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Post by supinesnake on May 28, 2024 20:08:12 GMT
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Post by supinesnake on May 28, 2024 20:10:10 GMT
Originally posted by TGO.
After "Disco's Last Warrior" Chris Peacock exits the ringside area, "The Rotten Gold" Devin Golden remains inside the ring. He can barely stand after the bruising match with the newly crowned FWA World Champion, so he leans against one of the turnbuckles closest to the entrance and exit ramp. The referee for the match retrieves Golden's "bowler hat" (as the Europeaners say) and the walking cane he does not need. And despite what you may think about him needing the cane right now, Golden has too much pride. He'll limp and even crawl his ass out of here before he needs the cane in this moment.
"The Rotten Gold" twirls in his right hand the walking cane he absolutely, positively, emphatically, unquestionably, assertively, purposefully, and defiantly does not need while moving to the center of the ring. With shaky knees and an unstable posture, Golden slowly leans his upper body forward, removes his bowler hat, and bows for the remaining fans in the Ball Arena of Denver, Colorado.
What happens next is left for interpretation to the fan. If you'd rather Golden get lost, then maybe you'd focus on the heckling and "fuck you, Golden!" chants and tell everyone who asks that's what the crowd was chanting. If you are on the opposite end, then you'll focus on the cheering and the "thank you, Golden!" chants and tell everyone who asks that it was a display of gratitude to an undisputed FWA legend. Either way, Golden bows and curtseys before rising up, placing the hat back on his head, and once more, bellowing a "HA-HAAAA" although in the post-match fatigue, it doesn't have the volume or the length of some others.
Golden exits the ring -- one last time? -- and slowly limps to the stage. He doesn't prolong this moment any further. Just a turn to everyone watching and a "thank you" with his eyes closed, before turning again and stepping toward the curtain.
[/HR]
There were some conversations along the way -- not many, but some. I push open the double set of doors leading to the Ball Arena parking lot. It all feels very surreal, very deja vu-esque. And, well, there's a reason for that.
As I slowly walk through the indoor, enclosed, covered area of the parking lot, I feel the brisk, cold night air of Denver, Colorado slap the exposed skin of my face, arms, and legs -- just like last time.
Another similarity between the two? The Uber ride is not waiting on the side of the road. It's not in the parking lot. It's not anywhere nearby. So, just like last time, I have to hobble my way through this parking lot in the dead of night as headlights of fans' cars are all stacked in a pile, the final evidence of a post-PPV traffic jam.
Then, I think to myself, "Do I want to get there mentally?" Do I want to do these next 30 steps? Do I want to leave this place ... forever? Do I want ... this?
Even as I think about this, I keep walking. Maybe 15 steps now from the exit gate of the parking lot and the sidewalk where an Uber ride will be waiting. Now it's 10 steps. Now it's 5 steps. It's like my body knows I need to keep walking.
As I reach the sidewalk, my head down, I let out one last deep breath. The cold Denver air presents my breath visibly. I do it again. A third time. It's centering.
Then, I look up, and park my eyes on a set of oncoming headlights. Slowly pulling up next to me along the curb is a black Toyota Camry. When the back door opens -- almost magically -- there are three people waiting for me inside. One, the driver, is a male in his mid-forties with tattoos down his arms and glasses covering his eyes. The next, the occupant of the driver-side backseat (opposite me), is a frail-looking man with a red tomato T-shirt. He's fast asleep.
The occupant of the front passenger's seat, though, is wide awake. A woman with striking blonde hair that waves down just past her shoulders, turns around. I'm expecting a smile -- or some sage advice that comforts me in this moment -- but she offers nothing.
"It's too fuckin' cold for ya' to be wantin' a sentimental moment. Either we goin' or we ain't."
Shannon turns back around and props her feet onto the car's interior dashboard before leaning the seat back to remove nearly all leg room for whoever (meaning me) sits behind her.
The driver then turns around and looks at me.
"We did good."
I nod my head, but then I look at the ground.
"I wish I could've done more."
"Everyone does. You'll be here forever wishing you could do a little bit more."
A pause. I can sense Shannon growing frustrated by this ongoing conversation with the cold air of Denver seeping into the car.
"There's no such thing as a perfect ending, right?"
"It's whatever ending you want it to be," the driver responds. "You don't have to go, you know? You decided this is how it'd be, but you can turn around. You're allowed to stay for as long as you want."
There's a temptation to my subconscious' words, but it's a temptation I was mentally prepared to face. I knew it was my decision, and I also knew the decision has been made. I am never coming back, because I need to move on.
"You're with me until the last word, right?" I ask, and before my subconscious can answer, Shannon groans and barks a response.
"Man, what the fuck you think we here for? A midnight drive for snacks? Fuck, man. It's COLD! That's why we all here, even that joke ya' made in the back seat. We doin' this together, ain't we? Shit, I ain't even got anythin' after this. I'm just nothin'. You at least get to go back 'n wake up!"
Shannon's words get me to chuckle -- they were just what I needed to relieve some of the nerves and tension with the situation.
A nod from the driver is all I need to affirm that he -- at least he -- will leave me be for this drive. I slip into the car with my bowler hat still on my head and find a small crease of space for the walking cane I definitely do not need. When I close the door, the car slowly drives away. And my perspective somehow shifts a slight bit from first-person to third-person, almost as if I'm watching myself from outside the car while also existing inside.
That's because XYZ has walked outside into the cold Denver, Colorado night air and watched a nondescript black Toyota Camry slowly drive away. XYZ knows nothing of the situation -- he got here far too late to truly understand -- but nonetheless feels compelled to keep watching. So, too, do the group of Frank, Wild Jerry, PacMan Bert, Sierra, and a tiny child in Sierra's arms.
"Why ya' walk 'round with that damn cane anyways? Ya' ain't even need it!"
Shannon's question and astute observation are the last thing anyone hears, as even the car itself becomes soundless. It reaches the nearby intersection as a nighttime fog lowers below the green trees and nearby buildings of downtown Denver. When the car turns left at the intersection, the fog is thick enough and low enough to serve as a gateway for the car to enter. And at some point, like a ghost vanishing and making you wonder if it ever existed at all, the red tail lights are no longer visible.
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Post by supinesnake on May 28, 2024 20:11:22 GMT
Originally posted by Rosie. [ATTACH type="full" alt="HomecomingLogosPart1-removebg-preview.png"]39391[/ATTACH] -Spoilers from Back in Town, Read it Noobs-
Osaka International Airport/Itami Airport
Osaka, Japan
5:50pm Local Time
Febuary 22nd
(Yes, this is from the fuuuuture)AmbianceThe plane begins its descent towards the airport on a crisp late Winter evening in Japan. The dense city is seen spread out below as the passengers of the plane eagerly await its landing after long travel as the sun sets over the horizon to create a sky mixed with red and orange. Mixed in the plane is a range from tourists, excited to visit the country as the world attempts to return to some sense of normal, or people returning home after long trips. One of the individuals with a long trip sits on a window seat. Her hair with purple streaks appear somewhat unkempt after spending most of her 20 hour flight drifting in and out of sleep after a long journey. She has black cloth facemask on her eyes blink dazedly at the skyline in disbelief. Katsuki, or as we know her to the cameras of FWA, Vampyra.
At long last, after months away from home with a life-changing tour in Europe ending with a return to the United States, she’s spending a couple of weeks home. While she could not quite make it home with gold, she returns more accomplished, and experience she lacked elsewhere. Though this will be far from a relaxing trip. Over the next three weeks, she will be scheduled for 9 shows. But it is the life of a professional wrestler, made more challenging with commitments to two promotions separated by the Pacific Ocean. Thankfully for her, her return match is not until a show on Saturday. After her turbulent journey, a sense of relief falls upon her. In a daze, she completely tunes out the ding of the speaker and an announcement from the pilot.
She just wants to be home.
After some time has passed, Katsuki has finally gathered her bags and is rolling her belongings through the airport. The feel of it is sanitary and plain. A large mix of white everywhere from the ceiling to the beams. If it was not for the luggage, you could almost assume it was a hospital. The travellers are mostly organised apart from the tourists from the West not used to the customs of Japan. Katsuki has a similar sweater and pants combination as when she left. A turtleneck sweater with black tight jeans, a purse slung over her shoulder. Her head is down, exhausted from the travel, the matches, and more. Everyone around her is a blur as her mind is in a fog. Then, one person begins to rush towards her. She is like a red blur to her, though a familiar one. At the last second, she looks up to see a fairly tall and strong woman grip her in a BIG hug! She ecstatically shouts in Japanese
“VAMPYRA! I AM SO GLAD TO SEE YOU!”
She lifts her friend off the ground and Vampyra looks up to see her long time tag partner, Ririko. Though somewhat tall, around five foot seven, and known for her combination of power and striking, Ririko is the biggest bundle of energy you can find with her vibrant red locks which go down to her chin. The Bad Apple, the Crazy Ghost. She has a black hoodie on and jeans as she happily hugs her friend who has returned after a very long tour. Even with the over the top nature of the hug, Katsuki can’t help but smile under her mask as she is finally let down.
“Hehe, thank you, Ririko.” She politely responds back, trying to get some of the feeling back in her spine.
“It has been so long!” Ririko folds her hands, smiling. “But to think, you have become a champion! You went to your first out of Japan tour and won a singles championship!!!”
Still a fresh wound for the former champion. Katsuki doesn’t even look her in the eye. She glances down, uncomfortable. Realising she has made an error, Ririko has an apologetic look on her face.
“Well, uhh. Not anymore.” She corrects herself, but her friend is still down in the dumps. Ririko tries to cheer her up. “BUT! It is important that you won the championship in the first place! We watched the match over and over again because we were so happy you won.”
“Did you watch the aftermath where I was attacked by a racist asshole who does not even care for the championship yet wanted it anyways? Injuring me before another big match!” Katsuki bites back with her words, having a cutting tone in her voice. “Were you happy then? Were you happy when he abandoned me in a tag match and cost us the match against two people who had no business being involved in our affairs? How about when he won the title back despite spending the past several months waving around a fake lawsuit and beating up referees? Were you happy then? Because I was NOT!”
Ririko is taken back, blinking, surprised at her friend’s sass and bitterness. Silence afterwards. Ririko doesn’t know how to react let alone Katsuki who didn’t even expect those words to come out of her mouth. Regret soon falls on her. She does what you would first do when saying something like that: apologise.
“I-uh. I am sorry. I should not take my anger out on you.” Her eyes glance to the side, embarrassed. “It has been a long few months.”
Even through her friend’s anger, Ririko is able to understand. She lightly pats her on the shoulder.
“I can imagine. I know Cali told me some of what happened when you were at her friend’s safe. It must be stressful wrestling outside of Japan!”
“Try going from Backstreet Boy to fighting a world champion in only four matches.” Katsuki sighs. “Everything was so fast.”
“But you survived.” The powerhouse grins towards her friend, giving her some encouragement. “I knew you would.”
Taking a long exhale, Katsuki tries to let some of those frustrations out. She looks at her friend. Her main tag team partner until Cali Hayama arrived to round out the trio. Since then, the three have always been at their strongest together, but also have shown great chemistry in separate pairs. Ririko’s personality doesn’t even seem to match her’s. While Katsuki is studious, thoughtful, and reserved, Ririko is more wild, a free spirit. They seem to be more fitting as rivals, though that was the case early on in their careers. Though I guess it is proof that together, they make each other better. Katsuki is fortunate to have her as a friend.
“Thank you.” Katsuki adds, “For everything. Now if you’ll excuse me. I really need to get some rest.”
“How about I treat you to some food first?” Ririko asks. “How can you sleep on an empty stomach? Can we get some mochi ice cream?”
Having a small grin on her face under her mask, Katsuki nods. “I have missed that so much… I suppose one for a treat is earned.”
Ririko shows a wide grin, brandishing her teeth. She motions for her friend to follow and the two make their way through the airport. “That is great! We can do some catching up. Like how Cali and I have a tag team championship match in three weeks?"
“That is amazing!” She nods to her friend. “I knew you were going to do well."
“Yes, although we are a replacement team.” Ririko clarifies. “Saori Suzuki and Miss Fuka were going to get a match, but Saori hurt her knee.”
“Again?” Katsuki raises her eyebrow. “That is what? Her fourth knee injury? Is it her right or left?”
“Right. Third time.” Ririko pouts. “But management asked her to find a replacement. Miss Fuka dropped out to focus on singles gold, so Cali and I stepped up.”
“Reminds me of how I got in the F1 Climaxxx tournament. Champion was hurt. Though I suppose when situations like that happen, you need to adjust.”
Her friend nods. “Right. But we’ll talk more when we get out mochi. I am really craving kona coffee flavour.”
“Coffee?!” Katsuki shouts. “At this time of the day? You’re crazy, Ririko!”
The two share a chuckle and they make their way to have a catch up treat.
-Two Hours Later-
At long last, she is home. Her apartment has a view of the city. The apartment is cramped compared to its North American counterparts and the lights are off, but there is some visibility thanks to the city lights. The walls are a clean white and there is a table that is a bit lower to the ground than normal, with cushions to sit on. On one end is a green couch, and some shelving on either side, covered in Anime and gaming figurines. A TV is on the wall on the other end along with more shelves and a Nintendo switch port without the console, likely still in Vampyra’s bag. The next room over a small kitchenette with a divider then, to the other wall, two doors. One is open and leads to a bathroom. The other, presumably, a bedroom. An exhausted Katsuki drags her belongings in her suitcase and stumbles through her apartment.
“Finally…” She mutters to herself in Japanese.
She drops her keys onto her couch and goes straight into her bedroom. The room is small, only having some standing room around the bed which Katsuki left properly made, probably expecting to need it when she gets back. On her wall, we see a poster for a Japanese baseball player. He has blonde hair, a small goatee. He is wearing the uniform of the Yomiuri Giants, he is on the mound winding up for a pitch. His number is 32 and the name of the player, translated from Japanese is Ryo Sasaki. On a shelf under it, she has some memorabilia, including a Poke Ball and a Gengar plush. Next to it is an alarm clock with the time of 8:45pm local time.
Falling onto her bed, Katsuki flops in a tired heap. Will she even get up to shower or change into something more comfortable? She doesn’t know yet. She grabs a plush that sits on the bed, this being of the Pokemon Vulpix and she lies her head on it. Yep, she is a nerd. Finally home, she just rubs her face into her bed sheets, trying to, for now, forget the turbulent past several months. She doesn’t even notice the buzzing of her phone with a reminder. The phone peaks slightly out of her purse. The notification translates to:
Doctor’s appointment.
Tomorrow. Dr. Nakamura. 2:00pm.
-To Be Continued- |
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Post by supinesnake on May 28, 2024 20:11:47 GMT
Originally posted by Rosie. [ATTACH type="full" width="433px" alt="HomecomingLogosPart2-removebg-preview.png"]39709[/ATTACH] Warning: The following promo may contain heavy themes around mental health and more. Reader discretion is advised. [ATTACH type="full" width="437px" alt="1677026471546.png"]39728[/ATTACH] Osaka City General Hospital
Osaka, Japan
2:05 pm Local Time
February 23rd
Resting on the classic examination table in a doctor’s office is Katsuki. She has a pair of looser jeans on with a blue hoodie, a medical mask on her face, not taking any chances with being in a hospital. Her purse rests on the table next to her. Her hands are folded as she waits patiently. Doesn’t matter if you are in Japan or America, apart from the fact that it doesn’t cost you an arm and a leg here, almost any doctor’s office is the same. Some posters are on the wall, including one featuring the anatomy of the human body. Across from the table is a sink with a cupboard to house supplies for the doctor. At the end of the examination table is a chair for the doctor to sit in. The walls of the room are a cream colour, though a touch more lively than a pure sanitary white, with it being a windowless room, there is a sense of lifelessness to the room. Across from Katsuki is a clock hanging on the wall above a calendar with the hands ticking away.
Tick
Tock
Tick
Tock.
She is doing her best to remain patient. Glancing at the clock, she sees the large hand pass the one. Six minutes later than her appointment was scheduled. Though it has nothing on the wait times one may get going through an emergency, or waiting for surgery, it is a mild annoyance. Much like you’d get from someone who can’t decide what they want to order and refuse to leave the line to decide. At least it doesn’t go on for two hours.
The doorknob turns and steps inside the room is a Japanese man with some grey in his hair. He has a surgical mask on as well along with a white coat with his ID on it. Dr. Nakamura. Even with a mask, you can tell he is greeting Katsuki with a polite grin, giving a small bow. In his hand is a manilla folder. Katuski returns the gesture as her doctor sits down, speaking to her in their native language.
“Miss Sasaki. It has been some time since you last paid a visit. Considering your choice of career, I would expect more visits than normal for someone as young as you.” He gives a polite chuckle, a kindness is in his tone of voice.
“I have been wrestling internationally now.” Katsuki gives a small nod. “FWA Wrestling in America, though I was just on a large tour of Europe.”
“I am aware.” The doctor nods, opening his folder to look at his patient’s records. “Though for obvious reasons, the rules of doctor and patient confidentiality extend further than normal, given your status as a masked wrestler, I was keeping an eye on your performances. Speaking of, I know it ended far too soon, but I do give congratulations on you winning your first championship there so soon.”
Still stings. Though compared to yesterday, after getting a bit of sleep at long last, she is less irritable. She simply gives a small nod and a quick “Thank you, Mr. Nakamura.” Before letting her doctor continue.
“Now, onto the first matter of business…” Dr. Nakamura flips through some pages before pulling out a sheet with a picture of Katsuki’s right knee after her FWA Television Championship victory. The knee pad and boot is removed and the knee has an abnormal amount of swelling. Redness is seen around the knee. “So, this was the picture FWA’s medical staff sent me after your match. There was bruising the day after, correct?”
“Yes. They gave me an MRI the day after and found nothing broken or torn. But they put me in a knee brace for the next couple of matches.”
“They told me it was a knee contusion.” He takes a longer look at the image. “Even if there was a week in between matches, you should have had more rest out of precaution.”
“Do not worry…” Katsuki folds her arms, “Michelle Von Horrorwitz ONLY attacked my injury viciously in the next match. But there was a tournament and my pool already had multiple changes.”
Her Doctor shakes his head and sighs. “That is always a mindset I dislike with sports. When your brother was younger, I told him to not push himself when his arm was sore after a game.”
“Wrestling can be much worse than baseball at that.” Katsuki adds. “The show goes on for almost anything apart from a disaster.”
Heading over to the sink, Dr. Nakamura washes his hands. As the water runs, he tells his patient. “Would you mind rolling up your right pant leg so I can see your knee, Miss Sasaki?”
Following her doctor’s directions, Katsuki rolls her jeans up until her knee is perfectly visible. In comparison to the photo her doctor received, the swelling is non-existent, though there is still a bruise on the side of the leg. Looking at her knee, Doctor Nakamura inspects it, running his finger gently on the bruise.
“Now, if I put pressure on this point, how does it feel?” His thumb presses down on the bruise and Katsuki winces slightly.
“It is a touch tender, doctor. Though I don’t have any problems walking or running.”
“Have you been icing it?”
The FWA wrestler nods. “I iced it each night for three weeks. Then sometimes after matches.”
“Would you mind if I move it?” He asks, “To see if there is any discomfort?”
“Not at all.” Katsuki gives her permission and lies down with her back on the table. Dr. Nakamura slowly moves her leg forward and back, bending the knee. This part, Katsuki appears to have little discomfort.
“Does it hurt now?”
“No. It is-” Katsuki says until he slightly twists it to the side, putting pressure on the bruised muscled “-Okay maybe that is where it hurts But it is far better than it was a few weeks ago.”
Letting go of her knee gently, Dr. Nakamura rests it back down and Katsuki sits up.
“I see no issues in clearing you fully for your upcoming shows here. I recommend resting beforehand and to continue to ice your knee. That way you’ll be ready.”
“Thank you, doctor.” Katsuki nods her head and even through the mask, her cheeks raise, showing a small grin. Dr. Nakamura goes over to his folder for the former FWA Television Champion and flips through.
“Although I believe there is one more thing we should discuss…” He glances up at his patient. “Did you bring your medication?”
Nodding, Katsuki reaches into her purse and pulls out two orange prescription bottles. One has completely emptied out while the other only has a few left. She hands it off to her doctor who gives it a look.
“Currently you are on 30mg of Citalopram. And you have been on that amount for how long again?”
“Three years.” She answers.
“So it makes sense it is not having the same effect on reducing your anxiety as it once did. Now, for your Klonopin, you ran out. I believe you said to me you had plenty before your first trip to America, is that correct?”
“That was… Then I had to take one in New Orleans. Once in the United Kingdom. Another in Greece. Then once more in Colorado.” Katsuki adds. “Which is three more times than I had taken all of last year.”
She sighs. “I feel so weak for-”
“Please do not say that.” Her doctor stops her. “Just focus on my questions. When you took those pills, what happened?”
The former champion thinks back, looking at the ceiling. “New Orleans… Uhh. I had someone harass me for wearing a mask.”
“As a wrestler?” Dr. Nakamura clarifies. "But you wrestle in one as part of-."
“No. No. No. A mask like what we are wearing now. Since COVID I have been wearing it far more often and masks were more commonplace here even before the pandemic. I was at a restaurant to try some ‘Gumbo’ since I heard it was really good. But that man had a red hat saw I was wearing my mask as I was seated and was… yelling at me. He called me ‘Chinese’ saying I spread the…” She uses air quotes, “‘Kung Flu hoax’ to say it in English. Then he kept harassing me until someone threatened to call the police if he did not leave…”
She hangs her head down. “I-uhh. I cried.” and as she says that, she is trying to hold back tears. “I rushed to the bathroom and the staff apologised and offered to give me my order to go. They even offered it to me for free.”
“That was very kind of them.” Her doctor nods his head. He leans back against the wall, arms folded, listening.
“But by the time I got back to my hotel I was still stressed and worried. I started to feel scared. I was worried about leaving my hotel so I took one then before I had my gumbo.”
