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Post by supinesnake on May 29, 2024 13:49:28 GMT
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Post by supinesnake on May 29, 2024 13:53:17 GMT
Originally posted by SupineSnake. F1 Climaxxx '24 Qualification Update.
Grade rankings: top sixteen.Below are the current grade average rankings, as of Meltdown XXXVI and Fallout 036, for the F1 qualification period. There is one event to go in that period: Winter Wasteland on 31st December (promo deadline 17th December). Information on this qualification period (as well as the tournament in general) is in the post above. Several characters are listed here but with a [*U] for unranked. This is either because:
[*]The character only has one promo in the qualification period.
[*]It is the second character listed for that handler.
[*]The character is currently absent from FWA television.
Which of these reasons applies should be obvious from context. This is revealed here to give everyone an even playing field going into Winter Wasteland, in that you now know where you stand and can think about whether you’d want to enter the F1 or not in the event you qualify. {TOP SIXTEEN +}
[*U] Randy Ramon: 33.900 [1 rp]
[*U] Violet Dreyer: 33.480 [1 rp]
[01] Alyster Black: 33.365 [2 rp]
[02] Bryan Bastard: 33.180 [3 rp]
[03] Chris Peacock: 33.175 [2 rp]
[04] Chris Crowe: 32.715 [4 rp]
[05] weaselperson: 32.663 [2 rp]
[*U] Jeremy Best: 32.630 [1 rp]
[06] Cyrus Truth: 32.548 [2 rp]
[07] Tommy Bedlam: 32.526 [4 rp]
[*U] Konchu Hao: 32.164 [4 rp]
[08] Xavien Marshall: 32.151 [4 rp]
[09] Jeffry Mason: 31.678 [2 rp]
[10] Trash Mammal: 31.463 [2 rp]
[=] Halloween Knight: 31.463 [2 rp]
[*U] Xperienx Xtacee: 31.050 [1 rp]
[12] Gerald Grayson: 30.860 [2 rp]
[*U] Katsu: 30.725 [2 rp]
[*U] Mike Parr: 30.430 [1 rp]
[13] Madison Gray: 30.319 [4 rp]
[*U] Ririko: 30.270 ]1rp]
[14] Brooklyn Steiner: 30.205 [4 rp]
[15] Death Walker: 30.023 [4 rp]
[16] Kleio De Santos: 29.836 [4 rp] |
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Post by supinesnake on May 29, 2024 13:54:05 GMT
Live from Ali Sami Yen Spor Kompleksi in Istanbul, Turkey.
Saturday 30th December, 2023.
1/60 || MAIN EVENT.
Alyster Black (c) vs. Jeremy Best.
Singles Match for the FWA World Championship.
Match writer: Dubb.
Alyster Black and Jeremy Best have seemingly been on a collision course for a long time, with Best involved in a long-term programme involving Krash - Black’s former tag team partner and close personal friend - for much of the build-up to this year’s Back in Business. Krash won that match, but it is safe to say that neither man has been the same in the weeks and months that have followed since that Mexico City extravaganza. In that same time period, Alyster Black has been busy cementing his status as an FWA legend by winning the World Championship for the second time, dethroning his current tag team partner Chris Peacock at Kinshasa’s Lights Out. Since then, whenever Alyster Black has been on screen, Jeremy Best has never been too far behind. He gatecrashed Black Jesus’ championship victory speech on Meltdown XXXIV, and this match was first announced during Fallout 035’s Buddy Bowl. The two put pen to paper during Fallout 036, with Alyster vowing to finish what Krash started in Mexico City.
1/60.
Jay Kenny and Xavien Marshall (c) vs. The Dark Roads Alliance (Cyrus Truth and Konchu Hao) vs. FTN (Chris Peacock and Alyster Black).
Triple Threat Tag Team Match for the FWA World Tag Team Championships.
Match writer: Man.
The tag team division in the FWA has undergone somewhat of a makeover in the last six months, following The Connection’s defeat to FTN ahead of Back in Business. Chris Peacock and Alyster Black ran roughshod over the division until they were overcome by the Dark Roads Alliance at Lights Out in a Falls Count Anywhere Match. Cyrus Truth and Konchu Hao’s reign was surprisingly cut short by Jay Kenny and Xavien Marshall on Meltdown XXXV. The champions ‘celebrated’ their win with their pre-arranged bout for the Gunfight One Ring, which was claimed by Marshall after he savagely beat Kenny in the middle of the ring. With Jay Kenny not physically at 100%, Xavien Marshall with one eye on the X Championship, Chris Peacock MIA and Alyster Black having to defend the FWA World Championship in the main event, the door is wide open for the DRA to reclaim their gold. However, as always in the FWA, anything can - and will - happen.
1/60.
Big Bryan Bastard (c) vs. Chris Crowe.
Singles Match for the FWA North American Championship.
Match writer: Dubb.
Last week, Big Bryan Bastard’s reign with the FWA North American Championship went past the one year mark, but on the 31st of December he faces what is perhaps his toughest challenge yet. Chris Crowe is a former champion who never lost his belt, instead having to relinquish it thanks to injury in November of 2021. Crowe’s own run with the championship belt was shaping up to be historic in and of itself, with Crowe at two hundred and forty six days as champion when he was forced to give the title up. ‘The Showman’ has been forced to fight for his chance to reclaim that prize, but he earned this opportunity with victory over Xperienx Xtacee and Katsu at Lights Out in Kinshasa. Since then, Chris Crowe - along with tag team partner Tommy Bedlam as part of the recently reformed Deathswitch - has shown that there are no limits to the lengths he will go to infiltrate Bryan Bastard’s mind, including shattering a bottle of JD over the recovering alcoholic’s head on Meltdown XXXIV. It was Baxter, however, who drew first blood in the ring, with he and Jeremy Best winning Fallout 036’s tag team triple threat main event over Deathswitch and Eternal - though it was the latter’s Princess Nova who took the fall. All others will be absent - and busy elsewhere on the card - during this highly anticipated North American Championship match.
1/60.
Tommy Bedlam (c) vs. Keres.
X Rules Match (No DQ, Falls Count Anywhere) for the FWA X Championship.
Match writer: Tom O’Bedlam.
Tommy Bedlam has been on an impressive run since winning the FWA X Championship on the second night of Back in Business. However, he hasn’t faced anyone quite like Keres, but all that is set to change at Winter Wasteland. After falling to Bedlam and his partner, Chris Crowe in a tag match, Xeres stared “The Cowboy” down while lightly scratching an X in his chest, seemingly calling her shot. The two ran into each other once again on Fallout 36, where we learned that “The Daughter of Demise” has been haunting the champ more than anyone realized. Keres looks to put her stamp on the X Division as she seeks her first FWA championship reign, while Bedlam wants to keep his momentum rolling.
1/30.
Kleio De Santos (c) vs. Jack the Clipper vs. Brooklyn Steiner.
Triple Threat Match for the FWA Television Championship.
Match writer: SS.
This match came about as a result of two separate contender eliminator matches on the XXXIV/034 cycle, which saw Jack the Clipper overcoming Trevor Walker and Brooklyn Steiner defeating the tough challenge of Vengador. This set up a triple threat match at Winter Wasteland, where Kleio De Santos will defend her FWA Television Championship. KDS won the belt in Kinshasa at Lights Out, winning the vacant belt - relinquished by Shawn Summers upon his retirement - in a victory over Madison Gray. Both Kleio and her stablemates in the Coven will defend gold here in Istanbul, with KDS’s TV title run the first of her still-young FWA career.
Both Jack the Clipper and Brooklyn Steiner have sustained their momentum since winning this championship opportunity. First, they teamed together, alongside Nate Savage and Jackson Fenix of the Undisputed Alliance (two of the three challengers to the Coven’s Trios Championships), to overcome the group of Kleio, Celestia, Blair, and Grandma Ethel. Jack would go on to see off Sawyer Xavier on Fallout 036, with Brooklyn Steiner edging out Gerald Grayson two days earlier on Meltdown XXXVI. Kleio De Santos also recorded a big victory over former world champion, not to mention her mentor, Gabrielle. The three exchanged words and chuckles following Steiner’s win on XXXVI, but all jokes will be put aside when they tussle over the FWA Television Championship in Istanbul.
1/30.
The Coven (Celestia Ravenwood, Blair Ravenwood, and Trixie Bordeaux) (c) vs. The Undisputed Xperienx (Xperienx Xtacee, Jackson Fenix, and Nate Savage).
Trios Match for the FWA Trios Championships.
Match writer: Welshy.
In what was originally supposed to be a nine person battle for the Trios Championships has now come down to six people. The team of Undisputed Xperienx finished third in the Back in Business trios battle royale behind YDS and the team that would go on to win the trios championships, The Coven. Jon Russnow decided that Undisputed Xperienx would get a shot at the gold after getting so close before, and on the way to Winter Wasteland we saw Jackson Fenix pin one of the champions, Trixie Bordeaux, in a triple threat match as well as earning a win over The Coven and KDS in eight person tag team action.
Things took a turn for the worst on the most recent Fallout when The Coven were scheduled to be guests on Xperienx Xtacee’s Pillow Talk, which is usually a fun loving show but this most recent episode nothing of the sort. Tensions were high and things got ugly in a hurry, and in turn we saw Xperienx Xtacee be on the receiving end of a hex of some sort by The Coven. Now it’s become more than just about championships, now it’s personal, and it will all come to a head at Winter Wasteland.
1/20.
Gabrielle vs. Elizabeth Rose.
Singles Match.
Match writer: SS.
Gabrielle returned to the Fantasy Wrestling Alliance to confront Elizabeth Rose, whose new, strange alliances with Keres and Princess Nova were at odds with the Rose - Lizzie Rose, then - that she remembered. The Rose we see now is not the one we saw Gabrielle mentor during Ground Zero, nor is it the one that shared the ring with her at Back in Business XVI.
Gabrielle returned to in-ring action on Fallout 034, where she defeated ‘the Young Lioness’ Madison Gray, but has struggled for consistency since then. During Fallout 035’s ‘Buddy Bowl’ tournament, she - alongside fellow former World Champion Bell Connelly - were eliminated by eventual winners ‘Rockstar’ Randy Ramon and Chris Crowe. Another of the women often perceived as one of her proteges, Kleio De Santos, earned victory against the former Goddess on Fallout 036, and the gloomy presence of Eternal - Keres along with what has become of both Rose and Nova - has always loomed close at hand.
1/20.
Death Walker vs. Gerald Grayson.
Singles Match.
Match writer: SS.
Death Walker has plagued Gerald Grayosn since the Daredevil returned to FWA action two months ago. Alongside repeatedly attacking Grayson during his interview time, Death Walker also saw fit to weaken the former FWA World Tag Team Champion during his return to that division in Fallout 035’s ‘Buddy Bowl’. Grayson came third in the tournament, and who is to say what he and his partner ‘the Maltese Falcon’ could’ve accomplished without Death Walker’s interference.
Grayson would go on to challenge Death Walker to this match at Winter Wasteland, and would somewhat return the favour on Meltdown XXXVI. Whilst seemingly beset upon all sides by the Terrors of Darkness once more, the Daredevil fended them off and then some with the aid of a simple steel pipe. Grayson was all business when he addressed Death Walker and this match-up later that evening in Gaza City, which will be his chance to truly even the score within the squared circle after these series of initial skirmishes.
1/20.
Blake Taylor vs. Madison Gray.
Street Fight.
Match writer: Tom O’Bedlam.
Blake Taylor and Madison Gray hadn’t crossed paths since the Triple Threat match that Gray won during the FWA quest for the vacated television title. However, after Madison Gray’s friend, Laramie was kidnapped, it was eventually discovered that Taylor was the man behind the abduction. He offered Laramie back, but only if Gray would agree to face him in a Street Fight at Winter Wasteland. Gray not only agreed, but she outsmarted her opponent along the way. Will the young lioness be able to get the edge against a former MMA champion? Taylor will look to turn around his luck in a match with no rules.
1/20.
XYZ vs. Vengador.
Singles Match.
Match writer: Dubb
Although not booked for active competition on Fallout 034 or Meltdown XXXIV, XYZ made his presence felt on those shows by appearing at ringside following the separate matches of Vengador and Trevor Walker. He offered each of them a bouquet of flowers, eliciting typical anger and refusal from Walker, whilst receiving ambivalence and then acceptance from Vengador. XYZ would explain his actions on 034, suggesting that Vengador and Walker stop and smell the roses after the disappointment of their respective defeats at the hands of Brooklyn Steiner and Jack the Clipper.
The following episode on Meltdown XXXV, Walker, Vengador, and XYZ teamed unsuccessfully against Tr1ck or Tr4sh. Trevor Walker stormed away from his teammates, and perhaps away from the FWA, with negotiations surrounding his contract still ongoing behind closed doors. Vengador, too, seemed frustrated at the manner of the loss, refusing a new bouquet from XYZ and leaving him alone following their trios defeat. Last week, on Fallout 036, Vengador appeared at ringside during XYZ’s singles match against Anzu Kurosawa, earning X a disqualification victory by kicking him in the gut and nailing him with his Justicia finisher on the outside. This match was signed off for Winter Wasteland as a result of this devastating and surprising attack, who left a bouquet of his own behind at the scene.
1/20.
Jason Randall vs. Sawyer Xavier.
Singles Match.
Match writer: Jimmy
At Lights Out we saw Sawyer Xavier eliminate Jason Randall in the Gunfight Battle Royale, and following that Sawyer Xavier had some words for The Wildcard. Xavier feels like Randall isn’t getting the respect he deserves, but Randall doesn’t seem to care despite knowing that what Sawyer has said is true. Randall eventually issued the challenge to Xavier for a match at Winter Wasteland and Xavier took him up on the offer. Then, on the most recent Fallout we saw Randall come to Xavier’s aid following his match with Jack the Clipper followed by a tense staredown. The year hasn’t been kind to either man and at Winter Wasteland one of them has a chance to end the year with a bang while the other will end it with a whimper.
1/20.
Tr1ck or Tr4sh (Juan Tothrefor, Trash Mammal, and Halloween Knight) vs. Triple J Security (Jobber Jimbo, Jugem Jugem, and Jiggy Jon).
Trios Match.
Match writer: AON.
Juan Tothrefor’s beginning in the FWA was somewhat rocky, after being a repeated target of Johnny Johnson and The Great Maru, before Johnson ultimately decided that Juan was not worthy of stepping into the ring with his client. In his despondence, Juan found camaraderie with fellow luchadors Halloween Knight and Trash Mammal. Thus, Tr1ck or Tr4sh were born. Since then the trio have proved popular with FWA audiences and boast a 2-0 record. Their next test is in the form of three ‘Ghosts of FWA Past’ in Jobber Jimbo, Jimmy Jon and Jugem Jugem - Triple J Security. The goons confronted the luchadors on Fallout 036 and challenged Tr1ck or Tr4sh to a match at Winter Wasteland under the instruction of a mysterious ‘employer’.
1/10.
Jeffry Mason vs. ???.
Deathmatch Open Challenge.
Match writer: ???.
Announced on FWA.com following the events of Fallout 036, Jeffry Mason will return to one-on-one action in this deathmatch open challenge, the theme of and opponent will not be revealed until the start of this epic six-hour extravaganza of professional wrestling. Mason exploded back into the scene within the FWA with his second-place finish, alongside ‘the Cowboy’ Tommy Bedlam, in Fallout 035’s ‘Buddy Bowl’ tournament. Prepare to be underwhelmed by the opponent but overwhelmed by Mason's thirst for violent in our Winter Wasteland opening match!
Promo deadlines:
Sunday 17th December: 23.59PM Pacific.
Monday 18th December, 03:00AM Eastern.
Monday 18th December, 08:00AM UK.
Monday 18th December, 19:00PM Melbourne.
No extensions.
GLHF! |
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Post by supinesnake on May 29, 2024 13:55:44 GMT
Originally posted by Cake. 
THE GREEN KNIGHT - VOLUME I
[this roleplay is a narrative continuation of my roleplay for ‘Light Outs’.]
