his knife down on the kitchen counter and emerged from behind it, offering the conciliatory body language that he might a recently fired underling in his office. He placed a hand on Jean-Luc’s shoulder, and only then did Danny finally let go of his hand.
“It’s in both of our interests, really,” his Father said. “You know, I’d love to be able to say that this was mutual.”
A sigh of lament from his mother brought a slight reprieve, and Jean-Luc pulled himself out from beneath the spell of his Father’s gaze. There was a sadness in her eyes that was very familiar to him.
“And you as well, mama?” he frantically asked, his desperation plain. “You want me to go, too?”
“C’est la vie,” she said, with a shrug. ”Ça doit être, baby.”
The elevator doors opened, and inside them stood two of the hotel’s security guards, along with one of his Father’s secretaries and a trio of lawyers. They waited in ambush as a firm hand was placed on Jean-Luc’s back and ushered him towards the exit.
“We’ll arrange for a delivery of your belongings once you get yourself settled, but I think for now a clean break is necessary if Danny is to establish himself in your place,” Mr. Watkins concluded, a little forcefully. “You know Mr. Goldstein, Mr. Humphries, and Ms. Keller, three of my legal representatives. They’ll help you get settled in the meantime. I really think that this is for the best, Jean-Luc, and that you’ll come to see it as such eventually. I see it clearly now. A clean break, quite. Before adulthood and the additional disappointments that will surely follow.”
With that, Jean-Luc was pushed into the elevator. Before the doors could shut, he glanced back into the suite. His mother had returned to the balcony and lit another vanilla cigarette. Danny returned to his toy. Mr. Watkins was serving breakfast on the dinner table.
The doors slid shut, and surrounded by the apologetic faces of lawyers, secretaries, and security guards, a blackness enveloped his heart and his soul. He could see nothing. Only darkness. |
***
Devious Productions Presents…
Jean-Luc Watkins and Konchu Hao in
"The Bonds of Blood and Strife! Resurrection of a Stalwart Will!!!'
*** The sound of an alarm clock blaring.
The sunlight peeking through drawn blinds.
A man stirs in the bed of his upscale Miami penthouse, drenched in sweat and shuddering from waking up from a dream that was unique, but not altogether unfamiliar. What was supposed to be his refuge and sanctuary, a remote corner of the world separate from his concerns and fears, has done little to quiet the FWA executive’s mind.
Jean-Luc Watkins slowly rubs the sleep from his eyes and rises from his king-sized bed, groggy and somewhat disoriented from what should have been a restful night’s sleep before heading out for the next round of FWA shows, including his and his partner’s tournament final match for a shot at the FWA Tag Team Championships against…
…Oh. Right.
Jean-Luc shakes his head, trying his best to get that nightmare out of it. Things have become far more complicated over the past several weeks than the young mogul could’ve contemplated ever being possible. From confronting his Father, to learning of secret shadowy cabals trying to hook their claws into FWA, and all the other…more unbelievable aspects of the world that exist in the shadows of the world he thought he knew well enough…and now? Vox Potentis, FWA’s premier commentary team, now are but one win away from winning the Elite Tag Team Classic and challenging FTN for the belts.
What a wild turn of events for a team that, if Jean-Luc was being honest with himself, shouldn’t have really survived the first round, much less made it to the finals against…
Jean-Luc sighs as he slips on a sumptuous cotton robe over his silk pajamas, taking a second to look into the mirror. “Damn it all. Why him?”
Continuing to look into the haunted eyes of his reflection, Jean-Luc mutters in a viciously frustrated tone. “God damn it. How the fuck could Russnow and Robinson let those sons of bitches have Meltdown? The only people who’ll bother watching are the basement-dwelling Reddit goblins who keep commenting on FWA videos asking for the Coven to shoot a sex video. The fans, the sponsors…what the fuck compelled that idiot Russnow to give them the whole show to turn into a circus for sickos? Why…why does he get to run roughshod in MY company without any repercussions?”
It’s not the reflection that answers Jean-Luc. That question apparently will have to wait, as Jean-Luc hears a somewhat familiar, yet different commotion coming from his living room. As he opens the door of his bedroom, he can’t help but smile as he sees a familiar sight.
“Yes, Truth, I know this is a problem…now, there’s no need to be rude. I understand that you’re a touch upset about the end result of your Steel Roulette match…you know, shouting at me about how it always seems like you have to start those matches is a bit beneath you, is it not?”
Sitting on a couch in front of the exceedingly large flat-screen television with several take-out bags strewn out in front of him on a couture black mahogany, trying his best to not wince from the angry conversation on the other end of his smartphone, is Konchu Hao. As the Mad Wizard seems content to let whoever he’s talking to vent frustration out, Konchu reaches for one of the bags and produces a pre-packaged fruit and yogurt parfait, using his shoulder to keep the phone to his ear as he fidgets with the lid while Jean-Luc leans against the wall behind him, somewhat amused by this exchange.
“No, no…I know. Onwards onto the next thing. Perhaps the young fox spirit girl or Gabrielle will deal with that problem and you can get another shot later. Honestly, you shouldn’t be quite so greedy with the gold,” Konchu replies as he finally gets the lid off his parfait and he grabs a spoon to mix it. “We both know we have other concerns…yes…yes, yes, I’m aware. And I agree, but if he is behind this, he’s being far more cautious than usual.”
There’s a long pause as Konchu takes a spoonful of his parfait and swallows it. He sets it down to take a nearby tea cup in hand. “I’ll mention it to him…yes, I know you’re still mad about bringing him in, but it was going to happen sooner or later, and it’s long overdue we had someone in FWA management that understood what was really going on.”
Jean-Luc’s smile somewhat vanishes at that, but reappears when Konchu continues, “Besides, he is a friend. I trust him. And it certainly has worked out well for us, has it not…right, true enough. Do keep me posted, old friend. I will endeavor to ascertain the truth of the matter. Best of luck to you, Truth. We’ll confer in due time.”
Konchu hangs up his call and leans back into the luxurious sofa, concern and exhaustion evident even through his masked face. The Mad Wizard does lean back far enough to see Jean-Luc on the other end of the living room, looking incredibly amused by something that Konchu could easily guess.
“So…how long were you standing there, Jean-Luc?”
Jean-Luc shrugs as he walks over and has a seat next to Konchu on the sofa. “Long enough to gather that Cyrus is mad about something? I didn’t think he was the type to complain about the outcome of a match, win or lose.”
“Oh, I oversold that part of it, if I am honest. No, Truth’s primary ire is on something else entirely,” Konchu admits as he rummages through another bag and produces what looks like a burrito. “Apologies for breaking in again, but if it’s any consolation? The locks on this penthouse are far more of a challenge than the ones protecting your domicile in D.C. and it took me longer. Too much longer, for which I must again apologize for not cooking breakfast…”
Jean-Luc puts a hand on Konchu’s shoulder reassuringly as he grabs for a breakfast burrito and yogurt parfait. “It’s fine, Konchu. I’m actually glad to see you. And it was still thoughtful of you to grab breakfast regardless. Where’d you get these from? They smell delicious.”
Konchu’s eyebrows arch a bit as Jean-Luc unwraps one of the burritos and takes a bite out of it. “Well…I have quite a few friends here in Miami. Cuban refugees that own a lovely little corner restaurant in Little Havana. Excellent conversationalists in Caribbean folklore and mysticism, and they make outstanding vegetarian breakfasts to go.”
“I’ll say. It’s a real shame that the island’s run by a bunch of Communist dictator shits. People across the world would flood the country just for the cuisine,” Jean-Luc replied, yet again seemingly more cheery than what Konchu had expected.
“All right, one moment. Jean-Luc?”
“Hmm?”
“Are you well?” Konchu asks, a tone of legitimate concern in his voice. “Not that I’m displeased by the fact that you’re not yelling at me for breaking into your home again, but you seem rather…nonchalant given what we have on our docket. You know, the whole ‘We are one win away from winning the Elite Tag Team Classic and getting a shot at the FWA Tag Team Championships’ bit? And that’s to say nothing about the reprobates we have to face in order to actually win the tournament.”
All the amusement and mirth evaporates in Jean-Luc as he sets down the breakfast burrito and leans forward, arms resting on his knees in morose conversation. “You know…I was sort of hoping you wouldn’t bring him up. This was really a nice breakfast.”
“‘Him? Which one of them is him?!’”
“But, it’s fine, Konchu!” Jean-Luc declared, seemingly ignoring the Mad Wizard’s interjection. “We’ve gotten this far, haven’t we? We defeated a couple of FWA’s stars of tomorrow and a pair of former Trios champions to get to this point. And I’m sure that even a former World Champion nepotism beneficiary can’t stop you given how much of a hot streak we’re on. So…what’s the plan? You going to cast a spell on him that makes his bowels rot? Or maybe go the classic route of turning him into a toad, or maybe…”
“Two.”
Jean-Luc’s rambling is immediately shut down by Konchu’s interjection. He shoots Hao a bemused glance in response, seeking elaboration.
“Two former World Champions, Jean-Luc. Who exactly are you talking about?”
“...well, Toner, of course. Nova Diamond…”
“Nova Diamond is an incredibly dangerous competitor with a long-documented chip on his shoulder that fully understands how to maximize opportunities both above and below the proverbial belt, and has scored victories against competitors that Daniel Toner has never defeated,” Konchu explains in the exasperated tone of a teacher trying to get a child to understand. “Why are you focused on Toner solely? This is a tag team match, Jean-Luc. And our opponents are not only the most decorated adversaries that we’ve had to face, they are utterly remorseless and unrepentant in their willingness to be absolute tosspots.”
“I mean…I know that…I…I…” Jean-Luc is unsettled, his usual verbosity stymied by Konchu’s blunt summation of their situation.
And the summation doesn’t end. “Speaking of tag team wrestling…Jean-Luc, I don’t wish to diminish your progress over the last two matches you and I have had. It is clear to me that you are slowly getting more and more comfortable with being back in the ring…but that’s the problem. Your progress is quite slow. I have no delusions that a decade’s worth of ring rust is something so easily buffed away, but something is holding you back. And I cannot defeat Diamond and Toner on my own. This ‘hot streak’ you speak of? Need I remind you that I was on a hot streak in a tournament before, and I lost my shot at the gold thanks to Daniel Toner? We cannot and must not take this undertaking lightly, my friend! If we are to finish what we started, we must do so together. Me…and you. We do not have the luxury of time nor the fortune of less substantial opposition.”
“I…I know.” Jean-Luc replies, barely speaking above a whisper as his head dips even lower. Jean-Luc feels the weight of Konchu’s proclamation like a thousand pounds resting on his shoulders.
Jean-Luc stands up from the sofa and walks around the coffee table, strolling over to the wall towards the sliding-glass door that leads out to the balcony. As Jean-Luc heads outside, Konchu takes a long sip of his tea before rising to follow him.
The sun is still in the process of rising, providing a beautiful medley of reds, yellows, and oranges as a backdrop to the Miami skyline. Jean-Luc, leaning against the balcony railing, taking a deep breath of the morning air, doesn’t look behind him as Konchu saddles up to join him in looking out.
After a few seconds of silence, Konchu finally speaks up again. “Listen…I said what I said not to upset you, Jean-Luc. Merely to put into perspective what it is we must overcome. Not simply for our sakes, but for the sake of the rest of the FWA locker room. NTR cannot be allowed anywhere near the Tag Team Championships. This farce of a Meltdown is something we will all be scarred with for years to come, and we must ensure that this does not…”
“That SON OF A BITCH!” Jean-Luc interrupts with a loud, thunderous shout. Konchu is stunned as his partner starts ranting with a wild, almost feral look in his eyes. “Toner always does this! Every single time he drags himself out of the gutter to have another run at the top of FWA, he always…ALWAYS drags the product down with him. FWA is made LESSER thanks to that bastard, and my Father continues to support him? Favor him? Treat HIM like he’s the gold standard and I’M the disappointment?! Toner wins one World Title off the 5th most popular Nephew and suddenly he’s willing to split an entire company in two to make Danny Fucking Toner its figurehead? Konchu!”
That seems to startle the Mad Wizard as Jean-Luc turns to face him. “I can’t understand it. I can’t understand what my Father sees in that drug-addled screw-up that never developed a personality past the age of sixteen. The only logical explanation is that my Father’s insane…so…is he? You’re the expert on that, after all!”
“Well, so much for not shouting,” Konchu replies with a tired, exasperated tone.
Jean-Luc, having ranted himself to breathlessness, seems a bit cowed by Konchu’s blunt statement. “Oh…um…I’m…”
“Oh, save your apologies,” Konchu interjects as he looks out over the horizon. “While I don’t disagree with your assessment of Daniel Toner, need I remind you again that Daniel is only half of the problem? Daniel Toner is a perennial disappointment that continues to exist like a tapeworm in the bowels of professional wrestling, but he is NOT the most dangerous aspect of that team. Toner’s greatest successes in wrestling have occurred when he had a support system in place. Nova Diamond? He has no such foibles. Most if not all of his successes have been due to his own ingenuity and determination. Hell, how many years has Nova wrestled for FWA, and he’s already a Hall of Famer? And it’s not unearned. Nova Diamond is relentless when properly motivated, remorseless in how he approaches the ring, and above all else? He has bought into his own hype and the hype that FWA has bestowed upon him, despite the fact that his one World Title reign amounted to half as many days than William Henry Harrison was president of this wretched country. A man that clever, that imposing, that so assured of himself is a dangerous man. Especially when he can curb Daniel’s more self-destructive tendencies long enough to bring FWA to ruin. And that’s to say nothing about Rupert…”
“Wait…what about my Father?”
Konchu smiles, but there’s no joy or warmth behind it. “What do you suppose that Truth was badgering me about this morning on the phone? There’s a better than zero chance that Rupert is funding or providing support from the shadows. As you so eloquently said earlier…it’s not as if he hasn’t done similar things before, especially with Daniel Toner in the mix.”
There’s a scowl that crosses Jean-Luc’s lips as he slams his hand in frustration into the railing. “Yeah. Of course he would.”
“That being said,” Konchu continues, “Neither Truth nor I have any proof of his involvement. Either that means Rupert is not involved, or he’s being far more careful about covering his tracks. Considering you know about the world of shadows now, that isn’t unreasonable to assume. So…you’re going to help me find out.”
“Wait…what?!” Jean-Luc stammers out.
“Exactly what I said. I wish to arrange a meeting with Rupert Watkins using my position as the Primogen of the Black Mass. Regardless of what he thinks of me, I doubt highly that Rupert will be able to ignore my summons. But I will not be conducting that meeting…you will.”
“No, absolutely not!” Jean-Luc retorts as he backs away from Konchu and paces around the balcony. “I want nothing more to do with that man.”
“I would not ask this if it wasn’t important, my friend. If Rupert is involved and supporting Daniel and Nova, FWA will suffer. And even if he’s not involved, it’s clear that you need to murder these demons you have revolving around your Father. And unlike actual demons, this won’t require holy water or pieces of the True Cross. You need to do this, Jean-Luc. For your sake as much as FWA’s.”
“No, absolutely not!” Jean-Luc angrily responds as he walks towards Konchu. “Listen, you are my friend. Probably the best friend I’ve had in wrestling…maybe even the best friend I’ve ever had. And you’ve helped me out in ways I can’t really start counting. But on this? I can’t. I refuse. It’ll be a cold day in Hell before I give that man any more of my time.”
There’s a tenseness in the air as both members of Vox Potentis stare one another down. Eventually, however, it’s Konchu who relents. “Suit yourself. You certainly don’t make things simple, Jean-Luc.”
“Wait…what?”
“Oh, don’t worry. Now, let’s finish our breakfast. I have business this morning, during which I think you should accompany me…”
***
A short, undetermined time later, our heroic duo found themselves standing harsh, near inhabitable terrain. A blizzard swirled around them, the snow already up to their knees and falling into the top of their wellington boots. In the distance, flames still rose out of deep caverns in the ground like infernal geysers, and a river of molten rock trickled down a mountainside, but even these hellish geographical features were being slowly quenched by the incessant falling snow.
Jean-Luc shivered uncomfortably, pulling his thick (but nowhere near thick enough) jacket more tightly around him to battle against the cold.
“Where the devil are we?!” Jean-Luc asked. Before Konchu could answer, their interaction was disturbed by a nearby disturbance in the snow. A black fissure formed in the otherwise white blanket, through which a red trident was thrown out, landing with a dull thud on the snow. A moment later, a hand of the same colour grabbed a crimp hold on the edge of the crack, and then a second hand, and - after the exertion of a freezing cold muscle up - a head with wild, black eyes and a forked beard.
“You have to stop doing this, Konchu,” the interloper said. “It’s just an expression.”
The Mad Wizard ignored the newcomer, deciding to focus on Jean-Luc instead.
“We’re in Hell, my dear J-L,” he announced, in a surprisingly cheery tone of voice. “And it’s quite a cold day! Maybe you’re a prophet?”
Jean-Luc blinked. Opened his mouth and closed it again. Konchu beamed at him triumphantly, as if he’d just won a point.
“You have to stop taking idioms quite so literally,” Jean-Luc said, finally. “I’m still not going to meet my Father. Not today and not ever.”
“Fine,” Hao conceded, with a slight sense of indignance. “I guess we can just go to a gym back up on the surface. But I promise you it’ll be far less creative.”
***
Jump-cut to outside a tall, modern high-rise office building, a large sign outside of reception reading ‘Watkins Generic Solutions PLC. Jean-Luc beholds Konchu with narrowed eyes, who returns a broad, beaming smile.
“This is my Father’s building,” Jean-Luc asserted, deadpan and accusatory.
“Yes, but there’s a gym here!” Konchu said, deliberately oblivious to his counterpart’s tone. “I’m sure they have all the things you usually have in Earth gyms: hamster wheels, stretching racks, hyperbolic enshroudment chambers. You know, all the usual stuff. And wrestling rings, I’m sure! Your Father was a prominent name in the industry, after all. For better or for worse.”
“And I suppose,” Jean-Luc began, with anger simmering just beneath the surface. “That I’m to believe that this isn’t simply a ploy to get me to speak to my Father?”
“Well,” Konchu replied, his body language simultaneously conveying his guilt and his innocence. “Whilst we’re here, it would probably be rude to not at least wing by and say hello…”
“NO!” Jean-Luc exploded, his voice quivering with both rage and fear. “I do not want to speak to him! I have been absolutely clear, Konchu! Not now, and not ever: not if Hell freezes over, and not if pigs fly.”