“Was it good?” He keeps some of the conversation light.
“It was, but I had to reheat it.” Katsuki has a light laugh. “Something like that happened at the airport in Colorado. I got off my flight and wanted something to eat before I left for my hotel. The first place I saw was sushi and it might not be like what is back home, but I was hungry. As I ordered, a man was behind me and heard my accent. I asked a question about what was in it and he responded, ‘Shouldn’t you already know this, you dirty Japanese woman,’ but he said something else instead of Japanese woman.”
“I can imagine what he said.” Dr. Namakura nods.
“Then he called me a ‘school girl’ and said that I should go back to starring in anime, and... then said he said America should drop a third bomb on us... I got a shock to my spine and I felt uneasy. Two different parts of America and it ended up similar. The lady taking my order told him to leave. He yelled at her and me and the security guards had to take him away. I didn’t eat and I rushed back to my hotel to take my medication.” “So, if I am understanding this right-” The doctor paces in front of Katsuki, trying to summarize. “In America you experienced rude and racist comments from others. Why did it upset you... Apart from the obvious reasons?”
“Because I never experienced it before. I wanted to go to America to see new things. I just wanted to perform in front of new fans, but then I was scared. I wondered ‘Why do they hate me?’ Why do they hate me so much when I did nothing!” Tears begin to form in her eyes. Dr. Nakamura reaches over to his sink area to grab a box of tissues. He hands it to his patient as she continues, trying to wipe some of the tears as she talks.
“While all this was going on, I was thrown into the thick of it for FWA. It felt strange. I felt like I was making so much progress, and yet failing so, so much. I was put into a tournament. The F1. And I lost my first two matches. That was understandable as I had one on short notice because I was a replacement. Then the other was against the best in the company. Between matches, the time came for me to challenge for the FWA Television Championship and… I won. I never thought that would happen, let alone so soon. I was in pain, but happy-”
Taking a deep breath, she closes her eyes.
“Then he attacked me. Shawn. He was the one who injured my knee. He was the first champion and he was bitter over his loss. So he attacked the former champion and myself. A crowning moment of my career and it is marred in misery. A friend of mine tried to throw a small party to celebrate, but I couldn’t enjoy it. I knew I had another match and if I lost, I’d be eliminated from the tournament. I also put a lot of pressure on myself because the man who attacked me, Shawn Summers, would celebrate in my misery. I lashed out against my friend and I locked myself in the bathroom for almost an hour.”
More tears begin to form. Katsuki wipes some of them away. “Then I lost. I got eliminated. He called my tournament a failure. Then, FWA management had the bright idea to team us together against two people where, if we lost, our title match would be a four-way match. I freaked out again. I just wanted to face him one on one, get it over with, and move on. But they decided against it. That was the other time I had to take my medication and I was spaced out during a tour with my friend.”
She sniffles. “I started off the tour with nothing, got everything and lost it again. What was a few months felt like years of experience. I was told to fill the shoes of a world champion and I failed. I failed. I just wanted to compete for a championship, then a man made it his mission to make my life hell. He’d say all these things to me which echo the man in New Orleans and the man from Colorado. It hurt. Words hurt. There are consequences from when you act like that.”
Looking to the side, Katsuki’s hand shakes lightly. “And I truly fear what leads those men down their paths. How they were taught to hate. It doesn’t help that I have always held myself to a high standard. But I’m scared now. I’m scared to go back. I’m scared to be laughed at. I’m scared to see that man and have HATE spit from his mouth like a Cobra’s venom. But what happens if I don’t? Will that mean they win? All I want is to chase my dreams. I want to do what I always wanted to do. Be like my heroes when I was young. But what kind of hero am I!?”
Having listened to Katsuki’s venting, her doctor just nods his head. “Breathe, Miss Sakaki. Remember. Five seconds in, hold for five, then out for five.”
Following her doctor’s advice, she takes a long breath in.
One
Two
Three
Four
Five.
Holding it in...
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Then out...
One
Two
Three
Four
Five.
“Keep that going, and listen.” Dr. Nakamura lightly pats Katsuki on the back, showing some compassion. Katsuki continues to take her breaths in and out and listens.
“I completely understand why you have been feeling the way you have. Given problems you have experienced in the past with self-esteem, it is no wonder why you put extra pressure on yourself when tasked with a large obstacle professionally. Then couple that with a new place, a different culture, and, to be blunt, racism, any young lady in your position would have some difficulties. I say all this because I like to think I am a bit different than the average person in regards to the topic of mental health. Many here see it as a sign of weakness, and a problem you solve in isolation from others. But I know sometimes it takes a group effort.”
Looking to her doctor, Katsuki rubs her eyes. “Why is that?”
“Because while I was studying in school, a classmate of mine was having a rough time with his mental health. I walked away from him along with others. We felt he needed to solve it on his own. Then came a day when I was walking near Kawasaki Bashi Bridge. It was evening and he was there, alone. He leaned against the railing, looking down, and I talked to him. I asked him how he was doing, and I offered to take him out for drinks to catch up. Little did I know…” Dr. Nakamura looks up at Katsuki. “I saved his life. Graduation day he came up to me with a card. A thank you card. He explained everything he was going through and said that evening, he was not looking to cross the bridge but…” Now Dr. Nakamura’s voice catches. Katsuki holds her hand up.
“I think I know.” She responds. Her doctor slowly nods.
“I think you are right. But now he has a wife and kids. Things got better for him, even if he has his times when he is struggling. I am proud of him. He's truly one of the strongest people I know. You are a lot stronger than you give yourself credit. People believe that, even if your own thoughts say otherwise. Who do you have to talk to, Katsuki?” He asks.
“Here I have my stablemates in MAYHEM. But especially Ririko and Cali. Whenever I am in the ring with them, I just feel like I am on the same wave-length as them. Each movement we click together and if I am struggling, they both are willing to lift me up. Cali Hayama especially seems to be sympathetic to this. But when I am in FWA I have a girl who is now working in their video department. She is an old friend of Cali’s. Kimmy.”
“Then you’re not alone, and I am sure there are plenty of others.” The doctor nods before going to his booklet and he begins to write things down.
“So here is what I am going to do. I will up your prescription to 40mg on your next refill. If you notice your symptoms are getting worse, or are feeling an onset of depression, let me know and then go back to 30mg.” He looks up at his patient. “Tell me, how much wrestling are you going to do while in the country?”
“Three shows this weekend. Nine shows total in the next three weeks.” She responds.
“I will discuss with your promotion about reducing that number. I think one this week may be ideal to ease your way into it and get extra rest. Then depending on how you are managing your anxiety, then it can be increased.”
“That works. That way I can be ready for my return to FWA-”
Dr. Nakamura holds his hand up, interrupting her. “About that. I highly recommend taking a longer break away. I know it is not ideal, but I need to talk to management and the doctors for the company to make sure your next series of shows are less strenuous on you. If they have a psychologist, then I suggest monthly therapy sessions if you approve. Just as a way to keep tabs.”
This news is not what Katsuki wishes to hear, but looking at her doctor, she can tell he is firm in his stance. “I may be willing to see the psychologist. How much longer away?”
“Maybe a few more weeks. It just depends on how you are feeling. I will tell FWA’s management you require the absence. And one more thing-”
“What?”
He shuts the envelope. “Stay away from that asshole! I do not care if he took your championship, he is not worth the headaches!”
The woman known as Vampyra looks down, disappointed. Her first championship of her career and if he doesn’t pursue him, she won’t get a rematch, maybe ever, for a championship which was ripped from her by a man who didn’t even care about the championship, but cared more about making her life miserable. But, is he really worth it? Thinking more about it, she realises how many problems she’s going to avoid by staying away from him. The feeling of dread slowly begins to be replaced by a feeling of relief.
“I will.”
“Thank you. I will email your two companies later today.” Dr. Nakamura finishes writing a prescription and hands it off to her. She looks at it and, even in Japanese, a doctor’s handwriting resembles chicken scratch more than actual handwriting. “Take care, Miss Sasaki and good luck in your wrestling.”
Dr. Nakamura heads out the door as Katsuki takes a second to gather her thoughts. She takes a prolonged look at her updated prescription and things. Extra time away from FWA? Maybe he's right. She gets up and leaves as well.
 9:41pmKawasaki Bashi Bridge
Katsuki stands on the bridge alone in the middle of night. Lights from the bridge bounce off her skin as she looks off at the river below. Her hands are in her hoodie pocket as she sees the reflection of the city’s lights on the water below. It is a peaceful night. A light breeze blows through the city. It is just Katsuki alone with her thoughts. A duck flies down from the sky and onto the water below. A long way down. Surprisingly, Katsuki has a slight smile on her face. Then, two girls approach her.
Ririko stands wearing a red turtleneck sweater along with a combination of a black skirt and leggings with her black boots. She has a large grin on her face as she approaches with a girl that has silver hair and sides wept bangs. Wearing a purple hoodie with the Twitch logo and a pair of jeans, Cali Hayama has arrived with her friends in Japan. Cali lights up with a smile as she sees her the final part of her main trio. Katsuki smiles and turns to them.
"Finally! I have been waiting for you two!"
“We're not that late!" Cali responds. "Speaking of, glad to see you made it back! I thought you were too busy being such a hot shot in America now to see us!” She jokes with her friend.
Katsuki laughs. “No. I’m back. Like I trust you to keep Ririko out of trouble.”
“No fair!” Ririko laughs. “I haven't’ done anything wrong since that night in Kyoto.”
“I remember. That was when you chased Chiitan all over the city!” Cali chuckles.
“I wanted to see if they could join MAYHEM!” Ririko shouts.
“They are an Otter!” Katsuki can’t help but burst out in a laugh.
“Then how about we get some drinks before any otters show up for Ririko to harass?” Cali jokes before the three friends head across the bridge. Katsuki stands in the middle of all three of them and has a huge grin.
“I missed you guys…”
Watching the trio in the distance we see a tall beautiful woman with dark hair standing. She has a stunning and decorated white and red kimono dress with red and golden flowers branded on it. Looking at the three in the distance, she has a warm, and proud smile. She snaps her fingers and she shrinks down in a light, appearing as a white fox with red markings on its face. Nine tails flick as the creature sits. She gives a playful snicker before getting on all fours and walking the other way.
{"OOC"}Heavy themes of mental health and discrimination in the promo. But I think it ties together a lot of stuff and builds towards the future with an important message. checkpointorg.com/global/ And a link just in case you need it. Remember. You are not alone. |
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Post by supinesnake on May 28, 2024 20:12:08 GMT
Originally posted by Rosie. [ATTACH type="full" alt="HomecomingPart3-removebg-preview.png"]40508[/ATTACH] [ATTACH type="full" width="372px" alt="1677371686129.png"]40494[/ATTACH] February 25th, 2023
Osaka, JapanOsaka Prefectural Gymnasium
4:15 local time
Walking in her hometown, Katsuki has a plain black hoodie on her head, with the hood pulled down, keeping her face well hidden along with her face mask. Dragging behind her is her gear bag and apart from that, she blends well into the crowd. Just as what she intends to be as a masked wrestler, hidden. On her way to shows, she is especially conscious of her being seen with her gear bag without her mask on. Though optional for some masked wrestlers, the tradition of keeping your name and face away from public record is sacred to those who choose to keep it. Whether it is in Mexico, where the tradition of the masked wrestler really came to be, or those who import the idea to places like America and Japan, there is something about keeping your performances and your personal life separate. So, when Katsuki steps into the ring, it is Vampyra who the fans either idolise or vilify.
Though normally she travels by bus to venues with her stablemates, this is one time where she can make it to the arena by foot. With approval from her doctor, she only needs to worry about one show this return weekend before she slowly breaks her way into more with CJW. The three options were Kyoto on Friday night, Osaka tonight, or Kobe on Sunday Night. Three nights of the Winter Warming shows. So, she chose the show that happens to be in her hometown. Night two in Osaka. It is a return to the familiar to her with Trios action. YOKAI Death Squad, the phenomenal young trio of MAYHEM, are teaming against three members of Royal Dojo. A unit dedicated to ring technique and grace. As she gets closer to the Gymnasium, her earbuds drown out the outside and she can only focus on her own thoughts, with the beat of the song going on in the background.The music"Even the reality buried in the snow of sadnessEven these hands that have been dyed red by mistakes"With this match being her return match in her home country, there is a little extra pressure, especially with the home field advantage. Another positive bit of news, fans, after being told to restrict their noise to just clapping to reduce the risk for the spread of disease, are now allowed to make noise and scream out their support. But will they care about her? It has been months since she has been here and there is some duty of loyalty to fans. Some wrestlers who jump from one promotion to another in Japan have a harder time getting support and for her, she left for America (Or Europe more) in pursuit of trying to see the world. With the European tour done, she will likely be able to hop back and forth with greater ease. Does that matter though? After getting entrenched in FWA as someone who can at least be a threat to some of the bigger hitters in the promotion, do they see her as a member of MAYHEM anymore? Is she even part of Cosmic Joshi Wrestling? Or just an outsider?
All these worries and insecurities dance around in her head, creating the feeling of butterflies in her stomach. She moves to the back of the building where there is a parking lot for the back entrance. A bus is rolling in, branded with a pink logo of a planet and stars around it. Just in time with others arriving. Going to the entrance, the security guard looks towards her. He is a man looking to be in his mid twenties. Katsuki removes her hood to show her hair with its dyed tips. She takes out her earbuds. Reaching in a pocket of her bag, she takes out her signature mask. It is purple with silver as a secondary colour, and a neon green accent colour. Near her fangs on the mask is a touch of red, as if it is covered in blood. That is all the security guard really needs to confirm her identity.
“Welcome home, Vampyra.” He says to her in their native language. She gives a polite nod before walking in.
7:20pm
Approx. 15 minutes until Match Time
In their locker room, the three young wrestlers who make up YOKAI Death Squad are each taking part in their own pre-match routine. Cali Hayama, the ever agile wrestler, is stretching in the corner. She has primarily purple and black gear on, featuring long tights with an opening on the left leg to show some of her skin. There are some trims of silver and purple with her top having YDS in neon green in a glitchy text. Her boots and kick pads are black, leading to knee pads where she has the “MAYHEM” M on one knee with its rainbow coloured trim, and the other is an 8 bit skull and horns, resembling a type of yokai. She lifts her leg against the wall and stretches it out, showing great flexibility. Reaching for her foot, Cali Hayama grabs it with her hand that wears fingerless gloves.
Ririko, the energetic powerhouse, is on the ground doing push ups, keeping her energy high. Her top and shorts match her partner’s, with the same colours. On her arms are colourful tassels. Her thighs have bands. Her kick pads are more colourful with the purple base, some neon green trim, and have more tassels.
Keeping herself in her mode of zen, Vampyra is fully into her in-ring identity. She has her ring gear on, matching her friends, and is seated, cross-legged. Taking long breaths in and out, it’s a routine she has been trying to get back into. Calm your nerves before your matches. Although it doesn’t guarantee how you’d react afterwards, it puts her in a position which is likely better than before. Her phone is in front of her and the timer goes off. She turns it off and sits up.
Across from them, two more veteran members of MAYHEM. The towering Miss Fuka, and Miho Watase. Fuka has long black hair and stands just a bit under six feet tall. Miho is around average height, a touch thicker in her frame, with brown and blonde highlights in her hair. Fuka has the stable hoodie on with some jeans while Miho Watase is in her ring gear, having black and blue as its main colours. Miss Fuka sees the younger members of the group and chuckles.
“At long last, the most fabled young trio in COSMIC makes its return. YOKAI Death Squad” She speaks to them in Japanese. “You know, at one time, I would expect Cali Hayama to be the one travelling all the time to America and not young Vampyra.”
“I still travel home in between considering I’m still a content creator and I’m not forcing my partner to move all the way to a foreign country.” Cali responds before whispering to Ririko, “Speaking of, remind me to get her a gift for our one year anniversary before I leave Japan.” and her friend nods.
“It would be much better if I returned home with a championship.” Vampyra stretches her leg before standing up. “But I hope that once things get more settled, I can easily flow between here and FWA in America.”
“Do not bite off more than you chew.” Miho Watase speaks up. “Remember, with Saori Suzuki injured, I am the one in charge of MAYHEM as its most senior member left and do not want any more of us down to injuries or to suffer performance wise.”
“I had those talks with my doctor…” Vampyra has some tension in her voice. “If I was not aware of it, then I would have been in Kyoto last night. I do not need to be babysat by you.”
Miho raises her hands, attempting to defuse the situation and reminding her to remain calm. “Easy. Just taking precaution.”
Getting up from her push-ups, Ririko pats Vampyra’s back. “We got it tonight. Focus on your match, Watase.”
“It is your first match together in months.” Miss Fuka warns the young wrestlers, “There might be some changes.”
“It is like riding a bike, you never forget it.” Cali uses a Western saying, but it just confuses Ririko.
“But, we are not riding bikes….”
Vampyra raises her hands. “We got it. I just want to get out there. We will be fine.”
“Good luck, then.” Miho nods before focusing on getting herself prepared for her match later in the night.
Cali and Ririko grab smaller masks from their gear and put them on. They are half-masks which have teeth like designs on the front and they cover one eye. Unique masks, but something to visually tie them together as a team. Cali has a bulky jacket she slings over her shoulder. Vampyra quickly clips her entrance cape on. The young trio get out of the locker room and head down the hallway, with their match coming up soon.
Farther down the hall, a piece of paper is taped to the wall with “Wrestler Entrance” written in kanji, giving an arrow. There is a crowd of people near monitors for wrestlers and staff to watch the show. The match is ongoing, likely reaching its big climax. The YDS ladies glance up, getting a glimpse. A familiar voice from behind speaks to them in Japanese.
“Glad to see the team back together again.” All three girls perk up as they turn around to see their mentor and MAYHEM leader, Saori Suzuki.
Saori is a larger woman, having considerable mass. Though, if she is not injured, you can see she remains in tip top shape, mixing her larger frame with explosive speed and surprising technique. Her hair is predominantly purple with squared off bangs. She has a matching black track jacket and track pants branded with the CJW logo, having a pink and white trim. Two crutches are under her arm as she tries her best to keep her right knee off the ground which sports a heavy knee brace. Both Cali and Ririko give their mentor a one armed hug.
“Saori! We did not expect you to come!” Cali’s voice is ecstatic.
“You only had surgery last week on your knee.” Ririko looks down at her injury. “I would expect you to stay home.”
Saori Suzuki looks down at her leg. “Knee injuries are nothing new. Perhaps I should be resting, but I had to come.” She looks up at Cali Hayama and Ririko. “I want to make sure you two are in prime shape, being that you two are my replacement in the tag team championship match. But most importantly-”
She looks at Vampyra. “I had to see the hometown hero make her return.”
Vampyra gives a polite grin and slight bow. “It will be my pleasure to perform.”
“Listen. You know me, I am always the one to give a speech. But being that my knee is aching, I will keep it quick. You three know how to work well together. Your bond is stronger than any else’s here. Distance will not interfere with it. Show your opponents no mercy because we know they will show none to you. Win or lose, I want you two,” She looks at the future tag team title challengers, “-to make the Itsuki Sister shake in fear watching.”
“You know me, Saori,” Cali Hayama winks, “I have no problem kicking faces in.”
“I would not need to think twice!” Ririko balls her hands into fists, determined, “It is about time those two and Sin get humbled!”
“Break their backs and make them humble!” Cali pats Ririko on the shoulder, chuckling.
Saori turns to Vampyra, “For you, mind if we talk privately for a moment?”
“Not at all.” Vampyra and Saori head to the corner while Ririko and Cali Hayama give them some privacy and turn to the screens to watch the final moments of the match before them. Saori Suzuki struggles with her knee, leaning against the wall in an attempt to get some pressure off.
“How was America and Europe, Vampyra?” She asks the masked wrestler.
Vampyra takes a few moments to think of her answer. She’s been on an emotional roller coaster. But, as others have constantly reminded her, she needs to think of the positives.
“Interesting…” She mutters. She can’t quite do it.
“You already won gold, huh?” Saori pats her on the shoulder. “Shame screwy American booking kept you from returning home with it.”
Having a small chuckle Vampyra is glad SOMEONE gets her struggles a touch. “Tell me about it. Teaming enemies together!? They were insane for thinking that was a good idea!”
“But I know it will be the first of many for you. Because you did better than I think anyone thought you would. I knew you would win a singles championship someday, but I expected it here.” Saori Suzuki speaks gently to her pupil, something different to her normal rallying cries and being a strong, but fair, leader. “I figured Cali Hayama would be the one to bring gold internationally here, yet here she is teaming with Ririko, who you normally teamed with, showing that any pairing in your trio can work. But you became a champion in America on your first attempt. Your company trusted you to swim with the sharks.”
“And I drowned-” Vampyra gets harsh with herself, but Saori snaps back, still trying to keep her volume down.
“Attention! You did not!” Blinking, Vampyra stands at attention. Saori can be kind, but the next moment, one knee or not, she can be the scariest woman in wrestling. “You are still here. And I am glad you are home. I think the CJW fans have been waiting to shout your name again for years, but tonight they can finally do it and they will do it louder than ever before.”
Taking a deep breath, Vampyra can’t help but have a small grin from the kind words. “I have missed it. I missed it so much.”
“I have as well.” Saori sighs. “Just a shame that the first show they were allowed to do it again, my knee gave out on me again.” The MAYHEM leader shakes her head. “But this is not about me. It is about you. I remember the first time I saw you. You were the girl with the mask training in our dojo. You were shy. Then in Sin, I saw you have a vicious exterior, but one which cracked easily. All because someone was preying on your insecurities and trying to turn you into someone you’re not.”
Vampyra puts her hand on her mask, feeling the fangs of it. She thinks back to her experiences in her former group.
“But I look at you, today. I see a young girl who has grown into a proud young lady, wise beyond her years. I am not talking about Vampyra. I am talking about you, Katsuki.”