Four - ‘Healing Words’
Madison was in bad shape. She was covered in so much of her own blood that she almost felt like she was swimming in the bathhouse. Rather than washing away the dirt and sins of a hard day's work, Madison was looking down at her own body’s fuel leaking out from the various slashes and cuts that covered her from head to toe. Her chest was tight, and she let out a raspy cough, tasting the iron in her mouth. For the first time since she had left the Kingdom of Günwhorfe and begun her new life as a Wanderer, she was worried. Worried that the curtains of her life were being drawn, and she would never be able to stand on her own two feet again, never see the sunrise again, and never look upon the beautiful azure that was the Günwhorfian Coastline.
It was only then when the voice next to her spoke that she remembered she wasn’t alone. When you make unwise choices and offer to protect the weak and defenceless, it can’t be surprising that you forget the finer details prior to having your ass absolutely handed to you. If she had learned anything from this day, it was that when you cross paths with a user of the dark arts, it was only wise to engage them if you had a strong understanding of your opponent. And all she had learned was that he had been capable of mercy, although the reasoning for this, she doubted if she would ever understand. Not unless she were to cross paths with him again.
Sister Laramie: You are either very brave or very stupid for doing what you did. Although, I will be forever grateful for your aid in my hour of need. I would have certainly been dead if you hadn’t involved yourself. It seems, however, that your wounds are far greater than my own, and I will do everything I can to stop the bleeding. As a sworn Sister of Protection, I know many remedies and spells that should be able to fix you right up. Although, I really should halt the bleeding first; otherwise, the magics may not connect in the manner that is needed for you to benefit fully from them.
Madison was slightly confused by what this woman was saying to her. She felt faint and had suffered more damage than she had previously. Despite being in such a vulnerable position, she still felt unsure about this woman in front of her. Why had she been left on the roadside too, instead of being taken by the dark servants that she had been battling with on the roadside? That was the question that was lodged in the front of her mind. Why was she still here?
Madison Gray: How? What? Why did they not take you? I was beaten and had no means to offer you any further protection. Did they not want you for themselves? Were you not being claimed by the Dark Traveler on behalf of the Dark Traveler? I can still feel his pure danger, energy and rage weaving through my bloodstream. It feels like a deadly snake's poison is coursing through my veins. If this has been done to me, surely they would have been capable of doing much worse to you before I even turned up. I am starting to think that maybe...
There was a wet feeling pressed against her head, a cold compress of sorts that had a very herbal scent. It was overpowering, making her want to go to sleep. Considering the blows she had suffered to her head and the amount of blood she had lost, she fought with all her might to stay awake. She feared that if she allowed herself to sleep, she might never wake up.
Madison felt like her eyes were playing tricks on her, for it seemed as if this Sister of Protection was actually smiling at her rather than having a look of concern.
Sister Laramie: Now is not the time to worry yourself with questions of battle. No benefit will come of this; now you must rest. Close your eyes and breathe in and out. You have been hurt very badly, and you must try to relax; otherwise, I won’t be able to complete the incantations, and that just won’t do . The Master will not be pleased if you are not plump, juicy, and ready for consumption.
The words that Madison was hearing didn’t really make much sense. Laramie had sounded as if she were describing a tasty meal and not a subject in need of medical attention.
Madison Gray: I’m sorry, did you say something about consumption? I am sorry; I think I am about to pass out.
Sister Laramie: If you need to close your eyes and sleep, then that is most likely the best thing for you to do. You took a heavy beating fighting off the Congregation Members of the Church of Death Walker. Those shape-shifters of the Dark Travelers are truly dangerous, and the fact that they are still drawing breath from your body is impressive on its own. You must try and relax so I can offer you some healing words.
Madison coughed and felt her entire rib cage vibrating. It was as if a little imp had hidden inside her and was playing her ribs like a xylophone, making music that, with every beat, felt like a stabbing sensation in her abdomen.
Madison Gray: There is something else.
Madison could feel the same sensation she had felt when she was officially made a Wanderer by King Zaphod Krish. The strange feeling of a thousand butterfly wings beating against her skin at the same time. When she had fallen between the worlds and arrived in the Ethereal Plane. However, she was still very much lying against the stone and being attended to by Sister Laramie. She was very much a part of her own reality, yet she could feel something trying to pull her away, as if she was being given a warning. But it just didn’t make sense, and the more she tried to understand it, the more it made her feel dizzy. She could already feel the dull ache of a migraine coming on.
Madison Gray: There is something else present with us at the moment. I feel as if we are being visited by something. I feel like a haunting is taking place.
Laramie looked almost annoyed by the comment but quickly turned the frown into a comforting expression as she replied.
Sister Laramie: Don’t worry yourself about such matters. Your mind is playing tricks on you. Just close your eyes and try to rest. You have to conserve your energy. You need to be much stronger when you are offered up as a sacrifice to The Tailor.
"Sacrifice?" Madison was sure that was what she had heard, but she suddenly felt her eyelids getting very heavy. They started to close as everything around her started to fade to black, and she went from feeling as heavy as a large sack of freshly harvested carrots to the feather of a juvenile Blue Jay.
+ + + + +
When Madison woke, she found herself somewhere different from where she had last been. The humidity was unbearable, and she felt sweat building up all over her body. However, as she looked down, she didn’t have a single scratch or slice on her body. As if by some sort of magic, she had been completely healed. Her headache had also disappeared, but as she looked around, everything was wrong. The sky was orange, almost like it was burning. The buildings looked like they had long since been abandoned and were starting to fall apart. What was almost stranger than all, though, was as she looked down at what looked like a meandering river, she realised that it wasn’t water that was bending around the curves, but rather hot molten lava that looked like it was burning heavily into the rock and melting everything it touched with unrelenting anger and fury.
Behind her, she heard a disembodied voice that sounded like it had no physical bond. The sound blew at her like the wind and swirled around her before forming in front of her eyes like the complex three-dimensional puzzles that were fashionable in royal courts, or so she had been told. Rather than turning into a tower-like structure, it seemed as if the wind turned into vampire bats before increasing in size and stature until she came face to face with a humanoid-looking figure. Decorated in armour built of skulls and bones, with the most recognizable feature being a demonic mask with a royal purple pattern acting as fabric holding the various interlocking pieces together.
Venja: Welcome, Wanderer, to the realm of Despair. An unexpected guest, I will admit, but I welcome you all the same. I am the Gatekeeper, the Protector, the Throne Maker of this particular realm, but for the benefit of convenience, you may refer to me simply as Venja 'The Door.'
This was an individual that peasant folk were raised to be scared of and was often used as an icon to motivate children to have good manners for fear of the creatures under their bed. Yet, as she found herself in his presence, he was well-mannered and had a calm and relaxing melody to his voice. 'The Door' was assumed to be some sort of demon, but the nature of the beast had never been fully defined. Some legends told that the being ventured into villages late at night and rounded up all the criminals, irrespective of the severity of their crimes, and burned them to a crisp before draining their souls to continue to live a life without fatigue or tiredness. Other stories painted 'The Door' in a more positive light, where when towns or cities were being invaded and were close to being turned into ground zeroes, he would offer them a chance of escape but only if they were willing to spend one year living within the realm of Despair. Of course, none of these stories could ever be verified, well until now.
Madison Gray: May I ask how I got here? The last thing I remember I was clashing with The Congregation of the Church of Death Walker, and then everything else became foggy. There is something missing from my memory, and I can’t retrace my steps. If only I could…
Venja ended up finishing her sentence, which left her feeling even more confused and almost nauseous.
Venja: ...remember what I was doing before I got here?
Venja smiled, or at least it felt like they might have been smiling if they weren’t wearing a mask that was obscuring their face.
Venja: The truth of the situation is that the only reason you are here is because I must be indebted to you in some way. The problematic way in which I live is that the debt I hold may be from my past but likely be from your future, which as a first-time concept is likely going to be hard to comprehend.
That was putting it lightly.
Madison Gray: I am a little lost in what you are trying to communicate right now.
It didn’t help that the roaring heat surrounding her was throwing her off; she wasn’t used to feeling such a burn. She imagined this is what it felt like for the folks who lived up north near the Lava Fields of Rylotte. Her brain wasn’t working, and she coughed as she looked at her hand. It was covered in blood, but then she blinked, and there wasn’t a trace of the blood.
Venja: This is going to be tough to get your head around, but I want you to imagine a piece of ice that has been created by a wizard. First, they must manipulate a water source next to them and then use their powers to make the water really cold and turn it into ice. Well, my debt to you is like that piece of ice, but what you must have done for me is like the water that was present beforehand. But, of course, you have only come across the ice first. So when you see the water, you will assume it was the ice that melted and not the other way around. Does that make sense to you?
The explanation hadn’t helped. The sight of her blood had scared her. She really didn’t understand what was going on or what exactly she was meant to do.
Madison Gray: Not really.
Venja: Well, that is to be expected. All of this will make sense in the future, though it seems my debt to you must be paid now. For there is never a better time to pay a debt than when the payment is most needed.
Madison Gray: Well, that is a currency I do understand, but I still don’t understand how exactly a payment is made or why I am even really here. None of this seems real to me?
Venja: It’s because it isn’t really. You see, your body is still very much in a less than desirable state elsewhere being tended to by that heretic. It is your mind or perhaps better stated, your essence that is present in this realm. However, I can present a gift to you which will give you an advantage when you return to your physical self.
Madison Gray: Why would I need an advantage; is there something wrong?
Madison realised as soon as she had asked the question, she already knew the answer. She or a version of herself, if she got her head around the physics, was in a completely separate realm from her actual body, and she was casually conversing with a demonic entity.
Venja: I mean, if I am willing to recompense you for a debt, then I think it should be obvious enough to you that you were in desperate need of my help. Your soul is still so pure, you are so trusting, and you still very much need to toughen around the edges and build up some scar tissue. The career path you have chosen is not for the faint of heart, and I feel that if you aren’t careful or find yourself friends you can rely on, you might find yourself knocking on the Reaper’s door a lot sooner than you might have expected.
It was hard for it not to sound ominous, but the more that Madison took in the surroundings, the more she thought that there was really a lack of people present in this realm. In fact, it was almost in between the rivers and the old crumbling building; it was like she was present in the cemetery. With graves and mausoleums as far as the eye could see.
Madison Gray: And how exactly am I in need of help?
Venja: The Sister of Protection that is tending to your wounds is a ploy, a decoy, a trap to pull you in and deceive you. She was never a captive of the Congregation, for you see, she paid for the simulation of a captive to earn your favour.
Madison Gray: Earn my favour? What benefit would that serve? What would she want from me? We have never crossed paths before. I had never met her until today, is it even today?
Venja put his arm around Madison, and at first, it was a hot, scalding, burning feeling, but almost instantaneously it settled and became warm and comforting.
Venja: She serves another. Simply known as ‘The Tailor,’ and if you haven’t crossed his path, then I feel that you are locked in and destined to meet him. Although, I would advise that you unshackle yourself from the succubus as she will lead you down the most dangerous trail and make you vulnerable to ‘The Tailor’ when he decides to strike. If you are to overcome a foe of his cunning, then you are going to take the first steps and make a preemptive attack. In order to aid me in the future, you are going to have to become far more accomplished, and I feel that vanquishing this foe will be vital to your personal growth.
Before her eyes, a beautiful, intricately built dagger encrusted with jewels and adorned with purple runes would just appear from the smoke and float towards Madison's right hand.
Venja: This dagger is known as Truth Seeker, and if you plunge it into the Sister of Protection when you return to the other side, she will suffer from paralysis and be unable to work against you. For a limited time, she will be compelled to tell you the truth when you ask questions of her. Does this make sense to you?
It didn’t really, but in principle, she got the gist of what was being suggested.
Madison Gray: I think so.
Venja: Well, that is good, and I would consider my debt to be paid. Although, I look fondly back on when we first met and you helped me when I was in that bind, but as I said before, my past is your future, and sharing any more information could prove to be problematic for the both of us. I wish you the best of luck, Wanderer. I know it will all be worth it in the end.
+ + + + +
Sister Laramie: Don’t worry yourself about such matters. Your mind is playing tricks on you. Just close your eyes and try to rest. You have to conserve your energy. You need to be much stronger when you are offered up as a sacrifice to The Tailor.
Sacrifice? This was very familiar; Madison was sure she was experiencing déjà vu. Unlike before, she didn’t feel sleep setting in. And everything that had been spoken made perfect sense. As she reached down, she saw the beautiful dagger, and with one swift motion, she arched her arm and plunged Truth Seeker into Laramie’s side, much to the woman’s surprise.
Sister Laramie: What? How? What have you done to me?
Unlike in the previous skirmish with the hooded figure of the Dark Travelers' order, this time Laramie looked genuinely scared, and this only reinforced the words that Madison had heard in her vision with Venja. The Sister could not be trusted, and she had been foolish to fall for the helpless maiden routine.
Madison Gray: First, you are going to actually heal my wounds, you conniving little witch, and then you are going to tell me everything that I want to know, otherwise, I am going to pull that blade out without any regard before plunging it repeatedly into the back of your skull.
Now she had her attention.
Madison Gray: Did I stutter?
Sister Laramie: No, you didn’t. I just…
Madison Gray: Get on with the healing process! The time for your games is over.
Madison felt different. It was as if her visit to the Realm of Despair had actually uplifted her and given her a vital surge of energy. Or perhaps this was a benefit of Truth Seeker; honestly, this is the sort of question she would have asked Lady Northstar, but since she had become a Wanderer, she had been forced to become self-reliant for better or worse. Sister Laramie was shaking and clearly not just in pain and distress from the stab wound, but also feeling the effects of the blade that was commanding her to tell the truth and preventing her from causing any further harm to Madison. Unlike the previous use of basic homoeopathic medicines, the Sister of Protection was finally making incantations under her breath, and in a matter of seconds, Madison could see the spell taking effect. The wounds were closing up, the blood was fading away, and the agonising pain was starting to fade away. And it was very evident that Madison’s fortune had very much changed in the blink of an eye.
Madison Gray: Now, Sister Laramie, you are going to tell me everything I need to know about The Tailor.
Sister Laramie: The Tailor? How do you know about the Tailor! I can’t tell you about him.
Madison Gray: And yet you will be compelled to do so by Truth Seeker. Now, hold your tongue and finish completing your healing spells.
Sister Laramie had become resigned to her fate, and unlike before, she was more submissive and docile. Perhaps she felt that if she could make herself look as weak as possible, she could manipulate her in some way, but Madison thought back to what Venja ‘The Door’ had said to her. “You still very much need to toughen around the edges and build up some scar tissue.” Now it seemed was the time to start toughening up if she had any hopes of proving herself on the battlefield that was the journey of life. It was vital if she was ever going to become the person that the Kingdom of Günwhorfe needed her to be.
* * * * * * *
Five - ‘The Buddy’
Madison realised that it was impossible to fully process the information she had just learned from Sister Laramie without looking back at how she had gotten to where she was. It had only been a few weeks since she had become a Wanderer, but she really hadn’t taken time to stop or breathe or even think about anything that had happened to her. It had all been a blur, and she had yet to reflect. She had been charging into everything like a crazed maniac, but her most recent experience had taught her that perhaps that really wasn’t the best approach to take.
Her quest remained true. She needed to seek out 'The Enchantress of the Moons,' the Witch Kleio De Santos, and prevent the spreading and championing of the One King Theory from being spread throughout the neighbouring kingdoms to prevent the instability that such a large political swing would cause for those that didn’t agree with such a policy. The truth of the matter was that she was no closer to achieving her goal than she had been before she had even been tasked for this quest. The road had been gruelling and tough, and she had very little to show for her efforts.
Every night she was haunted by visions of fluorescent green light, the sound of cackling laughter, and either chants or curses being no doubt cast by the infamous Coven. They had no concern for her because they had no reason to be worried about her, quite simply because no one of any worth had heard of Wanderer of Günwhorfe. Nor would they have had a reason to, until now it seemed. The brutal beating she had suffered at the hands of the Congregation Members of the Church of Death Walker, which had been nothing more than a trap put together by Sister Laramie, had informed her that one man had taken a particular interest in her. The Tailor.