The sun was momentarily blocked out by an overhead projectile. Jean-Luc looked up to behold a cybernetically-enhanced winged pig flying past, the words Devious Productions etched onto its side.
Jean-Luc shook his head, unimpressed.
“I will never understand humans,” Konchu muttered, flabbergasted and dismayed. “This is the path to victory, Jean-Luc! Let me lead you down it!”
“And what would you know about it?!” Jean-Luc countered, with more scorn in his voice than even he had anticipated. “What would you know?! You have no son, and no father as far as I can tell. For all I know, you sprouted one day from a hole in the ground. You can’t possibly understand, Konchu!”
The scene fell into silence. Jean-Luc had blown himself out in his anger and bombast, whilst Konchu retreated, perhaps in submission, into a quiet, almost unresponsive state. The executive’s breathing was laboured, the moment of stress weighing heavily upon him. The pause allowed him to regulate and remember himself.
“I’m sorry, Konchu,” he said, quietly. “I don’t know what came over me.”
But the Mad Wizard was somewhere else entirely…
***
…
…
Desperation.
Instinct.
The throbbing, unimaginable malaise of a mind easily broken in the pursuit of knowledge beyond mortal comprehension.
Who was he? He had…a name. A life before the cellar, before the witch and the voices that reverberated in his head beckoning him towards the abyss and the secrets consumed by it. He was…someone. Anyone. A person, a human, SOMEBODY! But the hours turn to days and more and more of who he once was continues to slip through his fingers, seeping through the cracks of his psyche like water through a sieve, escaping to a place from where what was being lost could not be reclaimed.
The voices…they continue to torment him, whispering salvation with forked tongues, honeyed words laced with cyanide. One, however, struggles to break from the noise, trying to speak clearer than the others.
“You’re wasting time! You cannot come back from what has been done, mortal. If you persist, there will be nothing left of the human you once were. You need to let me help you!”
No. NO! Lies, deception. The mouth of madness. The voices could not be trusted. They were the ones, right? The ones who broke him. No…there must be another way…
“There IS no other way, you young fool!” The loudest voice bellows within his skull. “The doorways to darkness you have opened within yourself cannot be closed! The only way to retain even a fragment of what you are is to trust me!”
Shut up, shut up, shut up…why won’t the voices stop?! It’s all tricks, that’s what the books say! The books about…about something. Magic? The darkness? The horrid and wondrous powers that lie beyond the veil? Something like that brought about this…the curiosity, the desire to know MORE.
But…the cost. The shattering…it wasn’t worth it.
The voice continues to try and plead, and he can’t deny that the voice isn’t persistent. Couldn’t shake the earnest, almost pleading tone, as if it truly wanted to help. But…no, it couldn’t be that. Nothing from what he saw when his gaze pierced the shroud beyond the mortal sight could ever possibly be anything other than malicious, devious, and power-hungry.
No…he had to find him. Because he knew, he remembered. The one thing that was drilled into his mind, heart, and soul, through pain and repetition.
Family…legacy…that was what mattered.
Father. He needed his Father.
His head pounds, buzzing with indignation from the essence. “You cannot be that far gone already, whelp! Have you forgotten already? That man cannot save you from what has been done.”
No…
“He will NOT be able to stop what has already been set into motion.
Be quiet…
“...Have you forgotten…how little that man cares?”
An unearthly scream erupts from his lungs. LIES! More lies! They had to be! What could be more precious to a parent than their child? And his Father…his sire…he had to know. He was important, yes! He remembers that much! That was always obvious. And…and…important people knew how to solve problems, right? Or they knew people who could make the impossible possible.
The voice continues to plead, begging to be heard. But, no. No, it would not win. The voice could drown in the echoes of the other whispers in his mind. He’d reclaim what he was, and his Father…he’d know how.
Alleyways. Long roads. Scorching days and frigid nights. Vast open spaces and cramped cityscapes. Impossible to tell what was really happening and what his diseased, fragmented mind was simply conjuring. But there was still instinct. That was enough. He knew where to find his progenitor. Knew the places he congregated at. Soon enough, this throbbing pain, this unsettling existence…everything that could be set right would be restored.
It had to.
…Right?
Eventually, he sees it. The Apex. That was its name. A hotel that his Father had a major stake in. This was where he could find him or…or he could find someone. Yeah! Someone who could let his Father know his son needed him. This was it! Finally, the chance to get some help. Not the cloying, persistent offers from the voice…but actual help!
He doesn’t know why he draws up the hood on his tattered, sweat-stained sweatshirt. Why is he trying to hide who he is? No…he remembers. His Father always wanted him to be proper. No, his current state, it wouldn’t do. He couldn’t disappoint his Father, at least not if he was meeting with other important people. He’d try and find him first, then reveal himself when he knew that Father was here. Alone, where he could try and…
“No, NO! You know how this is going to end!” the voice interjects as he enters the Apex. Struggling to keep pace, he clutches his head as the voice continues to torment him with the tone of a pleading friend. “You must remember what that man has done. What he did to YOU for simple curiosities. What he did to your moth…”
SILENCE. BE SILENT. The man screams in his own head, trying to drown out the voice’s appeals, its offers of salvation that he knew, deep in a part of what was left of his soul, would end any hopes of reclaiming the life he had before. He was here, at the Apex. He had made it.
He had…
He had…
“Hahaha! You two rapscallions are something else! Real movers and shakers.”
There. Seated near the hotel bar, dressed in that impeccably tailored suit, is his Father. And he’s not alone. Those two seated with him…one with piercing eyes that wander to his PDA frequently, distracting him, and one that took less-than-subtle hits from a snuff box which contained a very obvious white powder. The two younger men were dressed in fine suits as well, but they were certainly more tacky, something that was not professionally tailored. They looked like a facsimile of success, not that his Father seemed to notice or care.
One of the younger men laughs as his partner takes another sniff, and then leans in, ”We’re grateful as always for your sponsorship, sir…but I have to ask. Your son…”
“What about him?” his Father said. His tone was…cold. Dismissive. As if asking him about his own flesh and blood was more trouble than it was worth.
“Well…he’s been missing for weeks. There’s a lot of our peers that would think that you and your wife would be…”
“Oh, Bunny? She’s too doped out of her mind to care. And if you’re talking about my ex? She’s been committed for years now!” his Father says. A cruel explanation spoken in the tone of a jovial drunk. He takes another shot of whiskey as his son watches from the other side of the bar, hood drawn up. “Listen…that boy was always more interested in that occult bullshit than learning how to be a man in this world. To take life by the balls for all that it’s worth. You two? You understand that, right? Hell, you two are better sons than that wretched boy of mine ever was. So fuck him. I couldn’t care less if he shows his face again.”
Couldn’t care less.
Couldn’t care less.
Couldn’t care less.
Those words rattled in his skull, slithering like snakes, coiling in his throat and constricting his thoughts.
He remembered.
Remembered the shouts.
The slaps.
The dismissive attitude towards everything and anything he cared about.
The voice was right.
The man…the boy…whatever he was, he ran. Ran away from the Apex. There was nothing there for him. Even if his Father could help, he wouldn’t. That man saw his son as a lost cause. And given the company he chose to keep? The kinds of men he preferred to have as sons? It was unlikely he could help anyone other than himself to whatever vice the world had to offer.
The rest…the rest is a haze. The last vestiges of the man he once was. A shop…a bell ringing.
And a mask, sitting in a corner away, alone…alone, just like him…
…
…
***
“No…you’re quite right, Jean-Luc…what the devil would I know about it?”
“Konchu? Are…are you okay?”
The Mad Wizard is silent as Jean-Luc asks his query, and continues to say nothing until he finds a nearby marble-carved bench and has a seat. After a few seconds, Konchu breaks the silence with a somber chuckle. “Kehahaha…I’m all right, Jean-Luc. Just…viewing a memory that doesn’t belong to me.”
Jean-Luc’s face scrunches at that, and there’s a part of him that wants to pry. But…the melancholic cloud over his friend’s head is enough to stop him from digging deeper. Instead, Jean-Luc has a seat on the bench next to Konchu, sitting silently for a minute or two.
It’s Jean-Luc who breaks the silence by asking, “What happened, Konchu? You kind of just…checked out for a few seconds.”
“It’s nothing to concern yourself with, Jean-Luc,” Konchu answers in a tone that strongly suggests that there’s not going to be much left to follow up on. However, his tone does soften as he continues. “You know that I ask certain things of you not simply because I wish to achieve some goal or obtain some boon, don’t you?”
“Yeah…I know.”
Konchu nods slowly. “That’s good. I would hate to think that you believe I’m simply using you. While I don’t fully understand the undercurrent of your relationship with your Father, I can surmise that it was not a relationship built on love and mutual respect. It is…a hateful thing, really. For a parent to think so little of their progeny that they would rather replace them with some lesser doppelganger than embrace them for what they have the potential to be.
“I cannot speak of what a healthy Father-son relationship is supposed to be, but I suppose that’s yet another item you and I have in common with one another. Ultimately, I could spend centuries trying to determine what could possibly lead a Father to forsake his son, but…perhaps that’s not the right approach. Rather, perhaps it’s a greater showcase of wisdom and grace to seek out what and who makes you feel more than instead of less than. We cannot choose whose blood we share, but we can decide who we wish to put our faith in, and have that faith be returned.”
The Mad Wizard leans back and stares up into the sky, as wispy clouds roll through. “I have few in my life that I can consider friends, Jean-Luc. Fewer of those friends still that I can say I trust, or would gladly declare war in order to protect and stand alongside as enemies come charging at the door. So perhaps it’s selfish of me in the end to ask that you find a way to bury and kill this animus between you and Rupert. Perhaps it was cruel of me to insist upon this meeting. If so, then please understand that I only wished to help you, Jean-Luc…because you ARE my friend, and I only wish for you to realize that you are far more than what that bastard of a patriarch of yours has ever led you to believe, and that you have the power to ensure that your company, your passion survives whatever malcontents wish to ruin it. But even so…know that I apologize if my good intentions caused you nothing but discomfort. That is not something a good tag team partner, much less a good friend, would or should do.”
Konchu sighs, having unloaded a lot off his chest. Jean-Luc, meanwhile, looks at his friend with a different perspective. The Mad Wizard, crazed and deranged as he is, was his friend, wasn’t he?
And how many friends does Jean-Luc have in this world? Even Price, as annoying and overbearing as he is, might be the only other ‘friend’ the FWA executive has. Most of his childhood friends growing up were mostly just the kids of his Father’s business partners who didn’t have anything else better to do than just spend time with him, or the sons of wealthy men that he’d meet in various boarding schools. And the others in college and wrestling? Most, if not all of them were just fleeting acquaintances, or people looking to get in good with the rich kid with the even-wealthier, better connected dad.
But Konchu? Konchu was no toady to his Father, nor was he really asking anything of Jean-Luc that, if he was being honest with himself, that Jean-Luc himself wasn’t interested or invested in to begin with. And the Mad Wizard took a gamble on him in the end. Not just as a tag team partner for this tournament, but…Konchu opened the door to this strange, bizarre, and almost unbelievable “world of shadow,” allowing Jean-Luc to better understand just how much of a monster Rupert truly was capable of being.
Konchu sacrificed his own safety and his own standing in that world to open Jean-Luc’s eyes to something his own Father tried to keep hidden from him.
What have Danny Toner or Nova Diamond ever had to sacrifice? What choices have they made that didn’t immediately benefit themselves, enrich themselves?
Jean-Luc sighs as he stands up from the bench, looking directly at the Watkins Generic Solutions PLC building. He puts a hand on Konchu’s shoulder as the Mad Wizard looks up at him.
“Wait here, Konchu. This won’t take long.”
Realizing what Jean-Luc’s inferring, Konchu simply asks, “Are you sure about this?”
“Sure? No. Truth be told? I still really kind of want to walk away,” Jean-Luc admits. But he then turns to face Konchu with a sad smile on his face. “But we are friends, Konchu. And friends sometimes do things they don’t want to do if it means they can help. And you were right about one other thing.”
Konchu’s eyebrow raises as Jean-Luc says with a sad laugh. “Running away from this isn’t going to help. So…I’ll try. But I can’t promise I’ll find out anything worthwhile.”
“It’s enough to know you care to try, Jean-Luc,” Konchu replies, honestly and truthfully. “If you need me…I’ll be right here.”
Jean-Luc squeezes his friend’s shoulder, tight enough to show his gratitude. He steels his nerves…and heads for the building.
***
As Jean-Luc sat in the reception area of his Father’s office, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was back at one of his several boarding schools, awaiting the summons of a dusty, old headmaster. Only, contrary to the empty threats and hollow words of those archaic scholars, the man who he had come to see - mostly against his will, as we have already learned - held an actual power over Jean-Luc that caused him anxiety and discomfort. He had the uneasy sense that his Father’s secretary was only pretending to type, and in fact was keeping a close, watchful eye on him as he stewed in his own insecurities.
“Mr. Watkins,” the secretary declared, before immediately hesitating. “Excuse me, it feels strange to call someone else that. The other Mr. Watkins is ready for you now. You can go right ahead.”
She nodded towards the door, sleek and black and simple by design. To Jean-Luc, however, it appeared a heavily guarded fortress, protected by chains and locks, impenetrable and intimidating. The short walk between him and the door seemed to lengthen into a wide expanse. He cleared his throat and smiled awkwardly at the secretary, who seemed mildly perturbed by his general anxiety, cocking an eyebrow accusingly in his direction. He cowered beneath the weight of her gaze, and with great exertion summoned the energy to lift himself to his feet and scarper away from it.
The chains and padlocks fell away as he approached, the door opening as a hand that didn’t seem like his own pressed down on the handle. His Father was behind the large, ornate, wooden desk, annotating a large pile of papers that he would intermittently shuffle in an affectation of preoccupation. Jean-Luc remained in the doorway, regarding the old man with an intent curiosity, who only looked up over his papers when the ticking grandfather clock began to echo more loudly than the younger man thought was possible.
“Hmmm,” he uttered, in vague displeasure, as he set down his papers and his pen. He leant back in his chair, looking down at them longingly, as though he would much rather spend the next few minutes tending to them than taking a meeting with his son. He kicked out a leg beneath his desk, making contact with a second chair on the other side of it, pushing it out slightly in a wordless gesture that Jean-Luc should sit down. The younger man complied, meek in his acquiescence.
Neither man said anything for a moment. Rupert’s face was grave and thoughtful as he slowly and deliberately filled one cup of coffee. He sipped at it, wincing slightly at the bitter taste, before finally glancing over at his son. His countenance brimmed with a barely concealed contempt that further stupefied Jean-Luc into prolonged silence.
“I didn’t expect to see you again so soon,” Mr. Watkins, the elder, began. “Not since…”
He trailed off, as though he wasn’t quite willing to talk openly about the circumstances of their last meeting.
“You have been rather aloof this past couple of years,” Rupert continued. “Perhaps with good reason. You and your new friend were quite clear, and I have been true to my word. I have stayed away from that world ever since we last spoke.”
Unable to speak just yet, Jean-Luc’s mind raced in an effort to construe his Father’s words. He wasn’t speaking about the FWA, the son realised, but rather the World of Shadows that Konchu had introduced the younger man to. Where he’d found, to his surprise and his horror, his Father was already there waiting for him. It also occurred to Jean-Luc that Rupert was in a hurry to let his son know that he’d kept the terms of their previous bargain. The son didn’t flatter himself into thinking that his Father was afraid of him, but Rupert doubtlessly had a healthy respect for the capabilities of his new tag team partner.
Jean-Luc felt emboldened, and allowed his Father to continue in the hopes that he’d give more away. Rupert Watkins, though, was far from an idiot, and identified his son’s strategy almost as soon as he’d decided upon it.
“I usually don’t accept a meeting without a predetermined agenda,” Rupert said, more guardedly. “I made an exception for you, Jean-Luc. But I think it’s about time you told me what this is all about.”
Jean-Luc cleared his throat, and found his voice thin and alien when it escaped his lips.
“Konchu is worried,” he began, before immediately stopping to correct himself. “We are both worried about a new and malignant force in the FWA. In my company. It started as a rash, but has quickly spread, and now one can’t turn without seeing the symptoms of this cancer. And its chief agent is a man that you know very well.”
His voice quivered as he finished speaking. He stopped short of speaking his name. His father realised and seized upon this, sensing a way to regain power over a son who had too often thwarted him as of late.
“I am aware of your problem,” he said, appearing both knowledgeable and sympathetic. Jean-Luc knew better. “But only from the outside of it. If you are implying what I think you’re implying, then I can quickly allay your fears. Or, perhaps, disappoint you, depending on what you were hoping the outcome of this conversation would be. You’ve always sought to cast me as the villain in your little melodramas, after all, Jean-Luc.”
There was a pause, during which his father’s lips curled into a triumphant smile.
“I wonder if all of this is coming from your partner,” the older man continued, with narrowed eyes, as if sitting in judgement of his son. “You always were an impressionable boy. Wouldn’t be the first time you’ve let yourself be influenced by someone who doesn’t have your best interests at heart.”
“Konchu has his theories,” Jean-Luc admitted, conceding that point but hoping to use his father’s words against him. “But, to speak about influence and manipulation, you have a history with our problem. In many ways, you emboldened him to become what he has become.”
“That might be true,” Rupert allowed, his ego stroked at his son’s appraisal of his importance in Toner’s development. “But any influence that I once had with Mr. Toner has long since come to an end. I haven’t spoken to him since my involvement with Executive Excellence came to an end. Whatever he’s doing now, he’s doing of his own free will. I have no further interest in the Fantasy Wrestling Alliance, just as it has no further interest in me.”
“Oh, please,” Jean-Luc snarled, irked and incredulous. “You speak as though you didn’t just seek to put yourself back in the eye of the storm, only with Shawn Summers as your loyal steed instead of…”
The son’s words caught in his throat. Again, he stopped short of uttering Toner’s name, this involuntary stammer hanging heavily in the air, prompting a short, derisive laugh from the father.
“You can’t even say his name, can you?” Rupert said, showing a little incredulity of his own. “Tell me, Jean-Luc. Who even is Daniel Toner to you? You’ve called his matches, seen his career, but had very little else to do with the man. And yet you sit here in my office like the pitiful little boy I used to know, your old anxieties returned to you by the shadow of someone you’ve barely even spoken to.”
“I…” Jean-Luc began, before hesitating. “I…” he tried again, but got no further.
“Speak, boy!” his father bellowed, startling the son, even stilling the ticking of the grandfather clocks with its sudden force.
“Why not me?” Jean-Luc asked, quietly and meekly.