Vampyra blinks, surprised. Apart from Cali and maybe Ririko on occasion, nobody really calls her by her real name here by those who do know it. But that maybe shows how genuine the MAYHEM leader is. A woman who saved her from being tormented by someone who was meant to “lead” her to a promising career. Vampyra is speechless. So instead, all she can do is smile, trying to keep her emotions in check. Saori Suzuki holds her fist out.
“Kick some ass, Katsuki.” She winks and Vampyra exchanges the fist bump before both of them hold their hands down in an “M” shape. Vampyra goes to join her friends. Cali has put on her jacket which has a mix of various patches on it, being half purple and half black with some neon highlights. On one arm is “MAYHEM” in bold letters with their trio initials of YDS on the other.
“So, what was that about?” Cali asks her friend.
“She was giving me one of her old pep-talks. You know the one.” Vampyra smirks.
“No fair! I wanted a private one!” Ririko pouts under her half mask.
“Maybe win this match and she’ll give you a victory speech?” Vampyra jokes before motioning for them to head down the hall as they hear the bell ring. The match in the ring is over and they’re up next.
Going into the actual gymnasium, it is more grand than you’d expect from its name. An 8,000 seat venue and, with COVID restrictions slowly relaxing, the turnout is really solid. The stage is set up with banners of each of the company’s main factions. Cosmica, MAYHEM, Sin, Marvellous, Royal Dojo, and Shi-No-Gun along with a couple screens and a metal frame near the entranceway and lights. The ring has a white canvas featuring the promotions logo, a purple and pink planet with rings along with stars and the name of the company in both English and Japanese. The ropes are purple as well with the traditional boxing like corner pads for Japan, two white corners and a red and blue corner. Between the barricades there are some commentary tables with those signatures near unbreakable Japanese tables. In the ring, the three members of Royal Dojo have ended their entrance and introductions with all three of them in their team’s corner.
Behind the curtains, the hair on the back of her neck is standing up. Vampyra has been waiting for this moment for months. She’s back home, in her home promotion ring, in her hometown no less. Cali and Ririko give her a pat on the back, psyching her up as finally, their theme music plays.
{""Delete" Kuwanano"}[MEDIA=youtube]Xq5nl_Q2GDw[/MEDIA]
The lights of the stage flash a mixture of neon green, purple, with occasional flashes of red to the music. The screens flash the logo of both their Unit and the logo of their sub-unit. The fans give a strong positive response as, after eighteen seconds, all three members of YOKAI Death Squad make their way out. Vampyra keeps her hand to her side, cape flowing behind her. Ririko runs to one side of the stage, amped up, as Cali Hayama hops in place. Ririko joins her partners in the middle of the stage as there are sparks of pyrotechnics. Standing next to Vampyra, Ririko spins around and holds up the MAYHEM “M”. Vampya spreads her arms out wide as Cali Hayama kneels down in front of them, pointing her hand out like a sideways gun. The Canadian jumps up as all three begin to head down the ramp. During this, Vampyra begins to have a visual grin on her face as she hears the crowd chant
“Y-D-S!”
“Y-D-S!”
“Y-D-S!”
Both Ririko and Cali clap their hands along with the crowd’s chant, playing along, as Vampyra walks around the ring to the hardcam side which views the stage. Sliding onto the apron, the former FWA Television Champion opens her cape wide as Ririko runs to the side of the ring and slides in. Cali Hayama opts for the steps hopping into the ring. Vampyra swings into the ring and the announcer, a wonderful lady in a white kimono dress, begins introductions in Japanese as their music continues to play.
“Their opponents, representing MAYHEM, YOKAAAI DEATH SQUAD!”
There are cheers and claps from the fans as she moves to the individual members.
“First, she is the Sky Devil, HAYAMAAAAAAAAA KAAAAAAAAARRRRIIII!”
Upon hearing her name announced, Cali Hayama rushes to the ropes and hooks her leg on the top rope. She flips her hair as she rips off her half mask, sticking her tongue out. She holds out the MAYHEM “M” as the announcer continues.
“Next, the Crazy Ghost, RIRRIIIIIIIKOOOOOOO!”
Ririko heads to one turnbuckle and poses for the fans, joining her friend in holding up the “M.” Normally, Vampyra is able to at least keep her poker face for the ring, but this time, she can’t help but be excited.
“Their partner, also representing Fantasy Wrestling Alliance, the Dark Huntress…. VAAAAAAAAMPYYYRRRRRRAAAAAAA!”
The fans give an even louder cheer than for Cali and Ririko as Vampyra goes to the top turnbuckle, putting her foot on the top rope. She does a throat slashing gesture with her finger before she holds down the “M” with her friends as the camera gets a wide shot of all three of them, reunited. YOKAI Death Squad jump down from the ropes as their theme music fades and they shed their entrance gear. They head towards the red corner as Royal Dojo is in blue. Ririko and Vampyra begin on the apron as the official quickly checks all of the participants. But, there is a chant from the fans…
“VAM-PY-RA!”
“VAM-PY-RA!”
“VAM-PY-RA!”
Now Vampyra can’t help but cover her face, trying to hide her wide grin. The classic hometown ovation. Cali, sensing exactly what to do, gets onto the apron, motion for Vampyra to start the match. Vampyra stands in her corner as the official checks Royal Dojo. The crowd gives a cheer. They didn’t forget her. If anything, absence made the heart grow fonder. She’s wrestling in FWA now. But that just means each time she returns home, things will be special.
Vampyra crouches in the corner, ready as the official rings the bell and she thinks to herself.
“I’m so glad to be home.” |
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Post by supinesnake on May 28, 2024 20:14:12 GMT
XXVI: “HOMECOMING: NYC.”
Live from the Hammerstein Ballroom in New York City, New York, USA.
Thursday 2nd Match, 2023.
 With both men in this match fresh from victories at Back in Town, Mike Parr and Reagan Cole are now set to go one on one on Meltdown XXVI. Reagan Cole's future is somewhat shaping up, with The British Apprentice confirmed as one of sixteen participants in the 8th April's King of the Deathmatch II. Things are never quite certain, for Cole at least, with Jeffry Mason around, and it's likely we'll see both Mason and TYLER at ringside for this one. Mike Parr's future, however, is a little less decided, with the Prodigy coming out of Back in Town with a win over former ally Kayden Knox. It will be interesting to see what - or who - Mike Parr chooses to target as we begin on the road to the Grand March.
 Kayden Knox will look to bounce back from disappointment at Back in Town, and his loss to former Executive Excellent teammate Mike Parr, when he returns to singles action in New York City. Standing across the ring from him will be a game competitor in 'Mr. Europe' Derek Hunter, who will be looking to make his own impression on the FWA, even on the wrong side of the Atlantic. Expect Maxwell Lester to be pulling the strings of Kayden Knox as he attempts to get back on course on Meltdown XXVI.
Six teams will line up in this tag team scramble match, where anything goes and both members of a team must be eliminated - by pinfall or submission - until only one remains. The Coven and the Lumberjacks both challenged the Connection for the FWA World Tag Team Championships back at Fallout 024 as part of the Mile High match, but they are joined here by four teams that haven't yet challenged for the big prize. They are the Buddy System, fresh off the shocking events involving Best and Baxter at Back in Town, FTN, who have one tag team win to their name in the FWA, winless PONI BOI, and the team of Keres and Princess Nova. Nova was triumphant in Back in Town's four-way ladder match, earning a $10,000 signing bonus, whilst Keres is poised to make her FWA debut. The winner of this match-up will receive a shot at the FWA World Tag Team Champions, whoever that may be, at the Carnal Contendership event.
Chris Peacock cashed in his Golden Opportunity briefcase to set up a one on one with Devin Golden in the main event of Back in Town, proceeding to dethrone The Golden One and begin his first reign as FWA World Champion. Peacock will be in his hometown of New York City to celebrate the moment he's been working towards for years.
 026: “CAPITOL HILL.”
Live from the Washington Mall in Washington D.C., USA.
Saturday 4th Match, 2023.
 With much of the line-up for 8th April's King of the Deathmatch Tournament already announced, six of the field for this year's second installment of the now-annual event will meet in Fallout 026's opening contest. They line up on opposite sides of the ring for this trios match. On one side, we see Logan Darwin and Madison Gray - who fought against one another at Back in Town - teaming with Daris Wright, who was unsuccessful in his own challenge to capture the FWA Television Championship. On the other, we have one of Darwin and Gray's opponents in Sawyer Xavier, alongside Trixie Bordeaux, who was defeated in Denver by Reagan Cole, alongside XYZ. XYZ was not present at Back in Town, though you'd think would have been impacted by the events involving his friend Jeremy Best. All six of these singles stars will look to build some momentum here ahead of KODM2.
 Cyrus Truth lost the final of the F1 in an unimaginable way, and many will be expecting him to address this defeat to MvH, either on this show or NYC's Meltdown XXVI. In the meantime, though, he's scheduled to face Tommy Bedlam, who also faced disappointment in Denver, when he was unable to overcome Kleio De Santos at Back in Town. This is a first time meeting between these two wrestlers, both of whom will be hoping to steady the ship and regain their own focus after Back in Town.
Here by unpopular demand, it's thirty minutes of Ratin and Steve!
Shawn Summers had a very successful Back in Town, when he was able to defeat Vampyra, Darius Wright, and Jason Randall, in the process becoming the FWA Television Champion for the second time. Der Basterd, of course, claims to have never lost the belt in the first place, and will see Back in Town's result as vindication following his allegations of wrongdoing with regards to the officiating of his match against Phillip A. Jackson, where he lost the title to begin with. Summers will look to continue his winning ways on Fallout 026, when he goes one-on-one with Joe Burr. This match was initially to be a non-title match, but after some politicking backstage from 'Hollywood', this plan was changed and Shawn Summers' newly won title is now indeed on the line.
The Connection and The Undisputed Alliance last met at Back in Town, where Grayson and von Horrowitz were able to overcome the challenge of Fenix and Savage in what was the third defense of their FWA World Tag Team Championships. That match ended with bad blood between Nate and Michelle, who spilled out into the audience to brawl, even after Gerald Grayson had pinned Jackson Fenix to end the match. This match was reportedly announced 'with the request of representatives from both teams', with many online commentators suggesting Nate Savage and MvH wanted to go at it one more time. The Undisputed Alliance went close to overthrowing the Connection in Denver and taking the FWA World Tag Team Championships away from Cthulhu's Nephews. They'll hope to do one better in Fallout 026's main event, which will see all rules out of the window in a Washington Street Fight!
The deadlines for both shows is:
Sunday 26th February, 2023 at 23:59 Pacific Time.
Monday 27th February, 2023 at 03:00(am) Eastern.
Monday 27th February, 2023 at 08:00(am) UK.
Monday 27th February, 2023 at 11:00(am) Turkey.
Monday 27th February, 2023 at 19:00 Melbourne.
There will be no extensions. Good luckl! |
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Post by supinesnake on May 28, 2024 20:16:00 GMT
Originally posted by Dubb. THE BUDDY SYSTEM
in
[ATTACH type="full" width="478px"]40165[/ATTACH]
The vibrant green hills are alive with the sights of pure snow white bunnies frolicking on their merry little way. The bluebirds in the sky flutter their wings and sing their melodious songs. The sky is clear with the sun shining down onto the land.
Yes, it is another perfect day in Friendtopia.
This animated land is filled with all the most wonderful things in the world. Candy, gumdrops, ice cream, cake… anything that your heart desires can be had! There is never any sadness. And certainly no meanies.
Friendtopia is Jeremy’s happy place.
Jeremy, though appearing amongst the cartoon frames of Friendtopia appears not as animated like the rest of his surroundings, he does trot in on a noble white cartoon steed. The horse makes its way across the hills, leaping over a brush and coming to a stop outside the enchanted forest.
Emerging from the forest is a seven-foot purple, spherical-shaped furry creature. The purple creature appears to be friendly as it greets Jeremy with a wide smile and a wave of his arm. “Jeremy! So good to see you again!”
Jeremy smiles at this creature. A friendly face if there ever was one. Someone who has always been there for Jeremy since he was a child. Other friends have come and gone… but his friend Bobo always remained constant in his life. Someone he could always count on. Someone he entrusts with the complete safety of Friendtopia
Jeremy climbs down from atop his cartoon horse, reaching over and lovingly rubbing its muzzle. “Oh, Bobo, the pleasure is all mine!” Jeremy approaches the taller creature and wraps his arm around it for a friendly embrace which Bobo returns in favor. “And how is our guest of honor?”
“Oh, he’s doing much better. He’s lucky you were able to get him here in time. He sure was in some rough shape!”
Jeremy breathes a sigh of relief, “oh thank goodness. I was very worried about my friend.”
“That fella sure is lucky to have a friend like you, Jeremy.”
“I learn from the best, Bobo,” Jeremy says playfully. “Do you think he’s ready to see visitors?”
The furry creature politely nods, “not only is he ready, but he’s also specifically asked to see you.”
Jeremy’s face lights up at the mere thought. “Wonderful! Then away I go! Thank you for keeping this place in tip-top shape, Bobo.”
“But of course! See you again soon, my friend!”
Jeremy climbs back atop his steed and gallops off into the forest, rushing past tree after tree until he comes out on the other side into a scenic riverside where a fairy tale-esque tower stands by the water. Jeremy brings the horse to a stop, once again climbing down and walks with haste to the door of the tower. Jeremy rushes up the stairs to the room at the top, stopping to knock at the door. Jeremy waits after the knock… waiting for a response…
“Come in.”
Jeremy anxiously turns the knob and walks through the threshold into the room. His eyes grow wide and the big grin on his face shows just how overcome he is with happiness.
“Krash?”
The man in question is lying in an elegant king-size bed up against the far wall of the room, next to the outward-facing window towards the river, the rolling of the water audible from the top of the tower. Clearly still slightly weak and also not animated, Krash lifts up his arms from his bed, “Jeremy! So good to see you!”
Jeremy hurries over to the bedside, kneeling down and taking his friend by the hand. “No, no, no… it’s good to see YOU! I thought you might be a goner!”
“Ahhh, never! It’s gonna take a lot more than that to keep me down! I just don’t know how I can ever possibly repay you for saving me.”
“Shh,” Jeremy said, bringing his finger up to Krash’s lips. “You owe me nothing. Just being able to show to the world that you are actually alive and well… just knowing you’re safe now… that’s all the thanks I need.”
Krash smiles as he sits up in the bed, looking around his majestic room within the tower, taking in the scenery. “This is a wonderful place, Jeremy. Where am I, exactly?”
“This is Friendtopia! It’s the most magical and perfect place in the world. A place with no negativity. A place you can have anything you want. A place where you can be safe.”
“It’s amazing.”
“You can stay here as long as you want. I think you’ll enjoy it,” Jeremy smiles as he looks back to the door to the room, “in fact… I bet you’ll never want to leave.”
“Aye, I dunno,” Krash says as he looks down at his bed, “with amenities like this… you may be right! What is the thread count on these sheets? A thousand?”
Jeremy chuckles as he begins to stand up. “And be sure to check out the TV. I’ve loaded up every episode of My Little Pony for you!”
“Oh my,” Krash gushes, “this place really DOES have it all, huh?”
Jeremy simply nods. He pulls up a chair beside the bed and just absorbs the sight of Krash alive and well. Jeremy had come so close to giving up hope but here he is and Jeremy certainly never would’ve expected his other friend Bryan Baxter to be the one to really save the day. Krash is alive and Jeremy is going to make sure nothing happens to him ever again. He’s going to make sure that Krash stays safe.
“Jeremy?” Krash speaks up, softly, but loud enough to snap Jeremy out of his daydreams.
“Yes, buddy?”
“This place… it seems like the kinda place we shouldn’t just keep to ourselves.”
Jeremy cocks his eyebrow up with some confusion, “what do you mean?”
“Friendtopia… we should bring more friends here. What good is paradise if we can’t share it with all our friends.”
Jeremy is quiet, clearly unsure about the request from his friend and hero. This was in fact the first time he’d shared this place with anyone else and he is more than happy to share it with Krash. But more people?
But maybe Krash is right. If Jeremy could make some more friends, he would have no problem inviting them to be part of this world. Jeremy finally glances back at Krash and nods with a smile, “that’s not a bad idea!”
“Beautiful! Let’s fill this place up! What good is a My Little Pony marathon if we can’t have a full theater to share it with?”
Jeremy nods before bidding his friend a brief farewell, promising that he would be back soon with plenty of new friends for Friendtopia. A passing sadness briefly passes over Jeremy, leaving Krash by himself, but he knew he’d be back very soon. He races off upon his horse, clear across to the other side of the land, where a purple circular portal is near the ground. Bobo has reappeared just as Jeremy prepares to cross back through the portal.
“I’m so excited, Jeremy! I’ve always wanted to have some new friends to play with!”
While Bobo seems quite enthusiastic about Krash’s idea of bringing more people to Friendtopia, Jeremy seems conflicted. But he seemingly pushes those thoughts away. “Thanks for your help with this Bobo, I had no idea where to even begin.” Bobo produces a pad of paper, handing it over to Jeremy.
“It was my pleasure, boss! This is a list of locations where I think you may have some luck. Some of these people could use a good friend, I think!”
“Alrighty then,” Jeremy says as he approaches the portal, “when I come back… I’m gonna have all sorts of new friends to join Krash here.”
Excited, Bobo jumps up and down clapping his hand, shaking the landscape around him. “Oh goody, goody! I can’t wait!”
“Easy buddy,” Jeremy laughs, “you don’t wanna cause another earthquake!” Bobo nods in agreement as Jeremy departs, heading through the portal which vanishes behind him as he disappears.
[ATTACH type="full"]40137[/ATTACH]
“I really don’t understand what we’re doing, Jeremy,” Bryan Baxter expresses his skepticism as he and his partner Jeremy Best trek through a dark and foggy forest in the middle of the night. Both are dressed for hiking with backpacks on their back and flashlights in their hands. “Remind me again why I agreed to go rummaging through the spooky woods? I’ve seen plenty of horror movies and I know how this ends…”
“Don’t be silly, Bryan,” Jeremy reassures his friend, “this isn’t a horror movie.”
“I’m just sayin’... the big dude usually doesn’t survive…” Bryan hears the sound of a twig breaking, startling him as he spins around shining his flashlight in all directions. “What was that?!?!”
Jeremy reaches over and grabs Bryan’s arm, pulling the flashlight towards him. “That was me stepping on a stick…”
“Oh,” Bryan breathes a sigh of relief, “sorry about that.”
The pair continue their walk through the woods, “I’ve never seen you so jumpy… what’s going on?”
“I dunno man… just got the feelin’ someone’s out to get me, that’s all. So this isn’t exactly the ideal scene for me right now. But hey, I always got your back, y’know.”
“Always appreciated, my friend. And don’t worry, this is going to be worth it. Krash thinks we should find some more friends for Friendtopia.”
“Yeah…” Bryan says with trepidation at the mere mention of Jeremy’s other friend’s name before shaking his head, “how come he got to go there before me anyway? I’ve known you forever!”
“Sorry buddy,” Jeremy says sincerely, “but don’t worry. Soon enough we’ll all be there!”
Bryan nods, accepting the answer at face value. He’s just happy that he’s able to spend some quality time again with his friend, even if it was in a setting such as this.
“Ah ha! Here we are!” Jeremy stops in his tracks and shines his flashlight ahead to reveal a run-down cabin in the middle of the woods.
“Yep, I’m gonna die,” Baxter nodded. “How is THIS where you are going to find some friends?”
Jeremy cautiously makes his way toward the cabin, with Baxter following behind with even more caution. “I’m not exactly sure, to be honest. But it was on my list of possibilities.” The duo stops in their tracks as they notice flashing lights in the windows of the cabin followed by the cackling laughter of a woman. This causes them both to kneel down as they approach the side of the cabin. Slowly and in tandem, both Bryan and Jeremy lift their heads up to peek inside the window.
Inside the cabin, a trio of women dressed all in black circle a smoking cauldron in the middle of the cabin. The rest of the cabin is dimly lit by a multitude of candles and filled with cloudy smoke. Bryan shakes his head as he realizes what they are dealing with… “Witches.”
“Witches?”
“Clearly. Who gave you this list? Do we really want to be messing with a coven of witches?”
“Bryan, you of all people should know I don’t like to judge books by their covers. I’m sure they’re nice witches.”
“A nice witch? Really?”
“Sure, why not? Like maybe they use their magic to help people?”
Bryan shrugs his shoulders as he looks back through the window. Jeremy reaches over and grabs the window, slowly pulling it open just a few inches. Bryan reaches out and grabs Jeremy by the arm to stop him from opening it any further, but Jeremy insists, “I just want to see if they can be trusted.” Jeremy pulls back from the window as they look to eavesdrop on the coven inside the cabin.
The witch in the middle appears to be the leader, flipping through a floating spell book and then calling out ingredients to the others. “Oil of boil! Blood of owl! And the nail of a dead man’s toe!” The other two girls scurry to a nearby shelf, retrieving the ingredients and tossing them into the cauldron with a big puff of smoke. The leader cackles once again.
“You hear that? You think a NICE witch would laugh like that?”
“Mwuahahahaha,” the lead witch laughed, “with this simple spell, sisters, we can make anyone do whatever we want! We will be unstoppable!”
From outside, Baxter whispers softly, “see! They are clearly up to no good. These aren’t the types of people you want as your friend. I don’t know much but I can tell you that.”
Jeremy watches as the leader begins to swirl her hands over the cauldron. He nods his head, realizing that Bryan was right. Jeremy had to think of what was in Krash’s best interest. What if they came to Friendtopia and cast a spell on Krash? What if they did something that hurt him? Or worse… what if the spell made Krash not want to be friends with Jeremy anymore?
He could not risk that. Any of that.
“No,” Jeremy softly says to himself but is overheard by Bryan.
“Great, let’s get outta here before they turn us into a frog or something.”