Sister Laramie had informed her that The Tailor had visited the Kingdom of Günwhorfe two summer seasons ago and apparently had been a Squire to a Knight from the Nevada Harvest Quarter. It seemed that Madison and The Tailor had been sent to the Training Fields to spar in hand-to-hand combat, but the skills that Madison had learned as a student of Northstar Tower had embarrassed her opponent. So much so it seems that the Knight had been so embarrassed by the Squire's performance that he had discontinued his training. This had led to a knock-on effect of events that had filled The Tailor with anger and frustration that seemed to be placed solely upon Madison’s shoulders. The fact that someone had attached so much importance onto a spar on the Training Fields had been a cause of concern for her, and she had heeded Venja's word that it was perhaps best if she tackled the problem head-on before it came back to bite her on the arse and left teeth marks that would be unlikely to go away anytime soon.
Madison had one piece of information that was vital to her cause: the location that The Tailor was currently residing. A hub for traffic and important further down the coast, at a location that was left abandoned to the chickens and ducks in the Summer Month, but when the leaves fell and cold came quickly became populated with all around. The infamous Winter Wasteland, a festival of sorts that was known for hosting nefarious individuals, as well as those that wanted to avoid the eyes of the law at all costs. It would be a four-day ride if she pushed her mount to its limit, but before she could give a second thought to The Coven, she knew she had to solve this problem first.
She had considered returning a few days' journey backward to attempt to convince a female mercenary she had met at a large roadhouse tavern called "The Buddy” to help her in this endeavour. Just thinking back made her smile, although she wasn’t sure if they would be the best fit for what she had in mind for the Tailor. Weasel von Wurst was a cunning and daring sword fighter, but she feared that she had to tackle this problem head-on and by herself if she was to actually benefit from a truly honourable victory. The road was going to be hard, but she was doing it to keep her head down and avoid all other confrontations even if she had to ignore situations that normally she would get involved in. Before she could help everyone, she needed to concentrate on just saving herself from eternal damnation.
On second thought though, perhaps the company of Weasel Von Wurst was the best thing for her. Friendship was a currency that often played without any monetary requirements, and after the day she had experienced, safety in numbers, at least for one night, might be the best thing for her. And who knows, perhaps Weasel Von Wurst knew a faster and less dangerous way to get to the Winter Wasteland.
+ + + + +
The Buddy was a large two-tier tavern that was incredibly popular with travellers far and wide, so much so that apparently a lot of tradespersons would actually elect to travel the longer routes if it meant they would be able to have a night's rest at the venue. Although the truth was that this was not a place where one came for a good night’s rest. This is where people came for a good time. There was a strict no-fighting policy between patrons, unless, of course, they signed up to brawl inside the confines of ‘The Bowl’ an effective battle circle where problems and bets alike would be contested and resolved and that every bout had to end with a handshake. So if someone was knocked out, the fight would technically be paused until they were able to stand up again and a hand could be met. Respect was a key element for everyone who spent time in The Buddy. Honour was the currency that paid the highest and was valued by all.
Weasel Von Wurst: So, you have your first proper nemesis? Now isn’t that something to be excited about.
The important thing to understand about Weasel Von Wurst is that they were exactly what they looked like, an anthropomorphic weasel person. Although beastfolk were not an unknown quantity, they were still rare to the sighted, especially those who congregated when the sun was still in the sky. Von Wurst knew very little about how she had arrived in this part of the world and when asked would make references to someone called Mario and something called the Rainbow Road. Madison avoided talking about Weasel’s past after the first few times it had been brought up in conversation. They were an individual that was better suited to the here and now. And that was the venue that Madison also most liked to live when she could, the present.
Madison Gray: I mean, is it really a nemesis if I really don’t know much about them?
Weasel Von Wurst: Think about it like this.
Weasel outstretched one of her hairy furry claw-like hands and grabbed a large amount of Lardons (Bacon) in the bowl on the bar and proceeded to drop them into her tankard of dark purple ale that she enjoyed drinking and was very likely the only person who patrolled ‘The Buddy’ who enjoyed drinking dark grape winter ale with bacons floating on the top like a gross skin. Madison hadn’t known Weasel for long but had accepted that outside of what she had considered normal at home - the wider world was a very different place, with a lot of different tastes and intrigues. None of that mattered all that much when it comes to friendship, though. Von Wurst’s eating or drinking habits had no bearing on their friendship, well until it crossed a moral line that she wasn’t comfortable with anyway.
Weasel Von Wurst: Imagine you are a famous cook and you make real tasty fairy cakes.
Madison was really concerned about what a fairy cake was. She had heard children’s stories of fairies who frolicked in the woods late at night and got up to mischievous fun with the fireflies and the toadstool people.
Madison Gray: What is a fairy cake?
Weasel chuckled to herself, perhaps sensing the anxiety on Madison’s face. If she was even capable of doing such a thing.
Weasel Von Wurst: Before you wet your knickers, it really isn’t what you are imagining.
Madison Gray: How would you know what I was thinking about?Weasel Von Wurst: You just have that look in your eyes, that everyone else does when they are thinking the worst of me. Anyway, you distracted me and interrupted what I was trying to say. But imagine really small cakes that are only meant to be eaten by one person and decorated with fruit or other candied treats. And you are really good at making them, and a lot of people get a lot of joy from these marvelous treats that you make.
Madison Gray: This is about cake?
Weasel looked a bit annoyed with Madison and rather than throwing more Lardons into her drink, instead grabbed a large handful of them and just threw them into her mouth and started chewing them aggressively in the side of her mouth before signaling to the barman to bring over another drink.
Weasel Von Wurst: Now can I just explain what I am trying to explain without you interrupting me? Otherwise, I am just going to get pissed drunk and then climb into a barrel and go to sleep.
Madison Gray: I am listening, I am listening. Keep on explaining about the cakes.
Weasel took another long sip of her ale before continuing, doing her best to explain Madison's situation as best she could.
Weasel Von Wurst: Let me start from the beginning now. So you are a famous cook, and you make really tasty fairy cakes. After you bake them, you place them out on a window ledge to cool down and set. However, you turned your back on them, perhaps to pour yourself a nice thirst-quenching refreshment, wash your hands, or use the facilities. The activity isn’t important in this example, and I can tell by the look you are giving me that you are confused.
Madison wasn’t getting confused by all this and still really didn’t understand what baked goods had to do with The Tailor and how she was going to solve that problem, but she had hoped that Von Wurst was going to offer some sort of solution.
Weasel Von Wurst: Now every time you return to your cakes, they are gone. You make the cakes again and again, but every time you turn your back on them, they disappear. Now imagine you finally found out that it is the same one person who has been stealing your cakes, and the only reason they are stealing them is that they are your cakes. They would have become your nemesis, and you wouldn’t even know what they look like, who they were, or what they were even called. This is the exact situation you find yourself in with this Tailor character. Does that make sense?
Madison kept quiet, unsure whether or not she was meant to speak.
Weasel Von Wurst: So, does it make sense now?
Weasel looked irritated again.
Weasel Von Wurst: You can speak already; no need to keep up this foolish act of yours. Do you understand what I am trying to explain to you?
Madison Gray: I think so, yes, especially the part of the unknown still being able to have another impact upon you, for you to place them in a position where you are wary of them and turn them into a rival. I still don’t understand what any of that has got to do with cakes though?
Weasel rolled her eyes.
Weasel Von Wurst: It has nothing to do with cakes. I am going to tell you what we are going to do. We are going to get really drunk, and then you are going to get a really good night’s sleep in the room that you’ve paid for, and I am going to fall asleep in a barrel. And then tomorrow, I am going to make sure to get a friend of mine to take you to Winter Wasteland the quick way. But first, we have fun and enjoy ourselves.
Weasel offered Madison the new tankard, and the pair raised their tankards up and slammed them into each other.
Madison Gray: Skol!
Weasel Von Wurst: Na zdrowie!
And that is exactly what the pair did. They filled their boots with as much liquor as they could hold, sang songs of merriment, and enjoyed each other’s company because in this harsh and cruel world, you never truly knew which night would be the final night you got to spend with any given friend. Life could be cheap, but no one was ever richer than when they were in the company of a good friend.
* * * * * * *
Six - ‘ Route To The Wasteland’
After a splendid and truly eventful night of drinking and general merriment, Madison woke in the same manner as every other time she had spent an evening with Weasel: with an incredibly large hangover and a strong desire to vomit her guts up. On the other side of things, Von Wurst never seemed to show any signs of suffering from her drinking, and Madison surmised that her friend's physiology must prevent her from experiencing any of the negatives that most people feel when they consume large volumes of alcohol.
While nursing herself with a greasy breakfast of thickly cut slices of gammon, slices of an exotic fruit called a pineapple, and the most amazing curried eggs she had ever consumed, Madison did her best to sober up and ready herself. Meanwhile, Weasel Von Wurst had been out doing her best to find Madison a ride that would cut her journey to the Winter Wasteland in half, if not less. Still feeling dizzy and pretty sure she had fallen asleep at the bar, Madison expected to wake up in her new surroundings.
When she did wake up, it felt like she was in a large basket, and she was confused by the cool draught that greeted her. Two sets of eyes were looking down at her.
The first set of eyes made her feel most anxious. They belonged to a person who, at first glance, looked like a very large mammal. However, on closer inspection, unlike Von Wurst, it was evident that this individual was very much a man of flesh who was dressed up like a large rat or perhaps another similar beast. The truth is that Madison was no animal expert, so she wasn't completely sure about the disguise or presentation they were attempting to offer. All Madison knew was that this really wasn’t high on her list of favourite options for how to be greeted after sleeping in less than ideal circumstances.
Tuesday: Come on, sleepyhead, it's about time you got up. You’ve been sleeping for hours. You need to stand up sooner rather than later; otherwise, your flying legs are never going to kick in, and you are going to be dizzy for the rest of the flight.
Madison was really confused by some of the words that this individual was saying, particularly all the references to flight and flying. However, as she was handed a mug of water, she worked on the basis that this man was much more likely to become a friend rather than a foe. The other individual was a lot more sinister-looking. They didn’t seem to be human at all but looked like a machine man made up of gears, cogs, bolts, and bright lights. This was something that Madison had never even imagined before, so now she felt as if she must be dreaming because this couldn’t be reality. Not hers, anyway.
Madison Gray: Who? What? I don’t even know what is going on. Let me just stand up and get out of here, and go find my friend Weasel Von Hurt. She might have a better understanding of what is going on right now.
Madison pushed herself up to her feet and looked out of the basket. To her horror, she realised she wasn't resting on the ground but rather was floating in the sky. As she took a better look at her surroundings, she quickly became aware she was riding in a hot air balloon cutting across the Basmati Bay and saving a lot of travel time off the journey. The truth of the matter was that she had only believed that such vehicles were a thing of fantasy. To now find herself travelling inside one without any memory of embarking on the journey left her feeling even more confused than before.
Madison Gray: Any chance either of you two fancy explaining how exactly I got in this particular situation?
Madison was scared and nervous, and she didn’t think she had even hidden that fact. The strange machine man was the first to answer, speaking in a unique accent that she had never heard before. It had a twang to it, and she was sure it was a language of her own, but wasn’t completely sure if it was just a coincidence.
Thomas B3D: I think a short story will be much more helpful in this current situation, m’lady. My name is Thomas B3D, an artificial intelligence and a secondary representation of the intrepid explorer and dashing rogue, Thomas Bedlam. I am, however, capable of my own independent thought and processing, as long as it coincides with the belief systems and general practices of my creator. My humble colleague is my travelling companion and assistant, Trash Tuesday, but for the sake of politeness, I refer to him normally as Tuesday.
The strangely dressed individual chimed in.
Tuesday: Howdy Hi once again, Miss.
Madison Gray: It’s a pleasure to meet you both, I hope.
Tuesday: A friend of Weasel Von Wurst is always likely to be a friend of ours. That's why we agreed to allow you to join us on the final leg of our journey.
A strange sound came from the machine, as if it was trying to imitate the sound of someone coughing after taking on too much smoke.
Thomas B3D: Tuesday, you know it’s rude to tell a story when someone else has already started telling it.
Tuesday: Sorry, B3D.
There was a strange relationship between both individuals, and although there seemed to be a hierarchy between both of them, Madison would have pinned them down as being much more likely to be sidekicks rather than leaders. She was incredibly curious about who the true decision-maker in the balloon was.
Thomas B3D: Tuesday and I are en route to the Winter Wasteland, and Weasel Von Wurst hunted us down, informing us that you were also planning on visiting that market in a quest to find an enemy of yours. Since we are all headed in the same direction and all friends of Weasel’s are by default friends of ours, we agreed to bring you with us. Now, I'm not sure why anyone would attempt to drink with Miss Wurst, but you have been sleeping for nearly half a day. We both decided that it was about time that you woke up and got used to travelling by air. Although I don’t suffer the effects myself, Tuesday has vouched that it can prove to be quite treacherous and has in the past forced us to touchdown and stay grounded for a short time to allow the body to become grounded and reset.
There was an awkward pause that felt unnatural as B3D walked away, making some adjustments to the mechanical instruments powering the balloon. The silence was quickly filled by the voice of Trash Tuesday.
Tuesday: So, please shut me up if I am being nosy, but what is it about this nemesis—I believe is the word that Weasel used—that makes you so driven to seek them out rather than playing the slow game? Von Wurst is always saying that the slow game is the best game.
Madison was also a fan of the slow game, but The Tailor was an obstacle that she needed to tackle head-on before she could get back to her true purpose of hunting for witches.
Madison Gray: The truth of the matter is simply put, I do not enjoy being deceived. If I have someone who wants to go to battle with me, I would much prefer they be upfront and challenge me with an open face. There is nothing more frustrating to me than facing a coward. After a particularly unfortunate run-in with members of the Church of Death Walker, it became clear to me that I would have to put my main quest on hold and instead deal with the Tailor as swiftly as possible.
Tuesday pulled a puzzled look before replying.
Tuesday: I keep track of many of the heroes and villains of the continent, and I am going to be honest—I have never heard of this Tailor. What is he known for?
Madison wanted to say "not a lot" and end the conversation there and then, but from experience, voicing your emotions and feelings ahead of time was the healthy approach before a skirmish. It was one of the many mantras that Lady Northstar had instilled into her over the countless years of her training within the tower.
Madison Gray: It seems that he is very much a coward. A master of manipulation, lies, and deceit. He seems to have an approach of gaining leverage over others and then forcing them to complete tasks for him, with the knowledge that their failure would likely come at the expense of their loved ones, their possessions, or something else they hold dear. Sometimes a few words hidden in a secret laced with truth can bring down a whole kingdom if whispered in the wrong ears. This is the sort of adversary that you need to run through with a sword as soon as possible. This is the sort of person that you really don’t want to be worrying about and constantly looking over your shoulder, especially when the person coming at you isn’t even wearing the face of the one giving orders. He is an infected wound that needs to be burned from the skin and then cut out so that not a single trace remains. Now that I know of his existence, it is my duty to deal with it calmly and swiftly.
Tuesday: So, this is about honour?
Madison shook her head.
Madison Gray: This is about doing what is right. No part of my sacred vow as a Wanderer plays any part in this task that I have set for myself. This is an infestation that needs to be dealt with, and I must become the torch and burn every trace of this thing from the world. Like shattered glass, it must become impossible to put them back together. No one else should have to suffer at the hands of this insidious wretch.
Trash Tuesday paused for a second, almost as if they were scanning the horizon.
Tuesday: So, how are you planning on dealing with this problem of yours? A stealthy assassination, paying a servant, or perhaps even hiring mercenaries to aid in a traditional loud and proud charging at the gates?
Madison smiled. She had considered all of those options but had something much more suitable in mind.
Madison Gray: This is all about making a statement, and I’d rather not resort to leaving a death note but rather leave them in a state in which they will never be able to walk in the same way again or pose a threat to anyone else. So this has to be public. Everyone needs to witness what I do, and it needs to be recorded. I am going to find where they drink, where they congregate, and before they even know I am standing in their shadow, I am going to swing around, nail them with my elbow, and have a melee in the middle of the road.
It would be at this point that the machine man would speak up for the first time in a while.