“Why not you?” Rupert repeated, in confusion. “What are you talking about, Jean-Luc?”
Jean-Luc thought carefully about his words, before explaining as quietly and calmly as he could manage.
“I never asked you to follow me into this world,” he began. “You never showed any interest in doing so. Quite the opposite. But eventually, you decided to come, kicking and screaming against your will, even when the immeasurable profitability of the endeavour became apparent to you. But, just like in every other aspect of your life, the success you had wasn’t enough. You wanted more. You always want more. And yet, despite my experience in the wrestling industry, the championships I’ve won, the small modicum of respect that I’ve heard… not to mention the fact that I bear your name... despite all this, it’s not me that you chose to help shake down the corpse that you’d made. It was…”
Once more, Jean-Luc found that he couldn’t say the name. Not here, not in front of him.
In return, Rupert offered a smirk, a snarling laugh, and a derisive snort, all of which acted as a swift rebuke.
“Because, Jean-Luc,” he said, after regaining control of himself. “I actually wanted to succeed.”
Jean-Luc’s hand clenched into a fist, on top of the desk between him and his father.
“I stand one victory away from avenging all of this,” he said, defiantly.
“And you are one loss from losing everything,” Rupert replied. “Losing is in your nature, Jean-Luc. That is the eventuality that I would be planning for. But that’s always been your problem. Well, one of your many problems. Head in the clouds.”
Jean-Luc opened his mouth as if to reply, but found that he couldn’t and closed it again. His father smirked, and locked his fingers behind his head, reclining in contemplation of his triumph.
“You brought up the name that you bear,” he went on, as if to labour the point. “And your foray into this circus of a business that you’re still wasting your time in. Long after I have moved on. Your escapades were just another stain on the family name, another in a long line that you are responsible for. I had to follow you into the mud to scrub that stain clean. A depressingly large proportion of my life has been spent cleaning up your mess, Jean-Luc. But you insisted on rolling around in it. If you had only let me finish what I started with Fallout, instead of sticking your nose where it didn’t belong, Danny and I could really have restored some of the honour to the Watkins name that you lost. That you are still losing.”
After a deep, hearty sigh, Mr. Watkins the elder picked up his pen, and went back to his papers. His son sat before him, dejected and defeated, unable to move, still locked into his chair by the old man’s spell. His mouth remained agape, a question forming in his mind, the words falling out of his mouth in a clumsy, inelegant fashion.
“You wish I hadn’t been your son?” he managed. “You wish that…”
He stumbled, but steeled himself. Forced the name from his lips.
“You wish that Danny had been instead?”
His father thought for only a moment.
“Danny, or Shawn, or anyone really,” he said, absently, as though this much was obvious.
***
Outside, Konchu paced frantically and impatiently, muttering to himself in an incessant internal monologue that wasn’t happy about being internal and spilled out into the external at every opportunity. His rambling became more hurried and nonsensical as time went on, until his tag team partner - and his friend - finally re-emerged from the building.
“Ah, Jean-Luc!” the Mad Wizard declared, announcing his arrival in a way that appeared enthusiastic but was more relieved than anything else. “You were gone a lot longer than I expected! But I respect that. Diligence is a virtue. Nobody was ever too thorough! Now, tell me everything.”
Jean-Luc said nothing. Was incapable of saying anything. Konchu didn’t even know if he was really there.
“Jean-Luc?” he asked, hopefully.
“There’s nothing to say,” the executive replied, with a sense of finality that Hao had rarely witnessed in the man. “All of your theories, about my father and Toner and the rest of them, it’s all wrong. He’s… nobody now. Just a sad, old man.”
“And Toner?” Konchu asked. “Diamond?”
Jean-Luc turned to face Konchu, a look of solemn resolution about him.
“In our way,” he said. “And all we need to worry about. Not Rupert. Not some grand conspiracy. Just Toner and Diamond.”
Konchu nodded. Jean-Luc stared back at the office building, fancying he could see his father in the window of the top floor, staring down at him, grim and grave as ever.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said. |
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Post by The Golden One on Oct 13, 2024 19:58:01 GMT
Every now and then, FWA sends a camera crew to follow wrestlers around and record scripted videos used to promote upcoming matches on Fallout, Meltdown, and pay-per-view shows. They don’t always do this. Sometimes the promo material people watch is uploaded by the wrestler themselves to a website or their social media. Sometimes a fan sees the events and uploads it themselves, or spreads it via word of mouth.
Sometimes the events are somehow understood into the canon of FWA. Hard to explain.
Usually, XYZ’s happenings and adventures are part of the last group: just somehow added into the consciousness of FWA’s community in unexplained ways. Methods beyond the control of logic. Maybe that one person was correct; maybe, as Nelly said, it’s just a dream.
Today, though, camera crews are following XYZ. They have a script ready for him in preparation for his “Reverse Tables Match” against “The Prodigy” Mike Parr. The script is all about the difficulties XYZ has endured lately, along with Captain Righteous’ impending challenge to the FWA Television Championship, and Parr’s legendary career.
The camera crew is ready to drill into XYZ’s mind Parr’s record-setting five FWA North American Championship reigns, his multiple appearances in the Golden Opportunity match, and his self-proclaimed Television Championship reign. Oh, and the rules of the reverse tables match.
Lastly, they are planning to do this with a superhero gimmick. The crew is situated in Spring Hill, Florida – which is the city equivalent of watching paint dry – as Hurricane Milton has peppered the west coast of the Florida peninsula with rain and wind for hours now. It’s dead of night, a few days prior to Meltdown, and residents of the areas who did not evacuate are already feeling the effects.
XYZ is supposed to find and save a person from rising water. The person is a plant – part of the production crew – but it’s intended to present XYZ as a superhero on the rebound who is finding his calling again. The issue is XYZ isn’t really feeling any of it, and the crew can tell this from the few hours spent with him so far.
Is the crew expecting XYZ to stick to the script? Not really. But they have him on-location and are ready to get this done and sent to the post-production team so they can hunker down through the rest of the hurricane. Literal hurricane!
Camera Crew #1: “Alright, XYZ. We ready? You’ve ready the script?”
The wind pierces through the crew member’s speech. His name is Leo. He is wearing a massive rain jacket to keep himself as dry as possible. Him and two others man the equipment with water rising to their ankles. They’ve found a mattress to float in the 1-foot-high water, and with a few camera tricks, they can make the water look even higher and more menacing.
The fourth crew member will be “swimming” in the water until XYZ “saves” him by pulling him aboard the mattress.
“XYZ? We ready to roll?”
XYZ nods his head. Leo is already annoyed, but he nods to the crew member serving as the plant.
“We’re rolling.”
XYZ isn’t supposed to be silent for five seconds … 10 seconds … 15 seconds. He’s just … sitting there … on this mattress … not saying a word. He’s supposed to be doing his usual shtick, talking about the winds of the werewolves or something wack, and how people in a storm like this need a hero like him.
But he isn’t saying anything. In fact, he’s not even paying attention.
The crew member “swimming” is Pete, and Pete feels like he can improvise to help.
Pete: “Help me. Help. I am drowning.”
Pete's words are emotionless, and he is trying his absolute hardest not to have his feet hit the street pavement where they are filming. He’s flailing his arms wildly into the dirty rain water.
XYZ still doesn’t move, though, and Pete ends up reaching the mattress and exaggeratedly flinging himself onto it.
“What the hell, man? You’re supposed to help me up!”
XYZ is obviously distracted mentally. Suddenly, though, he hears something that snaps him out of the daze.
“What's wrong?” asks one of the crew members.
XYZ looks around frantically trying to find the source of the noise. He then grabs the boat paddle that was resting on the mattress next to him and begins paddling as hard and fast as possible in the water, trying to maneuver the mattress like a boat down the flooded street. The wind helps a lot, pushing the mattress more than the paddle does.
The crew follows at a slow walking pace through the 13-inch-deep water. The cameras are still rolling just in case.
"Where are we going?" one crew member asks.
"I don't know," Leo responds.
The barking continues. XYZ continues looking around. More barks. Now XYZ is barking in response.
“Is he barking?!”
XYZ continues barking, which only gets one reply from the unseen canine. Then he shouts, “THERE!” Points to a house on the corner of the street. There’s nothing visible in the dark of night amid the peltering raindrops. XYZ seems confident, though, and he continues paddling toward his hopeful destination.
"Do you see anything? Hear anything?"
"Nothing."
As the mattress gets closer, XYZ spots a figure sitting on top of a house’s roof. The water is not anywhere near high enough to reach the roof, yet the figure is somehow still there, standing on the edge of the roof “calling out” to XYZ and the approaching crew. It’s obvious from XYZ's perspective the barks are coming from this figure, which XYZ is unmistakable that it's a dog.
“There’s the dog!” XYZ shouts.
“The dog?” Leo silently mouths to the rest of the crew.
“The dog?” Peter asks. “Where?”
“It’s the same dog that was in Columbus, Mississippi! This dog was across the street when Captain Righteous was trying to befriend me.”
“Befriend you?” Leo replies. “Not sure Captain Righteous was befr…”
“The dog is hurt!” XYZ shouts.
There’s no visible sign of the dog being hurt. He’s standing on all four of his legs and barking regularly. XYZ seems confident in his assessment, though. The camera crew can't see a dog at all, though.
The mattress reaches the side of the house, and XYZ looks up silently and softly at the dog, who is looking down at him and the rest of the group of humans.
“Are we sure the dog wants to come?”
"There's no dog! He's hearing and seeing things ... like we were told would happen."
“We have to save him,” XYZ replies. “We cannot leave a dog all alone out here.”
The dog has mostly black fur, beagle-sized ears, a labrador-shaped face, white-fur feet, and a white tip on its tail. It’s not a black lab retriever like Big Al was. Big Al, XYZ’s childhood dog, was an all black lab. There was not a single centimeter of white fur on Big Al.
Based on that description, this is definitely the same dog XYZ saw in Mississippi the night Captain Righteous flew down and accosted the Television Champion.
“Come with me? You'll be safe.”
XYZ reaches his hand out and up toward the edge of the roof where the dog stands. The dog makes a noise and seems to shake its head before moving back a step or two.
“You can’t stay here! You’ll die! It’s a storm! A hurricane! The skies are angry!”
The dog backs up another step. XYZ decides to take matters into his hands and begins climbing up one of the pillars and reaches up to grab the edge of the roof.
“What are … what are you doing?!” Leo asks. "There's no dog!"
“I … what am I supposed to do on this mattress?” Peter asks.
“Just … stay there. XYZ, we have a promo to shoot!” Leo shouts through the rain and wind.
XYZ eventually pulls himself up onto the roof where the dog still stands. XYZ is on his hands and knees, trying not to intimidate or scare the pup.
“Let me help you,” XYZ says.
The dog backs up again.
“Let me save you.”
Instead, the dog backs all the way up to the other side of the roof – the side facing the backyard of the house. The fence behind the house breaks, which lets in a rush of water. The pup jumps off the roof and into the dark abyss below. XYZ cannot see if the dog landed, but he scurries over to the edge to find the water swirling around under the pounding rain and wind.
“No,” XYZ says desperately and exasperatedly under his breath.
Then the idea of jumping overtakes him. He could not save this dog. He could not save Wild Jerry. He could not save Frank or Sierra or Lizzy or PacMan Bert or Christian Howard. He could not save The Menage.
He could not save Big Al.
He cannot save anyone. He speaks as if he can, as if he will truly help people through their darkness. Through their storms. Their flooding water. Their entrapments on the roofs of life.
But he cannot. And no one wants to even let him try anymore.
How can he possibly continue on? How can he pretend to be a champion? How can he carry himself as a superhero when he cannot even save himself?
XYZ stands up – he had been on his hands and knees looking over the roof’s edge – and looks out to the 3-foot-high water below. There’s a surge of wind and rain to accompany the current that swirls branches and other debris in the water. Leaping might not be deadly, but it could be, and it’s certainly not safe.
This is the first time this thought has emanated in XYZ’s mind in decades. It was a serious consideration last time. It is a serious consideration now.
XYZ inches his feet a little closer to the roof’s edge. Maybe the dog is down there somewhere. Maybe it can still be saved. Maybe …
“No!”
XYZ is yanked backwards onto the roof on his back. He lands on the roof shingles and is held down by a full waist lock wrapped around him from behind.
“Are you crazy?!” Leo shouts. “What are you doing?!?!”
“Did you see that dog?”
“No! But even so, why did you go after it?!”
“It … it jumped. Off the roof. Into … water. The fence …”
“Yeah, well, it made its choice. Do you think Mike Parr is doing shit like this?! Do you think a five-time North American Champion is putting his life in danger like this? No. He’s not! He’s getting ready to beat you. He’s getting ready to embarrass you!”
“I want to go … after …”
“I don’t even understand why I care! Why do I care about you?! I don’t! But … you’re being an idiot! Mike Parr doesn’t care about an imaginary dog on a roof! Captain Righteous certainly doesn’t care about a dog on a roof!”
“Because they aren’t heroes.”
“And neither are you!” Leo shouts.
XYZ has no response for him. He has no response for the situation. All he can think of is the sight of the dog jumping off the roof’s edge into the darkness below – and whether he should have followed. |
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bongo
FWA Wrestler
Posts: 37
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Post by bongo on Oct 13, 2024 20:07:36 GMT
DUDE, MOMENT NUMBER 2048
Our scene takes place in yet another old abandoned warehouse that serves as a poor excuse for a wrestling venue, with minimal lighting and a typical rowdy crowd surrounding the ring, it was a long way from the glitz and glamour of an Exploding Barb Wire Dildo Electrified Gators with Lasers Mounted On Their Heads in a Moat Match Sponsored By Home Depot match. No, this match featured our hero DUDE-! and a grizzled veteran of the Indy Deathmatch, but this was no normal match. Oh no, no, no. That's not how the man called DUDE works. No. The stipulation for this match? The match could end only by pinfall after one of the competitors had launched themselves off a 30-foot-high scaffold positioned next to the ring. A large looming rusty scaffold that was held together with tape
The match was what you'd expect. You can imagine that kind of thing. Barbed wire, steel chairs, and shattered light tubes littered the ring. DUDE-! At one point, he climbed the turnbuckle and leapt off onto Mad Dog from the top with a steel chair in hand, driving the chair into his opponent's skull with a sickening thud. A stupid spot that would leave anyone else in jail, but how are you going to put a guy in jail who only goes by the name Dude
The inevitable eventually happened; Dude stood up and looked at the looming structure as if to say, "Oh yeah, we're absolutely about to break some bones"
DUDE-! Slid out of the ring, grabbed a ladder, and set it up beneath the scaffold. He began to climb the ladder and Mad Dog Monroe, bleeding from his forehead, managed to stagger to his feet in the ring, glaring up at DUDE-! to see the man himself at the top of the scaffold.
When DUDE-! Reached the top He looked down at Monroe, who was now standing on shaky legs in the ring, dazed and groggy. Without a second thought, DUDE-! Threw caution to the wind and jumped. It wasn't a graceful dive or a carefully measured move. A full-on, no-holds-barred leap of insanity. He didn't just fall; he hurled himself off the scaffold, diving into a mosh pit. DUDE turned his back and did a moonsault thirty feet in the air. A dive is one thing but flipping thirty feet in the air without looking DUDE-! Crashed into Mad Dog Monroe and utterly smacked him down into the mat with a force that flattered him into the mat with a force that shook the ring, flattening him to the canvas. And both men lay motionless amidst the wreckage. For a moment, it seemed like the stunt had gone too far. The crowd went silent, unsure if DUDE-! was alive or if he had crossed a line that even he couldn't return from. But then, out of the silence, DUDE-! began to stir. Slowly, painfully, he crawled over to Monroe and draped an arm over his chest for the pin.
DUDE-! Lay there, bloodied and broken, but with a smile plastered on his face as medics rushed to the ring.
Worth it.
THIS HAS BEEN ANOTHER DUDE MOMENT-!
The sounds of Te Deum by Marc-Antoine Charpentier echo through what looks like A dimly lit study you might find in an Agatha Christie, a book, a looming fancy study full of leather-bound books, expensive drapery, and a merrily burning fireplace, but we're not alone. No siree bob, as seated in a very plush and comfortable is an older gentleman wearing a monocle, and holding a comically old timy smoking pipe, and wearing a tweed jacket he looked like he should be given a lecture in Oxford University about the finer points of William Shakespeare, he takes the pipe out of his mouth, his voice kind only be described as Honey poured over smooth velvet which booms bombastically over the classical music.
"Ahem. Good morrow. Welcome to this little corner of knowledge for every distinguished scholar and esteemed wrestling aficionado. You may call me the Professor of Wrestling, and today, I humbly wish to discuss something with you. Something near and dear to my heart. Now, usually, I would wish to discuss the finer points of Greco-Roman grappling or the strategic brilliance of catch-as-catch-can wrestling. But today it will be something a tad bit different- The history of what I, in my ever so humble opinion, the most spectacular, extraordinary and artistic concept ever put forward on a match. A match that I can only describe as cinema. Yes, my lords and ladies, I speak of none other than the Exploding Barbed Wire Dildo Electrified Gators with Lasers Mounted on Their Heads in a Moat Match… sponsored, in all their benevolent wisdom, by Home Depot. A modern-day classic contest that will pit two most formidable warriors of our time against one another—on the one hand, Captain Righteous, a man of principle, honour, and courage; and on the other, a similar man of virtue-DUDE
The Professor leans in, looking deadly serious.
"But before we dive into this beautiful opera of the human soul, I feel the need, nay, I'm compelled. as your humble Professor, to educate the border world on the scholarly origins of this hallowed match. You might think this is the first time ever but I feel like it's my duty. Nay, my honour to educate the masses. You see, this match draws inspiration from the ancient gladiatorial contests of ancient Rome, where gladiators would battle not only each other but the untamed beasts of nature, all in front of roaring crowds who demanded spectacle. The modern version that we will see at Meltdown improves on this primitive sport in ways the Romans could only dream of. While the ancient gladiators had lions and tigers, our noble contestants must brave the terrors of gators equipped with lasers AND dildos—surely, a most natural and expected evolution."
He gestures dramatically, his arms sweeping wide.
"And what, pray tell, is this "moat", I hear you ask? Ah, yes, the moat. Much like the defensive fortifications that once surrounded the castles of yore, this moat is no simple water-filled pit. No, no. This moat is lined with explosive barbed wire, each strand a coiled serpent waiting to strike...And DILDOS. Should our valiant heroes stray too close, a single misstep could trigger an explosion most catastrophic! The crack of lightning-like detonations shall surely echo through the cosmos as they collide with flesh, barbed wire, and destiny. And let us not forget the all-important gators swimming with quiet menace, their beady, laser-fitted eyes fixed on the ring, waiting to zap—nay, to obliterate—any hapless fool who dares approach the edge.-"
The Professor's voice lowers as if sharing a deep secret.