“Wait,” Jeremy stops Bryan just as he is starting to turn around. “Not yet.” Confusion sets in for Baxter, as he thought Jeremy had come to his senses. “We can’t just leave. You are right, Bryan… we can’t have these witches in Friendtopida… but… that might not be good enough. You heard them… they’re up to no good. What if they find their way there anyway? What if they get to you or Krash?”
“What are you suggesting then?”
“They must be stopped.”
Bryan cracks a smile, “now we’re talkin’. You let me handle the dirty work… this is the part I enjoy.”
Jeremy turns his back to Bryan and begins to walk away, a smile on his face knowing that he had such a good friend in Bryan Baxter. Someone willing to be there for him when he needs him. Moments like this.
Jeremy has come to realize that sometimes things just have to be done. Things that he doesn’t necessarily like. And Bryan Baxter realizes that part of being a good friend to Jeremy is doing the dirty work that Jeremy can’t do. It’s what makes them such a great team. They are the yin to each other’s yang.
Sometimes things might get a little ugly.
But it’s going to be okay.
It’s going to be okay.
Everything’s going to be okay.
[ATTACH type="full"]40137[/ATTACH]
A crowd of mostly out of control teenage girls flock to the stage of the arena as a popular K-pop duo performs much to their delight. One of the singers leans over and blows a kiss to the front row, sending high-pitched shrieks throughout the arena.
Slipping in late to the show and trying not to stick out like a pair of sore thumbs, Jeremy Best and Bryan Baxter sneak over to the back row. Baxter holds his ears in agony. “I’m not sure this is much better than the witches.”
“I don’t know, Bryan,” Jeremy says as he bobs his head along to the music, “I kinda like it.”
Bryan clearly disagrees as he becomes the only person in the arena to sit down in his chair as the rest stand along, dancing and/or singing along to the hits. Jeremy is in awe as he watches the show, thinking that this was more like it. This seems like the kind of thing that he could envision for Friendtopia. Just imagine, he and Krash could enjoy concerts like this whenever they wanted!
The concert goes on for what feels like hours to Bryan but Jeremy is left begging for more after not one, not two, but three encores from the band. The duo leaves the stage to a standing ovation.
“FINALLY” Bryan says, standing up from his chair and begins to clap. “The best part. The ending! Alright, can we get outta here now?”
“But we didn’t get them to become our friends…” Jeremy expresses his disappointment.
“Sounds like a bullet dodged, if you ask me.”
Just as it seems all hope is lost for Jeremy in his quest to populate Friendtopia, he overhears one of the crazed teenage fans running up to her group of friends, “they’re coming out back to their tour bus! Hurry up! We can get their autographs, I bet!”
“That’s it!” Jeremy says with excitement as he turns to Bryan. “Come on!”
“You want their autograph?”
“No, I mean yes, maybe… but that’s not what we’re doing. C’mon!”
Bryan reluctantly follows Jeremy, pushing their way through the sea of fans who have gathered around the back of the arena around a guard rail that separates the fanatics from the objects of their affection. Bryan parts the sea by shoving people aside to help Jeremy to get the front.
The duo emerges from the doors of the arena as the girls go wild. While Bryan once again covers his ears from the high-pitched screams, Jeremy is in awe of just how obsessed all these fans seem to be over this pair. Imagine being that obsessed with someone.
But Jeremy did want to invite them to perform in Friendtopia. So as the pair make their way down the line, embracing their fans, and signing autographs, Jeremy waits patiently until they finally get to him.
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” Jeremy stops them as they were about to just pass over him completely. Probably assuming Jeremy and Bryan were the dads of one of the girls. “I have a proposition for you fellas…”
The duo stop, and share an uncomfortable look with one another as Jeremy continues, “I wanted to invite you to come to my special place where you can give an intimate performance for me and my friend.”
The unfortunate word choice causes both pop sensations to break down in a fit of laughter. Jeremy laughs along at first, unsure of what was so funny but hoping it is a good sign. Unfortunately for Jeremy, the duo completely ignores the request and continues to walk down the line, interacting more with the girls and signing more autographs.
Jeremy hangs his head in disappointment, which does not go unnoticed by his partner. Bryan places his hand on Jeremy’s shoulder in comfort.
“Don’t worry buddy, I got this.”
Jeremy looks over to his friend and nods with a smile. He then turns around and makes his way back through the mob.
It's going to be okay.
Everything is going to be okay.
[ATTACH type="full"]40137[/ATTACH]
The next stop on Jeremy’s list brings him and Bryan to a field of sunflowers. A seemingly endless field at that. Sunflowers as far as the eye can see.
“I suppose this is somewhat better than the spooky forest,” Bryan mentions with trepidation, “and definitely better than that awful concert... but still somehow kinda creepy.”
“There should be nothing creepy about this, Bryan,” Jeremy says with a chipper positivity, “our new potential friends are a four year old girl and her sister. How bad could that be?”
Bryan stops in his tracks, “woah...hold the phone, man. We’re not inviting a four year old back to your Friendtopia. That’s how you end up on a list my dude.”
Jeremy ponders it for a moment… realizing that once again, that was a fair point from Bryan.
“Excuse me,” a female voice interrupts the thought as a pair of women, almost out of nowhere, are standing behind Jeremy and Bryan. “But what are you doing in my sunflower field?”
Bryan gulps as he and Jeremy turn around to find two women, dressed entirely in black that had seemingly come out of nowhere. Bryan leans over to Jeremy, “I take it back… this is just as creepy as the woods.”
“Apologies,” Jeremy notices that one of the ladies is wearing a tiara, “...your highness?”
“You’ll have to excuse my little sister,” the princess giggles, “she’s just very protective over her flowers.”
“Oh, no apologies necessary! I’m happy to meet you… you see, we are here looking for friends…”
“I thought you said she was four…” Bryan says with confusion, noticing that the pigtailed girl in black beside the princess is clearly not a four-year-old.”
The younger pigtailed girl stares blankly back at Baxter as the princess giggles again, this time perhaps nervously. “I’m afraid that’s all a bit complicated. But you’ve come to the right place because we are always happy to make new friends!”
“Wonderful!” Jeremy says with excitement, “and to our new friends, I think a gift is in order…” Jeremy looks around at the sunflowers, “how about one of these beautiful flowers?”
“Wait…” the princess tries to stop him but Jeremy reaches over and breaks one of the flowers out from the ground.
Suddenly the wind begins to blow… lightly at first, enough to get the attention of Jeremy and Bryan… but then more violently… the sunflowers struggling to maintain their own hold of their roots. The younger girl’s dark black eyes begin to glow red…
“DO NOT….”
The younger girl’s voice echoes, as if it was coming from every direction around Jeremy and Bryan…
“TOUCH…”
The voice growls deeper and it’s almost as if Bryan and Jeremy can hear her voice in their own heads as well….
“MY SUNFLOWERS!!!!!!”
Now a full on demonic roar, flames literally coming out of her eyes… Jeremy and Bryan backpedal their way away from the sisters.
“Uhh… yeah, sure, you got it…” Jeremy drops the sunflower and runs off in the opposite direction, Bryan following suit.
The younger girl reaches over and picks up the dropped sunflower, holding it tightly as her eyes go back to their normal black. The princess places her hand on her sister’s shoulder. “Aw, I didn’t mean to scare them off.”
“Pity, they seemed nice.”
Jeremy continues to rush through the field, sunflowers slapping him in the face as he retreats. Wanting to get as far away from the demonic child as possible. Another strike out on his search but this one is for the best. There’s no way Krash would want anything to do with that kind of evil and he certainly wasn’t going to let them into Friendtopia. Friendtopia is not a place for evil.
Jeremy looks back while running and realizes he lost Bryan somewhere in the field.
He’s sure they’ll catch back up with one another once they exit the field.
It's going to be okay.
Everything is going to be okay.
[ATTACH type="full"]40137[/ATTACH]
Once again, Jeremy and Bryan find themselves walking through a forest. At least this time it’s a beautiful day - no fog in sight and certainly no creepy old cabins.
But still, Bryan is again apprehensive, “really? The woods again? Can’t catch a break here…”
“I’m feeling good about this one,” Jeremy looks at his list, scratching off the previous attempts.
“You say that but it’ll probably end up being some guy who likes to hunt people for sport, or something. Why else are we in the wilderness again?”
Before Jeremy can answer, the pair overhear a noise in the distance. A loud chopping.
Chop. Chop. Chop. Chop. Chop. Chop. Chop.
“See! We’re about to be minced meat!”
“TTTTTTIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIMMMMMMMMMMMMMBBBBBBBBBEEEEEEEEEERRRRRRR!!!!”
THUMP!
The sound of a tree falling in the woods is unmistakable. Jeremy and Bryan make their way in the direction of the sound where they find two large, burly lumberjacks. Both are dressed exactly how you would expect a lumberjack to be dressed… which means a lot of flannel. But beyond being quite large, the other distinguishing feature of these two lumberjacks is that they are twin brothers.
“My God,” Bryan’s face lights up with rare delight, “it’s amazing. Jeremy, we’ve finally hit the jackpot.”
Jeremy stops to turn towards his friend, “I didn’t realize you felt so strongly about lumberjacks.”
“No,” Baxter shakes his head, “TWINS! I love finding a good set of twins. These are the ones, bud. Plus, we’re here in Canada… these guys have to be nice. I think you have your new friends right here.”
Jeremy nods before turning to watch the twins as they both were sawing away at trees. Though one twin seems to be much better at their job than the other, sawing through half a tree in double the amount of time as his brother. However, they stop when they notice Jeremy and Bryan have arrived. “Ahoy there!” one of the bearded brothers reaches up and waves to Jeremy and Bryan, who return the wave before approaching.
The other brother swings his ax around, nearly decapitating Bryan as he was closing in. “Jesus Christ!” Bryan exclaims as he ducks down out of the way.
“Oh, my apologies,” the less talented brother offers sincerely, “gotta be careful out here, don’tcha know.”
“You boys don’t look to be from around here. What brings you out here in the Yukon?”
These guys seem nice. Definitely the kind of people that should be welcome in Friendtopia. Right?
Before either Jeremy or Bryan could respond, the other brother chimes in, “where are your manners, brother? Who cares why, let’s show these boys some of our Canadian hospitality. How about we go treat you fellas to a beer?”
“That’s really a nice offer, but my friend here is a recovered alcoholic and I’m not really much of a drinker, but…”
“Ahhh! Well, that’s quite alright! Let us still treat you to some lunch!”
“Now that’s an offer I’ll gladly accept,” Bryan responds, his stomach growling at just the thought. The brothers both give a hearty laugh before grabbing their axes.
“Let’s go! Right this way, fellas.”
Jeremy takes in the image of the two brothers propping their axes up on their shoulders, a nervous sweat starting to drip across his brow. “You.. uh… you bringing those to lunch?”
One of the brothers laughs, “Haha! But of course! We don’t go anywhere without our axes!”
This wouldn’t do at all. Not at all. Friendtopia is a weapon-free zone. And if these guys come, they would obviously be looking to bring those axes with them. What if they decided to start chopping down parts of the enchanted forest? That’s protected land! Bobo lives there! Jeremy definitely didn’t want Bobo to lose his home.
No, Jeremy couldn’t let these friendly lumberjacks in either.
Just too risky.
“Actually,” Jeremy interjects, “I think we should probably get on our way.”
“Wait, what?” Bryan asks, clearly surprised by Jeremy suddenly changing his mind. He leans over and talks quietly to Jeremy, “what are you doing? These guys seem perfect.”
Jeremy whispers back to Bryan, “I know… I thought so too. But something about them… I don’t trust them. They seem a little TOO nice if you ask me. And those axes… I dunno… I have to trust my gut.”
“Should I… handle this too?”
Jeremy pauses, “I suppose it’s best to not take any chances.”
“Everything okay?” one of the lumberjacks questions, placing his ax down as he expresses some concern.
“Apologies, it’s just that we have somewhere we need to be.”
“Ah, well, maybe next time then, eh?”
“Yes, maybe next time.”
“So long fellas!”
Another failed trip to find new friends. But it’s for the best. Can’t risk Krash being axed up by these possible lumberjack lunatics.
There’s still one stop left.
It's going to be okay.
Everything is going to be okay.
[ATTACH type="full"]40137[/ATTACH]
One last address on the list.
One more attempt to find new friends to join Krash in Friendtopia.
Jeremy and Bryan emerge from a taxi, stepping out into the streets of New York City. “This is it? This is where the list takes us?” Bryan says with concern, noticing that it had led them to a bar.
“Hmmm,” Jeremy rechecks the list to verify, “yeah… this is the place. Not sure why but it is. You can sit this one out if you want.”
“Nah,” Bryan shakes his head, “I’m not that weak. Let’s do this.”
Jeremy and Bryan enter the crowded dimly lit bar, managing to find a couple of empty seats at a high-top table. A waitress comes over to take their order. “What can I get for you, fellas? Something from the tap?”
“We’ll just take a couple of waters and maybe some nachos,” Jeremy orders for the table. The waitress just gives a friendly smile before walking off.
“There’s so many damn people here, how are we supposed to know who we are looking for?” Bryan wonders as he scans the bar… but then he catches a glimpse of someone out of the corner of his eye. “Fuck…”
Jeremy perks up, “what is it?”
“Don’t look now… but I think I may know who we’re here for.” Bryan motions to the bar to a man in a black mask sitting at the bar sipping on a beer bottle.
Alyster Black.
Krash’s other best friend.
Or, as Jeremy feels, his former best friend.
Because Alyster Black had abandoned Krash. When Krash was in trouble, Alyster Black was nowhere to be found. Alyster had done nothing to try and find Krash when he had gone missing. It was not Alyster who came to Krash’s rescue. It was not Alyster nursing Krash back to health right now.
“This can’t be right,” Jeremy shakes his head. And Jeremy realizes that Alyster isn’t alone. Next to him is a man dressed in flashy clothes with a large gold belt around his waist. A man with a mustache.
A freaking mustache.
Krash had gone missing. Krash was in trouble. Krash needed help. He needed a friend. But what did Alyster Black do?
He had found a replacement.
Un-be-freakin-lievable.
“Looks like he already has himself a friend,” Baxter also realizes. “He moves on fast, huh?”
All that they had been through together as friends. The moment Krash is gone for his life, he replaces him with some other mustached bozo.
He is not a true friend.
Jeremy doesn’t need much time to ponder about whether or not he should give an invite to Alyster Black to Friendtopia. Or even one to his new friend. Could they both come and all be friends together?
No, that won’t work.
There’s no doubt in Jeremy’s mind that in Krash’s current recovering, weakened state… that seeing his former friend with this other guy would crush him. He couldn’t do that to Krash.
Because unlike Alyster Black, Jeremy Best is a real friend.
“Let’s go,” Jeremy says, the disappointment evident. “This is a waste of time. No one else is coming to Friendtopia. I can’t risk losing Krash again.”
Bryan nods, “I got it. And I know what I have to do now.”
“Thank you, my friend,” Jeremy says with a smile.
Had this been nothing but a failure?
No.
Because Jeremy wants what is best for Krash. And this… this is for the best.
It's going to be okay.
Everything is going to be okay.
[ATTACH type="full"]40137[/ATTACH]
Jeremy returns to Friendtopia empty handed. But the wonderful thing about Friendtopia is that despite all this… the birds are still chirping. The sun is still shining. Everything is in fact… still okay.
Returning to the tower that is holding Krash resident, Jeremy finds his purple friend Bobo standing over Krash, taking his vitals. Both Bobo and Krash smile as Jeremy enters the room.
“Welcome back, my friend!” Bobo waves. “How was your journeys?”
“Aye, Jeremy, I trust you’ve come back with many people to share this place with,” Krash says with hope.
Here comes the hard part. Breaking the news. “Well… about that,” Jeremy says, trying to break the news gently, “I’m afraid it didn’t quite go that well.”
“Really? Hmmm, how unusual. Who wouldn’t want to experience this blissful paradise?”
“I guess people just don’t know what they are missing,” Jeremy says with a shrug.
“It’s definitely their loss! Well, I’m just glad to be here.”
Jeremy breathes a sigh of relief, “I’m glad you are here too, buddy. How about some chocolate pudding?”
“That sounds delightful!”
“Coming right up! Bobo, let’s go get some snacks and get ready for some My Little Pony episodes.”
“You got it, Jeremy!” Bobo walks over to Jeremy and the pair exit the room, Jeremy shutting the door behind him. “Tell me, Jeremy… I’m surprised that list didn’t work out for you. What exactly happened?”
“Well.....”
[ATTACH type="full"]40137[/ATTACH]
Back at the cabin in the woods, the witches' coven continued to perform their spell. Bryan Baxter snuck around the side of the building. He peeked through the other window, now seeing the backs of the three witches.
Bryan grabbed one of the wood planks off the side of the house, pulling it off to expose the gas line for the cabin. He retrieved a pocket knife from the pocket of his denim jeans and proceeded to snip the line. A slight whistle could be heard as Bryan quickly rushed away.
“DOUBLE DOUBLE TOIL AND TROUBLE” the trio of witches chanted as the invisible threat crept into their dwelling…
Right toward the flames of the candles.
KAAAABOOOOOOOMMMM!
Baxter watched from a safe distance as the entire cabin exploded.
“It’s just a bunch of hocus pocus,” Baxter chuckled as he admired a job well done.
[ATTACH type="full"]40137[/ATTACH]
The K-pop duo were almost done signing autographs as Bryan Baxter approached the railing again. The crowd was in a frenzy, as many people didn’t get a chance to meet their idols much less get their autographs but it looked like they were heading to get on their tour bus.
“WAIT! WAIT! WAIT!” were the cries from the crowd.
“I WANT TO TOUCH THEM!” another girl shouted out.
A twisted grin crossed Baxter’s face as he shoved the guard rail down. “There! Here’s our chance!” he shouted out, getting out of the way as the hoard of overzealous fans rushed the pop sensations… but things quickly got out of hand as they tried to escape…
That would be the last concert this pop pair ever performed.
Trampled to death by their own fans.
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Bryan had fallen behind in the field of sunflowers as he and Jeremy rushed away from the demonic child and her princess sister. He used this opportunity to stop running and reached into his pocket, pulling out a lighter.
Reaching down to the ground, Bryan inspected some of the mulch around the sunflowers… which was made up of a lot of dry leaves. “Perfect,” he said as he lit up the lighter and brought it down towards the dry leaves.
The flame started out small… but spread quickly. The sunflowers went a blaze.
“Burn in Hell you demons!”
Bryan walked away, the field burning behind him in a rush to meet up with Jeremy.
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“Hey, brother - where’s your ax?” one of the burly lumberjacks suddenly realized that his trusty tool of choice had disappeared after meeting those two nice strangers.
“Hmm… that’s odd… I don’t normally lose track of it, but I suppose I let my guard down there for a second…”
Elsewhere, while Bryan had been confused about Jeremy suddenly deciding that the lumberjack twins were not suitable for Friendtopia, he knew what Jeremy wanted to be done.
And he knew he was the one that would have to get his hands dirty.
Bryan took the ax he had snuck away from the brothers… and began to chop… and chop…
And chop...
And chop...
“Hey… you hear that?”
“Well, of course… sounds like we got some competition in these here woods!”
And he chopped. And he chopped.
“TTTTTTTTTTIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIMMMMMMMMMBBBBBEEERRRRR!”
THUMP!
The brothers saw it coming but they couldn’t get out of the way in time.
Crushed by the handiwork of their very own ax.
At least they died doing what they loved.
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The waitress returned with two glasses of water, setting them down on the table as Jeremy was about to leave. Bryan took his glass of water and chugged it down, his eyes locked on Alyster Black and his new mustachioed friend.
This one Bryan was actually looking forward to doing.
He finished the glass of water, lifted it up in the air and shattered it across the table.
All eyes turned to Baxter as he grabbed a shard of the glass in his right hand, wielding it like a dagger. “Here we go,” as Alyster Black and his friend stood up from the table.
“Wait,” Jeremy reached out grabbing Bryan by the arm, having not left yet after all.
“What is it? Isn’t this what has to happen?”
Jeremy paused for a moment, but then nodded his head. “Yes… it is…”
Bryan was confused as Jeremy lowered his hand down to the table. Unsure of his friend’s intentions, Bryan eased his grip on the glass shard as Jeremy now took it from his hand and wielded it himself.
“But I have to do it.”
A twisted smile crossed Jeremy's face as he clutched the glass shard, staring down Alyster Black.
It's going to be okay.
Everything is going to be okay. |
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Post by supinesnake on May 28, 2024 20:16:16 GMT
Originally posted by Jimmy. The Undisputed Alliance in...
Rematch
We rejoin our friends, Jackson and Nate, backstage inside the Ball Arena, home to Back in Town. Jackson and Nate, along with Kung-Fu Karl and Jimmy Boom Boom, have spent the rest of their time in the locker room celebrating Nate’s birthday. There are a few balloons spread out amongst the room, as well as an empty tray that had the birthday cake on it, and the cake in question is no longer in existence as the four of them devoured it pretty fast. Karl and Jimmy are passed out on a bench while Jackson and Nate sit on the couch watching the main event between Chris Peacock and Devin Golden. The match concludes, and Chris Peacock is the new FWA World Champion, much to the dismay of Nate, while Jackson watches in awe.
Nate Savage: “Well, I guess it’s better than that delusional nitwit Devin Golden keeping it. In this instance, Peacock is the lesser of two evils.”
Jackson Fenix: “Listen to the crowd; they love that guy! It kind of makes me wish we got reactions like that.”
Nate Savage: “If we would’ve won tonight, then maybe. On second thought, probably not.”
Jackson Fenix: “Nate, don’t you ever want to be cheered like that? Besides the hometown reaction. Like, I mean, the fans actually like you.”
Nate Savage: “What? No way! I don’t care what the fans think of me anyway. I don’t do this for them; I do this for my family. They’re the only people that matter, well, them and you.”