Thomas B3D: Sounds like you intend on engaging in a Street Fight. My records show that such an approach to combat could prove to be quite a popular choice at the Wasteland and less likely to see third parties get involved. You might even find that others are making wagers on your success, while you pound this cretinous-sounding fellow into the dirt. Could I suggest that you both lower your voices for the next few hours, though? We will be flying through the last portion of Basmati Bay, and some of the flying folk will not react well to seeing land walkers present in their skies.
Madison realised that the world was much bigger than she had ever considered, and although she was on a quest to seek out The Tailor, most people would have no idea who he was or who this young female Wanderer from the Kingdom of Günwhorfe even was. Although she intended to change all that. She was hungry to earn battle fame and have her name called out by heralds and be sung by bards far and wide. She wanted nothing more than to create a legend of herself so that when the time came that she found herself standing face to face with a member of the infamous Coven, it was they and not she who would be put into a state of panic. Her journey might have only just begun, but she had no intention of it ending anytime soon.
This was only the first step. This time next year, no one would even remember this moment, for she would have created a path for herself of more notable glories and victories. People wouldn’t have to ask who she was but rather would be running towards her seeking to hear her story and have the opportunity that they stood and had a conversation with the Young Lioness Madison Gray.
[MEDIA=youtube]E44JTzupWt0[/MEDIA]To Be Continued |
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Post by supinesnake on May 29, 2024 13:57:00 GMT
Originally posted by Death Walker. It's_That_Time.mp4
Within a blink of an eye, all the visuals are brought into sight (courtesy of a camera drone). It hovers somewhere above a secluded woodland in the middle of this silent winter’s night. And something appears to be laid out on the top of the lonely cabin’s roof. A body of sorts… just sprawled out and it looks to be stiff… as if it’s frozen in time, as if… it’s dead.
The camera zooms in close to get a better look of this unknown object. Only to find… shirtless in a mask, boots and ripped up jeans was the demon that came straight out of HELL (literally!). He was staring straight up at the stars in the distance and hadn't blinked once. In fact, he wasn’t even breathing, was he dead? Was he actually dead?!
“No… I am not.” “I am very much alive… in case you were wondering. I was training this refined vessel of mine to do… more than it is expected to do. For it to willingly give of itself and take on all of the darkness… that has been provided. Which means… such things as blinking and breathing aren't required under these powers. However, I’m willing to play along with the mortals. To bleed… how they bleed, to take on pain like they do. And yet, I will remain strengthened by the hatred and evilness of this… world. Upon making my introduction a year ago… I ripped a hole so huge that it brought more darkness into this world… and the one that exists in FWA…”
Death gets up off his ass with his eyes closed while doing some stretches. He takes a deep breath, looks out at the woods. Then raising a hand and snapping his fingers, it all goes to complete darkness. He walks along a nonexistent path as he shares how he’s feeling.
“So… I guess you're expecting some endearing moments to be shared since it tends to be this cheerful season, yeah? Ha! Yeah… I’ll give you something to feel warm and cuddly about. I’ll give you just what… you. Need.”
And with that said, Death takes a slow deep breath and magically everything surrounding him turns into a more festive backdrop…
**************************************************
With colorful lights, plastic reindeers, Santa in his sleigh, white felt and more, all displayed in the front yards of these luxurious homes. A little boy and his parents take a walk in this upscale part of town wearing their best winter outfits. While pointing out their favorite decorations, the parents begin to have a conversation…
The Father: “Baby, check this one out. They have more different colors over at this home.” The Mother: “Mmm hmm, BUT… look at this one over here. They recreated the whole nativity scene… although, they used white Jesus and all.” The Father: “I mean what do you expect, we're in the middle of West Hollywood. We’ll be lucky if the police don't come and arrest our black asses.” The Mother: “You know what, dammit? You don't have to act like an ASS on our little family trip! …Could you just try to have a little fun for our son’s sake? He wanted to come out and see the Christmas lights tonight. Didn't you, little man?” The Father: “Man, fuck this shit! I’m ready to head back to South Central. I told your uppity ass, I don't like these neighborhoods. They just rub me the wrong way… plus they have junkies and winos just like in the hood. Come on, let's get the fuck out of here.” The Mother: “How about you watch your mouth around our son… for once? Damn, you act so immature… like you ain't never been nowhere out the hood.” The Father: “It ain't like he's going to be repeating the shit. HE’S THREE YEARS OLD, IT AIN’T LIKE HE’S GOING TO REMEMBER ANY-” The Mother: “HE’LL BE FOUR NEXT MONTH AND I SAID WATCH YOUR FUCKIN’ MOUTH IN FRONT OF DARIUS! Come here, baby boy. Let me get you bundled up.”
Darius's mother squats down to button up his “too small” coat. From out of nowhere, the father mumbles some choice words under his breath.
The Father: “Fuck you, bitch.” The Mother: “Wait, what the fuck did you just say?”
This is when the walking stops and the little boy looks up at his mom. Yet, both parents aren't paying him any attention at the moment...
The Father: “YOU HEARD ME, BITCH! FUCK YOU!” The Mother: “OHHHHHHHHHH! FUCK ME HUH? OH I GOT YOUR MUTHAFUCKIN BITCH!”
Darius’s mom hauls off and slaps all over his dad's head as he tries to block each one of them. He ends up balling himself up with his hands covering his head. After she gets done beating on her child’s father, they start awkwardly laughing about it. Darius’s dad gets back on his feet and they head back to the main streets. Holding hands again and enjoying their evening, they proceed to take in the sights until the father stops abruptly. He approaches a strange man in inconspicuous clothing to ask him a question…
The Father: “Hey, uh… how much for a sack?”
And as quickly as the scene appeared, it fades away and The Death Walker fades back in frame. He takes some steps as he speaks…
“Yeah… Darius… and I, both remember many Christmases that were exactly like that one. Didn't even matter if it was the holiday season, the summer or any other special occasion… those two always had their toxic ways of doing things.”
Death takes a minute before continuing…
“It was THEIR cross to bear… and eventually it became OUR… own cross to bear. Wrong or right… Darius loved them dearly no matter how much they fought and argued. And so… that, boys and girls… that would be the last Christmas… and the last people… that Darius Wright would ever unconditionally love with all of his heart.”
Death Walker stops in his tracks.
“But you see, me… I’m different. I can love strong one second then hate even stronger the next… Which brings me to “old goody two shoes” Gerald… who is about to learn the hard way. You can do all this valiant and daring shit for these damn fans… the ones who pretend that they love you… but what you need to understand is that they don’t love you. You are a mindless, controlled product… used purely for their amusement. And trust me when I day… they will turn on you when the time comes. When you need them just as much as they claim to need you… they will not be there in your corner to help you. Sure, you can give and give but the key to giving… is taking more than you give. It just dawned on me… you said my reason was… “bullshit”? How? Prove me wrong! Because if you were paying attention especially to the company… then you would've seen what has been happening. You would have seen what everyone has had to deal with. But more importantly… YOU WOULD HAVE BEEN PAYING ATTENTION TO ME!!!"
The Soul Collector nearly shoves his face into the lens.
“So what I did was… I got wind of someone returning, someone known as the crowd’s favorite, so I simply bid my time. I waited for that fateful night of your return and oh the joy that spreaded across my face… even The Grinch would be envious. For I couldn't help but to welcome you back in only the most… hospitable way ever. I mean it was just… appetizing as I fed off of your weakness, mauling my way to that pure hearted soul. Gerry, oh Gerry… I am utterly flustered about what awaits you at Winter Wasteland. Don't worry, no weapons will be needed. None of my… Terrors of Darkness will need to interfere in our match. It’ll just be me and you in that squared circle… with maybe a few tours to the outside of the ringside. But overall, a hearty fight in an environment that we’re both familiar with.”
The demon turns his back to the drone camera that hovers at his eye level.
“Only… only…”
Death takes his time sharing more information but manages to get it out anyway.
“Only, will that be enough for you to beat the likes of me? I mean… you see how I play, you see how vicious my matches are. And I know for a fact… that since my first attack… you’ve been watching my matches closely. So you have to know… that a match with me isn't as easy as everyone assumes it is because I work my way into my opponent's mind every time. And then after I find my way in, I begin to pick apart at the things that bothers them most. Their doubts, their love, their pride, their FEARS. I’ve fought some of the toughest and biggest names in FWA… and beyond. Won a lot, lost… a lot. But that doesn't bother me that much… because as long as I’m able to corrupt the minds and hearts of the ignorant then it is worth the cost of business.”
The Dark Traveler walks amongst the total darkness… opens a hidden door to the outside and exits from the abyss.
******************************************************
Switching the scene to a sunny California day in the ghetto, a black dad and his son are heading into their apartment. Inside the mom awaits both of her fellas as the little one runs to her with excitement.
Son: “MOMMY! MOMMY! MOMMY! GUESS WHAT WE GOT? GUESS WHAT WE GOT?”
The child hugs his mother tight as she sits there playing clueless to what he's so excited about. However before she can respond back, her husband speaks up.
Husband/Dad: “Now Malcolm, what did we agree about in the car? No telling mommy until we surprise her.”
Smiling at the happiness of his son, he closes the door to their place then goes over to his wife and kisses her.
Husband/Dad: “Hey babe.” Wife/Mom: “Hey honey.”
The two of them briefly share a loving stare as they feel that unbroken love connection. The husband and father break away from staring at her by going back to his talk with his son, Malcolm.
Husband/Dad: “Okay son, are you ready to get the surprise for mommy?” Malcolm: “Yes!” Wife/Mom: “Oh my, a surprise for me? Really?” Husband/Dad: “Baby, when is Teresa getting home?” Wife/Mom: “In about another hour.”
Malcolm can't contain himself so he jumps around, shouting “YES!” over and over.
Husband/Dad: “Okay son, let's put our gloves on and bring in our surprise for mom.”
The boy who couldn't be no more than 5 or 6 years old, pulls out his winter gloves and slides them on. The man leans over and whispers in his wife's ear which makes her giggle. Then both guys head back out the door together and they come across one of their neighbors.
Husband/Dad: “Oh hey, Fred… how's it going?” Fred: “Meh. I can't call it but it's cool for now.” Husband/Dad: “That's good. So did you catch that game the other night?” Fred: “Which one?”
Fred takes a few steps forward from his open doorway and hunches over to lean against the walkway's railing. He pats his pockets for something as he tries to recall what recent sport games that he watched.
Husband/Dad: “I’m referring to the game with San Diego and the-” Malcolm: “DADDY! DADDY! DADDY! Leeeeeeeet’s GOOOOOOOOOO!!!” Husband/Dad: “Now Malcolm, don't be rude like that. Apologize to Fred.”
Feeling bad for what he did, Malcolm looks over sincerely at Fred's constant grimace as he pulls out his pack of cigarettes and lighter out his pocket.
Malcolm: “Sorry, Mr. Fred.” Fred: “Ahhh don't worry about it, shorty. It ain't nothin’ to worry about, really.” Husband/Dad: “Well excuse us, Fred. We have something to unload from the car but we'll be right back.”
And as Fred prepares to spark up a cig while looking at the boy with disgust, he then takes a look at the other apartments on their level. In the meantime, Malcolm and his dad head on downstairs and out the back gate to the parking garages. It takes them some time but they return with this beautiful, well sized Christmas tree. Malcolm assists by holding the top as his father is lifting it by the heavy end, carrying the majority of its weight over one shoulder. It gives the little boy so much comfort in feeling like he's helping dad, Malcolm just grins from ear to ear.
Husband/Dad: “Okay son after we get it upstairs, I need you to get mommy to hold the door open for me.”
Malcolm responds without any hesitation…
Malcolm: “Okay, daddy!”
Meanwhile, Fred just watches quietly smoking his cigarette and doesn't offer to lift a finger but instead he makes his comments.
Fred: “Well, would you look at that? You got a bigger one this year huh?” Husband/Dad: “Yeah… but I’m… sure you guys… got a nice one too. After all… it’d be tough… to find a tree… this close… to the holidays.”
Malcolm’s dad struggles a bit carrying the tree up the stairs but he manages to do it (with no help from lazy ass Fred).
Fred: “Yeah, I bet that's going to be fantastic to decorate in your living room. As for us… we… we didn't get a tree again this year… too much of a mess. With all the pine needles, sticky shit… having to lug it in your home then take it back out… because the damn thing will dry the fuck out. Raggedy ass Christmas trees! Shit, makes me so fuckin’ sick…” Husband/Dad: “Ummm thanks, Fred. But could yooooou… watch your language around Malcolm?”
The young boy runs over to their apartment, banging on the door and calling for his mother.
Fred: “What the fuck you said? Oh… My bad, homie. I ain't mean to offend.” Husband/Dad: “It's alright, I know you didn’t.”
Fred finishes his cigarette and flicks the bud over the side of the railing. The dad repositions the tree on his shoulder and brings it inside once his wife opens the door wide enough for him.
Wife/Mom: “Oh my goodness, a tree!” Malcolm: “See, mommy? We got us a new Christmas tree.” Wife/Mom: “I see, I see. Let me get the tree stand and we can decorate after standing it up.”
Meanwhile, inside Fred’s apartment…
Fred: “I can't stand that two-faced, sanctimonious, uppity muthafucka!”
Fred slams his fist onto his rickety folding table as he disturbs whomever in the back. Coming out of the bedroom as he peeks his face out the window, a woman enters their small living room.
Woman: “What's the matter, baby?” Fred: “Like you don't know already. It's that same dumb asshole on the other side.” Woman: “You mean apartment 12?” Fred: “Yeah Pam, that muthafucka over there! I can't stand his ass! Always looking down on us, thinking they're so much better than us with their ‘Christmas tree’ and fake ass humbleness and phony family. Knowing them, they're probably gonna have a shitload of gifts and decorations.” Pam: “Baby, calm down. We ain't gotta pay them no mind. Do we have any chicken or pizza left?” Fred: “Bitch, I don't fuckin’ know.” Pam: “OK DON’T START NO SHIT WITH ME! I WAS ONLY ASKIN’ YO IGNORANT ASS A QUESTION, YOU FUCKIN’ PUSSY!” Fred: “WHO YOU CALLIN’ A PUSSY?!? I AIN’T NO MUTHAFUCKIN’ PUSSY, I FUCK PUSSY!” Pam: “mmm… now that you do very well.”
They laugh a little as the tension evaporates and she goes into the kitchenette and opens their fridge.
Fred: “What's baby girl and them doing?” Pam: “I think they're watching cartoons or playing with toys. I don't fuckin’ know. Why?” Fred: “I just wanted to know since it was so damn quiet for once.” Pam: “Yeah… it is a little too quiet. Maybe they didn't hear us and they're still sleep.”
Pam struts over to Fred and wraps her arms around his waist from behind.
Fred: “Pam… what are we gonna do for these kids and Christmas? I mean… we got our daughter… my nephews and niece. What are we gonna do with hardly any money to feed ourselves?” Pam: “Baby, we’re gonna do what we always do. Find a way to make it through.” Fred: “I’m tired of this bullshit, for real. I want to be able to provide these kids a Christmas I used to have. One where we can give more than just a pack of cheap socks and some candy canes. Where they can have new expensive toys and clothes, not the shit we get at the 99 Cent Store. Shit, I’d even give them money if we had it to spare.” Pam: “Fred! Pipe down, they don't need to hear you talking like this. Especially when they're expecting a visit from Santa Claus.” Fred: “Santa Claus, huh? THAT FAT JOLLY BASTARD CAN KISS MY BLACK-” Kid: “AAAAAAHHHHH!!!! I’M TELLIN’ DADDY! DADDDDDYYY!!!!”
…
Going back to the… more warm-hearted household, the married couple with their son and…
Husband/Dad: “Where is she? It’s almost 4!” Mom: “Honey, calm down for goodness sake. You act like it's 4 in the morning, it's 4 in the afternoon. And like I told you, she caught the school bus which as I recall should be pulling up right abooouuut…”
Honk! Honk!... Honk!
And just then, a school bus pulls up outside the apartment building and honks its horn to signal the parents of their kids being dropped off. Some parents are already outside but this pair had been inside their home tending to their new Christmas tree (with help from Malcolm, of course). Mom goes back to checking on the splendid dinner that she had prepared for the 4 of them. Dad runs out the door, and down the staircase, racing to the sidewalk as his adoring daughter gets off the bus.