"Now, of course, one must ask the obvious question. That only a deep thinker like myself can answer: why did FWA decide to bring back this modern-day classic for a match with such esteemed gladiators as Captain Righteous and Dude? The answer, my dear friends and fellow scholars of the squad circle? It lies not just in a mere fight but the essence of art itself. When we see Dildos and sex toys flying around every which way, we're seeing a culture class in the most cultured format possible lies not in mere competition, but in the poetic clash of two worlds. Captain Righteous—a superhero that stands for law, order, and justice—embodies the very essence of classical heroism. He strides into the ring with the righteousness of a knight, determined to bring honour to the art of wrestling, as he has already conquered champions of great renown. He sees the world in black and white—good versus evil, right versus wrong."
The Professor pauses for effect, then grins mischievously.
"On the other hand, we have young Master Dudest. A man who has based his whole life on seemingly taking his art to the most extreme force possible, you see, DUDE is the living embodiment of rebellion—a man who cares not for rules, not for safety, not even for his own well-being. He will leap from ladders with reckless abandon; he will springboard from chairs like a modern-day Icarus, forever chasing the next death-defying thrill. And herein lies the beautiful subtext of the Exploding Barbed Wire Dildo Electrified Gators with Lasers Mounted on Their Heads in a Moat Match. You see, the exploding barbed wire moat and electrified gators is a methphor for the struggles one has to go through in life, in particular the struggles our heroes must face.Righteous must uphold his moral code even as the very ring conspires to tempt him toward reckless violence. DUDE-! Must push his body to the brink—perhaps beyond it—relying solely on his instinct for survival. Can Righteous maintain his composure amidst the anarchy? Can DUDE-! Channel his chaos into victory? What is life? What is the meaning of existence? Is morality a choice or deeply encoded in our system? What is the function of truth in the world today? All these questions and more will be answered as the dildos fly. We shall witness the marriage of valour and beauty like never before."
The Professor pauses again to refill his pipe, chuckling lightly at the absurdity of it all.
"Of course, we can not discuss this masterpiece of outsider art as the real hero of this magical tale: Home Depot. The home of outsider art, I hear tell that they were told what match it was and they provided the dildos for free! They made sure it was wired by only the finest extension cords. The very laser-mounted devices? I dare say a creative use of PVC pipe and duct tape from Home Depot's fine aisles made such innovations possible. In conclusion, as the wrestling world prepares itself for the pure artistic rapture that awaits us at Fallout this week, I feel like it's very important to underline the fact that what we will see isn't a match; it is a convergence of myth, madness, and innovation. Two warrirors- Engage in battle not just for victory but for survival, for honour, and for the right to say they braved the Exploding Barbed Wire Electrified Gators with Lasers Mounted on Their Heads in a Moat Match… and lived to tell -WHAT THE DEVIL!?"
"AHHHHHHHH-!!!"
The door to his study comes crashing open. DUDE, wild-eyed and grinning maniacally, barrels into the room like a whirlwind of chaos, with a chair in hand
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"
Without warning, DUDE SLAMS the chair against every surface in the room he sees, sending the Professor's collection of leather-bound books and fine art. The Professor gasps, wide-eyed, his monocle nearly falling off as he scrambles to hold onto his composure.
This—this is highly irregular! I demand you—
"AHHHHHH"
That was as far as The Professor before DUDE threw the chair at him, who instinctively caught it. DUDE suddenly charges forward and delivers a hell of a dropkick, knocking the Professor clear over his armchair and onto the floor with a crash as DUDE runs around excitedly in the centre, throwing books around without a care
"AHHHHHHHH! YEAH DUDE! NOW THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT IT! IS THIS MY BIRTHDAY? IS THIS CHRISTMAS?! NAH NAH NAH. IT'S DUDEMAS! HAPPY DUDEMAS TO ME! AND ON FALLOUT, I'M GOING TO OPEN MY GIFT, A BIG OL DILDO, AND IMMA WAGGLE IT IN CAPTAIN RIGHTOUS'S FACE.
DUDE-! Laughs, a deep, manic laugh that echoes through the junkyard, clearly revelling in the absurdity of it all. He looks directly into the camera, his eyes wide, unblinking, like someone who's been up for days.
"An Exploding dildo Barbed Wire Electrified Gators with Lasers Mounted on Their Heads in a Moat match…? Sponsored by Home Depot? Ha! You gotta love it, DUDE-! THIS IS WHAT I'VE BEEN PUT ON THIS PLANET FOR, I WAS BORN FOR MATCHES LIKE THESE. WOOOO!
DUDE-! starts pacing erratically, picking up random pieces of destroyed books unable to contain his restless energy.
"See, there ain't nothing I love more in this life than a party and captain' asswipe is the guest of honour. "Captain Righteous… The saviour. The hero. The law and order in FWA
Dude smirks at the idea
"I ain't got much time for order, I ain't got much time for the law either, Ever since I threw fireworks into the Detroit police department.
They kept asking me my name, and it was all like
"What's your name"
"I'm DUDE-!"
"No, but what's your real name?"
"DUDE-!"
"...but what's your REAL name?"
"I'm the DUDE-!"
"Just imagine that for six hours on end, but I digress. I DUDEgress. The point is I've seen the likes of Captain Righteous before. I know your type, Mr. Underoos. I've met a billion Captain Righteous in my life. In every cop. In every teacher. In every person who has ever looked down on me just because my doctor is concerned because I'm coughing up what he describes as a "Troubling amount of broken glass", and every time they lecture me, you know what's the one thought that runs through my head over and over again? I wish I could waggle a dildo in their smug faces. THE DREAM, MAN-!"
The Dude kicks a pile of trash out of the way as she gets more excited, gesturing to the camera.
"See, all I hear from you is how you're a hero. That you're a savour. You're a man who is here to save people. Save em from what?! Chaos?! You must be confused about where you are, my guy. The atmosphere from the rings of Saturn must have fried your brains before I feed them to gators. You want law? You want order? Go police a library! Go to a bake sale! Go make sure Granny Edith is using non-dairy in her flower in her cupcakes! You think you need to fix people? You think something is broken in wrestling and you're here to fix it? Well, you know something? I may have broken every single bone in my body twice over, but I ain't broken! Ain't nothing about DUDE that needs to be fixed, and that's where you fucked up! Because this match? This beautiful fucking stupid match! "We got barbed wire! We got explosions! That I'll just dance and Dude on through. Dildos-! You don't even want to know what I'll do with them. And gators? Gators with lasers on their heads? You think that scares me? This shit is just another day in the life of DUDE-!" "But let me tell you what's really gonna go down, Righteous. When those lasers start zappin', when that barbed wire starts rippin' into your flesh, when the explosions start ringing in your ears, you're gonna start freaking out! Because this ain't your world, this ain't the order you stand for; you'll be swim-swim swimming against the tide. You're afraid of it. You're afraid of chaos. You're TERRIFIED of everything you're going to face in that ring! But honestly? I have the biggest boner now...just thinking of it...not in a sexual way, like in a wrestling way.
Dude coughs awkwardly
"Titles? I don't give a shit? Wins? I don't give a damn! Hell, you're big and bad; you might kick my ass. All I care is scaring you for life! |
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Post by mandalorian on Oct 13, 2024 21:53:52 GMT
HALLOWEEN KNIGHT
AND
JUAN TOTHREFOR
ARE
MISSING TRASH MAMMAL
IN
“THIS IS THE WORST HALLOWEEN PARTY EVER!”
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beavie
FWA Wrestler
Posts: 114 
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Post by beavie on Oct 13, 2024 22:01:24 GMT
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huh
FWA Wrestler
Posts: 11
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Post by huh on Oct 13, 2024 22:50:06 GMT
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Ozymandias
FWA Wrestler
we are still live
Posts: 30
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Post by Ozymandias on Oct 13, 2024 23:22:15 GMT
The stairs stood no chance against his slow and heavy footsteps, creaking through each step which only annoyed the descending Alejandro further. His index and middle fingers pressed his temple together in a pointless effort to ease the headache. When the ground finally straightened out and Giunti managed to defeat this staircase without falling down, his eyes turned towards the small longue, where the voice of Margot Robbie coming from the television combined with the sight of Luna and Jin-ho each seated in a couch, eyes either intently or blankly staring at the movie.
“You guys … still here?”
Both faces turned towards Alex.
“Maltese Falcon told us we could stay the night, no? But, I can leave immediately if Maltese Falcon wants me to!”
Jin-ho shot the girl a pensive glare but his hands remained busy with the bowl of cereal in his lap.
“No … no. It’s alright. I did give you guys pretty much free passes to come and leave as you please until Auntie returns from her business trip.”
He walked towards the big sofa and laid himself there, sliding one of his hands into his buttoned shirt and rested the warm hand on his chest. His eyes turned to the ongoing movie where the character Margot Robbie played argued with someone sitting behind the desk.
“What’s it about? An ice skating sports movie?”
“Sorta?”
Jin-ho shrugged.
“You ever heard of Nancy Kerrigan, the figure skater who was going to compete in the Olympics but then got whacked in the knee?”
“No, is this about her?”
Alex couldn’t suppress a chuckle after Margot’s character told the older woman she was arguing with to ‘suck her dick’.
“It’s about Tonya Harding, the skater who ended up replacing her.”
“Oh, that sounds inconsequential.”
“It turns out Tonya’s husband ended up arranging the atta-”
“NO. SPOILERS. I WON’T LET YOU AFFECT MALTESE FALCON’S MOVIE ENJOYMENT, K-POP BOY!”
Jin-ho sneered towards Luna’s direction while the Trance Queen leaned forward. If her eyes weren’t blocked by her goggles, Alejandro could probably clearly see the contempt and caution she held in them.
“Fuck you.”
“You wish you could, dipshit.”
Alejandro let out a groan and rolled himself off the sofa. It took a moment for him to find his footing and prevent himself from being knocked down.
“Is Maltese Falcon alright? I was telling Maltese Falcon yesterday to not drink that much, but unfortunately he didn’t listen to me … “
Luna pouted.
“Also, what’s the deal with the ‘fit? You going out?”
Alejandro nodded, buttoning the top button before replying properly.
“Yeah, sister’s in town.”
“Do you always dress formally to meet with your sister?”
Now, Luna’s stare leaned towards Alex.
“If Maltese Falcon is seeing someone, he doesn’t need to cover it up.”
“Yeah, we’ll just feign ignorance if Victoria asks us if you’re fucking a girl that’s below her Giunti family standards or whatever she might think up in that head of hers. We already kept her off your heel for the Steel Roulette, so w-”
Alejandro was quick to interrupt, pointing a finger at the Korean.
“Don’t.”
Jin-ho raised his hands and shrugged.
“Sure, dude, whatever.”
“Also, I’m dressing up because she had two tickets to a fancy classical music orchestra or something. I might be disappointing myself, you two, Auntie and Father by not getting the job done but I will not disappoint one of the only people remaining in the world who has a positive view of me by not dressing well enough to a formal setting that she clearly wants to enjoy it with her fuck-up of a brother, alright?”
Jin-ho turned his gaze back to the movie, more cereal entered his mouth soon after that.
“D-does Maltese Falcon need to talk abo-”
“No, Luna. Thank you but Maltese Falcon will only talk about it when he’s ready to talk about it.”
While Jin-ho continued to not engage, Luna had more of a reaction. A frown, to be more specific.
“Sorry.”
Giunti diverted his gaze away from his Trios partners. It was rather obvious that he regretted the outburst.
“I’ll head to the town now, you two enjoy your movie.”
He dragged his feet and not too soon after, he was out of the door and out of the house.
“Should we … be worried?”
Luna’s response started with her casually taking off her goggles. Her blank expression suddenly fixed itself into a normal one. Her posture followed suit, shifting from a robotic one into a more human-like, slouching one. Without the goggles in the way, the gleam and expression in her eyes became much clearer. Under Jin-ho’s surprised expression, Luna leaned back onto her couch and pulled her arms behind her neck.
“Fuck if I know, dude.”
“Wait what the fuck?”
Jin-ho rubbed his eyes, trying to dispel what might be an illusion, but what he was seeing … remained.
“You seem surprised, K-Pop boy? You didn’t think good ol’ Trance Queen had a few tricks up her sleeve?”
Jin-ho grit his teeth, recognizing the fact that he had indeed been taken by surprise. That meant he had just given Luna a lot of reasons to be smug. Up until this point, he didn’t even think she could feel smug anymore, he had no reason to believe Luna could feel any other emotion other than subservience to Victoria and Alex due to what Jin-ho believed to be goggles’ brainwashing nonsense. Of course, believed, until right now.
“Are you going to explain or are you just going to continue staring at me like you won the world championship from me?”
“Trust me, Jinny-boi, seeing your stupid face after this BIG REVEAL is worth at least two world championships to me!”
Jin-ho got up from his seat, holding the bowl of his finished cereal at hand.
“I’m going over to the kitchen to wash this bowl and get myself away from you for a bit. When I get back, you better be done with your victory lap and you BETTER be ready to tell me everything.”
“You better give it a thorough wash then.”
“Asshole…”
Jin-ho sneered as he finally made his exit. In his absence, Luna grabbed the remote and paused the movie. After tapping her chin a few more times, she rewinded the scene back to a few moments ago, where Tonya complained to the figure skating judges about what was the point of doing all this if she was never going to be given the scores she deserved.
“So true, bestie.”
Alejandro read the sign from across the street, wanting to make sure that he got the right cafe. Her sister’s favourite reading spot in the entire district. The sign gave him the green light, so he waited for the traffic lights to replicate that. While he waited, he fixed his classic cream white buttoned shirt, not wanting his appearance to carry even a single hint of unpresentability. He let a deep breath escape as the red man standing still turned green and started walking, there was nothing stopping him from crossing the street now.
He walked to the cafe, her sister was not hard to spot at all. She didn’t have a distinct appearance, she was just sitting on the outside, a thick-looking book helping her post-breakfast coffee to keep her company for the time being.
But now, she had different company, one in flesh and blood. Familiar flesh, same blood.
“Alex!”
Lynn excitedly exclaimed after she put the marker on her book, letting her close as she got up from her chair and moved to hug her brother.
“Lynn!”
Alex embraced her back, and even leaned a bit into the hug, showing a different kind of vulnerability that he had been showing ever since Auntie came back into his life.
“Gosh, must’ve been at least a year since I last saw you. Have you grown somewhat during that time?”
“Do you even grow between 23 and 24?”
Lynn appeared surprised for a moment while the siblings slowly broke the hug.
“You’re 24 now? Time flies sooooo fast. Worst of it all, I don’t think I’m seeing my family often enough.”
Alex took his seat right after his sister appeared to reclaim her own. Not replying to the last thing she said with a snarky comment took a commendable amount of willpower.
Instead, he fixed his collar and tried to shift the conversation into a more productive topic, to something they were supposed to enjoy together.
“If getting older means you spend more time worrying about what to wear to a formal occassion … well I can’t say I like it. At least the orchestra should be worth it, right, sis?”
He definitely remembered plenty of peaceful smiles from Lynn. This one did not resemble any of them in any shape or form.
“Well, I tried to call you tomorrow night … but you didn’t pick up so I sent you a text message. Guess you didn’t receive that?“
Alejandro was not aware what she was talking about, but he did have an explanation about the awkwardness.
“Uh, my phone’s gone, pretty much. I was going to buy a new one sooner rather than later though.”
Of course, there were details about the ultimate demise of his last cellphone that Alejandro chose to purposefully omit. He did drink a lot last night, after all.
“Anyway, I think what you were trying to tell me last night is more important than my phone. So, go ahead.”
A somber expression appeared on Lynn’s face as it looked like Alex’s older sister was contemplating how to say it.
“I cancelled the tickets.”
Alex’s eyes opened wide in surprise.
“Why?”
“Well … I saw the orchestra we were supposed to see tonight for the first time … I think it was nine years ago. They had this lovely cello player with long black hair and haunting green eyes. Her visage stayed with me even after all those years. When I heard that they were coming to town again … I bought the tickets immediately just to see her again. It wasn’t until last night that I found out …“
Lynn did hesitate to finish this story that didn’t sound like it was heading to a happy ending. Especially if it led to the cancellation of the tickets.
“She passed, apparently. Involved in a traffic accident. It happened only a year after I saw her for the first time … and for the last.”
Alex took the hand of her older sister, clasping it between his two hands, trying to comfort her.
“I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“It wasn’t my loss. I didn’t know her, never even talked to her once. I only watched her perform once and it just stuck with me. It feels wrong to call this ‘grief’ … but I don’t know what else to call it.”
Alex let out a sigh, to be honest, his brain didn’t come up with comforting or soothing words. So, he let his heart do it instead.
“Maybe you don’t need to call it anything. Maybe you don’t need to put a label on it. Maybe it’s okay to just … feel this shitty feeling.”
When he caught Lynn staring at him with open eyes, he wondered if he had said something wrong. That’s why you never let your heart do the talki-
“Yeah brother … you’ve grown.”
Alex looked dumbfounded for a moment before acknowledging what Lynn said with a simple nod.
“I … I’ve gone through her online obituary page too. I was curious and couldn’t help myself, you know. It mentioned how she had a sister and there was even a comment left on the page not shying away from telling how it’s unfair that the pride and joy of the family died instead of the … family disappointment.”
A twenty year veteran at being the family disappointment, Alejandro could easily sense where this could be heading.
“Why do I get a feeling that you’re interested in how this mirrors my place in the family…”
“I’m just worried that this might be the sort of stuff everyone might say about you if you or me or anyone else in the family eventually draws their last breath. I’m not asking you to conform to anything or even reconcile with anyone …. but I’m just worried about how people are going to remember you once all is said and done, okay? I worry about what kind of legacy people will attribute to you. I’m your older sister, not the only one but hopefully your favourite one … so it’s my job to worry about all this, my job to worry about YOU, alright?”
Whilst Lynn was trying her damnest to make it sound not like a slight, Alejandro was too well-versed in that sort of rhetoric to not see the true meaning behind the curtain.
“Sister, if you think that they’re waiting until death to judge me, then you’re sorely mistaken.”
He said with conviction.
“You don’t know that father’s trying to- no, succeeding in poking his nose at my business, right?”