Jackson Fenix: “I don’t know, dude, I think I’d like to be cheered. I think I’d like it if the fans liked me.”
Nate looks at Jackson as if he’s lost his mind. He can’t believe what he’s hearing from Jackson right now.
Nate Savage: “Are you okay? Gerald may have dropped you a little too hard on your head with that brainbuster because you’re not making sense.”
Jackson Fenix: “I’m okay, dude. I’m being serious right now. I don’t know but I’ve been thinking…”
Before Jackson finishes his sentence, Nate leans forward and holds up his hand to cut him off.
Nate Savage: “There’s your problem right there, you’ve been thinking.”
Jackson looks a bit offended by that remark, and before he can retort, the door to their locker room swings open, and they’re greeted by their agent, Chase Green.
Chase Green: “Gentlemen, I have some splendid news for you! It took some convincing, but I managed to pull some strings with Jon Russnow, and I got you guys a rematch with The Connection on the next Fallout in Washington D.C.”
Jackson Fenix: “Hey, that’s awesome!”
Chase Green: “It gets even better! To sweeten the deal, the tag team titles will be up for grabs once again! And, on top of all that, it’s a Washington Street Fight, which means anything goes!”
Nate Savage: “Now we’re cooking! I can’t wait to get my hands on that lousy Michelle again and bash her head in repeatedly with a steel chair!”
Chase Green: “That sounds rather unpleasant for her, but whatever floats your boat!”
Jackson Fenix: “Hey, to celebrate this news, and to continue the birthday celebration, let’s go out to eat!”
Nate Savage: “I could make room for something else; what did you have in mind?”
====================
Nate Savage: “Chili’s! You know the way to my heart, Jack!”
Jackson Fenix: “Of course, you’re my best friend, and it’s your special day!”
Nate gives Jackson a funny look for that response, but he shakes it off. He tries not to think much about it.
Little does he know that Jackson has something on his mind, and Jackson knows that the only way to get Nate to listen and agree to his proposition is to get Nate stuffed with food and in a food coma.
Jackson Fenix: “Order whatever you want, my treat!”
Jackson leans close to Chase Green and covers his mouth with his hand.
Jackson Fenix: “Hey, can you cover this? I promise I’ll pay you back.”
Chase gives Jackson a look before he nods reluctantly. Jackson pats Chase on the shoulder and thanks him.
====================
Some time has passed, and Nate has had his fill of food from a bacon cheeseburger with a side order of fries, chicken enchilada soup, a plate of hot wings, and a Diet Coke to wash it down. Jackson got some chicken tenders and fries, Chase got a salad, and Karl and Jimmy also got chicken tenders.
Nate Savage: “Oh boy, I am stuffed!”
Jackson Fenix: “I bet you are! You had all of that, plus not to mention the cake we had earlier.”
Nate Savage: “Okay, I can’t take it anymore. Jackson, what’s wrong?”
Jackson Fenix: “What are you talking about? There’s nothing wrong with me.”
Nate Savage: “Don’t play dumb with me, Jack. I know something is happening with you; you’ve been acting funny all night.”
Jackson looks at Chase for help, but Chase looks the other way, and then Jackson looks over at Karl and Jimmy, who are watching something on one of the TVs in the restaurant. Jackson looks back over at Nate and sighs.
Jackson Fenix: “Alright, fine, you got me. Something is going on.”
Nate Savage: “I knew it. What’s wrong, Jack?”
Jackson Fenix: “Well, ever since what happened with Jeremy and Krash tonight, with Jeremy and Bryan doing what they did to Krash, well, it got me thinking.”
Nate Savage: “Did it get you thinking that I was right all along and that Jeremy finally showed his true colors and showed he’s a big phony?!”
Jackson Fenix: “No, well, at first yeah, but then it got me thinking about how someone like Jeremy, who was supposed to be this nice guy, turned out not to be so nice, and now the fans could use a new hero.”
Nate Savage: “What are you trying to say? You want to be a good guy because Jeremy killed Krash?”
Jackson Fenix: “I guess you could say that yeah. I mean, it wouldn’t hurt, right? Maybe then people will take us seriously if we start acting nicer.”
Nate Savage: “Man, Gerald did do a number on you when he dropped you on your head!”
Jackson Fenix: “I’m being serious!”
Nate Savage: “Jackson, just because Jeremy Best revealed himself to be the jerk I’ve always known he was, doesn’t mean you need to change!”
Jackson Fenix: “I mean, yeah, you were right about him, and I believed you, but a tiny part of me wanted to be wrong. I didn’t know he had that in him.”
Nate Savage: “Everyone is a jerk, Jackson. Whether they show it or not. No one in this world is perfect. Not you, me, Jeremy Best, or even Michelle or Gerald. The difference between us and The Connection or Jeremy is that we’re not afraid to hide it. We embrace our inner bad guy.”
Jackson Fenix: “That’s not entirely true, though. Michelle doesn’t hide it; she lets her mean flag fly.”
Nate Savage: “Okay, fair point, but what about Grayson? There’s no way he’s actually that much of a goody-two-shoes! He’s a fraud just like Jeremy, but unlike Jeremy, Gerald is better at hiding it.”
Jackson Fenix: “That, or hear me out now, maybe he is that nice, and it’s not an act.”
Nate can’t believe what he’s hearing and puts his hands over his face.
Nate Savage: “You can’t be serious right now, Jackson. Being a good guy suddenly won’t make the fans like us. It would take time for them to come around. We’ve done some pretty awful things that people don’t like.”
Jackson Fenix: “That’s true, but if we try hard enough, we can make them come around.”
Nate Savage: “Okay then, say that we do decide to be good guys, and the fans do come around to us and start cheering for us, but then one day, they find a new shiny toy to play with and then they don’t want anything to do with us anymore, and they start booing us again. What then, Jax, huh?”
Jackson Fenix: “We’ll have to do what we can to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
Nate Savage: “Jackson, I wish I shared your optimism right now, but I don’t. Wrestling fans will turn on the good guy when they get bored and move on to the next flavor of the month. They’ll continue to do the same thing over and over again. It’s a vicious cycle because wrestling fans don’t know what they want; they’re fickle.”
Jackson Fenix: “Look, I get where you’re coming from, man, but aren’t you tired of being seen as a joke? We’re never taken seriously, and we talk this big game, but we never follow through on our promises. Do we do anything to change that? No, we keep doing the same, tired routines.”
Nate Savage: “If it isn’t broken, don’t fix it.”
Jackson Fenix: “It is broken, though. It’s been broken for the last year and a half or so. You’re so stubborn you don’t want to face the facts. We need to spice things up a little. Try something different, like being nice. I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of being a bad guy. I want to try to be a good guy for a change, and if it doesn’t work, oh well, but at least we can say that we tried.”
“Will it help us beat The Connection? I don’t know. I hope it will. I want nothing more than to win the tag team titles. I want us to be taken seriously. I bet Michelle is still not concerned with us, and she’s looking ahead at who they’ll defend against next, and Gerald will follow her and do whatever she says. I want to win so we can rub it in Michelle’s face and prove her wrong. Prove everyone wrong about us.”
Nate Savage: “That’s all well and good, Jack, and I agree, but by rubbing it in their faces, wouldn’t it defeat the purpose of being a good guy?”
Jackson Fenix: “I’m sure there are nice, subtle ways to do that.”
Nate Savage: “Okay, well, you can try all you want to be nice, I won’t stop you, but I’m going to continue to be who I am. While you’re being Mr. Nice Guy, don’t let it get in the way of us winning the titles, though.”
Jackson chuckles at that and nods at Nate.
Nate Savage: “Let’s win us some titles”
Jackson Fenix: “Heck yeah!” |
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Post by supinesnake on May 28, 2024 20:16:41 GMT
Originally posted by Cake. 
Grayscale II
Looking absolutely exhausted and drenched in her own sweat, Madison Gray sits on a bench outside the locker room area with a wet towel draped over her head. Gray looks up at the camera and nods her head receptively in a silent agreement to give some post-match comments in what was her first ever competitive wrestling match and it certainty had proven to be a real baptism of fire.
“That. That was really tough. Much tougher than I ever expected it to be, but I suppose I really shouldn’t have been surprised. At no point in any of my training and education at the dojo was a ladder placed on the mat, with the instruction of climbing it and recovering an item in order to win - and yet I find myself smiling from ear to ear because never in all my life have I had such a rush of adrenaline surge through my body. This is the sort of feeling, that a lesser training mind could easily become addicted to - and that is why I am thankful to Sensei Nakajima for teaching me that competition must be compartmentalized and that when the bell is rung you return to the reality of the world around you and respect all of is boundaries that govern you.”
Madison removes the wet towel from her head and replaces it around her neck and she noticeably has some swelling on her face, and despite looking to have gone through an absolute war it is clear that she is in good spirits.
“I must offer my congratulations to Princess Nova his evening - every victory is deserved and I honor her and all that have helped train her throughout her career, because from my point of view I can already see that I have a lot of work to do not just in the gym, but also in my head to reach the level of competition that I witnessed tonight. Nova - you deserve the victory and I hope that one day we will meet again and I will be a more worthy opponent.”
Madison pauses for a moment as she reaches down and grabs a bottle of water and take a deep sip.
“And hey Princess - you are ten thousand dollars richer now. So how about you share the spoils of a war, so a rookie like me can drink something else other than water?”
Madison has a soft laugh, but playfully waves her hand at the camera.
“I am joking. I am joking of course. Starting at the bottom. Being at the bottom is the only means in which I have a chance to actually become anything in this company. Did I sign with the FWA with the intention of unbeaten streaks and instantaneous gold around my waist? Absolutely not. I came here to compete and as a ‘Young Lioness’ I fully expect that 2023 will be littered with many losses and defeats to better and more accomplished opponents - and that is exactly what I need, and not just need. Want. I want to become the very best professional in this sport and I need to condition myself to suffer pain and deal with the consequences of losses to become the very best future version of myself possible. This - this - this career choice for me. It is a marathon and not a sprint and I still have so much to learn before I am even close to becoming a finished product.”
The camera crew looks like it is moving away, but Madison grabs at the camera and pulls it back towards her.
“I actually have one last thing I need to say. Sawyer Xavier - you fell from one hell of a height when Nova pushed you off the ladder and you went through the table and yet you managed to leave the ring on your own two feet even if you were given some assistance, most people would have stayed on their back and stretchered away. I respect you for that - and that is why I hope in the weeks to come, we can meet one on one. I personally would love to get a little bit close and personal with you.” |
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Post by supinesnake on May 28, 2024 20:18:12 GMT
Originally posted by SupineSnake. GERALD GRAYSON and MICHELLE von HORROWITZ are
[CTHULHU’S NEPHEWS]
in
”PETITE VERONIQUE.”
*****
He could feel the hill beginning to level out finally, his heartbeat elevated and his breathing a little laboured. His boots were caked in mud and, beneath the mud, the wet, white sand that bordered the small island. It was comfortably hot. A gentle breeze grew more noticeable as their altitude increased. ‘Their’ on account of there being two of them nearing the modest summit of the modest hill. He glanced back down the slope at his tag team partner, who was holding a cigarette but spluttering in the midst of a coughing fit rather than smoking it. She was muttering to herself when she wasn’t absorbed by wheezes, and although he was out of earshot he sensed the negative trend of her monologue.
About ten metres below him, Michelle paused besides a large, smooth, nearly spherical boulder. She kicked at it to get a sense of its integrity and then, contended, sat on top of it. She sucked at the end of her cigarette and was soon doubled over by another onslaught of hacking coughs. Gerald turned away from the scene and continued the climb.
It was his idea to take a break and went on vacation for a few days. It was her insistence that took them to a place as remote as Petite Veronique. A small island around twenty kilometres east of St. Lucia, Petite Veronique had ties to the government of St. Vincent to the south, and the French overseas territory of Martinique in the north. The island was settled four generations prior by a small number of meteorologists from the former, and when their research proved useful for the latter, farmers and fishermen were stationed there to support them. The population had remained steady at between eighty and one hundred for the proceeding eighty years, with most of the stork’s new arrivals dutifully following in the footsteps of their parents and entering one of the three primary professions upon the island: farmer, fisher, or meteorologist. Surprisingly self-sufficient but for the parcels of supplies brought to the northern beaches of the island every Tuesday morning, Petite Veronique’s people were in touch with the world around them but remained happily and willingly aloof from it. It was a common saying upon the island that France, St. Vincent, and the rest of the world had forgotten they existed, and it was only right they do the same in return.
Petite Veronique was difficult to access and therefore supply, and as a result the other surrounding nations - specifically St. Lucia to its south-west and, more distantly, Dominica in the north - paid it little mind and allowed St. Vincent and the French to get on with things. Unlike many of the other Grenadine Islands, temptations to turn Petite Veronique into a resort had been resisted. To this day, the island remains one of the most difficult to access in the Caribbean. That is, of course, unless you’re owed a favour or several by the St. Vincent government, like a certain COSMIC HORROR that you, my reader, and the Connection, my protagonists, list as a mutual acquaintance.
It was on Petite Veronique, as we’ve established, that Michelle sat and struggled through the end of her cigarette. Whilst Gerald had come prepared in shorts and a loose-fitting sports vest (basketball, if she had to guess), Dreamer wore much the same garb as she did everywhere else, except her black hoodie had been removed and tied around her waist. She didn’t own walking boots and her Vans were ruined. On the way to the island in the boat that Uncle arranged (the Yoct still being out of commission), one of the mates had warned her of a storm brewing to the north. He talked about strong and peculiar winds, and black clouds upon the horizon. It was hard to imagine anything but the smothering sun right now. She hoped for a rain to provide some respite.
Gerald, meanwhile, reached the top of the hill. He stared about himself at the ocean that surrounded him. Two islands - Martinique and St. Lucia, he knew from a brief study of the maps aboard their boat - straddled the horizon to the north. To the south, the outline of the small village was scattered across the slopes, and beyond this the endless blue. Only in the distant north-east was there a suggestion of gathering black clouds, and it was easy enough for the Daredevil to convince himself that the sailors were right. The storm would pass by the island and wither as it traversed the open sea.
He stood on the summit and breathed in the ocean air, which rolled in on the back of the gentle breeze. Back on the mainland, when his life was concerned with the hustle and bustle of the big city, his mind was a chaotic place. It was the FWA, or the big tent as Michelle called it, that dominated the usually stormy seas inside his head. Chief amongst those preoccupations were two matches with the Undisputed Alliance: one in the past and one in the future. One that had been forced upon them, and one that Dreamer had brought about herself. And, by extension, upon him. It was the first time that Gerald had thought about any of that since they’d arrived on Petite Veronique, and he did his best to rid his mind of such plagues. As the ocean air filled his lungs, that task wasn’t particularly difficult. He felt emboldened. Perhaps it was even time for a singles run. If Michelle was splitting her time between the tag and singles divisions, why shouldn’t he, too? He felt dizzy with a sudden and unexplained overconfidence.
As a hopeful and contented smile spread over the Daredevil’s face, Michelle finally arrived next to him. She shoved her hands into her pockets and stared over the face of the ocean. Gerald observed her scowl and surmised that she wasn’t encountering the same clarity that he was.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he asked, as she lit another cigarette. Another one, he thought, before admonishing himself for his judgement. “Aren’t you glad to be away from it all?”
“Walking is hard and boring,” Michelle said, simply.
*****
Michelle and Gerald sat in the corner of the village pub, which was smaller, more crowded, and less quiet than Dreamer hoped. Still, she’d managed to get her hands on a beer and a whiskey (as well as a water for Gerald), so she supposed she shouldn’t complain too much.
“So,” the Daredevil began, and there was something in his tone that suggested he was about to shift the conversational topic onto the FWA. This was a common habit for Gerald, and Michelle strapped herself in for it. “We’re doing the same thing again.”
“How specifically are you talking?” Michelle asked. She was unsure if he was broaching the topic of Nate Savage, Jackson Fenix, and their upcoming repeat defence against the Undisputed Alliance, or if his point was a more expansive one. A tournament had just ended, the Grand March was fast approaching, and Michelle and Gerald were balancing priorities between the FWA World Championship and the FWA World Tag Team Championships. Devin Golden had even just lost the former as a result of a Golden Opportunity cash-in. They’d been here before. Only minor details were altered.
“I’m talking about the match,” Gerald replied. He shuffled uncomfortably on his low seat, a clear tell that he was approaching the smaller topic in hopes of finding an entrance point for the larger one. “Back in Town was closer than anyone would’ve guessed, and closer than I’d have liked. I think you lit a fire under them with your barbs on Fight Night. Especially Nate.”
Michelle sipped her drink and lit a cigarette. The best thing about drinking on remote islands was being allowed to smoke inside. Gerald was looking searchingly at her. There was no question in his speech, but still it seemed that he expected a response. He told her that this was generally how conversations worked, but she found herself longing for peaceful silence instead.
Fortunately for Dreamer, Gerald’s focus was broken by a low, rumbling laugh emanating from the table next to them. The two stools around this table were occupied by a man and a woman who were dressed identically (and primarily in wool) and even looked a little alike. Both were plump and comfortable, both nursed a tankard of ale whilst they listened to a dispute between two of the other patrons in the bar. The Connection didn’t know it, but these full-bodied individuals were Mr. Suggs and Ms. Suggs, who both worked on the north slopes farm and despised each other. Even now, as they watched the evening’s entertainment and Mr. Suggs weighed into the debate with his low, rumbling laugh, their allegiance was divided between the two protagonists.
“Laugh all you like, Suggs,” one of the arguing men continued. His face - young and handsome, probably, in a more relaxed state - was hurt by the mockery, but he defiantly pointed a resolute finger at the farmer and then the other man. “But my machines don’t lie. It’s coming.”
“Your machines are faulty, then,” the other man, who was standing at the bar, replied. He shook his head at his counterpart dismissively. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“And what would you know about it, Claude?” the first shot back. “The bureaucrat more trusted than the meteorologist… I tell you about a storm and you’re all more interested in this pencil pusher’s jokes.”
Although most of the pub’s patrons were indeed amused by the meteorologist’s fluster, Michelle surmised that his assertion that all of them were on Claude’s side was an overestimate. Ms. Suggs, for example, shared guarded, encouraging glances with the man her husband laughed at, and Michelle thought she saw the woman behind the bar doing the same. The weatherman was popular with the fairer half of the village, it seemed.
“I know, Jacques, because I’ve spoken to both Martinique and St. Vincent today, and neither of them are worried about your storm,” Claude replied. “It’s going to pass about thirty kilometres to the east. Stop trying to drum up hysteria. You lean too heavily on the doomsday predictions.”
“I sent my latest findings to Martinique this evening,” Jacques answered. He was agitated in his gesticulations, but Michelle was surprised to find him smiling. “I expect the evacuation order will be coming any minute.”
“Lead the way,” Claude said, dismissively. He turned away from Jacques to face the bar. “We’ll be right behind you.”
Shaking his head and muttering something along the lines of I’ll show you, you’ll see, Jacques the meteorologist drained his drink and shuffled out of the tavern. Claude ordered another beer. Mr. and Ms. Suggs continued not speaking to one another. The other patrons resumed their private, quiet conversations.
“The sailors on the boat were saying the same thing,” Gerald mused, as he sipped his water. “Maybe we should leave. Get in touch with Uncle and arrange a pick-up.”
“We’re probably safest here,” Michelle answered, with a shrug.
*****
Uncle had arranged for Michelle and Gerald to stay in a large and luxurious villa on the beachfront, and the pair sat upon the white sands as the moon climbed high into the black canvas before them. The air was still, and it was difficult to believe there was talk of storms approaching. The gentle encroaching of the waves was the evening’s only soundtrack. She had brought a bottle of Jameson’s with her from the mainland, and the Daredevil allowed himself a rare and indulgent pull whilst Dreamer smoked a joint. He’d all but given up on broaching the topic of the Undisputed Alliance, let alone the implications of the Grand March. At least for tonight. Michelle was content that the peaceful silence she’d yearned for had finally descended.
Perhaps thirty metres away from them up the beach, just as Michelle was stubbing the end of her joint out into the sand, the hunched figure of the meteorologist appeared from between a pair of sand dunes. He was staring at the interface on a handheld device, a long antennae reaching out from it into the night. He wore headphones, and after staring at his screen for close to a full minute, he sat down on the sand to retrieve his notebook and scrawl down some readings. Michelle could only just make out his figure but felt sure that he was smiling.
Eventually, the meteorologist turned to face the pair of them. It seemed apparent that he was unaware, until now, of their presence. He removed his headphones and offered them a wave, which Gerald instinctively reciprocated. The meteorologist stood up and approached.
“Lovely clear night,” the meteorologist, whom the pair already knew as Jacques from the confrontation at the public house, began. “Good for observation. I’m Jacques, Veronique’s premier meteorologist. Pleased to meet you.”
“I’m Gerald,” the Daredevil said, whilst offering out a hand. The eccentric meteorologist gave Gerald a toothy grin in response but left the hand unshook. Gerald took it back and wrapped it around the whiskey bottle again, which he returned to Michelle. “You really think there will be a storm?”
“Oh, there’s no doubt about it,” Jacques answered. “The only debate is about how close to the island it’ll strike. And I happen to know that Storm Nathanael will be a direct hit.”
“You think they’ll evacuate the island?” Gerald asked. She could sense the anxiety in his question.
“Sooner or later,” Jacques mused. “Hopefully sooner, I guess. Though it makes no difference to me.”
“You intend to stay?” Gerald asked, with a cocked eyebrow.
“Of course!” Jacques answered. His grin grew brighter still. “It’s been a long time, friends! Someone has to stay and greet it.”
With that, the meteorologist turned back to face the sea. It was obvious that he was giddy. Dreamer surmised that this benign little man wanted the storm to come here. To monitor it was his occupation but, at some stage or another, it had become more of an obsession, and now he thrived in it. The entire purpose of his being was tied up in the oncoming storm.
Michelle noticed that he was barefoot. He walked into the sea, his long antennae once more groping out towards the moon. He pulled his headphones back into place and went on in his work.