Girl: “Dad!” Dad: “Princess Teresa!”
He stretches out his arms and she runs into them, embracing him like it had been ages since her return. Although, they had just seen each other earlier that morning before heading to school and work. The little girl who was around 8 years old, talks her way into getting a piggyback ride from her proud father. And per usual, he obliges by carrying her up to their home and puts a happy ending to this evening.
*******************************************************
Christmas Eve… somewhere in California.
“Fred!” “FRED, WAKE UP!!!”
He pops his head up off the pillow and looks around his cluttered bedroom.
Pam: “FRED! I NEED YOU!”
Over in their kitchenette, Pam is trying to put out a blazing fire that she possibly created. When Fred finally comes out of the bedroom, he hurries to the kitchen area as soon as he realizes that there's smoke...
Fred: “WHAT THE… WHAT THE FUCK, PAM?!”
He grabs the dish towel off the oven's handle and beats out the raging flames as Pam takes a step back. It doesn't take long before he puts out this small fire.
Fred: “...” Pam: “...” Fred: “Well?! What The Fuck, Pam?! What happened? What did you do?”
A petrified Pam stammers as she attempts to explain what she was doing.
Pam: “I- I- I was only…”
She breaks down immediately and Fred can't do nothing more… than hug her.
Fred: “It's all good now, babe. Breathe… breathe… wait, let me open the door and window.”
He does just that, opening their wooden door while leaving the metal screen door secured. Then he opens the sides windows to their picture frame window. He goes back to his sobbing girlfriend and finds out what went wrong.
Fred: “What caused that fire?” Pam: “I was just trying…” Fred: “It's okay, tell me.” Pam: “... just trying to cook you and the kids a Christmas Eve breakfast. I had toasted some bread, whipped up some instant grits and was frying ham slices… but I guess I used too much oil or something… I just looked away for a minute and… and… I’m sorry!”
After seeing how his woman (the mother of their daughter, nephews and niece) tried to do something good for them, Fred is overwhelmed with gratitude. So much that all he can do is smirk a bit.
Fred: “How about we shower up and I’ll scrape together some dollars, so we can all have a good breakfast, okay?”
At first, Pam could barely speak out of embarrassment but she nodded in response.
Pam: “Oh… and why didn't the smoke detectors go off?” Fred: “Oh you know, I knocked them damn things senseless. I mean we smoke weed and shit, who wants to be bothered with all that fuckin’ beepin’?” Pam: “True but… the kids-”
And as if she jinxed the moment, their smoke detectors go off. Beeping loud with their little red light… just when most of the smoke had already dissipated. The first one out of the kid’s bedroom was their precious little girl followed by the others.
Daughter: “Daddy! What is that? What is that?” Fred: “Nothing, kiddo… Just another crazy December…”
Fred gets the smoke detectors to shut up while the other family diagonally from them begin their morning.
Wife/Mom: “Honey, are you almost done? Honey?!”
She turns off all the burners after cooking then checks on him in the bathroom. When she enters, she's quickly snatched up and pinned up against the wall.
Husband/Dad: “I got you, you little vixen!” Wife/Mom: “Ssshhhhh… you’re going to wake the kids.” Husband/Dad: “I’ll be quick, I promise.” Wife/Mom: “Mmm hmm and that's how we got Malcolm and Teresa.”
They snicker before the husband leans in and nibbles along his wife’s neck as giggles escape her lips.
Wife/Mom: “Okay, Okay. Stop it. Come get your breakfast, you damn flirt.” Husband/Dad: “That's what I was working on right now.”
They laugh and she walks out to their son coming out of his bedroom. The little guy rubs his eyes to get better vision and wake all the way up.
Malcolm: “Hey mommy.” Wife/Mom: “Hey son, how are you doing?” Malcolm: “I’m… mmmm I’m hungry!”
Laughing from within, she smiles and directs him to the dining table as she goes back to the kitchenette. The mother makes his plate then wakes up her daughter…
Wife/Mom: “Tereeeeessaaa! Come on, baby. Get up and get breakfast.”
Opening the kids’ bedroom, the mom pokes her head in to see Teresa sitting up in bed. The girl raises her arms up above and yawns as she looks back with a smile.
Teresa: “Morn… ing, mom.” Wife/Mom: “Morning, sweetie. Better come get breakfast before Malcolm finishes your plate.” Teresa: “Ugh! That greedy little troll! I’m gonna pulverize h-”
Teresa darts from her bed to the kitchen, trying to salvage her plate of breakfast.
Wife/Mom: “Hey, hey, hey. Be nice, alright? Alright?!” Teresa: “Alright! Gosh!”
The girl walks into the living room/dining area as she looks for her breakfast. The mother grabs a plate for herself and takes a seat with them. They dig into their eggs, sausage and pancakes while dad was getting dressed. Soon, he comes out fully clothed and grabs some breakfast too.
Husband/Dad: “Hey gang! So I was thinking… maybe we could go out to the park for a while then we can hit the mall… if it isn't too crowded.”
The dad sees the kids light up brighter than their decorated tree and mom smiles at him.
Taking a look back at the other family from across…
Fred: “I can't believe they went up on the prices. At least, we all ate breakfast… even if they charged the fuck out of- Ow!”
Pam elbows her man so he can stop going off on swear tangents with the kids present. They proceed to saunter down the street, letting the kids walk ahead of them by a few feet. Talking in a low tone amongst themselves…
Fred: “So… I had an idea… but I’m gonna need you to be onboard with me. Pam: “What idea? What are you talkin’ about?” Fred: “About us having a great Christmas.” Pam: “And what's that supposed to mean?” Fred: “What if… we broke into one or two of them department stores?”
Pam laughs at the idea but Fred isn't laughing, he's grinning actually.
Pam: “Oh you're funny… real funny. Wait, are you serious?!” Fred: “Ay chill out. I’m just saying if we have ski masks to cover our faces, wear all black and do a few quick smash-n-grabs. Who's gonna catch us?” Pam: “You really are a dumbass! I thought you learned your lesson all those years back when you almost got locked up. But I see your ass ain't learnt shit.” Fred: “Whoa, look who's cussing in front of our little angels.” Pam: “Fred, I’m serious. You can't-” Fred: “And so am I, I want us to finally have something other than a couple minutes of fake bliss. We deserve more than the same old shit.” Pam: “But a department store with security guards, cameras and alarms? You’d do better stealing from someone we know, someone who we know their whole setup.” Fred: “Heyyy! Now you're talkin’ my language. Them pesky neighbors will work fine.” Pam: “The neighbors? Are you out of your mind?!” Fred: “Yeah…that's right. I said, the neighbors and I can’t wait to snatch up everything they got. Oh the looks on their smug ass faces… it would be… too damn priceless.” Pam: “Fred… I just don't kn-” Fred: “What? You just what?!” Pam: “I can't be doing this. WE… we cannot be doing this. We have the kids to be thinking about and with you having a warrant against you. Uh uh, no. We can't be caught doing any shit like this.” Fred: “Pam… I’m going to do this… tonight. I’ll even bust out our windows and smash up our shit. Just to try to cover our asses. All I need to do is rob some shit from some of the neighbors… mainly those who we know are easy targets like apartment 12. We already know at least 5 of their routines and schedules.” Pam: “But- but…”
Fred gives Pam a look that spoke for him before he said…
Fred: “Pam, you're either with me or not. But I’m doing this.”
And after that, Fred escorted their kids into their apartment building for the day. Now back in apartment 12…
Husband/Dad: “Okay, where are they at?” Wife/Mom: “The kids? They're in their room playing one of their games. What are you up to?” Husband/Dad: “I wanted to do one last thing that we haven't done since we had Malcolm. Let's take them to see the Christmas lights and decorations around the city.” Wife/Mom: “Yes! Let's do it! Oh my God, it has been some years. Not to mention that there are a few neighborhoods I want to revisit. Oh this is gonna be so much fun, I can't wait!” Husband/Dad: “I’m glad you approve of my choice, my love. Go tell the kids to get ready but don't tell them where we’re getting ready to go.” Wife/Mom: “Okay, babe.”
In apartment 9…
Pam: “What do you see? Are they leaving or something?” Fred: “I think they might be but it's not like I can see or hear through their walls. I’m doing good to see their shadows moving from their window. It does look like they're moving back and forth in their living room. The presents gotta be stored away in the closets if not already around their tree.” Pam: “Just be patient, baby. I got your back.” Fred: “Oh so you’re doing lookout?” Pam: “Hell nah, I’m snatching me one of those Michael Kors bags… and you know, some toys and shit for our gremlins. Ride or die, babe.”
Fred takes a look back at his woman and smiles.
Fred: “I knew there were reasons I kept your ass in my life.” Pam: “Muthafucka, fuck you! I’m the best thing that ever happened in your life” Fred: “Oh is that so?” Pam: “Damn straight it is.”
She laughs then comes over near the window with Fred…
Fred: “Shhhhh… the kids still sleep?” Pam: “Yeah, they should be out for the remainder of the night.” Fred: “Okay, cool. Oh, here they go. Hit the lights, they're all leaving together.”
Pam diligently slaps the light switch to off and their apartment goes dark. She also turns the TV off to make it appear like they're not home or went to bed early.
But outside on the walkway…
Husband/Dad: “Come on, y’all. We’re going for a family ride.” Wife/Mom: “Teresa, grab your beanie. Malcolm, where are your gloves?” Malcolm: “Uhh… right in… oh, here they are. They were right in my coat pockets.”
As the family prepared for their outing, Fred and Pam were preparing to rob them of their Christmas. They watched carefully to see that every family member was accounted for. And as soon as they went into the garage, the couple began the mission to break into apartment 12. With ski masks on, a bag full of tools and tiptoeing along the walkway, they whisper…
Pam: “You sure right now is the best time?” Fred: “It's now or never, Pam. Like what the fuck?!” Pam: “Alright, you don't have to be so damn disrespectful. I was-” Fred: “Hold up, listen...”
Posted up at the family's front door, Fred and Pam can hear a car engine starting up.
Fred: “You hear that? That's how I know it’s the right time. Now we don't know how short or long that they're going to be. So that means, the quicker we do this the better.” Pam: “But I still hear the engine and what if the other neighbors catch us?”
Pam is panicking, keeping her head on a swivel. However, Fred is trying to pry his way into the locked up apartment using a crowbar.
Then the sound of the car disappears…
Fred: “You… see… they're… gone.”
He huffs between hard breaths while struggling with the two doors.
Pam: “Hey, give me that hammer.”
Being as cautious as one can be given the circumstance, Pam takes the hammer that Fred passes to her and she smashes a side window. She continues to break more of the glass to provide a hole safe and big enough for them to climb through.
Pam: “Hey idiot, go through here.”
Fred looks back and sees their new entrance then follows her through the busted window. Meanwhile…
Wife/Mom: “Honey, I left my beret on the coffee table. Can you go back inside and grab it for me?” Husband/Dad: “Me? Why me? It's your beret after all.” Wife/Mom: “Baby, you’ll be faster. Pleeeeeeaaasseee!”
The husband sighs and thinks about it…
Husband/Dad: “Mmmmmmm… okay but I know I better get an early Christmas gift later on.” Wife/Mom: “...maybe …if you’ve been good.”
They both share smirks as they understand what they're talking about for later. The father turns the car engine off to save gas during his search for the “missing” beret. He gets out and heads back to their apartment. That's when he notices something real strange, the door shows signs of damage like something was jammed in between its jambs. More importantly, there's these shimmery pieces outside on their walkway and a large opening in one of their windows. Upon making the decision to further investigate, the man gets closer to his home. He sneaks through the window unharmed and unseen. And as he creeps towards the bedrooms, he can overhear unsettling whispers. It's blatantly obvious that the intruders are still inside his apartment.
Fred: “Fill up these knapsacks, will you? Oh and check that other closet. This one is all mine, baby. I can feel the motherload hiding up in this bitch.” Pam: “I got it… but I just found some shoes that could fit my feet and I’m snatching ‘em up.”
Silently standing in the darkness within the small hallway, the husband pulls out a pistol that he had stored safely in a gun safe. He aims it, cocks back the hammer of the handgun and…
Husband/Dad: “Don't… you fucking move.”
Pam whips around fast but luckily for her the gun was aimed at Fred. Otherwise, her sudden movement would have startled the man holding the firearm and possibly caused a negligent discharge. But instead, the husband merely takes aim at her as Fred froze where he was.
Husband/Dad: “Goddamn it… I said, DON’T MOVE!!!” Pam: “Oh… oh ok, ok ok ok. Please don't shoot, we’re sorry. We’re so sorry.”
Pam is hyperventilating under fear for hers and Fred’s life. However, Fred remains calm and is taking his time to even address the husband.
Fred: “...say man, can… you just take it easy?” Husband/Dad: “I want you… to shut the hell UP!”
Raising both his hands slowly and talking at the same…
Fred: “Alright, I’m only raising my hands. I’M RAISING MY HANDS, MAN! Relax… and breathe. I’m going to turn myself around to talk with you.”
The husband points the handgun at Fred as a conversation is being made.
Fred: “Look, I can tell you're not a murderer. Probably never shot that thing and that's alright. Just… just leave her out of this. Focus on me.” Husband/Dad: “I told you to shut up! WHY IS NO ONE LISTENING?! ARE Y’ALL THAT DENSE?” Fred: “Are we ‘thins’? What?!?”
In an instance, Fred takes a chance and charges at the husband. When he gets up on him, he fights over the gun and before either of them gain the upper hand…
POP!
…
…
…
Pam: “...Fred, baby? Baby, are you… FRRREEEEEDDDDD!!!!”
Lying motionless on top of the man who shot him, Fred isn't responding to anyone or anything. The husband shoves the body off and gets back up to his feet. Pam rushes over to console her man, Fred as he dies in her arms. She ugly cries while blabbing at the mouth…
Pam: “No, baby. No, baby, no. You, you… you can't leave… no… you can't leave me like this.”
Then it dawns on the man that the intruders were his own neighbors who he and his family had always tried to be kind to. The neighbors that he greeted often anytime that they saw one another. But now… this situation made things very, very different as he raises the gun at Pam’s head.
Husband/Dad: “Pam?... Why? Why would you do this?”
He then pulls out his phone from his back pocket and calls 911. After a while, the man's wife comes and finds the chaos in their home after turning the lights on. Screams… Blood… Sirens… Shock… Tears… All the things that followed this incident as first responders arrived and took over.
Suddenly, Death Walker would walk right up to the crime scene but the thing is… only Pam can visibly see him. Her eyes grow big at the appearance of this stranger in a demon skull mask.
Pam: “Who… who the fuck are you?” “You know who I am… Pam.” Pam: “N-n-no… I don't.” “Yes… you do.” Pam: “No, the fuck I don't.” “Yes, the fuck you do, Pam. In fact… you know why the fuck I’m here… don't you?” Pam: “...N-no?!” “See, Pam… that shit really hurts. I walk all the way here, walking for miles like The Dark Traveler I am. Even wasted a couple of days getting here for this very night, this very moment. And… you just… disrespect me like this, huh?”
Death growls his words as his anger builds up. He squats down over the body of Fred, examining it with just his eyes. But why? Why was he here and why the hell was he so damn angry?
“...Because, you see, Pam… I was called upon. And I was called to be here on your behalf… and… his.”
Standing up, Death Walker closes his eyes and grabs hold of Fred’s soul that she can now see. Walker chokes the soul hard with one hand as Fred tries to scream and fight his way from the demon’s grip. But nothing can stop what is about to take place…
“You knew I was coming to redeem your souls… didn't you?” Pam: “I just-”
And that's when Pam realizes the change in her current predicament that she is in. The demon hybrid doesn't spare another second as he removes his mask and then swallows Fred’s soul… whole. Looking around in pure fear, Pam sees that… the first responders are still nearby… yet frozen in motion. The wife and husband are also in the same room and not moving. The Soul Collector just chuckles with glee…
“Pity, pity, pity… no one to save you. No one to help you out. Nowhere to run and hide.” Pam: “I… I was only gonna-” “You were only gonna what? Steal… perhaps kill another family to have gifts for your family?” Pam: “We weren't gonna h-” “DO NOT LIE TO ME!” Pam: “Please… do whatever to me, just leave my kids alone.” “Oh… them over there… sleeping cozy in apartment 9?”