The ignorant look on Lynn’s face told him all he needed to know.
“I’m guessing you just flat out don’t know what I’d been up to since our last meeting.”
Of course not.
“Well, this is as good a time to catch up as any, I guess. Let me tell you all about it … “
“So, you WERE under whatever those goggles are supposed to do!”
Jin-ho pointed out after Luna finished her explanation … which was barely so. Being told about how Victoria slapped the goggles on Luna in Luna’s own studio like fucking Incredibles 2 could only reveal so much of the picture here.
“You don’t get the right to be that smug if you did actually fall under her in the first place, saekki.”
Luna rolled her eyes at that.
“She caught me by surprise! And the day of the incident, I was just recovering from the edibles I had the previous day. I still had that in my system!”
“Excuses.”
“Excuses, he says, ignorantly. I’ll pump your ass full of THC too, let’s see how well you respond to mesmerizing stimuli then!”
Now, it was Jin-ho’s turn to give Luna the smug smirk.
“You wipe that shitty little smile off your face right now!”
Jin-ho got one last chuckle before returning to the conversation.
“Okay, I’ll do that. But only because I feel like this convo is not finished. If you’re not under Victoria’s control anymore … well … the questions I’m about to ask are obvious, aren’t they?”
With the remote still on her hand, Luna decided to pause the movie for the time being.
“I mean, yeah. You wonder why I’m sticking with you guys if I had the option to not do that in the first place.”
“Not first place, but please go on.”
Luna shot one more glare at Jin-ho before collecting her thoughts.
“I’m a Trios champion. I get important FWA screen time. I’m about to main event an actual wrestling broadcast very soon. This wouldn’t have happened if I wasn’t here with Victoria and you two. See, that’s the simplest of the reasons.”
“Oh, you’re using us to advance your career then?”
Luna seemingly thought about that for a moment before laughing audibly.
“Jin, my good man, you just said that to try and make me feel bad. You know the entire reason why both of us are here is to advance Alex’s career. Be his heavies … well, that’s not a fitting word given I’m a woman and you’re a K-Pop twink … but you get what I mean.”
“You mean ‘heaters’? We need to go out and actually beat people up if we can ever be called his ‘heavies’. Think like … those two dudes near Jeremy Best, they are heavies. We are just heaters.”
“Look at you! You know your wrestling terminology so well! Yes, that’s what I mean, dude. Whatever. All that matters is that we’re ‘hired’ for Alex’ benefit. I think it’d be unfair to both of us if we didn’t use this situation to our benefit too.”
It was Jin-ho who took a moment this time before conceding the point.
“Okay, I see your point.”
“Good! And maybe you didn’t see it as clearly as I did because you were done with wrestling before this whole Victoria business. But I was struggling to get booked, dude. Nobody remembers a joke cinematic match from Back In Business, that’s not unique. Nobody remembers who won the CWA I’m New Battle Royale, CWA has been dead ever since. The less said about my stint in Cosmic Discord Wrestling, the better. All I’m trying to say is … this arrangement benefits me, so I’m pretending to keep being under Victoria’s control. Removes all my agency from the situation too. If things go right, I move up in the world. If things go south, nobody blames the brainwashed girl. Win-win.”
If Jin-ho purposefully dropped the smug smirk previously, there was no way he could put it back up again. Not many holes in that logic, he begrudgingly admitted in his head.
“And hey, it’s not like it’s just me who pretends to be not who they actually are in the company, right? Like, come ooooon, you have to be a moron to buy that Uncle Jay is suddenly not Uncle Jay anymore just because he’s pretending to be from France instead of Outer Space.”
“You’re quite the chatterbox when you’re not pretending to be a mind-controlled Maltese Falcon fangirl.”
“Am I, now?”
Luna giggled.
“Maybe I’m just rambling so much because I know listening to me gloat around with my freedom annoys you.”
“What’s stopping me from going to Victoria and telling her all about this freedom of yours?”
Luna did give him a worried look before settling into a calmer one, thanks to Jin-ho’s answer.
“Relax. I think we both know that Victoria ‘They call me Victoria because I never lose’ Vella would never believe that her control over something was fake.”
“Good point.”
“Well, I also love the idea of Victoria losing control without her knowing more than I hate you. In fact, I hate her a lot more than I can ever hate you. So, even if I knew she’d believe me, I wouldn’t do that.”
“Awfully nice of you, Jin. The way we both actually have a common enemy here is amusing, really, but I think the situation would be a lot more interesting if both of us were sticking around without being coerced into it, creating this unholy alliance between two strange bedfellows, just to bring ruin upon a Maltese businesswoman together. You sure you’re not pretending as well?”
Jin-ho’s sigh was very audible.
“No, I’m very much, honest-to-god, true-to-life, blackmailed by Victoria Vella. Did you make me say this because hearing it brings much joy to your darkened, cold heart?”
To his surprise, Luna answered in a different way than he was expecting.
“No, I was just curious. If your leash with her is that tight … well, that fucking sucks, dude. I can sympathize but can’t do anything further than that, sorry.”
Jin-ho took a moment before slumping forward.
“Thanks, I guess. Sympathies are more than what I expected you to give.”
“Heh, that’s what Trios partners are for!”
He put the cup of coffee down. If he had any expectations of the caffeine battling it out with the effects of his hangover prior to this point, well, they were all gone.
“....so, that’s that.”
At least he finished getting Lynn up to speed with how his life had been going throughout the past year. The now-insignificant racing achievements, some small and inconsequential product endorsements … and then, the opening of the wrestling floodgates with how The Maltese Falcon had been rising through the ranks of Fantasy Wrestling Alliance, alongside the boons and the problems it had brought. A factual, ‘this happened and then that happened’ kind of account that didn’t leave much space for personal opinions and commentary.
“I see…”
She didn’t really look like she had something concrete to say after taking in all these developments in his youngest’ brother’s life. Well, it had been an eventful year for him for sure. While she didn’t have much to say about what Alex had said, she did have opinions about the way he said them.
“...and how do you feel about all of this? I’ve always had the feeling that you always kept your feelings bottled up and didn’t speak much about them, and I think that’s why you spend a lot of time being spoken at rather than spoken to. It … doesn’t have to be like that with me, Alex, you know this.”
Did he know this? He knew that lately, a lot of people wanted him to confide in them. Jin-ho, Luna (in her own weird way), Victoria and now Lynn. Just how many confessionals Alejandro had left in him at this point?
“Over the past year … I felt a lot of things. Many highs and many lows, excitement of tagging with Gerald Grayson, anxiety of stepping into a much bigger stage, pride of getting a Steel Roulette spot, the burden of responsibility to Jin and Luna as their Trios partner, the joy of winning the Trios Championships … but right now, especially after the Steel Roulette … I feel those either completely washed away or mostly eroded by the waves of this … unpleasant feeling.”
Lynn looked at his brother with concerned eyes, he had given a lot of hints to her that he was not feeling okay but hearing the normally cheerful Alex openly talk like this did make her worry for him. How could it not?
“Is it … something you might want to elaborate on, maybe?”
Alex took a deep breath. Yes, this was a full-blown confessional now. But Lynn wanted to help. He wanted to retain his optimism that at least one person in his life cared about him with zero strings attached. Was this naive of him? Maybe. Alejandro didn’t know yet.
“Might as well do.”
Before that, he took one more sip from the coffee, to see if the warmth can soften his tongue a bit. But all he tasted was bitterness.
“I feel … cheated. I feel cheated out of what would’ve been the greatest accomplishment of my life. Maybe it’s unhealthy to feel like this and I have done my utmost best to congratulate Katsu and give her my respects both in private and in public so that maybe this feeling could go away … but it didn’t. I still feel cheated.”
Alejandro looked Lynn in the eyes, half-expecting, half-wanting her to say something. She didn’t.
“It wasn’t her who cheated me, this much I know. In fact, it’s rather obvious that I cheated myself. I could’ve finished the job instead of trying to end things my way. I could’ve just pinned her instead of going for the high-risk move at the end. But I chose the option that best suited me instead of playing it safe. And … I lost because of it.”
This was the heart of this inner conflict, wasn’t it?
“I did things my way as I insisted to everyone, even Auntie, that I would. And because of how I indeed did it my way, I lost. I failed. I fucked up. I crashed and burned. The worst part is … I have nobody to blame but myself. Not Father, not Auntie, no other goddamn person.”
Lynn reached out with one hand, touching Alex’ hand to comfort him. No avail.
“Well, I kinda lied there. The worst part isn’t about how I feel about myself. Not that it isn’t a lot worse than anything … it’s just that there is even a worse part about this storm brewing inside of me. If it was just about me being negative about myself … well, it only affects me.”
The way Lynn looked at him pretty much disagreed with his thoughts about his self-loathing only affecting him. But Alejandro was in no shape to argue that.
“I should have won, sis. For once in my goddamn life, I know that I should have won and it pisses me off that I didn't.”
Alejandro realizes that his fist is clenched and he’s about to raise it. He shoots his hand a worried look before unclenching it.
“I fucking deserved to win and I only didn’t because I got in my own way. You know where this logic leads to, right? It naturally means that I think Katsu didn't deserve to win, that she’s not a deserving winner. I think on that day, the best man didn’t win. It naturally means that I think there was no way she could’ve beaten me if I didn’t fuck myself over. Someone that I think is not better than me is now going to hold that briefcase and have the easiest path to become the world champion. It could’ve been me, but it wasn’t. And now … I can’t help but hold that against Katsu herself. She didn’t cheat me, but she benefited from the fact that I was cheated. That’s … what scares me more than anything else. The fact that I can be plagued with these sort of negative thoughts about others who have nothing to do with it. It’s not fair … but I don’t know how to deal with this at all.”
It was Lynn’s turn to take a deep breath. And finally, to speak.
“I think you’re just very upset after a heartbreaking shortcoming, that’s the most normal thing in the world. Alex, remember what you had just told me? ‘Maybe it’s okay to feel this kind of shitty feeling’. But I get the feeling that you’re not going to be satisfied with me telling you the same and how this can be worked through by giving it enough time and understanding. So maybe, without judging you in any capacity … I can tell you what your current problems remind me of … in hopes of you getting a clearer understanding of it. But … you might not like what that might be, Alex. Do you want me to try and help you make more sense of what you’re feeling … or would you prefer to take your own advice?”
Alex drummed his fingers on the table. Does he want clarity or is ignorance bliss? He remembered that feeling, bliss. Having time for the races, taking inconsequential bookings and just having fun. The ignorance route only went back to the happier, simpler, lower stakes time in his life. Clarity on the other hand, would continue to walk him in his current path. Higher stakes, competition, glory. Maybe it was counter-productive to mentally map every decision into two distinct paths, but he didn’t know how else he could think about this.
“Give it to me straight.”
“Right.”
Lynn nodded before taking a moment to herself, thinking about how to best put it.
“I think you’ve finally tasted the forbidden fruit, Alex. Ambition. The thing that drives not just our father, but nearly all our family as well. Like I said, I’m not going to judge you and tell you that you’re becoming like them. I’m not in your life frequently enough to make that call for myself. Nor am I calling having ambition a bad thing, mind you. I’m just saying that … shortcomings are starting to get to you, you don’t want failure. Instead of brushing problems aside you treat them as problems and want to overcome them. You’re not just content with sitting aside and letting life guide your path. When something bothers you, you want to do something about it.”
She was right. He did not like what that ended up being.
“There’s as many negative sides to it as there are positive sides … and it’s not really possible to take only the positives away from it without touching the negatives. You just have to find the right balance on it, you know? To drink the poison but also have the antidote ready beforehand, that sort of thing.”
Lynn drew her hand back and gave her brother a reassuring smile.
“Alex, I can’t tell you how to proceed, it seems to me like a lot of people in your life want to tell you what to do and how to do it. I’m not going to be one of those people, but I hope you can find value in what I’m saying to you.”
Alex stared at her right back. All his life, he feared that the poison would drip through. And now that his worst fears have come to pass, he needed the antidote more than ever.
“Okay, enough of that. Let’s get you a new phone. I’ll even pay for it.”
“I can easily pay for it myself?”
“Oh, I know. We’re both rich, duh. Just let me do this one thing for you, Alex. I don’t want this rare brother-sister gathering to be all about depressing thoughts, you dummy.”
Alejandro watched as Lynn got up from her seat and then grabbed him as well.
“Now come on! We might not be catching an orchestra but there’s still a lot of things I want to do with my baby brother!”
As Alex felt his body dragged by Lynn’s surprising strength, he could not help but to replicate his sister’s smile. You had to take the antidotes wherever you found them. Like spending time with a person you genuinely liked.
“UNCOMFORTABLY NUUUUUUUUUUUMB, BOOM! EAT SHIT!”
Under Piper’s taunts, Jin-ho couldn’t give less than all his energy to button mashing as his FWA 2K24 KAIZEN tried to kick out.
“ONE!”
“TWO!”
“THREEEEEE!”
Luna nearly threw the controller at Jin-ho’s face out of celebration. Jin-ho was about to get up and smack her with it … but decided that he was going to be the bigger man.
“That only makes it three to three. Now, take that controller and either get ready for a DECISIVE Game 7 or just shove it up your ass.”
“Alright, Devin Golden, if you want to get your ass flattened for the fourth time then I’m all eyes, ears and hands on deck.”
Luna grabbed her controller back, but not without catching a soft forearm to the back. This caused the Trance Queen to laugh with all of her 32 teeth before jumping back into her couch.
Looking at the match-screen in front of her displaying 2K24 Nova Diamond’s victory over 2K24 KAIZEN, she decides to hit one more additional button, taking her to the wrestler selection scene.
“We’re not doing Nova vs KAIZEN again?”
“No, I want to try out something different. Honestly, why did you even go for KAIZEN anyway?”
“I would’ve picked myself if I could. They didn’t include me in this years’ game after the licensing deal they had with the parent company of my group ended.”
“Ugh, tell me about it. They cut me too. Telling me how my entrance animations always goes overbudget or something.”
“Why did you go for Nova Diamond yourself?”
“He’s my old boss. Gotta rep him even when he’s going through a mid-life crisis at the moment.”
Luna’s controller stopped at Vengador, 78 overall.
“Seriously?”
Jin-ho asked, his eyebrows raised.
“Figured you should get your ass whooped by the virtual one before facing the real deal soon.”
“Should I pick Michelle or J.J.JI!, then?”
“Michelle is 93, selecting her against my 78 overall character is kind of a bitch move, dude. JI is also not in the game yet, he arrived quite recently.”
“But Uncle Jay is in the game. Literally the same dude.”
“86 overall. I guess 8 points is an acceptable advantage to make up for the skill gap between us, J.J.Jin-ho.”
“You’ll eat fucking dirt.”
After all the tedious set-up was done, the last match between Luna and Jin-ho could finally begin.
SEVENTH MATCH | 1/HOWEVER LONG IT TAKES.
(Virtual) Vengador (Controlled by: Luna Piper) vs. (Virtual) Uncle J.J.JAY!! (Controlled by Jin-ho).
Final of the Best of 7 Serien between Piper and Jin-ho
Match Writer: FWA 2K24
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Vengador immediately went for a running strike, but Jin-ho pressed the counter button just in time.
Jin-ho: “What are we going to do about them anyway?”
Luna hummed, keeping her eyes and focus mostly on the game, only allocating enough of her focus elsewhere to just answer the question.
Luna Piper: “The Not-Nephews?”
Jin-ho: “Pretty much. Big names. Some history between them. Difficult matc-”
Virtual Vengador got Virtual Uncle in a quick roll-up, Luna utilizing Jin-ho being mid-sentence as a perfect opportunity to catch him slipping. No cigar.
Jin-ho: “Asshole.”
Luna Piper: “I agree though, difficult match.”
Jin-ho: “So, now that I know you actually have all your mental faculties with you … well, not *all* of them, given this fake control stunt you are trying to pull .. but don’t you think we should thi-”
Another quick roll-up. Honestly, it came so easy to Luna to catch him like this whenever he rambled.
Jin-ho: “Will you fucking stop?”
Kick-out.
Luna Piper: “Game 7, baby.”
Jin-ho let out an angry breath.
Jin-ho: “Anyway, what I’m saying is that … don’t you think we should worry more about facing really strong opposition soon instead of fucking around here watching I, Tonya or playing 2K?”
Luna Piper: “Nah, not really.”
Jin-ho: “Are you overestimating us or underestimating them?”
Luna rolled her eyes at that.
Luna Piper: “I am perfectly estimating both parties, thank you very mu-”
Quick roll-up. The roles have been reversed. Kick-out was the same, however.
Jin-ho: “Eyes on the prize, Piper.”
Non-chalantly, Luna continued to play, countering Virtual Uncle’s next grapple.
Luna Piper: “Anyway, I hope you won’t get on my case about not eating myself alive over the ‘DILF Deathmatch Sponsored by Denny’s’ in the fucking NTR Take Over Meltdown show. The way I see it, we don’t have much of a chance anyway! Alex is young, I’m a woman and you’re a twink, we don’t exactly radiate DILF energy?”
Jin-ho: “What the fuck is a DILF Deathmatch anyway? Didn’t your ‘old boss’ give you insider info?”
Luna Piper: “No, what reason would we have to talk to each other with me being a brainwashed goon and him … doing whatever sicko shit he’s currently doing.”
Jin-ho: “Let’s hope the opps don’t have a clue either.”
Luna Piper: “It’s Uncle, I’d bet he has done at least 5 DILF Deathmatches in his career before.”
Jin-ho sneered. In contrast, the Virtual Uncle he controlled in the game was spamming taunts to get his finisher.
Luna Piper: “I’m kinda serious about us not having much of a chance anyway. We’ve both been enhancement talent in the past dude, I don’t think you would stay up all night figuring out how to beat, let’s say, Chris Kennedy one-on-one if you ever got booked against him spontaneously. Our job is not winning matches for Falcon, it’s to make him look good.”
Jin-ho remained silent about that point, instead he focused on hitting the World’s Most Complicated DDT on Luna’s Virtual Vengador … only for her to counter.
Jin-ho: “It all starts and ends with the nepo baby, doesn’t it?”
Luna Piper: “He’s been way nicer with us than I expected he would be … but yeah, it’s all about The Maltese Falcon.”
Jin-ho: “This match all depends on him too. We need him to be at 120 percent if we want to stand a chance to actually beat Michelle and the other two in the first place … yet … “
Luna Piper: “ … yet, he’s been looking 20 percent at best ever since the roulette.”
Jin-ho: “20 is generous.”