*****
“You didn’t have to go so hard on Nate,” Gerald said, as he wrenched at his hammer lock. “At the end of the match, or before it…”
“Agree to disagree,” Michelle responded, as she reached between her legs to pick one of the Daredevil’s. He fell onto his back and she immediately turned him over in a single-leg Boston crab. “Savage’s bark is worse than his bite. We’ve beaten them once, we can beat them again.”
Michelle’s last pair of sentences were delivered whilst sitting high on Gerald’s back, wrenching at her hold and contorting her partner’s body at an uncomfortable angle. The Daredevil instinctively began to crawl, but there were no ropes to afford him a break. They were sparring on the summit of the hill on Petite Veronique, and Grayson realised he’d have to escape through other means. He’d hoped the walk to the top of the hill, which had been arduous for her a day before, would afford him the advantage in the session, but Dreamer seemed to always find a way. This time, it had been a pocket full of sand she’d carried with her from the beach, which she’d flung into the Daredevil’s eyes as they’d begun to spar.
In desperation, Gerald wriggled through Michelle’s legs and delivered a trio of hard forearms to his partner’s forehead, the third of which gained him some separation. He kipped up to his feet as Dreamer came at him once more, but this time he countered with a deep arm drag before placing Dreamer in an arm bar.
“I think you should pay more attention to Storm Nathanael,” Gerald said, applying more pressure on her arm.
“Oh, please,” Michelle answered, her voice pained and strained. “I imagine that’s the reason Uncle sent us here. Jacques the meteorologist and Storm Nathanel. Don’t buy into it, Gerald.”
“Be that as it may,” Gerald replied, whilst resisting Michelle’s attempts to squirm out of the hold. “The real Nate Savage showed us at Back in Town that we shouldn’t underestimate him, and you’re doing the same with his namesake here. You’re walking right into it…”
Suddenly, Dreamer rolled through, alleviating the pressure on her arm and applying a grounded headlock. Grayson began to fight up to his feet, Michelle moving to his side to keep her weight on him.
“Historic reign, Gerald,” she reminded him, as she felt his arms wrap around her waist. He hoisted her up with an attempted back suplex, but she over-rotated and landed on her feet… and then threw herself into the back of his knee with a chop block! Grayson fell to the ground, and immediately Michelle was on him with an ankle lock.
Dreamer dropped down into a grapevine, the young man in her grasp defiant even in his desperate predicament.
“We’ve got a match in less than a week, Gerald,” Michelle reminded him. She was only tweaking his ankle at the moment, and applied more and more pressure as a warning to him. “You can’t fight the Undisputed Alliance with a broken ankle…”
Finally, Grayson tapped out, and Michelle let him go. She helped him to his feet, the Daredevil walking a little gingerly on his ankle as they walked back to their packs.
“Nate and Jackson, I can understand,” Gerald said, as he stared out over the ocean to the north-east of the summit. Black clouds were gathering in the distance. “But this storm isn’t one we need to face. We should go home.”
“Not yet,” Michelle answered. “Tomorrow, maybe.”
She began the hike back down the hill towards the village, leaving Gerald to watch the gathering, distant storm with a glum and defeated countenance.
*****
Michelle waited at the base of the hill, sitting on a low wall and smoking a cigarette, for the eventual return of her tag team partner. She'd last seen him deeply invested in his thoughts, still upon the summit when she was already half-way down and thinking of the evening's first beer. He'd come down eventually, she reasoned. How long could one spend in isolation with nothing but Nate Savage and Jackson Fenix to occupy their thoughts?
Before Gerald's appearance from the top of the hill, though, came Jacques' appearance from the bottom of it. She spotted him before he spied her. It was difficult not to. He cut an inconspicuous figure, his hands full of equipment (meteorological equipment, she assumed), and a heavy rucksack packed with ostensibly more of the same on his back. Eventually, when he noticed the young woman in black, sitting on a low wall and smoking a cigarette, he smiled broadly as one would when encountering an old friend. He bundled up towards her, fiddling with a dial on one of his many devices.
"More observation?" Michelle asked, as Jacques stopped in front of her. “More readings?”
"Always more readings," the meteorologist said. The machine he'd been toying with finally stirred into life, an encouraged grin blossoming on his face. He pulled the antennae out from the end of the device. "Nathanael won't wait for me to be ready."
"You seem almost excited," Michelle posited. Jacques didn't even try to hide his giddiness. He was too invested in his tinkering.
"It's been a long while since a real rain has come," Jacques said, whilst meeting her gaze. She looked at the young-ish, handsome-ish man with curiosity. He returned a knowing glare, confident in himself and assured in his beliefs. "We get the occasional rain here on Petite Veronique, but generally it's been arid times as of late. And a dry period for the island is a dry period for its meteorologist. But this one…"
He leant in closer towards her and lowered his voice, as if letting her in on a secret.
"It's going to be quite something."
Michelle followed his eyes to the black clouds upon the horizon. There seemed to be more of them now. The mass was imposing, distant though it was. Angry and growing angrier.
"I've seen worse, I'm sure," Michelle said, absently. Her mind was momentarily drawn to Santa Camila, the fishing boat she'd manned there, and the storm that had almost swallowed her whole.
As she watched the black clouds gathering, Gerald finally reappeared at the bottom of the hill. He took a seat next to Michelle on the wall, his body language still expressive of his unease. He stuffed his hands into his pockets whilst Michelle finished her cigarette, barely registering the eccentric meteorologist standing in front of them.
"You shouldn't underestimate it," Jacques said, finally.
"That's what I've been telling her all along," Gerald added.
The meteorologist bowed his head respectfully and then began trapesing up the hill. Michelle led the way towards the public house.
*****
They were drinking on the benches outside of the pub, Gerald deciding he'd join Michelle on the beer for once. He figured the display of comradery might win her over to his cause. Perhaps throwing himself in would finally convince her that it was time to go home. Whilst they were here, though, the Daredevil thought he might as well broach the topic that had been most prevalent in his chaotic thoughts. Their arrival on the island had brought a temporary respite from these nagging doubts, but they seemed to be returning on the back of the gathering black clouds.
"It's the Grand March again," Gerald said, rather suddenly, as Michelle sipped at the head of her beer. Most of the patrons were inside, for some reason. The evening was mild and crisp. She was surprised to be alone, except for Gerald. "You remember last year?"
"Of course I remember last year," Dreamer replied, without meeting the Daredevil's searching gaze. "Why do you ask?"
"You can't not have noticed the similarities," Gerald began, carefully but resolutely. "It's a triple threat, you're challenging for the world championships. It could have been Golden, but it's not, and the Golden Opportunity briefcase is to blame for that. And…"
He took a deep breath. Steeled himself.
"... and the tag team championships are on the back burner," he said, his voice steady. That was enough to get her attention. She turned to face him with a cocked eyebrow. "Last year, it was stepping aside for Stu and the Roman so that we could focus on dethroning Nova. This year, it's delaying our defence until the Carnal Contendership so that you can pour your efforts into dethroning Chris Peacock."
"It's not really the same thing," Michelle interjected, defensively.
"It's comparable," Gerald insisted. "We have a rematch with Nate and Savage coming up… and then another defence against God knows who at the Carnal Contendership. Dangerous challenges await us. Unknown quantities. And… how can I be sure where your head is, given what happened last year? Even if this storm passes us by, or if we manage to weather it, the forecast doesn't stay clear for long."
He paused to sigh. Michelle shuffled uncomfortably, uneasy under the weight of his gaze.
"I need you here. With me."
Michelle lit her cigarette. Carried on drinking her beer. Remained silent. Gerald shook his head and expelled a slight huff.
"Why do you always insist on going out without an umbrella?" he asked.
The question, uttered in earnest, brought a wry smile onto Michelle's face. She didn't, however, have time to answer, as their sanctuary was momentarily punctured by Claude exiting the public house and Jacques entering it. The two passed on the path leading up to the building, with both men offering a cursory and seemingly adversarial nod to the other before continuing on their way whilst grumbling beneath their breath. Before entering the tavern, Jacques stopped in front of the Connection and greeted them with a warm, knowing smile.
"Another clear evening to the south," Jacques pondered. "But the north is in turmoil. It approaches. Close now. Are you going to the beach tonight?"
Michelle shrugged and sucked her cigarette.
"Hadn't planned on it," Gerald offered, absently. He wasn't best pleased at the interruption. He was finally talking to Michelle about things he thought were important. Things he'd kept to himself for weeks if not months. Not only did the meteorologist drag them away from that, but he also brought with him tidings of the doom. The coming storm was all he seemed to speak about.
"I suggest you do," he said, with an air of mystery and a playful wink. "Don't want to miss the fireworks."
Jacques disappeared into the pub. Gerald sipped at his drink, his impatience clear. Michelle did her best to ignore them both.
"We should contact Uncle," he said, finally. "Arrange a pick up."
"In the morning," she conceded.
*****
Gerald had already gone to bed, buoyed by the promise that tomorrow they'd begin the process of being rescued. There was still time for him to be woken yet. She feared it would come to that. The sky was hostile and ferocious. Black clouds rumbled in from the north. She watched them approach from the beach, a hard and cold wind blowing through her. She couldn't see the moon for the black blanket that smothered the island.
Out to sea, lightning struck the surface and illuminated the scene. It was a harsh, unforgiving one: full of brooding dread. A hard rain flooded out of the black clouds, soaking her through and drowning the beach in a prophetic misery.
In the distance, a lone boat was being rowed out into the ocean. Towards the storm. A hunched figure manned its oars, his back to the gathering wrath as he forced them through the waves.
In the distance, a colossal black tornado dominated the horizon. More lightning battered the sea's surface. The low rumbling of thunder rolled over her in waves. |
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Post by supinesnake on May 28, 2024 20:18:30 GMT
Originally posted by Welshy. Colour Key Bellatrix BordeauxBret BordeauxVoice Behind the Door
Bellatrix Bordeaux is...
"A Weak Little Girl"
Saturday, 4th March 2023
The Washington Mall
Washinton D.C. Well, here we are, mere minutes away from showtime. An “FWA” chant rings out from the sold-out crowd at the Washinton Mall as we are gifted with an overhead view of the makeshift arena, which is flanked on either side by the Washinton Monument, built in honour of one of the United States Founding Fathers and first President, George Washinton, and The White House, which has been home to every U.S. President since John Adams in 1800.
With these two magnificent structures creating a stunning backdrop no matter which direction you decide to look, Fallout 026 really does have a big fight feel, with two championship matches scheduled to close out the show…but, for any show to truly be great, a massive co-main and main event isn’t enough. Any truly great wrestling show needs a barnstorming opener. A match to fire the fans up and leave them wanting more. A match to set the tone for the rest of the evening, and for that, clearly, you call upon Bellatrix Bordeaux. Speaking of…
The beautiful D.C. backdrop fades and is replaced with the sight of a small, plain, simple-looking changing room. Regarding furniture, there are two steel folding chairs…and that’s it. Other items in the tiny room include a worn, patched-up duffel bag with some scrumpled-up street clothes inside, and…a Trixie, which is sat on one of the two folding chairs. Dressed in a grey plaid version of her ring attire, along with a pair of black, white and red Jordans, she looks ready for battle…sort of. See, she may be dressed for a fight, but the look on her face and in her eyes tells a completely different story. Her complexion is concerningly pale, her eyes are filled with nerves, her expression is one of intense fear, and she’s hyperventilating. The last time she was seen looking like this, she spewed her guts up. As we watch on as Trixie’s breathing intensifies, the camera begins to zoom slowly towards Trixie’s eyes, growing ever closer until we see nothing but the sheer dread within them, before the scene fades into another.
The scene before us takes the shape of a montage of memories. Trixie, dressed in another of her ring attires, can be seen engaged in a pretty one-sided battle with Shawn Summers, a man she had vowed to “beat up” after finding out that he’d injured one of her closest friends, Vampyra.
Our new TV Champion is making an example out of the vastly inexperienced young woman, hitting her with German Suplex’s, Belly-to-Belly’s, locking her in painful submission holds, causing her to cry out in pain, all to the amusement of the thousands of people in attendance. The audience can be seen pointing and laughing at Trixie as she cries for help while locked in a Fujiwara armbar. Eventually, “Der Basterd” gets her in position and drives Trixie head first to the canvas with a devastating Piledriver, the impact of which causes the memory to shatter, snapping us back to the tiny changing room, and a terror-filled Trixie, whose rapid breathing continues to intensify.
As she attempts to breathe in and exhale the entirety of the U.S. capital’s supply of oxygen, we hear a knock on the door, which startles the young woman. As Trixie stares at the door in terror, an unfamiliar, male-sounding voice can be heard calling from behind it, “Trixie, showtime in ten minutes! You’re up first!” he says, before the sound of ever-quietening footsteps signals that the person the voice belongs to has left.
Trixie, upon receiving this news, begins to well up. Looking as though she’s about to explode into a tsunami of tears and emotion, as the anxiety and fear build up inside her, we are transported into another of Trixie’s memories. We see Trixie, once again engaged in combat, this time taking on “The British Apprentice” Reagan Cole, who’s flanked by his newfound allies, Jeffry Mason and TYLER.
The audience once again seems to be relishing Trixie’s suffering, as Reagan Cole performs gruelling move after gruelling move on the young woman. He nails her with knees to the stomach, elbows to the head, and forearms to the chest, with Trixie being incapable of preventing it. Worse still, Reagan’s allies, Jeffry Mason and TYLER decide to join in on the action, as we see scenes of Jeffry Mason grinding his forearm into Trixie’s face, followed by TYLER driving her face first into the canvas with a vicious DDT. We hear voices from the crowd yelling various disparaging remarks at the battered Trixie, scolding her on how weak and pathetic she is, all the while laughing as she takes a sickening kick to the face, with the impact of the kick not only knocking Trixie out cold but also causing this memory to shatter just like the last, bringing us back to the changing room.
With Trixie once again snapping back to reality, her changing room door opens, once again startling the young woman, before her brother enters, full of energy. “The show’s about to begin, Trix! You ready to kick some ass?” he says, excitedly. Upon laying eyes on his tormented sister, however, Bret’s expression shifts almost instantly. Trixie stares at her brother, her eyes filled with dread and looking as though they’re about to flood the room in tears, and Bret, seeing the state that his sister’s in, sighs. “Anything you wanna talk about?” he asks, as he makes his way over to, and sits on, the second of the two steel chairs.
“I-...I-I’m…I’m not going,” Trixie responds, with a great deal of shame in her voice. “I-I don’t wanna do this anymore.”
Bret, not surprised in the slightest, simply nods before asking, “And why’s that?”
“Be-...” Trixie pauses, trying to find the words, “B-because…”
“Because you’re scared?” Bret asks, looking at his sister with no small amount of pity.
Hearing her brother utter those words causes the feeling of shame bubbling inside Trixie to intensify, and as a result, she fails to bring herself to meet her brother’s gaze as her head sinks.
“Nope, you ain’t getting away that easy, Trix,” Bret says, refusing to let his sister off lightly, “If you don’t wanna go out to that ring, then I want you to tell me why.”
Trixie, unable to bring herself to utter the words, remains silent. This act, or lack thereof, causes Bret to glare at his sister in anger, before snapping, “FUCKING SAY IT!” and startling Trixie, as she jumps almost out of her skin in shock and fear.
Feeling her brother’s eyes staring a hole through her, and wishing that he would just leave her alone, Trixie curls up into a ball on her chair, placing her feet on the front of the chair, resting her arms on her knees and burying her face in her arms, and begins to sob.
“Aah…” Bret says in annoyance, before moving his arm in a dismissive manner. “Fucking grow up, will ya?”
Trixie, her muffled sobs increasing as her brother scolds her, doesn’t respond, further angering her brother.
“Just gonna sit there crying like a fucking five-year-old, are ya’? Feeling sorry for yourself because you lost a couple of fights?” Bret says, lifting himself off of his chair with a look on his face that borders on contempt. “Boo-fucking-hoo. Fucking pathetic…what’s the matter, huh? Tell me. Go on…” Bret leans forward so that his face is mere inches from his cowering and sobbing sister. “Say it. Say it, say it, say it, SAY IT!”
Jumping once again at the sound of her brother’s rage, Trixie’s head shoots up out of her arms and with tears in her eyes, along with a plethora of emotions bubbling inside her all at once, Trixie snaps back, “I’M AFRAID!” and as Bret retreats back a few steps having accomplished his goal, she lets out a guttural, frustration-filled “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” and charges her brother head on, unable to control her anger.
Bret, taken completely by surprise at his sister’s aggression, utters “Oh shit!” as he gets taken completely off his feet by a rampaging Trixie, who drives her head and shoulder hard into his abdomen, tackling him to the floor before unloading on her brother with a barrage of punches, slaps and hammer fists. Bret, being an experienced combatant, manages to block the vast majority of her attacks with his arms, before powering his much lighter sister off him and scrambling to his feet. Trixie however, makes it to her feet first and once again rushes her brother. This time, however, the element of surprise is gone, and Bret is able to sprawl as his sister attempts to tackle him, and with rapid efficiency, he manoeuvres himself onto Trixie’s back, wraps his legs around her abdomen, wraps his arms around her neck, and rolls onto his back, locking in a rear naked choke.
Not wanting to choke his sister out, Bret doesn’t apply much pressure on her throat, just enough to ensure that she can’t escape as Trixie struggles valiantly to break his grip. “LEMME GO!” she screams, the frustration building up inside her as she fails to break
the hold.
“Nope,” Bret says stubbornly, “until you explain to me what’s going on inside that head of yours, I ain’t letting go.”
As Trixie continues to struggle and fails, to escape, the sheer build-up of frustration and rage becomes too much. Being unable to contain it, she bursts into a defeated sob, and her struggling lessens. After a long few seconds where neither sibling speaks, Trixie breaks the silence. “I-...I-I’m not good enough,” she admits, sobbing throughout, “I-I…I’m just a joke, Bret. Every time I go out to fight, I just get beaten up…I try to fight back, b-but…I’m just a weak little girl.” this admission looked to have caused physical pain to Trixie, as her face contorts into an impressively ugly crying face.
“Look, Trix-...” Bret says, softly, trying to console his sister, but is interrupted.
“I-I’m not as good as you, Bret,” she says painfully, her thoughts and feelings pouring out of her without filter, “I’m not as good as anyone…and every time I go out there, I’m just gonna lose, so what’s the f-...” Trixie snivels, “what’s the fucking point…” she says, in complete and utter defeat, before bursting into a full-on cry.
Bret gently lets his sister out of the hold, and she slumps to the floor, curling up into a ball of tears. Bret sits up and looks down at his emotionally wrecked sister with pity-filled eyes, before speaking softly, “Do you want me to go and tell the higher-ups that you can’t compete tonight?” he asks, hoping not to receive the answer that he know’s he’s gonna get. When his broken sister nods amidst a well of emotion and shame, his head slumps in disappointment. After a moment, he nods in agreement. “Okay…” he says, painfully, “Get changed…I’ll go and have a chat with them.”
Lifting himself to his feet, Bret looks down again at his sister, who begins to lift herself up, seemingly not wanting to stick around this place any longer. Sighing in defeat, Bret slowly makes his way towards the door. As he places his hand on the doorknob and begins to turn it, he pauses for a moment. His eyes, which were riddled with defeat a mere moment ago, suddenly filled with an abundance of hope, and a small, manipulative smile forms on his face, which he quickly hides. “Yeah, maybe you’re right,” he says, feigning agreement. “What’s the point in trying if you’re just gonna get your ass kicked anyway, right?”
Trixie, now sat back on the chair and in the middle of removing her sneakers, looks shocked, clearly not expecting him of all people to say those words. Realising how little her brother thinks of her, her eyes fill with shame, and she can’t bring herself to look him in the eyes as he continues,”Oh, don’t feel bad, Trix…I mean, you tried your best, right?”
“S-so…you’re not mad?” she asks snivelling, her eyes filled with hope.
“Noooooooo,” Bret responds, a warm, reassuring smile on his face. “Look, I get it. You tried your hardest. You gave it your best shot, and you came up short. I don’t blame you for quitting…and hell, I’m sure that your good friend the “Bus Driver” will forgive you for abandoning him.” He says as he opens the door and makes it look as though he is about to leave.
“W-wait-...” Trixie looks up at Bret, her face extremely conflicted.
“What’s up?” Bret asks, feigning ignorance.
“...XYZ.” She says, memories of one of her bestest friends flooding her mind eye, as she recalls all the good times they’ve shared, beating people up together during the one and only time they’ve ever met.
“What about him?” Bret inquires, unable to contain a slight, victorious smile.
“I-...” Trixie chokes, struggling to find the courage. “I-I…I can’t just abandon him.”
“Why not?” Bret says, before continuing with a manipulative look about him, “It’s not like you’ll be able to help him, Trix. I mean, you said it yourself…you’re just a weak little girl.”
Trixie glances at Bret momentarily, her eyes filled with panic, “I-...I know, but…”
“But what, Trix?” Bret interjects, “You said it yourself…if you go out to that ring, then you’re just gonna get your ass kicked. So what, you’re gonna go out there and get your head kicked in? Why? To save some guy you met that one time?”
“HE’S MY FRIEND!” Trixie snaps back, furious at Bret’s depreciation of their friendship.
“I get that, Trix, but…I’m sure XYZ and Xavier will be fine. Sure, it’ll be three on two, and they’ll most likely lose, but…I’m sure they’ll only spend a few days in the hospital.” He says, with Trixie’s over-imaginative mind conjuring images of a hospitalised XYZ, causing a horror-filled expression to descend upon her face.
Before she can respond, the explosion of fireworks can be heard, signalling the start of Fallout 026. The explosions startle the conflicted young woman, and Bret, realising that the show’s starting, speaks in a hurried voice. “Oh shoot, I’ve gotta let them know you ain’t fighting. Right, get changed, Trix, I’ll be rig-”
“NO!” Trixie screams, defiantly.