The Death Walker points back at her apartment…
“Yeeeahhh… them and the goody bunch's kids were a delicious appetizer.” Pam: “W-what? You ca-” “I can and I can… so I did.”
He gives a big smile as he inches closer to her and more tears roll down her cheeks.
“Mmmmm and now… I see 1, 2, 3… uhhhhhhh like 8 more souls for the taking. And… you know I’m a hungry beast soooo… I guess I’ll… finish cleaning my plate.”
Using a wave of his arm, he telekinetically slams the wooden door behind him and feast on all of the souls available. With Pam being the only one able to scream, Death takes pleasure in eating her soul last. The camera drone soars through the hole in the window and brings back the sight inside apartment 12. But it gets there after Death is done feasting. Leaving behind a room full of lifeless bodies, Death Walker picks up the half full knapsacks and goes on to stuff them with the remaining Christmas presents.
“You see… it's not all that complicated. The things that I do, the choices I make… I do what is necessary… for myself… as well as MY family… to surviiiive. And I remember a certain daredevil who had family… nephews who would assist him in doing what was necessary. So believe you me that I’m aware of them and your former tag partner. And you don't have to worry, I’ve got plenty Terrors of Darkness who will be in attendance for our match and they will be utilized as needed… IF needed. But I don't think either of us need to get family involved. Oh yeah and as for this ‘he’... that you spoke of on the last episode of Meltdown…”
Walker grabs his demon mask and slides it back on before stepping up and looking directly into the camera.
“...bring ‘he’... ‘him’... and his anger. You all can witness what a Dark Traveler can truly do. And then hopefully… in your defeat, you will understand why what happened… simply happened the way it did. I’ve given you my reasons and explanation, it's up to you… to comprehend, daredevil. But for what it's worth…”
Death stands back up, pulls out a black and white Santa hat then places it onto his head.
“...this IS the season to be frightened so… HAVE A SCARY CHRISTMAS! Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!”
The Death Walker snaps his fingers and walks out of the scene like he was on a movie set. Leaving everything to fade to black with the appropriate song playing…
{"You're A Mean One, Mr. Grinch by Illumination & Tyler, The Creator"}[MEDIA=youtube]nytpYtLtHpE[/MEDIA] |
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Post by supinesnake on May 29, 2024 13:58:05 GMT
Originally posted by AON.
It's 2011, and Jack Noble is spitting blood onto a dirty, stained training mat. And it wasn't the first time either.
His body was covered in bruises, from head to toe; he ached, and he could feel he had a cut on his forehead that was going to hurt a hell of a lot more than it did now than when adrenaline went away...The punishment he was going through, he thought by now he'd be used to it; he thought that at a certain point, the broken skin around his limbs would grow stronger and prove more of a match against anything his wrestling coaches could throw at him.
No such luck...
Thankfully, he had the best coaches he could possibly ask that were reasonable and good-hearted people.
" FOR FUCK SAKE CLIPPER-! GET YOUR ARSE UP OFF THE MAT BEFORE I BOOT YOU OFF"
Chance would be a fine thing.
Jack Noble had been training for just over three weeks in the hardest and grimiest gym in north London (Fun fact: just a few months after this scene, the London Health organization would close it down)
"Are you stupid or something, Clipper? Everyone else can do it; why can't you get it through your thick skull?! Tuck your bloody chin and roll."
" That's what I've been doin'!"
Jack frustratingly slaps a combination of sweat and tears from his face while his drill sergeant of a trainer scolds him in front of the other students, who are all staring dead at him.
For fuck sake, Clipper-! If you can't do shit like this right, then it doesn't matta' how the flips and the flops and the other bullshit look, yeah? We're tryin' to teach you how to not break your neck and to have a long career outside of a bloody wheelchair, but you're here actin' like you know more than I do. When I tell you to TUCK YOUR CHIN, I MEAN TUCK.. YOUR. CHIN!-"
WHAM-!
And that's when Jack headbutted his trainer in the mouth.
"You nutted your trainer in the mouth."
"Aye"
Jack sat there in the owner's office a few hours later, rubbing his head sheepishly, knowing full well what was coming. But he accepted it with a shrug.
"....Ok, so why the fuck would you ever do something like that?"
"He called me Clipper."
"He called you Clipper...."
"That's what I said; he called me clipper."
The owner looked at the boy up and down; his eyes narrowed noticeably before he took a deep breath in through his nose and out his mouth.
"Well, you have to leave; you're out. But that goes without saying. You knew that already."
"Yep"
"You want some advice?"
"Not, really, no."
"Well, you're going to get it anyway. Because frankly, young man, I think you need it."
With his head lowered, Jack snorts in derision without making eye contact, which only draws the ire of the owner all the more; he speaks through his gritted teeth. Knowing he's about to make Jack angry.
"We all loved your sob story about leaving your mother with cancer to catch a bus to come train here. It's clear you want this, and you should be proud you got this far. But I don't think you belong here. Get back on that bus and work your old man's barbershop."
"I ain't no clipper-"
"And from what I've seen, you ain't no wrestler either."
Harsh truth slapped Jack right in the chops; as he looked up abruptly, a button clearly pressed.
"You want to make it in this business, yeah? You want this to be your trade? Then start acting like it because if you want to be the best at this shit? You got to be the best you can possibly be at everything. Every spot. Every move. Every drill. That's what I see in everyone else here. But you? I see you come in, angry at the world, a big fucking chip on your shoulders, thinking you can do whatever you want if you just punch your problems away. That's not how we do things here. We do things right here. We don't fight here. We work. We wrestle, but as far as I can see, you don't want to wrestle, you just want to fight, and that's how you end up hurting people, that's how you end up crippling people, hell if you don't listen to your coaches that's how you cripple yourself ya daft bugger. We'll see how heavy that ego is when you're in a wheelchair."
Jack just stared dead at the owner, his face going white, his fists opening and closing.
"Don't know what to tell you, mate; you're a danger to yourself and everyone else around here. You had a shot, and you blew it. Honestly? In another world, maybe I could overlook that if you had the attitude and you had the ability. Maybe I could give you a shot, but frankly, the one thing worse than your ability? Your attitude"
Cue awkward pause
"Now fuck off."
The Clipper didn't need to be told twice, as he leapt off his seat and made a beeline for the padlocked front doors that looked half rotten off, his eyes burning and his mouth dripping with all manner of swears and curses, as Jack Noble came to crossroads in his life. Is now the time to pack it in? To give up, to embrace his destiny and understand he'll be nothing more than a clipper?
Naa fuck that.
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Current day.
North London, slums, the most depressing place in the whole of England, The home of Jack the Clipper. It couldn't be any more depressing looking outside than it is right now. To a typical person, it's dull and sombre, but to those needing a change in scenery, it's perfection. Fog settles on the rooftops of buildings like a hat, while the dreary, rainy weather does not do much to add to the spirit of things. Jack The Clipper walks with his hands in her pockets, admiring the ran-down buildings around him.
He had hours to sit on the bus and think about what to do once he got back to London, and the best thing he could do was simply walk around and take in the sights.
Jack The Clipper: This place made me who I am. The majority of the people around here never get the opportunity to leave. I was the first member of my family to ever leave it , not to mention being the first to board an aeroplane or get a passport. To survive here, you have to be tough. You have to be built differently than the rest.
He spits a little on the ground, which is something of a strangely affectionate motion, which, to be fair, sums up nicely the strange love-hate relationship Jack seems to have with this place.
Jack The Clipper: "See, this ain't no Hollywood California, this ain't Rio, Brazil, no tourists ever come here for a lovely vacation. Hell, if you walk these streets, you probably don't know what a vacation is. That's what these streets are: a dead-end. Once you're born here, you never leave this place alive; you ain't got no hope, no prospects, no future. Life just constantly forces you to eat a plate of shit after shit after shit, and if you're lucky, you might be able to afford a half-decent grave.
He snarls savagely at his words as if taking a strange kind of pride from what he is saying, painting such a bleak and miserable picture of his background.
Jack The Clipper: So you're probably asking yourself, Jack, what's your secret? How did you do it? How did you work yourself from outside the gutter to the top of wrestling, just inches away from getting gold around your waste?
Jack shrugs, his shoulders "Fake" modesty oozing every single drop of his body.
Jack The Clipper: The same reason why, at Winter Wasteland, I am going to leave that ring with the television title wrapped around my waist. The law of the jungle, ya mugs. This is a game for everyone else. Kelo De Santos and Brooklyn Steiner? They fight because they're passionate about it. They fight because they think it's fun; they want to be here. But Jack the Clipper? I HAVE to fight. I ain't got no choice. My back is against the wall; this life is adapted or perished, and no one in the world can adapt to struggle like me. That's how you get your way out of the gutter; when you ain't got nothing else, you use your two fists, and you scrap, and you claw until blood runs down your fingernails. That's the only way anyone gets anywhere in this world. We're all scared little apes all trying to get out of the gutter, and the fastest way to do that? Stepping on everyone else's head. I don't see any other way to look at it, and if anyone ever tells you something different, they're lying. Kelio De Santos and Brooklyn are about to get a first-hand lesson of that, as well as the most vicious haircut they've ever had in their life. I turn forty-two years old on the 30th. This is also starting my fifteenth year as a pro. And I'm beginning to think...What's it all about, y'know? I've collected some championships here and there, but none of 'em matters as much as the one I'm fightin' for at Winter Wasteland. It's kind of a full circle moment, what time of the year and what's at stake. It all comes down to this, yeah?
He feels emotions taking her over and does her best to suppress them. Now isn't the time, not in front of the camera.
Jack The Clipper: "Here I am, Jackie Noble. A shit wrestler. With a shitty barber thing going on past my prime, here I am, fighting for the big belts. On the big show, and I know what you're thinking...What an inspiring story..an overnight success, blah blah blah...Stop. Because my overnight success took the best years of my life. Winter Wasteland is going to be a culmination of fifteen years of blood, sweat, tears, sacrifice, tragedy, triumph, and refusing to die all wrapped into one night. Now you're going to hear a lot of bullshit from those other two mugs; Brooklyn Steiner is gonna dazzle you with his Hollywood glitz and glamour and KDS? just going to ramble on about some harry potter shit? But me? I ain't got no Hollywood friends. I ain't got no special effect team and a sound stage to do big fucking magic movie scenes for you. All I am is a man with a bad temper, two fists the size of potatoes and a lack of patience from waiting my whole life for a fucking title shots, so the way I see it, I'm the only one who's gonna shoot you straight. Others may talk a bigger and better game, but none of them care about this as much as Jack The Clipper.
Jack pounds his chest as he speaks, waiting to impart his passion with every word he speaks; there seems to be a running theme in Jack The Clipper's words, he's well aware that he's not as flashy as his opponent, but god damn he's absolutely the most passionate. About the wrestling business, about this match, and most importantly of all, about winning the TV title.
Jack The Clipper: "This business is tough as old boots; you get seven shades of shite kicked out of you, and you're expected to do that every night while a crowd of people who never leaves their basement tell you you suck at it. You never know who is comin' up next or how many times you're gonna have to compete. Not everyone is made for it. It presents a tough road to navigate without a map in sight."
Jack suddenly stops, walking, warming his hands by blowing into them as he leans against a wall, looking around at his grey surroundings before speaking again.
Jack The Clipper: They told me, Jack, don't do it. Jack, you're too angry to do this. Jack, you're not strong enough. Do you know what I did? I welcomed the challenge. You're mad if you think cakewalks are goin' to occur on either side. This isn't some game. It isn't fantasy. Three of the best wrestlers in the world are goin' to give it all they have, and only one walks away champion with' nothin' left in their tanks but pride. You want the honor of being the TV champion? You're goin' to earn it.
He knows the predictions and has seen the previews. With every choice stacking odds in the favor of seemingly everyone but him, it just fires him up even more. Having been doubted his entire life, this is just part of it.
Jack The Clipper: "Daft wankers, think it's a foregone conclusion that Jack can't win. They have forgone the pencils and put their winners down in permanent ink that'll be Brooklyn Stenier or KDS. Not budging on their predictions. Case closed. So why bother, right? See, I think the opposite of that. I love proving the doubters wrong. I get off on makin' people strangle on their words.
Slipping his right hand up to the throat, Jack gives himself a little squeeze with a wild look in his eyes.
Jack The Clipper: "Brooklyn Steiner's hopes are high, The Coven are feelin' right invincible, yeah? Midnight is comin' quickly for all of you, Cinderellas. Livin' the high life in FWA, thinking,' both of you are coastin' to that The TV Championship. But soon, your carriage is turnin' into a pumpkin, and you'll be back to scrubbin' floors. That fairy tale shit is for children. This is real life. There are no miracles here—only disappointment. You see, you have to understand. I don't just want that TV championship. I NEED that championship. I will do whatever it takes. I understand you're all goin' to say the same. Wrestling is very repetitive in nature, and it's filled with the same metaphoric overkill from every person who talks.
Motioning at his waist, Jack pantomimes a "belt" without skipping a beat.
Jack The Clipper: Everyone's gonna talk about how badly they want the belt to the crowd and get polite applause for their efforts. It's how we're trained. We're "entertainers," right? Give 'em a bloody good show while we beat our bodies up.
He makes a fist and slams it into the palm of his left hand, making a thick thud upon collision.
Jack The Clipper: "But what happens when things aren't paint-by-numbers like you had hoped? What happens when you're punched in the mouth and fightin' for your life in that ring? Hollywood ain't gonna help you then, rich boy. Your bibbidi bobbidi boo, is fucked, magical girl, So where does that TV title go? It depends on your instincts to survive. Nothing else. Not the people you hang out with, your catchphrases, or your sisters. Not those flurries of Tweets people laugh at you for postin'; none of that can help you. Wrestling is the one sport that stays the same; only the roles change. And what truly stays the same is that only the strong survive when the dust settles.
Jack pounds his fist into his palm again. The strike is so hard you cringe watching, knowing it had to cause an intense amount of discomfort. He doesn't bat an eye.
Jack The Clipper: "But I get it though, who the fuck I'm I compared to KDS? Youngest TV champion of all time. She called me a joke? Just a gimmick?
The Clipper lets out a snort of amusement...that quickly turns into a gale of laughter that seems unhinged, almost like if he doesn't laugh, he'll cry.
Jack The Clipper: "Oh, Kelo, you think I'm a gimmick? I'm a character, you think That scissors and gel is me?! That I WANT to be this? That's what you don't understand; you think this is a gimmick, but it's not...It's...my....fucking....curse"
He spits out the words like they were made of poison.
Jack The Clipper: "You think I like my life reduced to puns? That people think I'm just a one-note...CLOWN?! DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT'S LIKE CARRYING THAT FUCKING NAME ALL YOUR LIFE?!
He looks like he's getting emotional as he stares down the camera.
Jack The Clipper: Every waking moment of my life, I hear the sound in my head crowd chanting "Clipper-!" over and over again. No matter what I do, no matter where I go, that name clings to my soul like an illness...and you...you have the nerve?! The GALL?! to look at me with a straight face and call me a gimmick?! YOU?! THE LEGIT MMA WRESTLER WHO MADE THE CHOICE TO PLAY HARRY POTTER. YOU CALL ME A JOKE?!
The disgust is plain on his face.
Jack The Clipper: "But you got to understand. That's why you can't win, because once I pin you. One, I smash you down to the ground, and I win the TV Championship...
He pauses, and a strange sense comes to his eyes.....hope?
Jack The Clipper: "There it is...freedom...my ticket, out of my self-imposed cell. The moment my hand is raised...I stopped being called Clipper and stopped being the champion. And that's why it WILL be me. I'm going to be the last person standing. And I know no one wants that. I know it's not in the plans for Jack The Clipper to walk away with that title. I know nobody is rootin' for me. Everyone has Brooklyn Steiner as the shoo-in winner already.
Jack looks unimpressed.