Luna let out a ‘tsk’ before her eyes opened wide, realizing that Vengador had a finisher now.
Jin-ho: “What do you think is wrong with him? Do you think it can be anything beyond him just being upset about losing?”
Luna Piper: “It’s probably more family issues or some shit, man. We’re all familiar with the story by now.”
Jin-ho: “Too familiar, given his family is actively blackmailing me.”
Luna Piper: “Already gave my sympathies, don’t expect more than that.”
Vengador’s Justicia … hit! Luna went for the cover … but kick-out!
Jin-ho: “We’re just getting started, fool.”
Vengador went for another pin, same result.
Luna Piper: “All in all, the titles aren’t even on the line. Low stakes, so we won’t need to go out there and kill ourselves just to put Falcon in a slightly better winning position.”
Jin-ho: “I don’t disagree, but beating the champs cleanly should line up a nice title match up for them in the future, no?”
Jin-ho considered what he just said.
Jin-ho: “Nah, nevermind. I don’t think those three are staying as a Trio for long enough to cash in for that title shot.”
Luna Piper: “Exactly.”
Luna shrugged, not realizing that Virtual Uncle’s Payback bar had filled completely.
Luna Piper: “There’s the drama between Uncle and Vengador, Vengador’s gonna cash in on that bounty one way or another. There’s also the drama between Michelle and Uncle, with him denying to be the Uncle she knows even though it’s so obvious. Who knows, maybe Michelle has finally developed enough of an emotional intelligence to realize that the savior who has shown her so much and changed her life wants nothing to do with her anymore, or maybe not. Either way, we’re not looking at a long-term prob-.”
Jin-ho used Uncle’s Payback ability, The Pink Mist, knocking Vengador down.
Luna Piper: “W-wait, you d-”
And went for the cover.
Jin-ho: “ONE.”
Jin-ho: “TWO.”
Luna Piper: “NOOOOOOO!”
Jin-ho: “THREEEEEEEE!”
| | Result: (Virtual) Uncle J.J.JAY!! wins via pinfall at 04:55. |
“FUCK OFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF”
Jin-ho jumped on the sofa, giving Luna the most spiteful of victory dances.
“Hey guys, I’m back.”
“You fuck off too, Ale-”
Realizing who had just spoken, Luna immediately froze up, put her goggles back on and turned to face him.
“Ugh … I mean … hey! Has Maltese Falcon enjoyed his day out with his sister?”
Both Jin-ho and Luna realized their massive goof by being too invested in the game and their conversation to realize Alejandro has returned.
Though, even if Alejandro realized something iffy, he didn’t talk about it. Instead, he looked like he had other things in mind.
“Hey guys, uh … sorry that I snapped at you for bringing up the Steel Roulette in the morning. I’m still trying to process my feelings about how it ended and through that vulnerability, I got snippy at you two. You didn’t deserve it and I’m not happy with myself that I did that. My sister did try to talk some sense into me and I’m kinda okay with the idea of not going through this shit alone. So, yeah, I hope we can move past the little spat in the morning.”
Luna wiped some cold sweat from her forehead while Jin-ho just nodded.
“It’s all cool man. Don’t think about it.”
“Y-yeah, Maltese Falcon doesn’t need to worry about that!”
Alex wheezed a sigh of relief.
“Thanks guys. It’s kinda unfair of me to get too hung up about my singles competition woes when we have an important trios match coming up together too, so, I will only focus on that match until it’s done. I want to bounce back from the last heartbreak and have us defeat very formidable opponents to do so. But it’s just not about myself and how I feel, it’s about us as a unit and leaving a legacy of proving our legitimacy as champions. So, yeah, let’s kick some ass together!”
He reached over awkwardly and gave Jin-ho a squeeze on the shoulder. He followed that with an acknowledging nod towards Luna before heading upwards through the stairs. Both of his partners found it easy to note that the way Alex talked about all this was … kind of frantic. He looked like he had been telling all that more to himself than to Luna and Jin-ho.
“Well, he looked at least 20 percent to me. Maybe even slightly more than that.”
“Let’s hope he gets to 120 by the time we have to go out there.”
“If he doesn’t?”
“20, 120, it doesn’t matter. Our job is to make Falcon look good and we will do exactly that.”
“Business as usual then.”
“Business as usual.”
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Post by Jimmy King on Oct 14, 2024 2:01:07 GMT
Jackson Fenix remembers the day like it was yesterday. It’s a day he’s never forgotten despite never telling anyone about it. The only other people who know about that day are his Mom because she was there and his Meemaw because his Mom tells Meemaw just about everything.
It was around the middle of April in the year 1999 and Jackson Fenix had signed up for little league baseball. Believe it or not, Jackson wasn’t always as athletically gifted as he is today. As a child, he was never good at sports, but once he was old enough, he would always sign up for them at the behest of his Dad. Jackson’s Dad wanted what was best for his only child and to see him succeed, and all Jackson wanted to do was make his Dad proud of him so he would sign up for sports despite not being good at them. Of course, every team he signed up for, no matter the sport, they’d always finish dead last, and Jackson’s Dad would act supportive, but deep down, Jackson knew that his father was disappointed.
One year that all changed though on one fateful day in the aforementioned April, 1999. It was a home game and in the bottom of the 9th inning. Jackson’s team had a one-run lead over the opposing team. He was assigned to right field that day and looks over to where his Mom is sitting, and she waves at him and he waves back but notices that his Dad isn’t sitting beside her. Jackson thought that was weird because his Dad never missed his games, but he didn’t have time to think about it because the opposing team hit the ball deep right, and now it’s up to Jackson. If he makes this catch, his team wins, but if not, the other team has a chance to score and possibly win.
Jackson Fenix made the game-winning catch that day.
What should’ve been a special moment was ruined when he found out why his Dad wasn’t at the game. Jackson’s Dad had walked out on him and his Mom. Jackson was a bit too young at the time to understand why or how someone could do that to their family, but at the same time, he knew it hurt. All he had wanted to do was make his Dad proud. He did something so great, and his Dad wasn’t even there to see it happen.
His parents ended up getting a divorce, and it was finalized just a few days after his tenth birthday.
***************
“Okay, kiddo, I have something big lined up for you today.”
It was a few days after the Fallout 044, aka the 19th-anniversary show for FWA, and right after another rough night for Fenix and Savage, Jackson met with his Dad and flew out to Los Angeles. Jackson was enjoying this time as much as he could with his Dad because he didn’t know how long it would last until his Dad decides to leave him again without saying anything. Jackson hadn’t spoken to Nate since their match at the anniversary show after suffering defeat to the Cinematic Universe. Jackson knew Nate had gone back home again to be with his family while he was with Dad in LA.
“Jackson, are you listening?”
“What? Yeah, Dad, I’m listening.”
“Okay, what was I saying then?”
Jackson wasn’t listening and was caught in a lie. This was one of his Dad’s tricks to guilt him about something.
“You weren’t listening.”
“I’m sorry, Dad, I just have a lot on my mind.”
“I don’t want to hear any excuses, son. Please, listen to me, okay?”
Jackson nods at his Dad.
“Good; what I was saying was that I have something special lined up for you today.”
“What’s that?”
“Do you know where we are at right now?”
“We’re in LA.”
“No, Jackson, this building we’re in right now is a place where they hold auditions for roles in upcoming movies, and after pulling a few strings, I was able to land you an opportunity to audition for a movie.”
“What? Dad, I’m a wrestler. I can’t be a movie star.”
“Nonsense son, look at Brooklyn Steiner, for example. He was a movie star, and now he’s a wrestler.”
“A movie star that helped beat me.”
“There’s that other kid, Aaron Harrows.”
“The other guy that beat me.”
“Listen, son, we need to redeem your image. You need to get your name out there so you can be like those guys but better. You’ll be bigger than they could’ve ever dreamed of being. You’ll be the next Glenn Powell, Austin Butler, or Jacob Elordi.”
“How does this help me against Tommy Bedlam?”
“Isn’t he trying to branch out to Hollywood?”
“Yeah, he is doing that. At least, I think he is; I don’t know if he’s landed any parts.”
“There you go, son. You nail this audition, and you’ll get your name out there, and you’ll be a bigger star than that country bumpkin could ever dream of being. Tommy Bedlam doesn’t know the first thing about being a movie star; that’s why he hasn’t landed any roles yet. All he’s good for is milking cows and shoveling horse crap in stalls on his farm or his ranch or wherever it is simpletons like him hang out.”
Jackson wasn’t sure about this but his Dad did make quite the convincing argument, and Jackson wanted to do whatever it took to make his Dad happy.
***************
“Alright, Mr. Fenix, take a seat there, and I’ll start off, and you read the lines that are highlighted on the sheet for you, pretty simple stuff. The character you’re reading for was just arrested and brought in for questioning, and the police are trying to get him to come clean and confess.”
Jackson was nervous about this. He wasn’t sure he could go through with this but he couldn’t back out now it was too late, plus his Dad would be disappointed. All he could think about was Tommy Bedlam, though. Jackson’s Dad insulted Bedlam, but the more Jackson thinks about it, he and Tommy are somewhat alike in a way. They both have Dads that walked out on them only to show up later in their lives. Jackson thinks even more about it, and that’s pretty much all they have in common.
“Mr. Fenix, please read the lines that are given to you. That’s not the line on the sheet.”
“Sorry about that; it’s just that I’ve had a lot on my mind lately. You see, I’m a professional wrestler for the FWA, and Tommy Bedlam is my next opponent and someone I’d really like to defeat.”
The casting director seems uninterested in Jackson’s story.
“There’s the easy way or the hard way; what will it be, Shaw?”
“You see, this Bedlam guy, I want to beat him because I’ve been in a bit of a slump this year, and I’d really like a win, ya know? I also want to do this to make my Dad proud of me and show him I’m not a loser. All I’ve ever wanted to do was make him proud of me, and a win over Bedlam could do that for me, plus it could put me in line for a shot at his X Championship down the line.”
“It doesn’t help that I’ve also been having some personal, mental issues lately, too. From time to time, I see this other side of me that tries to get me to go back to being a bad guy, but the thing is, I don’t want to do that; I like being a good guy. It’s not easy, but I like having the people cheer for me and my friend Nate. Now my Dad is back in my life, and he’s trying to get me to be a bad guy, too, but I can’t do that. Like I said before, I just want to make him happy and proud of me.”
“I’m sorry to lay all of this on you; I didn’t get the part, did I?”
“Not even close, kid, but I’m rooting for you. I hope you beat this Bedlam guy, whoever he is, and it makes your old man proud of you.”
That casting director didn’t need to say that, but Jackson appreciated it.
Jackson wasn’t cut out for Hollywood; he’ll leave that to Tommy Bedlam so Bedlam can have something to fall back on when Fenix superkicks him at Fallout 045. |
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Post by C.R./P.F./L.E. - Lost_Stoner on Oct 14, 2024 2:02:17 GMT
...TITLE: THE RIGHTEOUS ABIDE LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIALady Liberty: ”Aren't we supposed to be turning XYZ’s life around? Getting him ready for the big match?”Captain Righteous flew through the air, Lady Liberty following. The Captain wasn't paying his unwanted shadow much attention; he was scanning the hellscape “Dubbed” “LA”. Captain Righteous: ”Liberty….shut up.”Silence. Captain Righteous: ”All is fine and dandy, I will see XYZ soon enough, I've hired a homeless man that looks kind of like me to remain ominous in the background of X's life.”Lady Liberty: ”He's a…”Captain Righteous: ”A schizophrenic? *proud cold humored laughter* I know, genius.”Lady Liberty looks at Righteous deeply concerned. Captain Righteous: ”While he deals with that I have yet another pillock getting in my way, this “dude” may be an honest threat..”Lady Liberty: ”To the country?”Captain Righteous: ”What? No. Don't be absurd you twit. He's a threat to my growing legacy, and I refuse to let some “dude” tarnish my undefeated streak. He questioned my honor and goodness, said I'm not of “this world” and that realllllly fucking pisses me off. I've got to let this “dude” know that I'm not to be underestimated…that the Righteous Abide to no cockalorumish snollygoster, Captain Righteous is no ninnyhammer.”Liberty was truly baffled, she didn't know what Righteous was going on about what any of those words meant. Still Righteous spoke confidently which made Liberty partially believe him. Righteous comes to an abrupt stop as does Lady Liberty. Captain Righteous: ”There he is! Get your camera ready, I want to show the Fantasy Wrestling what Captain Righteous is all about…”The pair fly down to the streets of “LA” cutting off the path of an elderly man walking, but the elderly man isn't just a random old man but none other than Jeff Bridges. Captain Righteous lands with his hands on his hips, pearly white teeth exposed through the smile of a true wild wolf. Jeff Bridges stops, slightly confused and perhaps a little afraid. Captain Righteous: ”No worries human, Captain Righteous.”Jeff Bridges ”Umm, okay, hi…can I help you friends? *Jeff smiles awkwardly looking between the pair*Lady Liberty looks at Jeff apologetically. She didn't know him. Captain Righteous: ”You can “dude”, The Dude, you can help me…”Jeff Bridges: ””The Dude”? Are you confused pal, my name is Jeff…Jeff Brid-”Righteous grabs Jeff Bridges by his salmon pink shirt headbutting the man across the nose… 1. 2.. 3… 4…. Each headbutt was delivered to the same spot until the 5th…..when Jeff Bridges actually goes out. 6…… 7……. Lady Liberty: ”Cap…C-..oh lord, Captain Righteous!”8……..was the number of headbutts delivered before Righteous stopped. Jeff Bridges just slumps to the floor as Righteous was barely phased, the same smile plastered on his face. Captain Righteous: ”WHOSE WORLD NOW Mumpsimus! You made yourself an enemy pal, “The Dude”...pathetic, this is just a fraction of what I'm going to do to you at Fallout.”Righteous spit on Jeff Bridges. All filming ends abruptly. ....NEW YORK. PRINCE TOWERS AND INDUSTRIES. SAME DAY.The scene unfolds with the camera tight and upclose on the face of Captain Righteous. Bright blue eyes burned through the camera as if he was peering beyond the next Fallout. Captain Righteous: ”Duderino. Hi. Sorry for the technical difficulties earlier, I confused a Mister Jeff Bridges with his character “The Dude”, who I confused for YOU. But I'm locked in now Dude.”The camera pans out just a little further. Captain Righteous: ”And now I'd like to just say, be careful kid. You are fresh off the boat from the stomping grounds of Ground Zero, still a welp in my eyes Dude and that makes you a fool to think that I, Captain Righteous, am nothing more than some Dewey Dogooder! I hit the main circuit of Fantasy Wrestling by pure merit, talent, and strength alone while you were still having that post clarity nutt that this world you are in is real! I beat a current champion in my debut…turned around, lifted the broken little piece of shit man hero that was XYZ and with my pin against Tommy Bedlam…*Righteous cleared his throat*...ANOTHER current Champion, carried my team to victory.”The camera pans out again just a little further. Captain Righteous: ”Dude! Do you do your homework? Because if you think I'm not that guy for a second then when I am THAT guy, pal…*Righteous scoffs*...I'm going to beating your fucking ass from post to pillar. I can't save everyone, XYZ is a special case of course, I can save him but not everyone…I can't and I won't save you Dude. I'd explode a thousand newborn babies with a shower of dildos to kick your head around buddy, which I'm going to do! Mark my words. The madness of this match is unprecedented and it's YOU ya’ little hobo who isn't ready.”And still further the camera pans, Righteous is in front of a large window and the camera is revealing just the top half of his body. Captain Righteous: ”However! I've found the great equalizer for our scuffle Dudebanbino…I even got it sponsored by Home Depot and America…”The camera finally zooms out to show all of Captain Righteous with his hands on his hips and a very large comical sized strap on dildo. It was red white and blue in color, the tip was a gold bald eagle, and a Home Depot logo on both sides of the shaft. Captain Righteous: ”Exploding Barb Wire Dildo Electrified Gators with Lasers Mounted On Their Heads in a Moat Match Sponsored By Home Depot are the least of your worries motherfucker!”Righteous screamed. The strap on wavered in his rageful movements, his blue eyes were cold and dead bulging out of his head. The strap-on just bounces and sort of winks in equal disgust. Captain Righteous: ”It's me! Captain Righteous, the do gooder! That's who you have to worry about Dude, the unbeaten force to reckon with assole! I'm going to spread and smear every bit of your ass at Fallout, sometimes good guys have to get a little nasty to overcome the evil of this tucked world! Chaos thought an Exploding Barb Wire Dildo Electrified Gators with Lasers Mounted On Their Heads in a Moat Match Sponsored By Home Depot was weird, well when it meets Captain Righteous it's about to get a little weirder! What it comes down to Dude at the end when you are on your back broken in your own mess of blood and erotically ironic fluids…I am just better than you. I am just better than everyone…”Righteous cackles loudly for a few seconds floating off the ground with his arms folded over his chest. Captain Righteous: ”The Righteous Abide Dude, the Righteous Abide.”
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Post by tonton on Oct 14, 2024 4:43:59 GMT
Tonton was punctual, arriving at the Fifth Dimension a few minutes before midday, and dressed in a set of deep purple robes that were reminiscent of the famous pink tracksuits that his supposed doppelganger was known for whilst at the same time remaining distinct. He removed his hat and his coat before smiling broadly in the direction of Dreamer, who had arrived even earlier (in most uncharacteristic fashion) to scope the place out. You would be forgiven, dear reader, for assuming that this appointed meeting place required interdimensional travel to get to, given its name, but you would be mistaken. The Fifth Dimension sat squarely within this dimension (which is the third, for the mathematically unsavvy), occupying a street corner in between a Whole Foods and a Starbucks in a trendy-ish suburb of Miami, Florida.
I assume that you have two questions, dear reader:
What, then, is the Fifth Dimension?
And what are Dreamer and Tonton doing there?
The Fifth Dimension was called the Fifth Dimension because it was Florida’s most popular board game café, specialising in games played on - you guessed it - five-dimensional boards. Not that the game-space could really be called a board. A vortex was closer to the truth. But for familiarity’s sake, we shall call them boards.
As for why our protagonists find themselves in this café, we are required to examine the internal musings of Dreamer. It may slightly surprise you to learn that it was her and not him who arranged this meeting in this place, given Uncle’s renowned proclivity for this game. Uncle J.J. JAY! is almost synonymous with the ancient (in cosmic terms) pastime, so much so that he lists 5D Go Master as one of his numerous sobriquets. But, remember, the COSMIC HORROR who entered the Fifth Dimension at the start of this scene is not Uncle J.J. JAY!. At least according to the man himself.