“Look, Trix…you’ll just end up getting yourself hurt. It’s not-”
“I DON’T CARE!” she interjects, a raging inferno blazing in her eyes that slowly begins to burn away her fears and anxieties. “I won’t abandon my friends!” she exclaims passionately, before continuing, her fears battling back, “If I’m gonna get beat up…so be it.”
“Wait, Trix-...” Bret, not liking the sound of what his sister just said, and realising that he may have gone a bit too far, tries to interject, but is cut off as the slight bundle of fear, fury and determination that is his sister, barges past him and exits the changing room…barefoot.
Realising this, Bret, in a panic, grabs Trixie’s Jordans and darts after her hurriedly, “TRIX! WAIT UP! YOUR SHOES!”
THE END
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Post by supinesnake on May 28, 2024 20:18:54 GMT
Originally posted by Prod. [HEADING=2] [/HEADING] [HEADING=3] The story of the conflicted Mike Parr and his desire to continue [/HEADING] It may come as a surprise to some that someone so outwardly devoid of any emotion, rage aside, would have a swirling cocktail of such deep within himself, yet, that is what a three hour flight from Denver to Toronto can do to you. Indeed, at the conclusion of Back in Town, Mike Parr was not in the mood to hang out and make small talk. Those that are unfamiliar with Mike’s recent history may have considered a victory not all to surprising, but for those that have been a part of the journey, they will know exactly how unlikely that particular outcome was. This isn’t The Prodigy that held the North American Championship for the longest reign in history. Nor is this The Prodigy that took Michelle von Horrowitz to her limit. It isn’t even The Prodigy that turned up and captured the North American Championship as the ’fourth man’ in the doomed Executive Excellence rebirth. This was Mike Parr, trying to reach inside himself and extract whatever left of The Prodigy remains. Kayden, Kayden is a jerk. One who blames his actions on another. For all of his flaws, Mike has always managed to own who he is. Every decision he makes, for better or for worse, he embraces it. He was fully prepared to embrace his decision post Back in Town if it had not panned out like it had done – if he had turned up and wrestled as the semi-retired Mike and got his ass handed to him, he wouldn’t have been looking to blame it on any goon or lawyer but on his own inaction. Sweeping his brown hair back to allow himself a better view of himself in the mirror, he can see the remnants of those months where he gave his body a beating worse than anything he ever experienced inside of a ring. The tangy, but now faint, yellow tinge that his skin had developed a sign of both what he had been through and the path that he is on. His right and left hand trembling somewhat, the exertion of the evening and the absence of any sort of substance leveller leaving this reaction inevitable, Mike can only stare down and think about the journey back. Subsequently lifting his head forward and catching his own reflection once more, he knows he has answered the one question that the rest of the world were unaware that he was posing to himself. That question? Is this it?Mike had slipped into the dark of the night without so much as a word, not the most fitting end to a career that promised so much and delivered to a point. Even that, that within itself is a point worth considering. Mike made mention of the holy grail of FWA on his first night in the company – he had mentioned wanting that World Championship win. His fingers grazed it back in 2016 and he had two other shots at glory in 2021 but he never quite managed to make it. Is what he has achieved enough to leave a lasting legacy if he was to just walk away? Probably. But in a generation where Danny Toner, Alyster Black, Michelle von Horrowitz and even the reanimated corpse of what must be the long deceased Devin Golden have all had their hands on that gold, there is a taste in Mike’s mouth that no amount of alcohol or mouthwash will erase. A bitter taste. A taste that asks the question why not him? Why do all of these other people have their opportunity to feel what it is like to be atop the mountain yet it is always ripped from his grasp just when he thinks he has finally clenched it. There are shards of glass all over the place with all of these broken glass ceilings but still no World Championship gold to hold above his head and protect himself from those same shards of glass falling and implanting into his skull. From a professional satisfaction standpoint, this was most certainly not going to be it. If his last interaction with the FWA fanbase was at the conclusion of Back in Business with his hand held high, there might have been an argument somewhere to leave it as is. But to lose to Alyster Black and creep out the back door while nobody was looking ahead of a match with his long time foe Michelle von Horrowitz….that’s not the way it’s going to go down. That’s not the way he wanted it to end professionally. But… Was this it? You have to consider things other than professionally. You have to consider whether Mike was physically or mentally capable to continue. Mentally, the fact that someone as proud as Mike Parr is of his in ring accomplishments would take two L’s and duck out before a third instead of trying to correct that wrong tells you all that you need to know about his mindset at the time. Physically, since that point, he deteriorated to the point where he couldn’t execute a simple match with a scrub that has about a quarter of his talent and a fraction of his skill level. Kayden managed to drag something out of him, some motivation from deep within to defy the mentality that was shot and the physicality that was lacking and he managed to pull out a performance that the Prodigy may have been relatively content with once upon a time. Relatively content though. Relatively content isn’t exceptional, it isn’t befitting of The Prodigy. So this moment, right now, is the moment of truth. The moment where Mike is examining who is staring back at him and wondering if this person has it in him to get back to those levels? Whether this person believes that what just happened at Back in Town was the last deep breath before death or the first deep breath of life before resurrection. And that answer is….. He doesn’t really know.You can tell, the steely grit evident through the look in his eye, you can tell that he wants it to be, but wanting isn’t enough. Wanting, as evidenced by his lack of success in pursuit of a World Championship, doesn’t get you where you want to be. It is, however, a start. His phone pings in his pocket, interrupting this thought process, as he gingerly fumbles it out of his pocket not quite in full possession of all his faculties post-trance, and holds the screen up in front of his face in the way that your grandfather may do when he tries use modern technology. The push notification for the message he just received to the point. Reagan at the Hammerstein if you fancy it. Let me know.
A rueful shake of the head from Mike follows, as he puffs out his cheeks. If you fancy it? He was still under contract – its probably a point like this where he would prefer thought to be taken out of the equation and just told what to do because the decision as to whether to continue or not isn’t one that he feels equipped to be able to make at this point in time. He drops his phone on the ledge above his sink, and paces his way across the his apartment towards the cabinet adjacent to his living room. Reaching up, he takes down one of the more expensive bottles of bourbon that money can buy and flips over a tumbler glass. The glorious brown liquid fills an eight of the tumbler, as he takes it in his hand and begins to wear a hole into the floor of his apartment silently walking back and forth. Reagan is an interesting proposition, one part of him thinks, not somebody that he has a particular number of interactions with previously. Unproven enough to think that facing off with Mike is a big deal, where his name could be made, but not yet that upper echelon of competitor that, if Mike chooses to proceed, could potentially leave him embarrassed by showcasing exactly how far off of his previous level he had fallen. The other part of Mike is thinking about what may be in it for Mike? If he wins, is he still outwardly at a point where people would expect Mike Parr to win more often than he loses? If so, does winning actually achieve anything in the eyes of the watching public or his peers? Is there no upside as winning is what would be anticipated and losing is an eye-opener for the wider world to see exactly how far Mike has actually managed to decline? Is this just a hiding to nothing?Or is it a start of something? Kayden could just be the start of the comeback, taking a fight with Reagan would actually be the statement that Mike Parr is no longer ducking and dodging fights but is up to the task of reclaiming his spot in the upper regions of the card. Sure, he will probably curtain jerk if he accepts this particular challenge but you don’t get to walk out on your commitments to a tournament and walk out of a company without any consequences? Would it not be one of the better stories ever told if he manages to return from his darkest hour – taking his ball and going home as commonly said – and work his way back up to the point where he is once again the main event of the biggest show of the year. Thomas West and Danny Toner may lay claim to being the main event of Back in Business but that championship belt carried them to it – people turned in for the championship match itself, not because of the two competitors within it. Night One, people tuned in because they wanted to watch Mike Parr and Shawn Summers rip each other apart in a Three Strikes match – they wanted to see the culmination of a year long story. This year, starting with Reagan Cole, could Mike be on the cusp of another year long story? From the high of night 1, to the low of semi-retirement and quitting on himself and the company, all the way back to the top. Parr has paced back over to his phone where he had left it, and with tumbler still in his hand but liquor as yet to pass his lips, he was finally ready to answer the question. The ‘swoosh’ that accompanies a message departing afford Mike the opportunity to relax – finally he has made his decision, and that decision is that this is it. He’s not ready. He’s not interested. After all, why would he be interested in squaring off against Reagan Cole? It’s not like they have any storied history or significant amounts of bad blood between them – in fact, Reagan has been pretty much a non-entity for Mike in his entire time in the company. The worst part of that sentence is that, while true, it is not meant as a slight on Reagan Cole but more as a reflection on the level that Mike operated and believes that he is entitled to operate. Between Shawn Summers, Michelle von Horrowitz, and Krash, that’s pretty much a who’s who of modern FWA that has taken up the majority of his last three years. Reagan Cole just isn’t that. Mike raises the tumbler to his mouth and tilts the glass backwards, the smell penetrating his nostrils before the liquid penetrates his lips. The smell stops Mike in his tracks, as he immediately returns the tumbler to his upright position. That smell…glorious it may be to the casual drinker, has been a smell synonymous with Mike Parr since November, where he has been searching the bottom of various bottles of liquor in a desperate attempt to ‘find his smile.’ Mike feels a bit uneasy, as the realization has just hit home that he probably isn’t going to find his smile where he has been searching. All of these months, he has been searching for something and he didn’t follow the golden rule when you are searching for something. You look where you last had it. When was the last time that Mike Parr had that smile? That wave of relief came over him temporarily has now been replaced by a crunching feeling in his gut, one that tells him all that he needs to know about the decision that he has made. Parr stares himself down one more time in the mirror, and very slowly begins to nod his head in the affirmative. What is Reagan Cole? He is, potentially, a start. A start that isn’t borne from a personal vendetta that needed settled or a targeted attack for a greater purpose. It's a start to getting back to basics and enjoying it again, not letting the desire to be the best at it ruin the fact that at a fundamental level he always loved what he did. He picks his phone back up and he knows what he needs to do. PROCEED TO NEXT RESPONSE.
I’m in. Two words, but possibly two of the most significant words Mike has sent in his career, and that is coming from a man who loves the sound of his own voice and loves to talk. He tips the tumbler of bourbon down the sink in front of him, connoisseurs quietly weeping, Mike lets the water from the tap follow the bourbon down the drain, before cupping his hands underneath the faucet and splashing his own face in it. He stares up again at his own reflection, and alongside that aforementioned steely grit you can see in his eyes, the sides of his mouth and inclined upwards in a wry type of grin. That anxiety is gone now that the decision has been made, the trepidation has been replaced by adrenaline. Thoroughly ridiculous given the time of night it is and that he had just gone through an exhausting match and flight back to Toronto. The adrenaline probably belies his physical exhaustion, but it is pumping through his veins as he instinctively knows that he has reached the right decision for Mike Parr. Stepping across the apartment back to his table, he lifts a notepad and pen, clearly drawing a line from left to right to begin. A slight snort follows, as he has flashbacks to being named on Chris Peacock’s list of targets once upon a time, as he scrawls down what appears to be a few sentences. The wry grin has translated into a full blown smile now, as he stops writing, and he sits the notepad back on the table. Just before he turns the lights out to retire back to his bedroom for the evening, we catch a glimpse of what he has written. Kayden Knox – for EE.
Reagan Cole – fun.
Lizzie Rose – set the record straight.
Vampyra – irritant.
There is then a considerable gap left between these names and those that follow, a sign that Mike truly may be on his way back to thinking like a premier competitor once more. Bryan Baxter – set the record.
Alyster Black - prove a point.
Michelle Von Horrowitz – tournament make-up.
Chris Peacock – revenge. Whilst it may not be a manifesto, it is an intent. Whilst there is sure to be speedbumps in the road to making up for his recent failures, there is at least something that we know now that we weren’t all too convinced of before. The Prodigy is back, Mike Parr is on his road to redemption. END.
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Post by supinesnake on May 28, 2024 20:19:10 GMT
Originally posted by Nostradamus.  Presents....  The magnificently black feathers of a large raven glisten as it flies through the air, the sky behind it a magical shade of dark blue, void of stars, but complete with a devilishly red moon. The raven’s wings flap a handful of times as it comes to rest on the branch of a tree containing purple leaves. The sudden impact of the bird’s landing causes a single leaf to come loose and fall… upward? The raven’s head moves in a twitching fashion as the world seemingly rotates around, leaving the raven hanging upside down from the branch.
As the world backs up from the raven, and it flies off again in its upside down state, it focuses on a large, beautiful mansion that is gothic in its architecture. Despite its menacing appearance structurally, its color is a shining snow white. Parts of the building seem endless in size from the outside, with multiple rooms complete with large windows intricately scattered throughout. Two windows in particular, these being on either side of colossal double doors at the entrance, are of a stain glass design and each depict a sunflower wrapped around a tiara.
A few feet from the entrance is a staircase draped with a purple carpet reminiscent of the iconic purple tree of the TORN Universe. The velvet of the carpet serves as the comfort of hundreds of people as they gather outside of this mansion, waiting to enter. Behind them, at the bottom of the stairs, are the means of transportation for everyone in the crowd. Black mask wearing horses, gaudy carriages, large birds of various colors, and pristine classic vehicles of a bygone age. The extravagance and elegance of the guests is as notable as the scenery and their rides. The men wear three-piece white suits and the women wear slim-fitting white dresses. Their faces are guarded behind masquerade masks with floral patterns. These faceless guests chatter amongst themselves until their conversations are halted by the giant double doors opening in front of them.
A blinding light and a cloud of smoke accompanies the opening of the doors and, in the center of this opening, stands the figures of two women. As the dims and the smoke dissipates, the two female figures are revealed to be the “TORN Angel” Princess Nova, and her sister, the “Daughter of Demise” Keres, Eternal. Princess Nova, with a purple gemmed tiara, wears a stunning puffy white dress with matching white heels. The trimming of this dress is lined with a gold material design of flowers. The dress is also speckled with tiny paint splatter-esque purple marks all around it. Her white gloves go up to her elbows and her hair lays straight down to the center of her back. Keres wears an elegant black dress, in contrast to everyone and everything. It is similar in style to Nova, but with none of the flash and extra bits. The only difference is a raven pin in her pigtailed hair.
Princess Nova: “I can’t believe that we’re finally having a party! To all these hundreds of people, I sincerely THANK YOU! I thank you so much for coming!”
The cold voice of Keres breaks through the silence of the crowd left by Nova’s excitement.
Keres: “Good evening to all people of my world. I would like to apologize for the long wait. As your host, I wanted to be sure that everything was crafted perfectly for this night. There is an abundance in my presence this evening, and even so, I can sense that my guest of honor is not amongst you. Now, although the rose has not yet appeared from the concrete, the festivities shall get underway nonetheless.”
Keres raises her right hand and snaps her finger. Almost instantly, a flood of raven mask wearing servants emerge from behind her and Nova. The servants gather on either side of the large crowd of guests in a neat, single-file line, in complete silence.
Princess Nova: “Humbled guests, this ball is to celebrate the wrestling debut of my dear sister, Keres and our long awaited debut as a proper tag team. We have quite a challenge ahead, but why focus on the negatives? Why focus on the fact we are facing some of the greatest teams in FWA and instead focus on the positives! How about we celebrate this being the first step to the grand story of Eternal. Our helpful servants will guide you inside and cater to your each and every whim. Just ask, and they will serve. Carry on now!”
The servants usher the guests into the mansion, guiding them on either side of their hosts. Nova waves and says hello as the guests walk by, but Keres stares straight ahead, unmoving and uncaring of their presence.
Princess Nova: “Dear sister, this is quite the match to have for a debut. I know I have already dipped my toes in FWA, but I have competed for years. When you have stared across from the ring from people like I have, a battle royal does not seem scary, nor does a ladder match. I wonder how your power can transition into a wrestling match? Especially with three champions in a single match? The current and former world champion. That is not even considering some of my countrymen who are burly and unkempt are in this match, sisters who dabble in the dark arts…”
Keres calmly interjects.
Keres: “Princess, be not afraid. Just as I am not afraid. Unphased by the legion of my subjects. Unaffected by the threat of any competitor, no matter how robust in stature, presence, or accolades. The allure of gold does not cloud my mind and the enchantment of adulation does not concern me. Victorious, or otherwise, these… creatures… shall soon see the magnitude of that which they deal with.”
Princess Nova: “That was the response I was expecting, dear sister. I suppose you have been watching closely for some time. I dare not doubt you."
Keres turns around and faces the inside of the mansion.
Keres: “Let us mingle with our guests. It would be rude of us to not socialize, right sister?”
Princess Nova nods in agreement. Keres holds out her hand for Nova to hold and they walk into the mansion together. A servant closes the large double doors behind them and locks it shut.
Now inside of the mansion, the unbelievable wealth the Bassignani Family accrued before Keres’ birth is firmly on display. Specifically the ballroom that hosts this party is straight out of a fairytale. The extremely high ceiling is painted with a mural depicting constellations, planets, zodiac signs, and heavenly beings. There are large circular dining tables with white clothes, clear tableware, and vases filled with beautiful bouquets of flowers, presumably from the family garden. The wooden chairs are also painted white and come complete with purple cushions on the seat. Four large pillars close to each corner of the gargantuan room are adorned with gold trimming and have a single sunflower on them that faces towards the middle of the room. The floor is an expensive white and light gray marble color to match the walls of a similar white color.
Speaking of the walls, along them are various mounted animal heads. Some of these heads are unrecognizable creatures not native to the natural world. Others are what you might expect to come out of a traditional hunting trip. There are two mounted heads that stick out the most however, simply because of how out of place they are. These being two Donkey heads with plaques below them that show the names of “Steed” and “Bronco”, words usually reserved to describe horses. The entire ballroom gives a veil of peace and tranquility, despite the dark entity that now walks through it.
Keres snaps her finger and an entire staircase begins to rise out of the ground as if it had always been there and was designed to do so. The end of the ballroom changes its structure to fit the desire of the demon seed. At the top of the newly spawned staircase are two cushioned white thrones. At this point all of the guests in the ballroom have gone silent and are gazing at the two women known as Eternal. Princess Nova and Keres make their way up the steps and take their places sitting on the thrones.
Keres: “Ladies. Gentlemen. Undefined beings. Otherworldly entities. It is my honor… and yours… to welcome you inside the walls of The Residence. As my sister relayed to you all outside, this ball is to commemorate an important happening. My all-reaching hand has long conquered the TORN Universe, despite the beliefs of a few individuals… My rule has always been certain. Now I, alongside Princess Nova, look to forge the conquest of a new world. To make that damaged world perfect. Mold it and rid it of the disease that walks it.”
Princess Nova: “I have great joy in the fact that my dear sister and I will be pursuing tag team glory, along with singles ambitions. Even in giving my heart to The Residence in which we live, I have only been able to express myself individually, and rarely in a team. But there is no person I would rather team with. We’re going to make so many new friends. Our world will expand with time. The TORN Universe is going to be stronger. Right, sister?”
Princess Nova grins towards her sister who does a cold nod.
Keres: “Strength. It seems to be… lacking in that world. Those in FWA are… infected by false bravado, blinded by delusion, enchanted by worship, and consumed with greed and gold. They all seem to fail at reaching their true potential. But soon that will all change… beginning with my debut match.”
Nova starts moving her hands in a stirring motion as if she was mixing something in a pot.
Princess Nova: “Those little witches, The Coven!”
Keres: “No ritual, curse, hex, brew, or stew will spare them from our torment. Sisters looking to shape a leader, rather than taking leadership themselves. Their fortunes have only just begun to look up and their story will be one to watch as it unfolds. But, alas, their story is just beginning. Ours is one that has been developing for years. The bond we share is stronger than the blood of the witch sisters and they shall see what a true raven can do. They could only dream to have a fragment of what I am capable of.”
Nova places her hands over her heart and lets out a loving, yet sad, sigh.
Princess Nova: “A struggling friendship, The Buddy System!”
Keres: “A friendship that has since been woven together from a series of lies and manipulations. Rather than bathing each other in life, they continually push the other into the shadows. Laughable. More akin to a weak immune system. One setback, one unfortunate circumstance… and it dies attacking itself. How can such a system work when the string that binds is hanging on by a thread that is waiting to snap. I’d be less concerned with outward fighting and more concerned with the truth driving a wedge between them and turning their attention inwards.”
Princess Nova: “And it will be of great pleasure to see their world crashing down.”
Putting her hand on her chin, Keres has a slight head tilt.
Keres: “Then perhaps they will be the ones fighting to a watery grave in the future?”
Nova pretends to swing an ax in front of herself.
Princess Nova: “The ax-swinging, tree killing, deforestation masters, The Lumberjacks!”
Keres: “Horrible human beings. Brutes. Imbeciles. They share the same face… they share the same blood… so they must share the same brain as well. It is a shame they are such a disgrace to their wonderful Canadian countrymen such as my sister. It shall be poetic justice when the tree of the TORN Universe witnesses the demise of men that use the name of laborers that harm nature. The twin mountains will fall hard once they are cut down.”
Nova shudders.
Princess Nova: “And seeing unwashed men like them makes me happy I left my home country. Uneducated men in flannel and camo, spitting vile views and lacking manners, spilling Tim Horton’s coffee on themselves while espousing hate for people like me.”
Keres gives a cold chuckle.
Keres: “Something tells me there is quite a story to tell there… For another time.”
Nova moves her hands over her waist to give the illusion of wearing a championship.
Princess Nova: “Two false idols consumed with greed for more gold, Chris Peacock and Alyster Black!”
Keres: “A joke and a violent fool. Both hollow champions who seek more. The allure of gold has long been a detriment to man and has driven him to the edge… and once there, man has always fallen. One man now holding the world in his hands after cowardly usurping the previous holder. The other man paints pictures of violence with no purpose, no substance, and no sense. How can either of these men be seen as just, credible, or worthy of reverence? They seek to take and not give, pillage and not reward. They lust for championships.”
Nova adds something to the discussion.