Jack The Clipper: I'll give it to him. He's A great fighter. Looks like a star. Carries himself like one. So what happens when an over-the-hill "Gimmick" slaughtered the future of the company, huh? What happens when Jack The Clipper fucks up, everyone's new favourite? You know what happens then? All the wrestling purists can bugger off, as far as I'm concerned.
After a few seconds of middle fingers, He puts them down and rests his hands on his lap.
Jack The Clipper: I know I have a tall task in front of me. I may not look like a star. My grammar is shit, and I'm uneducated. I'm not the headline to do meet and greets. But I am something KDS and Brook can never be
He props her head up with his hand on his chin and very meticulously delivers his next comment ever so casually.
Jack The Clipper: "I'm fuckin' desperate, and what makes me different from everyone else is that I feel no shame in admitting it. I have been spat on, mocked, kicked and abandoned by everyone I've ever met in this goddamn business. No one has EVER believed in me BUT ME. I've seen a lot of things in my soon-to-be 42 years. I've gone to bed hungry; I wore clothes too small for me 'cos there wasn't any money to buy new ones, and I found myself in positions to do a lot of bad things that I'm not proud of in order to survive. I work as hard as I can so that I don't ever have to go back to that life. This opportunity might be another day for Brooklyn and KRS women, but it's FUCKIN' EVERYTHING TO ME! I have a mother working shit jobs in London, and at my father's funeral, I made a vow to get her out of that shithole. And a shitty shop; I've kept standing with nothing ht swept off my There are REAL reasons why I fight. There's a purpose behind me bein' so cutthroat in that squared circle. This sport is about survival, and if you don't brutalize your opponent, they'll get you first. I don't take this for granted like some.
Even through his thick accent, his words pierce the soul.
Jack The Clipper: This company needs someone who will carry that title with pride and honour, not some impotent fraud! I know what becomin' champion will do for my legacy, not to mention my pocketbook, and I'm goin' to seize this opportunity. Every mornin' when I wake up, I remind myself that I've made it this far because I was willin' to do what it takes. And I knew that the truth of the world, that if you want to get out of the gutter...Ya gotta fight like hell.
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Post by supinesnake on May 29, 2024 13:59:06 GMT
Originally posted by AON. Light. Blinding light. Nothing else. Where was this? Was this… death? Was this… peace? Further inspection debunks all possible theories. The ringing in her ears has begun to subside....Then, Elizabeth realized it was Winter Wasteland, but somehow, it wasn't. She could hear the crowd. ..they were crying, screaming. There was such a malevolent atmosphere that had consumed the air inside. Why? It was so hard to think. Elizabeth was staring up at the lights in the centre of the ring. There was a headache. A migraine. A horrible burning pain ran through her arm. Where did it come from? Wait… there was…music…...So familiar. Wait a second. That's Gabby's music. The signal of the end. But if that's really what she was hearing, then that means… she lost. Wait. She lost?! Elizabeth raised her arms to shield her eyes from the lights high above the arena. Slowly, she rolled over to her stomach, allowing herself to push herself up with her arms that felt like dead weights as she looked across the ring in order to receive confirmation of her curiosity and confirmation she did receive. There she was, up on the entrance ramp, arms raised in victory, Gabrielle. The sure sign that he came out of the match as the winner. Elizabeth would have despaired. Elizabeth's heart would have been broken if only she could think straight. Still, it's not a very well-known fact how badly your head gets rattled when you get kicked in the head repeatedly, especially after going through the type of gruelling match that these two just went through. Elizabeth laid her head down upon the apron for a moment of rest, a small moment to recover from the pain, to clear her head from the ringing. Slowly, she closed her eyes and focused on all the sounds around her. She could hear it… the slow, gradual transition that was taking place. Gabby seems to have just left the ringside area. His music had been put to a halt. And it is here that Gabby would leave the arena content. Satisfied with the fact that he had defeated Elizabeth, the image of his face raced through Elizabeth's mind. She could see it, the smug smile plastered upon her face, sated at the fact that she has proven she is truly better than Elizabeth...even now.
Elizabeth Rose: "This isn't right….I don't understand. This doesn't make sense. I don't understand.
???" What can be may still be."
Elizabeth lay there frozen at the sound of the voice. She looked up from her supine position to behold the Leader of Eternal, who stood above her, her eyes drilling a hole through Elizabeth. Kere's voice was Familiar but different... It was… beautiful and melodic in nature, yet menacing and horrible all at once. Elizabeth knew what this was about....and it wasn't anything she'd like to deal with...but no matter how much she wished it, no matter how much she willed it, no matter how much she wanted it, she couldn't wake up. Keres has listened. Keres have heard
Elizabeth Rose: "I don't want to hear it."
Keres: "What you wish, or do not wish for, does not concern me, Sister. You were told to stay away from Gabrielle; she is a link to your past self that you needed to cut out, yet you choose to ignore this...So I felt you needed to see the fruits of your labour."
Keres gestured idly around her to the defeated Elizabeth and the victorious Gabby.
With a grunt, Elizabeth picked herself back up from the ground, forcing through the pain of going through a gruelling "match" or at least made to experience the feeling of doing so to face off with Keres.
Elizabeth Rose: "So what? You don't think I can beat her? You don't think I can't handle Gabby. I can beat her! I'm better than her, I'm-!
Elizabeth froze, unable to even finish her sentence, all because of a chill on her shoulder. If she were to peer over to her left, she would see the pale, ghastly hand of Keres on her shoulder. A freezing chill grazed her ear. There was a breath, an insanely cold breath, next to her face that drew in the whispers of Keres in her ear.
Keres: "No… Shh… it's all right. It's all right. I know why you did it; you're afraid she's right. I understand... I'll always understand you.
The sensation of physical affection from Keres, was enough for even the mouthy Elizabeth to pause; trying to brush the moment off, she swatted away the hand on her shoulder that struck her dumb.
Elizabeth Rose: "Ok, I get the idea; consider the message received; I gotta fall in line. And I will, but this one time? This one thing? Winter Wasteland? It has to be for me. As long as SHE'S here, I can't give my all to you. I can't be all I can be if I'm forever in that goddamn shadow."
Keres: To whom are you trying to prove this? Yourself? Me? The world? All the above?
Elizabeth didn't answer; she never really considered it.
Keres: You have nothing to prove to me, Elizabeth; I invited you into my world and family. That is an honour I don't bestow on many. You're too sure of yourself to have to prove it to yourself. So, I can only assume this match is for the benefit of everyone else. Those who scream how much they want Lizzie Rose to return. That Elizabeth Rose doesn't amuse them as much as Lizzie Rose did
Elizabeth Rose, I don't want to hear this.
Keres: People rarely do like to hear the truth. Here, let me show you something…
And just like that... hands begin to grasp her body, holding her in a tight bear hug from behind. And in a quick movement, she is whisked away to the inner depths of her mind. It is only a few seconds before she finds herself standing on solid ground again, whereas the arms release her and point out the scene before her. Right in front of her is a staircase, the one in the stands that leads to the food and merchandise areas of the building. Far below on the lower parts of the stairs, she sees… herself in the ring, wobbly, almost drunkenly covered in blood. It is here that Elizabeth has not only become a spectator to her own memory but has gotten a front-row seat to the replay.
Elizabeth Rose: This is my match with Gabby at Back In Business in Rio. Why have you brought me here?
Keres: I want you to watch very, very closely. Watch yourself, watch Gabby and especially, watch these fans.
Elizabeth takes these words to heart as she views herself in the ring, getting slammed full force into steel steps with an almighty THUD, causing her to flip over them.
Keres: You see it? Look very closely…
It all starts to begin in slow motion. Lizzie crumples in pain, holding her gut. The fans are going crazy. And just as Gabby picks her up… she notices a strange change in the fans behind her and Gabby. With every slow frame, their faces seemed to undergo some type of metamorphosis until, right at the crash, it all just peeled away. Right at the point where Gabby hits her with a chair, All these men and women who were cheering had completed their change. Their skin broke off like shattered glass, and what was left behind were some… unspeakable sights. These spectators in the stands, the oceans of fans, had seemingly shed their human images in a heartbeat, and what remained was the inner core that revealed dark, grotesque images of twisted, macabre faces. Each and every fan wore upon their face a demonic visage that seemed to rattle Elizabeth. These people… were monsters.
Keres: Do you see it, Elizabeth? Do you see it? Don't look away. This is important. ou had to be reminded because you're falling into old habits. These are the people to whom you seek to prove yourself. This is who they are. This is what you've always done, Elizabeth. You trust people, you believe the best in them...and they always hurt you and abandon you in the end. You cannot forget the pain, the misery they brought you.That SHE brought you. She made you push yourself, and she abandoned you in the end. THEY made you push yourself, and they boo'ed you in the end. You cannot be allowed to forget. This is why I brought you here. Have you forgotten?
Elizabeth Rose: I can't-
Keres "Look again."
Elizabeth Rose: "No."
Keres: "I said, look."
The memory was still playing in slow motion, with Rose and Keres surrounded by a sick army of cadavers, wraiths, and devils of all kinds. And yet, in Gabrielle, Elizabeth saw the same kind of change. She was beginning to undergo the same metamorphosis. The skin of her face rippled and blurred just as she was putting Lizzie in place for the double arm DDT and drilled her down to the ground at full force. Right at the moment of impact, Elizabeth saw it. Gabrielle's face shattered. The pieces of skin, muscle, and bone crumbled off his head. All Elizabeth saw was a grotesquerie, an evil form that resembled the true Gabrielle Mongormy. And it was this very image itself that Keres had tried to show Elizabeth this visage that could possibly be likened to the face of Lucifer himself. Elizabeth had no words. All she could do was look at the monster that had tortured her for years. She quivered. She feared. She froze.
Keres: "Elizabeth, have you had enough? Do you want it all to go away?"
Elizabeth nodded, and it all went away. No more monsters. No more boogeymen. No more ghosts and ghouls and ghastly images. Like in the beginning, Keres took everything away, all the fear and pain. She found himself right back in the middle of the ring where she first found herself.
Keres: There. You're safe. Safe, for now. But you know what you have to do. You know why I showed you this.
The lights in the dream arena slowly began to fade one by one. She could hear the voice, speaking once again in Keres's voice, that slowly began to fade back into that soundless thought in her mind that she was all so familiar with. And all was quiet. Dark. Nothing. And Elizabeth was alone once again. Slowly, very slowly, she attempted to open her eyes, forcing reality to come back into focus.
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The video opened up to the sight of a dark, empty room, consumed almost completely by pitch black. Mere moments in, a click is heard, and a single light turns on, hanging from the ceiling with a crude, simple lampshade that focuses the majority of the light downwards towards what appears to be an empty table beneath it and behind it? A grimy, dirty mirror. The setting evokes an interrogation room, though all that's missing is someone either to play the interrogator or to be interrogated. That detail very quickly fills itself out as the familiar image of Elizabeth Rose steps in from the side, stepping up to the table right at the very edge of the light, casting just enough upon him to be seen while maintaining just enough shadow to obscure some of his details from view. In particular, her head is bowed down just slightly, preventing him from locking eyes with the camera.
Elizabeth Rose: "They'll say it, started at Winter Wasteland.
Elizabeth pauses to take a draft from her now all-too-familiar cigarette.
Elizabeth Rose: "Notice the turn of phrase; "They'll say it STARTED. Nothing that's going to end at Winter Wasteland is going to be worth remembering—particularly the career of Gabrielle Montgomery.
Elizabeth pauses as she idly runs a finger on the table, seemingly deep in thought.
Elizabeth Rose: "I have regrets. A lot of them, actually. Chief among them was being the last to realize just how special I was. When I first came here, I had doubts. I had anxieties. I have been doubted my entire life, and that has imprinted on me. To the point where I needed a new family to realize who and what I am. Far too late. See, on another day, at another time, there's an Elizabeth Rose who knew exactly who she was the second she stepped into an FWA ring and within months of her debut. They would be the FWA World Heavyweight champion. But by pure chance, I grew up in FWA, gaslighted and manipulated by a woman who wanted to make sure her cub didn't grow up to be a mountain lioness.
It's at this point that Elizabeth finally makes eye contact with the camera.
Elizabeth Rose: It's only thanks to my sisters that I see that I've always had the ability to be capable of more. More than anyone else on this roster, more than so-called 'Hall of Famers', and certainly more than Gabrielle Montgomery, and I should have proven that at this point...but then ....SHE showed up.
Elizabeth can't help but laugh despite herself as if she can't believe the nerve of her opponent.
Elizabeth Rose: My one last loose end, my last piece of connection I had to Lizzie Rose waltz through the door, and that's a problem because I can't fully focus, I can't concentrate on who I need to be as long as a relic of my past insists upon intruding on my future.
Elizabeth turns her head behind her back as if noticing, for the first time, the mirror hanging up against the wall.
Elizabeth Rose: The SECOND she showed up on that stage at Lights Out? I should have kneecapped her. I should have killed off that weakness right there and then. I should have eliminated that issue right there. But I didn't; I guess you can say that was my last show of kindness towards Gabby. I tried to tell her to stay away and get out while she could. I tried to do what my sisters said. I tried to ignore her, but you can't handle it when the spotlight isn't on you, can you, Gabby?
A deep, remorseful sigh escapes her as she turns back to the camera.
Elizabeth Rose: I should have realized that when you ignore cancer, it just grows; the only way to get rid of it? It is to kill it off.
She pauses for a moment and places her hand on her heart.
Elizabeth Rose: "So I want to thank Gabby. I am truly indebted to your pride, your vanity, and your desperation because I see now as long as you're around. I'll always be weak. I'll always be in your shadow. I'll always be in a cage of my own weakness, and the only way I can erase Lizzie Rose well and truly? Is to erase YOU."
At this point, Elizabeth moves towards the table, towards the mirror.
Elizabeth Rose: And I won't lie, I am flustered; I have been conflicted, but that's just because I genuinely didn't think I'd ever see you again. I thought you'd have a sense of shame and never come back. But somehow I'm glad you did because all you've done since you arrived is prove my point. Y'see, it's easy for you to come out here, put on a brave face, become a pathetic version of what you were, and still have people eating out of your hands. Because that's what you do, you smile, and you have the world eating out of your hands. You've made a pretty good life for yourself out of it but at the end of the day… Outside of that glamour, that charisma we have, there's an elephant in the room, and that's an elephant: you're past your prime. You can't fight as well as you could even five years ago. And me? I haven't even reached my peak yet, and I'm better than you. Hell, I was better than you two years ago, when I was a shy, insecure kid in Rio at Back In Business, beating you. I was better than you when I first showed up at ground zero. Hell, I was better than you BEFORE you ever knew my name when I was wrestling women ten times as good as you, women you'd never know because you're blinkered. Because while you tried so hard to make yourself a name in Hollywood name. I was bleeding on every mat, fighting on every street corner in Brooklyn and telling myself that someday I would be in a position… like this. You got no FUCKING HEART gabby.
Sudden emotion suddenly explodes from the normally composed Elizabeth Rose as she BANGS her fist on the wall; she takes a few deep breaths to compose herself as if embarrassed, and an emotional response escapes her.
Elizabeth Rose: "You've got no heart, not anymore. You have no fighting spirit. You have no ambition. You have NOTHING. But I've just found mine. You think I'm someone you have to save; you don't see what I actually am; I'm the bullet that killed Franz Ferdinand. The architect for change. When Winter Wasteland rolls around, you're just the first victim of Elizabeth Rose, and your blood will be the foundation on which Eternal will build EVERYTHING.
She tilts her head up momentarily, looking back at the mirror once again, rubbing her hands together.
Elizabeth Rose: Second verse. Same as the first, right Gabby? I'd like to say something about this being an epic rivalry that started three years ago. That Winter Wasteland is another chapter in the epic story between two warriors brought together via fate, tied together via destiny to fight forever…..But let's be real. These matches always meant more to me than they did to you. Imma right? I mean, The first match between us? Lizzie Rose vs Gabreile at Back In Business? You never wanted that? You said I was beneath you. The fact that you fought me at Back In Business means that you treated me as a blight on your record. I had to drag you kicking and screaming to even come close to you showing me respect, and I'll be honest. That broke my heart. To know someone that you looked up to for so long... Didn't really give a shit. But I still beat you despite all that...and now, we've swamped roles, but let's not get it twisted. When I challenged you the first time around, it was because I respected you. This time? You don't respect me. Hell, if we're being honest? You don't even want to fight me all that much. What is the reason you want this match so bad?