And this explains why Michelle chose this spot for their meeting place. ‘Ton Tonton’ J.J. JI!, as the mysterious yet familiar newcomer calls himself, has thus far remained resolute in his assertions that he has never even met the COSMIC HORROR who abandoned (at least in her eyes) Michelle von Horrowitz following last year’s Back in Business. Perhaps, Michelle plotted in her most devious moments, a day spent doing some of Uncle’s favourite things might jog some pleasant but deeply buried memories, and lay the groundwork for the confession and subsequent grovelling apology that she’d been hoping for.
“Ah, Rêveur, you’re here already!” Tonton declared, as he sat down at her table on the opposite side of the game board. He looked down at the peculiar array of pieces in front of him, arranged in specific positions on what looked like a cross between a lemniscate and a Möbius strip, hovering above the table and shifting its form beneath the dull café lights. “I thought I was going to be even later. I couldn’t find anywhere to park the Jeep.”
“You drive a Jeep now?” Dreamer asked.
“Eh, pour le moment,” Tonton replied, with a devilish glint in his eye. “Someone just left one on the side of the road, with only a rudimentary locking system to keep it safe. I assumed they wanted me to have it. Now, what are we doing here?”
“Team-building,” Michelle answered, although the sound of the word in her own voice made her stomach turn slightly. “We have our tag team debut on saturday. I thought we ought to get to know one another a little before then. Given, you know, that we only met last month.”
“A splendid idea!” JI! cried, somewhat bombastically. “Although it seems that only two thirds of our contingent is here. Is Vengador on his way? Does 5D Go permit a ménage a trois?”
“Vengador can’t make it,” Michelle said. She attempted to convey faux-disappointment but found she wasn’t much of an actress. “He has a prior engagement.”
—
Vengador moved through the bustling streets of Miami, his pace brisk, purpose clear. Many of its citizens sideyed the masked man, as it surely was not quite the norm to see a man in a purple skeleton mask along with the rest of his ‘bounty hunting’ attire. The heat was scorching, but not even the harsh Florida sun could take Vengador off of his mission.
He had a one-track mind. On Fallout, Vengador suffered yet another loss in a string of defeats that one would not expect of a man of his magnitude. His sheer size and strength is double that of most of the FWA roster. Yet he constantly found himself on the wrong end of the win-loss scale.
But wins and losses were no longer important. Not when there's a bounty the size of the one on Uncle's head. The thrill of victory is fleeting. The sting of loss is more lingering but eventually it fades. People forget. But the spoils of capturing a notorious figure like Uncle J.J. JAY! would echo through not just this realm but each of them.
He glanced down at the small tracking device in his hand. He had told Tonton he would be keeping an eye on him. Vengador was a man of his word. Tonton may have walked away with the win, but that's not the only thing he walked away with on Fallout. Vengador had inserted a small tracking device onto Tonton after the match.
The red dot blinked steadily.
1200 metres out.
—
“Maybe we should rearrange for another day, if Vengy can’t make it?” Tonton suggested. Michelle dismissed this with a shrug and a shake of her head.
“It has to be today,” she said, insistently. “Now, shall we have a game, or are you just here to drink coffee?”
As she asked this, two drinks were placed down in front of them. A black coffee for Michelle, and a pumpkin-and-nutmeg spiced London Fog with a hazelnut ganache and whipped goat’s cream for Tonton.
“Oh, my favourite!” he declared, smiling more broadly than ever. “How did you know?!”
“A hunch.”
As the waiter made to leave, Tonton raised a tentacle. “Un moment! You would not have a croissant, would you? Perhaps, au chocolat?” A nod, and a departure later. “As for a game,” Tonton continued, after a sip from his coffee. A white cream moustache formed on his upper lip. “I’m afraid I don’t know the rules.”
“I can teach you,” Michelle offered. JI! waved her onwards excitedly. When Dreamer continued, she was careful to use as many of the words that Uncle had when he had taught her this same game. “So, it’s just a transposal of the rules of two-dimensional Go into five dimensions. Think about the 2D version of Go or even chess - the gameboard is a two-dimensional plane, on which zero-dimensional points - your pieces - are mapped across one-dimensional lines to other zero-dimensional points. It’s precisely the same. Only, instead of zero-dimensional points you have three-dimensional solids, instead of one-dimensional lines you have four-dimensional hyperplanes, and instead of a two-dimensional plane you have this five-dimensional vortex.”
Michelle illustrated this final substitution by running her hand across the lemniscatic Möbius strip between them. Tonton considered the instructions carefully in an affectation of Rodin’s the Thinker, before nodding his head.
“Ben, c’est plus simple que prévu” he announced, finally.
“Would you like to go first?” Michelle asked. Tonton immediately went to work on his opening gambit.
“It’s a shame Vengador can’t be here,” he said, ruefully. “I think he’d love this!”
“Yes,” Michelle agreed, in her best deadpan. “It’s a shame Vengador can’t be here.”
—
He was getting closer. Perhaps another 20 more metres.
Was he closing in on Tonton? Or on the man with the bounty on his head?
He had travelled through countless realms, seen more than his fair share of doppelgangers, pretenders, and shape-shifters. Things were rarely what they seemed, especially across the multiverse. This Tonton, with his peculiar mannerisms and infuriating spray of pink mist, insisted he wasn’t Uncle. Yet, there was something about him that set Vengador’s instincts ablaze.
It wasn’t just Tonton’s uncanny resemblance to Uncle J.J. JAY!, it was the way Michelle von Horrowitz - who had fought alongside Uncle, who had known him perhaps better than anyone - couldn’t seem to shake the doubt herself. If Michelle, as sharp as she was, suspected something, then it was worth Vengador’s time to investigate. And if it turned out that Tonton was Uncle? The bounty would be his. And if not? No harm, no foul. Tonton can go about his life.
The tracker took him through an alleyway and then back onto another street, just down the road from a Whole Foods. The beeping was stronger. He ducked behind a car parked on the curb, scanning ahead.
He could see the Fifth Dimension in the distance. It appeared strangely three-dimensional.
—
Tonton’s playstyle was unconventional in a uniquely different way than Uncle’s was, which infuriated Michlle to the point where she couldn’t really focus on her own moves. Not that it would really matter. Her understanding of five-dimensional mathematics was solid from a human perspective, but she had long since realised that her knowledge - and even her capacity for knowledge - was severely limited in a more cosmic sense. Uncle would usually beat her in a little under half an hour as a warm-up to his marathon bouts with Thomas. Michelle found herself growing sad with this nostalgia, and lamented that her plan to foil Tonton’s deceit was backfiring. She had come here for answers, not sad memories.
She regarded Tonton in an attempt to drag herself back into the present. His eyes were darting around the gameboard, as if he was calculating infinite possibilities in the minute or two between each move. She recognised this deep thought. It was unmistakable.
“Voilà!” Tonton bellowed, suddenly and loudly.
“The winning move?” Michelle replied, hopefully.
“Pas encore,” Tonton said, whilst reaching for a napkin and a pen. He began to draw a complicated diagram with a frantic excitement about him. “But I’ve just finalised the rules for 5D Go au ménage a trois! It’ll be quite the game, Rêveur! Perhaps it could make its debut here.”
“You’ve been creating the rules for triple threat 5D Go whilst simultaneously pushing an offensive in our game?” she asked, her disbelief plain.
“Well, I want to be ready for when we get to play with Vengy,” Tonton replied.
“Vengy –” she paused, disliking the nickname and correcting herself. “Vengador isn’t coming, Tonton. It’s just you and I. Can you at least try and be in the moment?”
—
The tracker led him right to the door of the Fifth Dimension café. He placed his hand on the door and was about to enter... but had second thoughts. What was the plan here, James? Vengador questioned himself. He had faced countless adversaries, infiltrated fortresses in realms far more bizarre than a small café in the suburbs of Miami... but here he was forgetting some of the most important rules of stealth.
He couldn't just barge right in. Charging right in head first is never the right move.
If this truly was Uncle, who knew what type of shady activities could be going on inside that café. Perhaps the Fifth Dimension was just a cover for Nephew activity.
No, he needed to observe first. Assess the situation. Truly see what he was up against.
His eyes scanned the outside of the café, and just to the left of the front windows, a row of neatly trimmed bushes caught his attention. Perfect. He made his way over, ducking low as he positioned himself right below the windowsill, where he could peer inside without being seen. He pulled out a pair of binoculars, focusing in on the interior of the building.
"Let's see what type of nefariousness you are up to," he said softly to himself as he looked into the window.
Ah ha! He was in fact not alone.
He was with Michelle.
And they were... playing... games?!
Or perhaps drawing up some diabolical plan with the way Tonton was frantically diagraming on a napkin.
Just as Vengador began to analyse further, he suddenly felt something soft rub against his leg. He glanced down and saw a stray cat weaving its way through the bush and snuggling up to him. The cat purred loudly, pressing its warm body into him as though Vengador had been its lifelong companion.
No… not now, he thought.
Vengador gave the cat a gentle nudge, trying to shoo it away, but the creature only nestled closer. His muscles tensed in frustration. This was the worst possible time for distractions. He tried again, waving it off, but it was no use. The cat had claimed him.
And then… it hit him. The unmistakable tickle at the back of his nose. His eyes watered. He tried to stifle it, willing himself to hold it in, but the dander from the cat was relentless.
He fought the urge, pushing it down with every ounce of discipline he had.
But it was too late.
"Achoo!"
The force of the sneeze startled the cat away as Vengador ducked down into the bush. Hopefully he hadn't been noticed.
—
Tonton slurped his coffee loudly as he contemplated the gameboard, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the table. He made his move with dextrous digits before glancing out of the window. Today had brought a brief break in the thunderstorms that had plagued the state for much of the last week, a sign that Michelle wasn’t quite sure how to interpret.
“I thought that Vengador couldn’t make it?” Tonton said, as Dreamer studied the board and weighed her next move.
“That’s right,” Michelle confirmed, absently. Tonton’s exaggerated sigh of relief was enough to break her focus from the game.
“Bien, ça me rend plaisir, Rêveur,” JI! announced, whilst continuing to peer out of the window with a broad smile on his face. “Heureusement, I’m not the only one who ostensibly has a doppelganger.”
Michelle, bemused, looked up from the game.
“Explain,” she instructed.
“Well,” Tonton began, as if sharing a secret. “Someone who looks exactly like Vengy is hiding in the bushes outside.”
Dreamer followed the direction of Tonton’s pointed finger to find the bounty hunter, barely concealed within the foliage, a pair of binoculars held up to his eyes despite his close proximity to the window.
“Also, I believe that’s game,” Tonton added, after making his move. Michelle was flustered by both Vengador’s sudden (and unexpected) presence and her sudden (and expected) defeat, perused the gameboard to verify her counterpart’s claim.
“Yes, that’s game,” she conceded. “I thought you’d never played before…”
“I haven’t,” JI! replied, with another devious, perhaps deceitful glint in his eye. “But, like I said, it’s just basic five-dimensional mathematics. Or perhaps, as they say, aux innocents les mains pleines. Another game? I could offer you some pointers?”
Michelle narrowed her eyes, dubious and resentful.
“I suppose we should go and see the oaf in the bushes.”
Outside, Vengador was only convinced to emerge from the greenery thanks to the enthusiastic nature of Tonton’s greeting. So congenial and familiar was this introduction that the bounty hunter almost forgot that he’d been duped out of a match, courtesy of the COSMIC HORROR, only a couple of weeks before.
“What a pleasant surprise, dear Vengy!” the tentacled one declared, as he gripped Vengador firmly by the hand, as is Earthen custom. Surprising, really, considering neither of them were of this planet. “I hope it is not insensitive of me to proclaim that I’m glad your other plans fell through. I hope their cancellation was not too inconvenient? I would hate to profit from your misfortune, friend!”
Michelle saw the quizzical expression form on Vengador’s face and promptly changed the subject.
“How did you know we were here?” she asked, in equal parts curious and begrudging.
“I’m a bounty hunter,” Vengador explained, with a shrug. Dreamer felt he was being overly nonchalant. Bounty hunters didn’t usually proclaim themselves as such so freely, in her experience. “I have certain skills. Locating a pair as inconspicuous as yourselves isn’t such a difficult task.”
“Well, that settles it!” Tonton announced, somewhat triumphantly, despite it not being clear (at least to Dreamer) what it had been settled.
“Settles what?” she asked. Her arms folded involuntarily, her body language overt, the crowd of three dampening her mood.
“If Vengador is here anyway, courtesy of his rather impressive tracking skills, if I might say so, then it only makes sense for him to join us on the little team-building day you had planned.”
Michelle shuddered. The words team-building day felt as nauseating on her ears as they had her lips.
“Makes sense,” Vengador agreed. “Our opponents are champions. A real team, despite their obvious differences. I’d be honoured to join you as we build a team of our own.” His words were only somewhat sincere. This was certainly an easy way to keep a close eye on Tonton.
“It would be quite impossible to build it without you, dear Vengy,” Tonton said, whilst clasping him by the shoulder. “It would have been wonderful to have you here earlier, mais meilleur tard que jamais!”
“Except,” Dreamer countered, relishing the idea of stamping the idea out in its infancy. “I only have two tickets to the Miami International Musical Festival, and there’s now three of us.”
“No drama,” Vengador insisted. “I’ll just tunnel in. I am a bounty hunter, after all. I have certain skills. Tunnelling into a music festival isn’t such a difficult task.”
—
The thumping bass of a Turkish electro set pulsed through the Miami International Musical Festival, vibrating through the soles of Michelle boots as she and Tonton made their arrival. The sprawling crowd swayed in sync with the sound, their arms rising and falling like some kind of mesmerised sea, moving not with individual intent but as one singular body. Michelle scowled at the sight.
"If only I had some fucking pills," she muttered under her breath. Instead, she resorted to the next best thing, or in this case, what she had on hand as she pulled out and lit up lighting a joint. The haze of smoke curled around her face as she inhaled deeply. It wasn’t quite the kick she needed, but it would have to do.
Beside her, Tonton was eyeing the scene with his typical wide-eyed curiosity. Michelle smirked slightly as she nudged his shoulder to get his attention. "Here," she said as he turned to face her, offering him a vape pen.
"Hmmm," Tonton mused as he took it into his own hands. He held it up into the sunlight, inspecting it as if it was a strange artefact. As if he had never seen such a contraption before. "Ah," he said slowly as he believed he had figured out the device. He turned it over in his hands. Then, with all the confidence in the world, he stuck the wrong end into his mouth and sucked.
Michelle's exasperated sigh could've levelled a mountain. She snatched the vape back and demonstrated, taking a long drag before blowing a cloud of vapour into the festival air.
"It's not a cosmic sceptre, Tonton,” she said flatly. "I feel like you're playing dumb with me."
“Ahhh,” he responded, as if that explained everything. "I assure you, this device is foreign to me. The only games I'm playing with you are the ones from the Fifth Dimension. And we left that place back in the other scene. Il n’y a pas de quoi fouetter un chat." He then followed her lead, this time putting the right end of the pen to his lips and inhaling. A thick plume of vapour floated from his mouth, and Tonton watched it drift away with a serene smile.
The music continued to surge through the crowd like a spell, and for a moment, Michelle found herself lulled by it too. The endless sea of people swaying back and forth. The heavy, hypnotic beats. She felt a brief tug of longing, a pull towards something more profound, more out of body. But she had no uppers and the downers weren’t doing the trick.
Then came the sound of squelching footsteps, followed by a soft but distinct thud that grabbed both of their attention, snapping them out of their separate dazes. Michelle turned to find Vengador standing next to them, his boots caked in mud, a trowel still in one hand. His mask was streaked with dirt, and his entire appearance suggested he had tunnelled through the Earth itself to get here.
“I have arrived!” He declared quite proudly.
“Vengy!” Tonton exclaimed. “So glad you could make it!”
“Yes, just great,” Michelle added with heavy insincerity.
“Don’t act so surprised. I told you it would be quite simple. Stealth is my middle name.”
“Oh? And your last name?”
“That’s confidential.”
“Well, you are a man of many talents, Vengy Stealth Confidential,” Tonton clapped his hands together with enthusiasm. “But the most important thing is you made it.”
“Honestly, I probably could’ve just walked in. No one’s watching the entrance of this large musical gathering.” Vengador motioned to the crowd. The music was still blaring, and the crowd’s movements had become disturbingly even more synchronised. They almost seemed like puppets on strings being moved to and fro by an unseen hand. “Does anyone else find this quite peculiar? Are they under the spell of some sort of witch?”
Tonton’s tentacles twitched at the thought, and he leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the scene. “Fascinating,” he murmured.
“It’s not witchcraft,” Michelle shook her head. “Pretty sure we’re mostly out of witches now in the FWA.”
“I see,” Tonton gave it some more thought. “Could it be that this music has the power to influence minds? Some sort of hypnotic control, as it were? Des messages subliminaux?”
Michelle took another long drag from her joint, holding the smoke in her lungs for a moment before exhaling slowly. “It’s just music, Tonton. Most of these people are either high, drunk, or probably both. They’re enjoying the show. Just relax and enjoy it yourself.”
Tonton nodded but Vengador’s mind was racing, focusing in on Tonton’s hypnosis hypothesis. Yes, that would make a lot more sense than witchcraft. He’d seen witchcraft in his travels and this certainly didn’t look like it. Witchcraft was usually a little more malevolent. He’d seen witchcraft be used musically but not like this. He hadn’t come across hypnosis in any other realms but he had certainly heard tales of those that possess that ability. He imagined what it would be like to have that type of control over someone. Imagine if he could harness that ability and use it to control his targets. It’d be much easier to collect on a bounty if he could simply have them walk right into his trap without them even realising it.
It was certainly a tantalising thought. He glanced over at Tonton, momentarily imagining that he truly was Uncle. Imagining utilising this hypothetical power of hypnosis to get him to admit to his true identity.
Michelle, meanwhile, also found her mind wandering back to the music and the swaying crowd. There was almost something seductive about the way they moved. She could almost imagine herself falling into that same rhythm if she just had something a little stronger than weed. She took another drag from the joint, letting the smoke cloud her senses, trying to drown out the gnawing frustration of sobriety.
She really needed some pills.
Tonton, on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying himself far too much to care. He bobbed his head along to the beat.
“How much do you two know about Luna Piper,” Michelle spoke up, intentionally breaking Tonton from being taken in by the supposed trance.
Tonton stopped bobbing his head, his brow furrowing as he turned to Michelle. "Ahh, Luna Piper. L’un des champions? I'm afraid I don't know much..."