Princess Nova: “And yet, I sense the potential for turbulence on their ride for dual glory. A man who has lost a flame in which he values, more than the one he has, falls into the possession of another: Whether it be pride, greed, or envy, one slips up…”
She glances up at the chandelier which hangs from the ceiling.
Princess Nova: “One glimpse of that gold, and that can change everything…”
Keres: “So, we will gladly put them out of their misery and erect their graves.”
Keres glances over at the animal heads on the wall and puts a subtle smirk on her face.
Princess Nova: “And of course, we have some pity entries. Mules ready to be put out to pasture…”
Keres: “Now… I believe gifts are appropriate for guests at a party, are they not? I’ve even taken care to… theme them for the occasion. I do hope that you all love what comes next.”
Keres lifts her right hand above her head and snaps once. The white walls become covered in what can only be described as a floating black mist. It sparkles and gleams before the eyes of everyone in the room. Seeming to come out of the walls themselves, and then walking down them, are a multitude of servants carrying small flannel cloths that are tied to make them into small bags. More servants seem to come from through the floor and grab the tables and chairs, sinking back down into the floor with them until they disappear.
The servants, somehow having multiplied, carry the small flannel bags up to the hundreds of guests in the ballroom. They are each handed a bag and instructed to stand in the middle of the ballroom in neatly organized rows. They all do as instructed as Keres stands from her throne and looks down on her sea of guests. She closes her eyes and takes a long, deep, and relaxing breath before opening them again.
Keres: “Everyone, please open your bags. Inside you will find numerous special gifts… the first of which I request for you all to put on. Reach in the bag and retrieve… the friendship bracelet.”
As they are told, the guests go into their bags and pull out the friendship bracelets. The beads are alternating colors of black and purple. In the middle of the beads, in the style of a skull bead, is the head of a raven. The guests put the bracelets on and tie them tightly.
Keres: “Princess, would you like to join me for a dance with our guests?”
Nova excitedly hops out of her throne and nearly jumps out of her heels.
Princess Nova: “You know I’m always ready to dance!”
Keres looks over at a nearby servant who takes that as their sign to begin playing music using a panel on the wall. Keres snaps her finger and, from the ceiling, down comes hundreds of wires that attach themselves to her guests and their friendship bracelets.{"Twisted - MISSIO"}[MEDIA=youtube]rxf06itUFuE[/MEDIA] In tune with the claps of the song, Keres starts to snap her finger in sync. Each time she does so, the guests' bodies twitch where they stand. At the 37 second mark of the song, Keres puts a smile on her face and snaps her head back before moving it in a full circle. Nova follows her lead and all of the guests move in perfect unison with Keres as if they were puppets being controlled by her every move.
Keres: “D̵̨̧̤͈̤̮̗̰̮̳͉̗̙̽a̵̳͗͋̋͋̀͛n̸̮̪̮̟̐̀͊̕ĉ̷̨̘̪͈̥̫͙̩̻̠̻͂͋̆̿̅͛̈́͛́̕͜͠͠ȩ̶͓͍̰̰͉̘͖̣͕̠̹̰̓ ̶̡̡̛̱̙̦̯̻͉̞͍̯̮͇̍͊̄͗f̷̫͙̬̝͉̩̀ǫ̵͉̙̠̞̘͉̺̦̦̙͕̥̗͊͑̂͛̈́̍͋̒̇̑͘r̴̨̤͓̠̮̣̟̰̖͇͎̉̀̃͊̀̚ ̶̻̜̳̪̠͔̗̟̫̃̏̀͗̀̒͘Ḿ̶̡̹̫̖̪̦͔͚̯͉̪̥͈̻̞̆̈́͒͌̕̚e̴̻͈̠̥̗̠͍̺͎͕͕̱͖̽͋̀̒̕͜”
Her words are cold and her movements precise. They all dance while the lights rave purple, white, gold, and black.Head hang - shoulders up - arms out - knees inward
Bend right - touch the ground - left arm drop - look left and slowly rise
Stand tall - spin once - hop, feet plant shoulder length apart
Hands on sides of face - clutch - twist head left - twist head right
Kick left foot in air- kick right foot in air, with the guests kicking off their shoes and Nova and Keres keeping them on.
Tiptoe alternating forward then backwards, arms swaying side to side - spin once
Hold flannel bag above head, bring down in front of face
Reach in and swiftly pull out small golden championship-shaped pin, drop on ground with point facing up
Jump and spin, guests land on pin, puncturing soles - dancers sway around each other, sliding along the bloody floor in a pattern
Form long line - lock arms with neighbors - swing head back and forth four times while sliding feet side to side in place
Form interlocked circle - slide along the floor in a circle
Stop abruptly - pull green liquid filled vial out of flannel bag - place bag on ground
Chug green liquid - Keres and Nova simply mime it.
Go stiff like a toy - drop back first onto floor - vial shatters on ground - friendship bracelets fall apart - ceiling wires snap and fallMusic stops - dance over
Keres and Princess Nova stand still with Princess Nova having a smirk on her face, showing a small hint of her own darker side.
Princess Nova: “That dance was so amazing! It was so fun and strange but it was something to marvel at. All guests acting as one, in perfect sync.”
Keres and Princess Nova make their way back up the stairs and sit back on the thrones. Admiring the results of the dance number, Keres stares at the stiff bodies, from drinking the green liquid, and a sunflower of blood that had been created by her puppet-like dancer’s footwork on the white and light gray marble floor as a result of the puncture wounds sustained from stomping on the golden championship pins from the small flannel bag.
Keres holds her right hand in front of her and snaps her finger, summoning a multitude of servants from the floor below. Like the tables and chairs, the servants drag the solidly stiff bodies through the floor until they are completely gone and all you see is the giant sunflower made of blood.
Princess Nova: “So, uhh, sister. What is going to happen? To them?
Keres: “Do not worry for them, Princess. They have reached their true potential. They are now one with the TORN Universe… and a part of The Residence. Their servitude shall be greatly appreciated and respected by us.”
Princess Nova: “So now they’re our friends! I can’t wait to see how they help us.”
Keres: “In part. Nova. You are the TORN Universe’s most dedicated friend. But you still have much to learn. Question, what controls us?”
Nova does not even hesitate for a response.
Princess Nova: “Fate, sister. The fate of the TORN Universe.”
Keres turns to her TORN Angel and asks another question.
Keres: “And what controls it…?”
Princess Nova doesn’t give an answer right away. She hums, thinking of an answer before Keres gives her the correct response.
Keres: “Me.”
Keres lightly touches Nova’s cheek and explains.
Keres: “The TORN Universe runs through me. I was created as its empress, the one who rules and serves it equally. It gives me a reason to act. It gives me purpose and I guide the world to fit its vision. Although there are detours from the course, I am in control. Take you. Years ago, Mother and Father recruited you to be my caretaker. But, I was the one who wanted you. I saw your kindness, your heart, and knew you were the one to be forever the caretaker of myself.”
Princess Nova: “And I am grateful for it. For everything. If it was not for this, I would not know where I would be. You are my true family. You are the one I serve.”
Showing a grin, Princess Nova bows down to Keres, giving respect to her, but Keres motions with her hand “up.”
Keres: “You do not need to bow to me like that, sister. Do not act like you’re someone beneath me. Remember, you are the one who stands by my side. My angel.”
Brushing herself off, Princess Nova stands up and giggles.
Princess Nova: “Of course, hehe. Just remember, I love you, sister.”
She opens her arms and gives Keres a tight embrace. Keres, normally cold in her expression, has a smirk on her face before she closes her eyes and returns a hug to Nova, maybe the one person she’d do it for. They let go of the hug and the two of them sit on their thrones again.
Keres: “Come, I grow annoyed with this ballroom. Let us go see mother and father. Close your eyes, Princess.”
Nova does as she is asked as Keres snaps her finger again. Their thrones shoot backwards towards a wall… and now they are outside, sitting at the roots of the great tree with purple leaves, right below Slate Bass and Eden. A purple leaf falls next to Princess Nova who picks it up to admire its beauty.
Princess Nova: “I am always in awe of your power, sister.”
Getting up, Nova marvels at the tree.
Princess Nova: “Have you ever seen such a magnificent tree? And look at you two. Slate, Eden. You two look at such peace…”
Keres: “Mother. Father. Your roots should be receiving proper sustenance at the moment. My guests were plentiful. There were extra. Nova is ready for competition, as am I.”
Princess Nova: “Three champions, multiple rising teams, a pittance of a sixth team, and a tag team title match which is more of a bonus than anything. Each story has its firsts. But the most crucial of all is its first chapter. It introduces the world to its key characters, sets the scene, and creates a tone for the future of its story. This is the first chapter of the story of Eternal and we will set up our story.”
Slate Bass and Eden, mostly melded into the tree, are silent. Not dead, but in a deep sleep and receiving care from the tree of the TORN Universe that was provided by Keres. However, even in their slumber, large unsettling smiles come across their faces in response to Keres and Princess Nova.
Keres: “Nova, I grow tired. Perhaps it is time we both rest and prepare.”
Princess Nova springs to her feet and looks towards The Residence while speaking.
Princess Nova: “I believe this match will be more fun than I realized. My worries have been put aside. I’m in marvel of the ball. We showed just the control and majesty we have. Now, I just wish for Eternal to be something which will create a dream Fantasy for Fantasy Wrestling Alliance. We will grow. If championship gold is in our future, it will be used to raise Eternal further. But, those tag team championships may be more special to me than a world championship. Because, I'd get to win them with you-”
Princess Nova turns back to face Keres, who is still sitting at the roots of the tree… except there is a change in this scene. Keres is now sitting there… as her four year old self. She has a much more size appropriate version of her outfit as her hair is in pigtails. She yawns.
Keres: “Sleepy!”
Shouts Keres in a sad, childlike manner.
Princess Nova walks over to Keres and picks her up in her caring arms, cradling the head of the sleepy toddler.
Princess Nova: “Aww. Someone’s sleepy. Don’t worry, sister. Sleep well, and soon, FWA will believe in Eternal.”
Princess Nova walks, holding a tuckered out Keres in her arms, back towards The Residence and heads inside. We are left with the image of a raven flying upside down into the tree where it comes to rest on a branch. |
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Post by supinesnake on May 28, 2024 20:19:39 GMT
Originally posted by AON. No fancy setup. No massive production, not even an FWA standard high-quality camera; the picture is fuzzy, and the audio is.... serviceable but nothing you'd expect from the high quality we're used to with the wonderful world of pro wrestling, but there's absolutely no mistaking the massive form of Doug Lupone in the traditional lumberjack checkered shirt, as the THUD-THUD-THUD-! Unmistakable sounds of the business end of an axe getting up close and personality with the hind of a tree echo through the air as regularly as a heartbeat as Dan Lupone does what he does best. It's a working day for the massive tag team known as The Lumberjacks go about their business, Dan at least is. Doug is facing the camera; the massive logs he calls arms are folded as he idly chews on some gum.
"Now, before we get into the nitty-gritty of the situation. Let me tell ya'll a story. A-BOOT, a week ago, me and my brother get a call; it's FWA management; they tell us that the lumberjacks done got dare hands on a shot of being number one contenders for dem tag straps. Ay yo, Dan. Watta call it?"
The audio isn't exactly great, but we're just about able to make out Dan's answer as he doesn't even break stride with his axe work.
"Tag Team Scramble"
"'A'ight. A scramble, now normally when the jacks think about scrambles, we think about how ya make the best darn pancake you've EVER done see."
"Canadian style!"
"Damn Straight! But this sounded just as good. Ya got all da best tag teams in the world! Ya got bodies flying in all directions. Ya got anarchy. Mayhem in all directions. Ya, throw in a chance at dem belts, and it sounds like a regular night at the local bar for the Jacks!"
"A-yup!"
"So FWA, tells us they wanna send us to this big production stage to shoot our promo. Something that'll be like dem picture shows in Hollywood where the people got soft hand and drink fruit smoothies!"
"FRUIT SMOOTHIES!"
Even the mere words seem to piss off the brothers no end, as Dan bitterly spits on the ground and Doug gestures to himself and his brother frantically,
"Look at us! Look at me and my brother! Do me and Dan seem like fruit smoothie guys? You know how we make a fruit smoothie 'round aBOOT these here parts? I take an orange. I take a glass and I SMASH that orange in that glass, and I drink it right there and then."
"Lumberjacks like PULP-!"
"DAMN STRAIGHT-! We're grown-ass men. We got trees to cut down and Canadian bacon to eat! This is our damn jobs! So we ain't going down da damn city. Ya'll come down here, and we'll tell what's what. Right here and right now! We don't need a damn fancy video. We don't need no damn special effects. Jacks don't play like that. Jacks are jacks. And data all that we'll ever be.
Doug takes a breath as he wipes his brow, the hot Yukon sun beating down on him as Dan continues to hammer on the tree like it owes him money
"And y'know that seems to be the big difference because ya bois, The Lumberjacks and the dead wood hanging around this damn match.
A slight sneer comes over his face.
"I look around this match, and ya know what I see? I see two crazy chicks who think they have magical powers...."
"EH?"
"Two other girls whose seen too many damn Disney cartoons"
"EH?"
"A damn disco dancer."
"EH?!"
"Two grown men who like to make friends?"
"EH?!"
"And a damn boy band"
"EH?!"
"And all I can think is, is this where we at with da tag team division?! Bunch of damn human cartoon characters, dancin' around with music and voodoo and all that shit?! It's a bunch of bullcrap. Now don't get us wrong, we ain't underestimating anyone in there.
"That Ally Black hits hard-!"
"But we don't need no flashy gimmicks, no magic. Ain't no damn Bee-Gees up in here!"
"AIN'T NO DAMN ABBA HERE EITHER! I PERSONALLY FIND THEIR OUTPUT EMOTIONALLY VAPID!"
"When you look at us, you don't see magic or cartoons. You see you're looking at two six-eleven over three hundred pounds tall stacks of Canadian flapjacks with maple syrup on the side!"
"With a side order of B-A-double D bad attitude!"
"...The most athletic monsters you'll ever see in your life. Ain't no team in this scramble that can pick up our chainsaws!
He punctuates these last few words by hammering a big meaty fist against his palm with matches seemingly with the THUDS of the axe.
"See it all comes down to this- You can cut all the flashy promos you what. You can have a big fancy entrance and sparkly gear, but everyone's super-powered until they get punched in the mouth."
His face smothers with intensity as he points a finger to the camera, getting ready to drop the verbal hammer.
"...And everyone is an egg...until they get scrambled!"
......
......
"...Everyone's an egg?! Is that seriously how you're going to end this promo?"
"Shut up-!" |
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Post by supinesnake on May 28, 2024 20:19:55 GMT
Originally posted by Cyrus. Exile Chronicles (Volume 5)
Chapter 16: Confession of Pain
Since coming to FWA, Cyrus has become all too familiar with anger and rage.
It’s not something that The Exile has ever been comfortable with. Not that he’s some emotionless wrestling robot or anything like that…but Cyrus has always tried his hardest to keep such emotions from overwhelming him.
Cyrus has been as successful as he has been in professional wrestling because he, unlike so many others, understood that rage can sustain you for a short period of time but would inevitably burn you from the inside out.
And revenge? Revenge was always a sucker’s game.
But all that sentiment seems to be on the backburner, here at the conclusion of the F1 Climaxxx.
Cyrus can’t hear the crowd lustily booing the so-called winner of the match. He can’t hear the ringing of the bell or that obnoxious theme music. The chittering of that gaggle of misfits clamoring around the witch without a shred of fucking decency.
The Exile can’t even hear his own thoughts.
Everything is just a white noise of absolute fury, watching Michelle von Horrowitz carry that trophy and walking away with that little grin on her face. Watching her walk away, knowing full well she didn’t win this match, and yet…AND YET she’s the one who gets the prize.
Knowing full well that nothing will be done about it. Because nothing is EVER done about it. That’s been the nature of FWA for the longest time, hasn’t it?
Losing would’ve been one thing. But this?
As the music dies down, and Cyrus is left alone in the ring, the sound of the crowd filters back in. The crowd, at least, recognizes the raw deal that The Exile had been dealt. It’s mildly reassuring, but doesn’t completely evaporate the bubbling cauldron of rage deep within Cyrus’s soul.
Like a zombie, he begins to leave the ring…but his foot bumps into the steel chair that Michelle had introduced to the contest. Not even to use as a weapon, but as a cheap trick to disqualify Cyrus. That bubbling rage threatens to boil over.
The natural, almost animalistic desire to take that steel chair and mangle it against the ringpost is palpable. Cyrus wants to vent this rage, even if it doesn’t solve anything.
Instead, Cyrus simply picks up the chair.
Amidst the cheers and the cries of support, in the fog of blood and rage, Cyrus walks up the ramp, dragging the steel chair that led to victory being robbed from him with him…
*******
*Schink, schink, schink…*
The sound of metal scraping against metal is the first thing we hear as we cut to our scene. Here, we see an open, grassy field. It is daytime, but the skies are cloudy and overcast, with only a few rays of sunlight poking through.
Here, in this open field, we see dozens of steel shafts embedded into the dirt. They appear to be spears, forged of a dark iron. The winds whip as the grass sways, but the spears remain firmly in place in defiance of the elements.
Sitting in the middle of this field next to a flickering fire, we see Cyrus Truth taking a whetstone to the head of a spear, slowly rasping the stone to sharpen the weapon. He’s dressed in dark clothes, his eyes have dark bags underneath indicating a lack of rest. Still, he sits there, on a simple steel chair, dragging that whetstone and sharpening that spear.
“...They say…’revenge is a confession of pain.’”
Cyrus stops, as he turns his attention to his meager little fire. He lets out an exhale, a short but sharp exhale that speaks volumes. He slowly brings the spear’s head closer to the flame, letting the fire lick at it.
“You know…Tommy Bedlam is supposed to fight me on the next episode of Fallout, or so I’ve been told by management. Truth is, he doesn’t deserve it. Not the match, no…he doesn’t deserve the absolute thrashing I’m about to give him.
“I don’t know much about Tommy. I know he’s returned to FWA with some fanfare, had a bit of success, but hasn’t really made many moves or strong impressions since then. Now, I don’t say this to insult Tommy at all. My point is that I have nothing against the man. But he IS going to get throttled.
“Why? To send a message? No, not even that. What kind of message would I be sending by beating Tommy? Again, not to discredit him as a wrestler or what he’s been able to accomplish in his previous runs in FWA. I don’t doubt he’ll fight like hell…but in the current state of mind I’m in? A piece of meat being thrown to a starving lion would stand a better shot of coming out whole and intact. Besides…the messages that need to be delivered can’t be done by proxy. It has to be delivered directly, forcefully so that its intended recipient can’t ignore it or avoid it.”
With the spearhead now heated, Cyrus retracts it from the fire and allows it to steam in the cold and dreary winter air. Flakes of snow start to fall from the clouds above as it seems the temperature has dropped, evident by Cyrus’s visible breath in the air.
There’s a grimness in The Exile’s countenance, a stony resolve forged in the fire of righteousness and fury. As he spins the spear in his hand, and the tip twirls slowly, he continues to speak.
“‘Revenge is a confession of pain.’ I hate the idea of revenge. Always have. Because to go for revenge, you have to admit that someone has gotten to you. Was able to hurt you so badly that you have no choice but to remedy it. I have lived my entire life as the master of my own fate. I have suffered greatly for it, but it was due to my own actions and my own decisions.
“What happened at Back in Town…we all saw it, right? Every time someone replays that match, the end of the F1 Climaxx, we all SAW what happened. And while the fans have made it clear that I was wronged in the absolute most humiliating of ways…FWA management? The wrestlers? Silence. And I should be surprised, but I’m not. Justice and decency are a rarity in FWA, despite my best efforts to not engage in the slimier tactics of my peers.
“But…here’s the thing, right? The biggest mistake that FWA’s wrestlers have made is assuming that I’m a good man. I’m not. I’ve never professed to be. Principled, yes. But a good man, a truly virtuous man, would take what happened to him at Back in Town and…forgive. Turn the other cheek. Realize that this was always a likely outcome given the absolute barrel-scraping depths that Dreamer and her pack of Nephew simps and accept that I was duped into thinking I stood a chance of having a straight up fight for the prize at stake…let alone win.
“...I did win, though. The only peace I’ve had for the last couple of nights was the sound of Michelle’s screams of agony and the thudding of her hand on the mat, begging for me to let go of the Long Road to Nowhere as she tapped out. But screams don’t fill this hole in my soul, having what I worked for, suffered for, BLED for stolen from me by that witch.
“So…if revenge is a confession of pain? Then I do have a confession to make.”
Cyrus stands up, and with one deft swing of the spear, covers his small fire with a swath of dirt, extinguishing it. Then, with one final thrust, he jams the spear into the ground…piercing what appears to be a piece of paper that had blown in on the breeze.
“I am hurt. I am in pain. A pain that I can’t ignore or deny anymore. And I will find relief from it, even if I have to wade through a sea of blood and collateral damage to get that resolution. Tommy Bedlam…I am sorry. But Truth be told? You probably should’ve seen this coming…and got the hell out of my way.”
Cyrus Truth’s voice wavers. Not due to a lack of conviction. But because The Exile is trying his best to bottle his rage. Hone it until it’s as sharp as the tip of a spear.
He takes a moment to grab the steel chair he’s been sitting on, folds it up, and carries it over his shoulder as he walks off from the field.
It’s then that the camera pans upwards, and we see that not only is there a paper skewered by the spear that Cyrus was just sharpening…every spear on this field has pierced a similar page.
They’re pictures.
Images of every single Nephew known in FWA.
A portrait of Uncle, the spearhead shoved through his forehead.
An image of Gerald Grayson, straight through the heart.
And the last spear?
Driven right through the throat of Michelle von Horrowitz. A clear message, that for once? The Exile will indulge in revenge. And silence Dreamer once and for all. No matter how many bodies he leaves in his wake… |
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