"But have the resources to get such information, right?"
"Huh," Tonton scratched his chin, "I'm unclear on what you're referring to. But you didn't let me finish, I may not know much about her wrestling career... BUT, I must admit, I am impressed with her ability to balance a successful music career with the presidency of an Earth middle power. Never liked Erdogan. More power to her."
"Right," Michelle took another drag, the joint burning down towards the filter. “Let’s make this a little more interesting. How about we sneak backstage, grab that Turkish electro musician over there, and dress her up like Luna.” She grinned mischievously, hoping that Uncle hadn’t seen Hitchcock’s Vertigo. "Might throw off her whole ‘hypnotic musician’ vibe. What do you say, Uncle? A bit of light kidnapping to get the team-building started properly?”
Tonton's eyes widened, his expression shifting from mild curiosity to outright disbelief.
“La kidnapper? Rêveur, that would be highly illegal, not to mention entirely disruptive to the festival. Potentially immoral, too." He looked genuinely flabbergasted, his tentacles twitching as if he couldn't quite compute the suggestion. Michelle sighed at the irony. "Besides, I was rather looking forward to the next act. I've heard good things about mustang and stallion. A very promising duo in the industry. The wrestling industry. Musically, well, they have nothing less to prove."
Michelle rolled her eyes, half-expecting his refusal but still finding it amusing. "Come on, Tonton. I’ve been told that kidnapping, to use a vulgar term, is less of a faux pas for a COSMIC HORROR. Hell, I was kidnapped by one myself, once…"
"It's still illegal," Tonton repeated firmly, crossing his arms and three-quarters of his tentacles. "And need I remind you, we don't need to resort to such underhanded tactics. We can win without throwing someone in a costume."
Vengador, who had been quietly listening, couldn't help but laugh. He was sensing some irony himself, but from a different perspective. "That's quite funny coming from the man who used an underhanded tactic with your illegal foreign mist to impair my vision and defeat me."
"Ah," Tonton lifted up a finger to defend his own actions. "But that took place inside the wrestling ring! Those things are to be expected! This is a music festival. We are here to enjoy it, not run amok."
"Hmmm," Vengador rubbed his dirt covered mask. "However, I do agree that a good old-fashioned kidnapping could be a good idea. Especially if we included some sort of ransom. I bet we could garner a pretty hefty price. Musicians are valued quite highly in this realm from what I’ve seen. Especially ones with... hypnotic abilities."
Tonton looked scandalised. "Vengy! Tu ne peux pas être d'accord avec sa folie!"
Vengador shrugged, the mud on his boots cracking slightly as he shifted his weight. "Well, I’m not saying it’s the right course of action, but there’s always a certain... profitability in such matters. Though, I suppose, kidnapping might be a touch too bold for our current situation." He looked over at the swaying crowd again, watching them as if still trying to figure out how to harness their entranced movements.
Tonton shook his head vigorously. "No. Absolutely not. We're not kidnapping anyone. End of story. This is a music festival, not one of your jobs."
"Very well," Vengador agreed, "You are absolutely right. Yes, this is about us... bonding. Not something I've done a lot of, but I’m trying to learn."
"No worries, Vengy! It is quite alright. I can tell you are passionate about your occupation and that's certainly important!"
Annoyed, Michelle flicked the last of her joint into the mud at Vengador’s feet, stretching her arms above her head as if releasing any lingering tension. She thought for sure Uncle would be all for her plan, but this Tonton was playing his game convincingly. Of course, she would expect nothing less from Uncle, so perhaps she shouldn’t be surprised to be easily defeated in this situation. But she didn’t want to give up just yet.
She threw a glance back toward the stage, where the next act was preparing to start. As the K-Pop duo of mustang and stallion were taking the stage, she noticed the Turkish musician had joined the crowd, now just a few metres away.
A different sort of fever took over the crowd when the Korean artists began their serenade. Every word of their reciting the revered feat(ures) of some ambiguous woman they happened to cross paths with is matched and surpassed by the fervour of the audience, so that they hardly need to vocalise much themselves, instead merely vibing, shouting the occasional word, and leaving the greatest effort to the coordinated dancers and the mind boggled Floridians.
Tonton felt the tug of the crowd pulling him in, hopping vigorously both at the thrill of the carefully manufactured for maximum appeal tune, and also because such vigour was necessary for him to overcome the verticals of the audience before him and get a glance at the duos. Michelle tugged at Tonton’s top. Kidnappers had a certain compulsion to kidnap, just as cannibals did to cannibalise. If the right temptation was put forth, such compulsions couldn’t be easily overcome. Vengador was one such example: a bounty hunter hunts bounties, and when a bounty is in sight, to not hunt it would be going against one’s own nature.
“Why don’t you go ask her where she learned her hypnosis?” she proposes. Tonton follows the trail of her gaze to the DJ.
“You think? What are the odds she’ll reveal her trade secrets? The economy being what it is, I can’t imagine she’ll want someone cutting in on her business.”
“Uncle once told me, when people don’t volunteer information, it’s only because they haven’t been properly convinced of the necessity of volunteering that information.” She did not add the chorus of “because of the implications” that Harry, Thomas, and Quiet (through a series of ellipses) had added.
Tonton glanced at the DJ then back at the two artists. Well, in their supposed direction, of which he could only make out in the periodic instances when they would join the crowd for a word before leaving the hard labour to its audience once more. “Rêveur, I’m sure she’s rather tired after that performance, and, as you might expect, is focused on enjoying stallion and mustang. Besides, as famous as you are, I’m sure you can relate to the anger one feels at being disturbed by ones countless fanatics when you’re donning the mask of a civilian, can’t you?”
Vengador could not be sure if he should continue to keep an eye on Tonton, as he had dutifully done, or if he should take a chance at gaining more trade secrets. Kidnapping the DJ might risk his mark making a break for it, but he still had the tracker, and getting that DJ in just the right situation to need volunteer information would be killing two birds with one stone. In fact, how many were in the audience now. Because he could kill as many birds as there were here with those hypnotic skills. He’d become the undisputed most successful bounty hunter in the multiverse, recent failures would be insubstantial in the wake of that.
“Rêveur, pourquoi es-tu si determiner que je la dérange? Let us enjoy the performance, and ‘try to be in the moment’.”
“But they’re stand-ins!” she shouted, uncharacteristically but given the clamour of the crowd, she might as well have whispered. “You love stand-ins,” she said, more calmly, to remove the shame of the outburst.
“‘I’ love stand-ins. Moi? I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”
“I’m going to go talk to her,” Vengador stated, cutting into their argument.
“Pardon?”
“If you won’t, I will. Michelle is right, her information could be useful for our match.”
“I suppose you do wear your mask everywhere, Vengy, and so welcome yourself to a confrontation of your status at all times. It wouldn’t be hypocritical if you did. But it wouldn’t be very compassionate, either.”
Initially, Michelle was resentful towards Vengador for intervening in her plots once again, but upon quickly mulling on the thought, she decided that this might be the next best option. If Vengador kidnapped the DJ, then Tonton would have no choice but to go along with it, too.
“Fine, if Tonton won’t, then you’re right, you might as well.”
“You’re setting yourself up for some bad karma, Rêveur. These things come back around to haunt us.”
The performance had come to a brief respite, and the crowd had simmered down to listen to the two artists’ interlude.
The three of them paused to listen to the stallion, too. “Tonight, we were honoured to find out that one of the people we respect the most in the world, a peer of ours, not just in our other profession, but y’all, our trainer, and her trainer, are brothers. So we’re kinda like cousins in a way. She’s family. And we can only hope that one day she who sits at the head of our table can acknowledge us - but we know we have to earn that. Until then, we want to acknowledge her, one of the absolute best. Give it up for… … Dreamer!”
The spotlight lands squarely on Michelle. Sometimes these things come back around to haunt us sooner than we expect.
***
Michelle was sulking, a hoodie over her head to avoid the gazes of other festival attendees, many of whom had taken every advantage to pester her for information on the pop stars, to take non-consensual pictures (a report had already gone up theorising a relationship between Michelle and stallion, another likening the dynamic between Michelle and the duo to wrestling’s version of the Challengers, and the concept for a film script had emerged in the mind of one audience member, the highly (98.3%) fictional true story would ferment into a film 6 years from now, debuting in Busan) of her, though they’d gotten a remote breather when both Vengador and Tonton had violently retaliated at the oppressing presences.
In the shared camaraderie of the tussle, Tonton and Vengador’s brotherhood had crystalized at worrying speeds, and she began to question this entire venture - attempting to unravel Uncle’s web (and despite everything, she refused to succumb to the possibility that Tonton really was Tonton and not Uncle) with Uncle’s own methods had seemed brilliant and thematically apt initially, but perhaps misguided. Which, naturally, necessitated a change of tact.
She had originally intended to go to the underground (both culturally, and legally) restaurant called “The Mound” of which the entrance was literally a mound, leading into a subterranean restaurant hosted by Serpent Men whom served eggs, which Uncle had declared proudly in an act of either malicious subservience or honest-to-god (honest-to-Yig as the Serpent Men would say) self-delusion, would bypass Michelle’s aversion to animal-based products by virtue of the consensual and express permission given by the producers of such eggs (the very same individuals who ran the establishment). In fact, the very individual who had produced the eggs would come to the table to give such consent personally. Michelle had brought up a reasonable objection (in spite of the unnecessity of reason contextually) that the eggs-to-be had not. Fortunately, the Serpent Men also offered skin-shed-snake-bacon.
To succumb to the torment of “The Mound” only for Tonton to show not even the sliver of a crevasse in his metaphorical mask would utterly defeat her. To spare her the combination of fatalities, she would opt for the exact opposite plan.
A misguided attempt at comforting Megalodon Man, a task that had through a series of failed alternatives fallen to her, had led her to consulting a certain privileged commentator on the location of the finest seafood restaurant in Miami. ‘Chez Alejandro’ (to get ahead of any assumptions, the proprietor is of Mexican descent, no relation to a certain Maltan): the finest dining you could find in Miami, a haven for the aristocratic (mostly of Cuban-descent) to discuss plots for the ousting of certain nearby communist governments. Although the clientele and the very essence of the restaurant had nearly seen Michelle abandon her efforts at comforting her shark-toothed friend, the terror and immediate vacancy of the restaurant had assuaged many of those initial reservations. Still, she had never expected that she would find her way back here, but at least if she would have to suffer, so would Uncle. If JAY!’s favourite things couldn’t lower his guard, perhaps she would have more success with the horrors of ‘Chez Alejandro’.
The electricity that was sparking between Vengador and Tonton before her quietened down as Tonton began to take stock of the place, the scent wrinkling his nose.
“It seems like we might have the wrong location,” Tonton theorised as they came to a stop in front of the host seeing guests in.
“Michelle! Hola!” The very same host she had met the last time around. Given his own distaste for the restaurant’s clientele (which was balanced by a spark of pleasure at the disruption the shark-man had posed), she was surprised he hadn’t found an alternative by now, and yet, she supposed, the economy. His eyes twinkled upon seeing the two men she had brought with her this time, one masked and sizeable, the other tentacled and half-sizeable. This would be one of the top two shifts he’d ever had, he was certain of it.
The trio took their seats in the restaurant, Tonton still seemed incapable of overcoming his disbelief, but slowly such disbelief was making way for an equal measure of disgust and agitation. It was not merely the smell of dying and dead crustaceans, molluscs, fish assailing his sensitivities, but the stench of inherited old money: the sugar money, gambling money, and blood money kind of old money. His bulging eyes retreated from glaring at the equally disgusted (though for alternate reasons) eyes of Alejandro’s clientele.
“Honnetement, I had never been given reason to think that this was the sort of place you frequented, Rêveur. I understand the nature of a team-building exercise means learning about one another, but this is rather… a significant revelation. I’m certain you didn’t do this for me, and Vengy does not appear to be at home here anymore than I am.”
That wasn’t entirely true. “Well, I’ve met a few contacts in places like these. They paid the best.”
“No price too high to assassinate for a bit of insurgency, I’m sure.”
“Exactly.”
Another waiter came along, before they could say anything, Michelle - who had not looked once at the menu - said only “bread.”
Tonton, who had gone through the menu exactly forty-two times in vain hopes that reality would confess to not being so cruel as this menu presented itself as being, mimicked Michelle with a curt “bread.”
Vengador, who had found at least seven dishes he was very interested in trying, reluctantly decided that chemistry with his partners (or one partner in particular) was of precedence. Of equal influence in his decision was the fact that he would not have an ultra-wealthy contact to take care of the bill this time around. Confident as he was becoming in the future luxuries that awaited him once his bounty was cashed in, he wasn’t careless enough to spend the money he did not yet have. Bread,” he said, stifling down his disappointment with promises of future reward.
She watched as another waiter brought a four foot long fish of some sort or another to a table. The waiter, now taking the role of chef, began to dissect the fish, shedding off fat and flesh until what once weighed fifty pounds now did five grams. The remainder was relegated to compost.
“Look at that. Millions of people struggling to get back on their feet, and these people are spending hundreds-”, partially incentivized herself by the sight, partially to stir the heart of the Uncle she knew had to be struggling to hold back.
“I believe that one costs one thousand and thirty-dollars,” Tonton said.
“And all because they were born from the right c-” she continued.
“You can’t help who your family is,” Vengador interrupted in a timely fashion.
“You’re right. You can’t.”
“If you want to sympathise with these people, you can. But I don’t have much use for sympathising for rich sons of rich fathers, and even less so for those who then go on to make out their wealth and privilege to be a bane rather than a boon.”
The waiter arrives with their bread, cutting her bait short. “For the record, I agree. If I was born to cartel-capos willing to send me off to learn from the finest chefs in Malta, I could run a five star restaurant, too. Fuck Alejandro.”
Realisation dawned on Tonton. “I see what you’re doing here. I underestimated your cleverness. Oh, but this is a relief. You’re not actually into this. You’re talking about Giunti! This is another one of those stand-ins, isn’t in it? The Turkish DJ… and Luna. stallion and mustang and Jin-ho. This whole day has been about our opponents! It is a bit of a shame that our opponents differ from each other so significantly, you’d be hard-pressed to understand why they’re even a team. As disparate as our ventures this day has been, really. That being said… I’m not sure, it does seem like there is one grander… overarching connection between all of these individuals. Something akin to say, a Cowardly Lion, a Scarecrow, a Tin Man to their L. Frank Baum. But… I can’t quite put the meaning to words.”
This observation is interrupted by a new arrival to their table. A massive broth bowl with a gigantic fish in it. Seven foot long. They all watched, two with horror. Vengador recognized the Napoleon fish. It wasn’t one of the seven dishes he was interested in but it was better than nothing. Though, upon observing Michelle and Tonton, he decided not to reveal his interest. This one, if such an outcome was comforting or not, would not be divested of most of its contents before being served. Though, given the recipients, there was a good chance more of it would get wasted than the aristocrats they had been deriding earlier.
“Courtesy of those two gentlemen in the corner,” the waiter points.
“Do you recognize them?” Vengador asked, looking over his shoulder.
She did. Blazed and Depressed. They each held up a glass of wine. Pointing a phone camera in their direction, no doubt the trio would be making an unexpected appearance in the duo’s world renown culinary review channel, hot off the back of a seven million subscriber special they’d released last week.
Tonton stared into the dead eyes of the dead fish and his usual pink face seemed to gain a hint of green in it. He stood up abruptly, seeming to gag for a moment. Vengador stood to his side faster than Michelle could - had she any intention of being bothered to.
“Are you alright? Is it the fish?” Vengador asked out of concern, specifically concern for how such knowledge might aid him in securing the bounty down the line. Not gaining the secrets of Turkish hypnotic DJing had been unfortunate, but that could be somewhat redeemed with information on his target’s weakness. Some sort of ichthyophobia? Noted.
“Je serai de retour, un moment s’il-vous-plaît.” Tonton hurried his way to the gentleman’s room. Vengador was tempted to follow him, but instead returned to his seat, opposite of Michelle.
The two stared across at one another in only momentary silence. Michelle had little intent on filling in such silence with conversation, and Vengador instead not-so subtly dropped an eye to his tracker. Odd. Tonton wasn’t in the washroom. Still within the building, which was at least comforting, but what business did he have in the kitchen?
Such a question could be quickly answered by the blaring of a fire alarm. The dot indicating Tonton’s position exited the building and Vengador stood up hurriedly. This did not look out of place given everyone else in the restaurant was now in a similar state of panic and alertness. Michelle too, though she did not need a tracker to grasp the likelihood of what had transpired. The dot moved rapidly from the back exit of the building, around, and to the front.
Vengador shoved his way through the equally frenzied crowd, though they did not have his martial background, determination, or size, and so tumbled aside. Dreamer had not been as desperate to make her escape, but took some pleasure - much the same as the host outside - at the parting of the aristocratic sea. The host had been right, it was the one of the top two shifts he’d ever had.
A jeep sat parked in the front, the window lowered, and Tonton gestured at Vengador.
“Vengy, I apologise for the abruptness of this request, but I’m in need of your assistance. A man in your line of work, you know how to make people disappear, correct?”
Vengador shrugs, a talent he didn’t need to boast about.
“Merveilleux. I have a friend here, I’m calling her Otto,” he says, pointing within the car where an aquarium containing an octopus takes the whole of the backseat. “You understand my predicament.?”
Vengador nods. “Sounds like we don’t have time to waste.” Vengador circled around to get in the passenger seat.
Michelle, bemused yet feeling a sense of validation at the combination of giveaways, an octopus-napping, approached the car to join. A hint of a smile almost crossed her face, vindication at last. “You hate seafood just like Uncle does.”
“And so do you! And so does Vengy!” Tonton said. Vengador nodded without conviction. “Everyone with any sense would hate seafood!” Uncle shouting at her wasn’t unusual, but it was never accompanied with any vigour. This time, she was surprised to see it was.
The passenger cleared his throat. “Sorry Michelle, there isn’t any room left in the car.” Vengador gestured towards the tank. “And besides, maybe you’ve done enough for today. I’ll help Tonton get his friend safe and off the grid. We’ll see you at Meltdown.”
“What?” Michelle managed as an objection. Then quickly turned to Tonton, expecting that to be her argument and not her undoing.
“He’s right. We'll meet you at Meltdown. A plus tard, Rêveur.” The car sped away. Michelle stared at the side view mirror as it did, briefly catching the snide look of Vengador. Sirens bellowed out in the night shortly after.
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Post by thegipper on Oct 14, 2024 7:04:44 GMT
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