Elizabeth leans forward as if wanting to make sure this particular point is felt loud and clean.
Elizabeth Rose: It's because I'm all you got left.
A cruel smirk comes across Elizabeth's features.
Elizabeth Rose: I look at you, and I don't see a fighter; I see a pathetic, desperate woman. Your Hollywood career is in the gutter. You're...what? Twice? Or three times divorced. Your personal life is a mess, to the point where the only way you can pay the bills is through degrading yourself with porn, and just how soulless and depressing must that have felt, and then you saw me doing well in FWA, and you saw a chance to go back to the only thing in your life to give you meaning. I'm not your opponent; I'm your goddamn mid-life crisis.
A scraping sound is heard as Elizabeth pulls back a chair from her side of the table. With enough space placed for her, she takes a seat, entering the full glow of the tiny space of light as he does so. For a moment, she lingers. A moment more, she turns her head to the side. And then she looks up, making eye contact with the camera and flashing a curious smile as she does so
Elizabeth Rose: Oh, was that too real for you? Did I cross some line? "Hey, I'm just playing your game. The hard truth, right? That's what you were doing on Fallout, right? Pointing the truth at me? It's not nice when your facade crumbles, and I see you for exactly what you are.
Elizabeth leans back in her seat, placing her fingers together as she does so. Her brow furrows and her eyes focus forward, not penetrating into any outward object in her vision but more so examining inner thoughts. Her mouth and hands were slightly ajar, her body laying completely still aside from the slight glimpse of her tongue brushing against the inside of his bottom lip. After a momentary deliberation upon her thoughts, Elizabeth continues.
Elizabeth Rose: "Yeah, it's not nice, is it? There's something undeniably unsettling about it. Never has anyone ever felt any comfort in the feeling of being seen, but even as a feeling, it's different. The paranoia, the simple idea that someone SEES you. To have a person constantly looking over their shoulder, constantly lingering over cracks in the door or shadows past the window, wondering if any unwanted visitors may be spying on them, seeing things they aren't meant to see, learning things they aren't meant to know. That? That is just simple fear. It's cognitive and mental, and no matter how much you may think someone sees you, you never really know if it's true or not. That feeling alone can drive people insane. It could all be in their heads, and people would still lose sleep over it….Trust me, I would know... But what if you took that fear… and made it real? What if you went beyond the simple thought of someone watching you and stared directly into the whites of their eyes? That is when instinctual behaviour comes into play. We have learned across several millennia to be afraid of unwanted guests. Our ancestors feared seeing eyes in the bushes because what it meant to them was the very real possibility that they could be staring their own murderers right in the face. That feeling has never gone away, even past thousands of generations, because somewhere deep down, no matter what walls or windows might be between us, we still know it's true. The danger is still real. We are the prey; they are the predator. We are the prisoners; they are the warden, and we are forced to succumb to their every whim. We are trapped, helpless, and vulnerable, all because they know us, but we do not know them. The eyes are the windows to the soul, yet theirs are imperceptible, while ours are cast wide open, and that is what scares us. We don't know what they can do to us. We don't know what they intend to do to us, but they do, and they know exactly how they're going to do it to us, and it is that disparity of knowledge that can turn the greatest security into the greatest fear."
Elizabeth leans forward in her chair, resting her arms against the table while still keeping his fingers pressed together. This brought her further into the light that hung above him but also directly under it. The light hung upon her brow, causing her eyes to be cast in shadow. Framed in the shade, the intensity of his gaze stood out more strongly than before. She peered directly into the camera, this time penetrating into a hit. Her focus held steady and unflinching, and it was difficult to deny her stare, demonstrating the very same phenomenon that Elizabeth herself was explaining just a few seconds ago. Staring back did nothing. Her eyes revealed nothing of herself other than the feeling that for all the things that one could not read about her, he could read those exact things about you.
Elizabeth Rose "I will give credit to Gabby.. Her understanding of fear over the years is incredible. With just a simple gaze, she has accomplished the one thing that so many have been able to do. For years, she has managed to deliver real fear. More than any sort of cryptic story or display of strength, all she has to do is show someone the whites of his eyes to get them to cower. For this, Gabby has my respect. She is formidable; I'll give her that. Gabby has earned her rep. And between you and me, I'd say it's better to take the devil you know than the devil you don't."
Elizabeth parted her hands, grasped her chin with one hand, and pushed it to
the side, cracking her neck before she looked back at the camera.
Elizabeth Rose: "Gabby is not only a threat, but she is a threat everyone respects, whether consciously or otherwise, merely based on that one concept that she seems to understand more than anyone. All she has to do is look at you straight, just to let you know that she sees everything. She sees me. She sees my fears, my doubts, my insecurities, my flaws, my vulnerabilities, my weaknesses. The greatest weapon she has is the fact she's in my head...and we all know it. People know that she can see the chinks in my armour, that she can see the threads she needs to get the reaction she wants. Hell, she proved that on Fallout, she would take advantage of these things without a second thought. She has lived up to the danger, time and time again, and she has made a living out of disintegrating her enemy's confidence and preying upon their weakness; Gabby tells the world to fear the creature watching them from the shadows because it is real, it is capable, and more than anything else, it is malicious. Gabby has that magical ability to look them all in the eye, and they see all the things they didn't want to see reflected in her eyes, and they crumble because of it. And for as much of a blessing that may seem to be, it has become her downfall. With all eyes on her, she is slowly being exposed, and it's only a matter of time before we completely peel apart the enigma and reveal the weaknesses she has been hiding from us."
Elizabeth smiles at her statement, her lips taking upon them a sinister crook from beneath the shadow of his own brow. Before long, however, she begins to tilt his head up, revealing her face more towards the light. The angle allows it to show her features in full, and this, combined with the lightly lifted chin, changes the context of his smile from malevolence to confidence. She is no longer looking up through the angle of a devious brow,
Elizabeth Rose: " The predator's greatest weapon is in knowing its prey is unprepared, but oh, how tragic is it that so many of us began to prepare for Gabby the moment her name became relevant to us? She is hollow and fragile, a scarecrow without a brain. And just like a scarecrow, people feared her from a distance, the menacing creature in the dark staring right back at them, but once someone decides to come closer and see her for what she really is, all they need to do is breathe in her general direction for him to fall apart. I've got Gabby all figured out, but she's so narrow-minded that she doesn't even notice. She casts a long shadow, completely ignorant to the fact that rave light has caught her and that shadow is gone, and now all we see is the scared, pitiful little creature that casts that shadow in the first place. But if she wishes to live in willful ignorance, that's fine. She only has a few more days left to live in her little fantasy of being relevant in FWA because once she comes and looks me in the eye? At Winter Wasteland? She will have no choice but to come face-to-face with the reality that he was never able to handle. Because the truth is? Gabby's worst fear? Is this?"
Elizabeth suddenly reaches forward, grabs the mirror on the wall, and points its reflective surface at the camera.
Elizabeth Rose: Come on, Goddess. Tell me, what do you see? I'm right here in the light, plain as day. I've got nothing to hide. If the eyes really are the windows to the soul, then I'm giving you a full invite. Look into my eyes; tell me what you see. Is it fear? Is it doubt? Is it worry? Or is it something completely different? For someone who's made a career thus far of seeing through people, you have the sad, unfortunate fate of having to end up looking at me, and this time…you don't see doubt. You see someone who is indestructible. You look at me, and you see someone who YOU don't want to see, and that's someone you couldn't kill. It's a reality you can't face, a truth you can't accept, but in the end, the truth is the truth, whether you like it or not; in fact, consider this my warning to you, Gabby For just one night, I suggest you close your eyes and look away, because if you look me in the eye, you won't like what you see. What you will find when you look at me is the glamour you cast. The power you THINK you have over me? They're all shallow and paper-thin. All you ever had was the mystery of a curtain, and year after year, the only thing you could do was hope that no one would ever be brave enough to tear that curtain down. Me? I have no curtains because I have nothing to hide. You won't be afraid of me because you think you're above me. When we stand against each other at winter wasteland, You will look at me and realize that I am the real embodiment of fear, not because I'm vague or cryptic. You ain't dealing with Keres here! Because I am real, I exist, and I make things happen that should not happen. Because no matter how many times I get dropped. I keep coming back. I Do. Not. Break. When you look at me, you will see a woman ready to slay her biggest demon. I'm the one no one notices. Now, I'm the one in the shadows. And we can just add it to the growing list of great ironies in this match that I am the girl with nothing to hide who has been wandering in the shadows, going against the woman who never wanted to come out of the dark. You lived your life with your eyes wide open. You are always watching, always observing, and nothing escapes you. But for as perceptive as you are, I wonder… do you see Winter Wasteland coming? Because I promise you. The wrestling world won't. And once we meet in that ring and you have to make that decision of understanding who it is you're up against, let me give you this piece of advice. When we meet face-to-face, I suggest you turn your head and look away. Don't even dare to look me in the eye because if you do? It'll be the last thing you ever see."
SMASH-! With as much force she could muster, she throws the mirror on the ground, where it shatters into a million pieces; she considers it for a moment and idly tosses her used cigarette bud on the ground on top of it. She deliberately stomps on it with his foot and walks off.
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Post by supinesnake on May 29, 2024 13:59:48 GMT
Originally posted by Cyrus.  “Reading the Riot Act! To Answer For One’s Crimes!!!”It’s that time of the year yet again. That time where snowflakes dance and fall from the heavens, where deep crimsons, ivory whites, and verdant greens become the colors of the season as bells ring and cash registers ding, as people rush to and fro to prepare for the holidays and get everything in order. The world is always in a constant flux of ill tempers and people’s better angels, but the sentiment of this time of year is one of gratitude towards the year that was while looking forward to the year to come. It’s a time of reflection, a chance to unpack from the year’s rigors and prepare oneself for the next journey ahead. But here, in Precinct 64, a chance at respite seems like a long shot. The precinct, a long-neglected station that some have thought would be better shut down, still persists in a city where other stations thrive, but oftentimes on the back of bribes and corruption. Precinct 64, despite being mocked, still exists as a bastion where officers and detectives still hold fast to the oath they swore when they joined the force. Maybe that’s why, when many other precincts have closed down for the holiday weekend, Precinct 64 still remains active, even as the holiday creeps ever closer and many of its staff are getting things in order before heading off to spend time with their friends and family. Two detectives, the eccentric Detective Howser with his large-brimmed hat hiding most of his face and the stoic veteran Detective Truman whose eyes can pierce through steel, are seated at their desks rifling through arrest reports, witness testimonies, and court filings. This duo had worked separately in different precincts, and despite the fact that they have very different approaches when it came to police work and investigations? Circumstances and a spike in criminal activity in the city have brought them together here in Precinct 64 and they’ve proven to be as effective a duo as they were as solitary officers. It hasn’t all been successful, however. New criminals utilizing every low-bar trick in the book have managed to slip through their grasp and continue their thievery and hooliganism, ruining the city for good, honest, earnest citizens. And others, more established and notorious thugs, continue to try and impose their will. The fight against crime is a never-ending one. Often, it’s a thankless task, especially when the scum of the vile and venomous criminal underbelly are glorified and deified. But Howser and Truman persist, because the city is worth saving even when the city doesn’t always love them back. Regardless, the detectives are looking forward to a bit of a break before it’s back to the grind. However, fate is a fickle dame at the best of times. And this season has a way of throwing a blizzard that could overwhelm even the most hard-boiled of detectives. “Make way, make way! Perps on parade!” The call of the dispatcher gets the attention of Howser and Truman as both men turn their heads to the entrance of the precinct. A couple of uniformed officers are escorting some men in handcuffs through the precinct towards the interrogation rooms. One is a scruffy looking hoodlum, whose face is a canvas of bruises and his eyes are blood-shot. He looks strung out, the bright fluorescent lights of the precinct of From a sleepless night, a drug-fueled bender, or both? Another is a dark-skinned young man in a weather-beaten hoodie, a fierce countenance in his eyes that tells the story of a monster who’s all too familiar with and who was made and forged in the penal system. And the third looms large above the other two. He, too, wears a hood, but one pulled up that covers all but the sneer from his lips. However, it’s clear to Howser and Truman that that hood is doing more than hiding this criminal’s face. As the three perps are being roughly led to interrogation, Truman gives a quick aside glance to Howser. “It’s them, isn’t it?”
“Oh, indeed. It’s them, all right. Minus one, of course. Three killers, three thieves, three bottom-feeders who live in filth and thrive in scum.”
“Hmph. Rather poetic way of saying they’re a bunch of assholes who’ve made it their lives’ missions to one-up one another in being an unrepentant prick.”
“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”
“No, not really.”
“Hmm. I suppose it doesn’t matter either way. Shall we, then? I suppose we have some conversations to have and perhaps some confessions to drag out.”Both Howser and Truman stand up, file away the reports they had been trying to wrap up before heading home for the holiday. As the two start to walk past their fellow officers’ desks, Truman speaks up. “Are you sure you want to get involved? Knowing how much of a hard case these bastards like to pretend to be, we might be here for a while. Might miss the party.”Howser shrugs. “They’ve done grievous harm to us, and it should be answered in kind, should it not?”
“No, you’re right. I completely agree. Just wanted to make sure we were on the same page.”Howser chuckles at that as the duo heads to the captain’s office. The man sitting at the desk is a slightly slovenly, probably drunk man in an ill-fitting suit. His phone is ringing, but he seems rather uninterested in answering it as the calls continue to go to voicemail. Instead, he’s busy chatting to someone on his cell phone as the detectives get to the tail end of the conversation. “So, ah…you gonna wear the red lace? Yeah, yeah, you know I’m good for it, baby. Same time? Yeah, fantastic. I can’t wait to lick…”The captain cuts himself off as he finally notices that he’s not alone. His already puffy cheeks now have a telltale red flush to them as he quickly stammers: “H-hey, honey? I’m, ah…I’m going to have to call you back, bye!”The captain immediately ends what was turning out to be a very saucy call as he fumbles the smartphone, barely catching it before it falls to the floor. None of this surprises Howser and Truman. Precinct 64 has a sterling reputation, for certain. But that has little to do with the man at the helm of the station. The captain’s proclivities were well-known, and both detectives had their suspicions that he was probably on the take with some of the criminal elements in the city…or if not them, that he was just a pawn of the corrupt mayor’s office. Regardless, that didn’t particularly matter to Howser or Truman as the veteran spoke up. “Hey. The boys brought in three perps. Howser and I have had our problems with them for a while. So, we’re going to interrogate them, see if we can get them to break. I assume you don’t have a problem with that.”
“Hmm? Perps? When did we collar some perps? Wait…”The captain’s eyes narrow at Truman and Howser as he subconsciously grinds his teeth. “You mean ‘those’ perps? Boys, I’ve told you before. The mayor has a soft spot for those thugs for reasons he hasn’t exactly bothered to explain. Hell, he lets two of them do whatever the fuck they want despite the number of complaints we get. Unless we get them dead to rights, they’re just going to be out on the streets again tomorrow. And I’m not about to have my holiday ruined because you two got some kind of grudge you think you can settle by sweating them a bit.”
“Then go home. We certainly don’t need you here.”
“Hey! Watch your tongue, Howser!”
“He’s right, though. Besides…Truth be told? We didn’t have the evidence we had or the testimonies we’ve been gathering. We can nail these bastards to the wall, Cap. All we need is time in interrogation. No sweat off your balls.”The captain cocks an eyebrow. He’s not particularly fond of his detectives’ dismissive attitude…but maybe it’s the fact that Howser and Truman are his best officers, maybe it’s the spirit of the season. Or maybe it’s just curiosity to see if they can make good on their confidence. “...Fine. Whatever. You two think you can manage it? Then go. Grab the reports and get those punks to squeal.”There’s not a word spared. Not a moment wasted as Truman and Howser turn and leave the office, their captain annoyed at the dismissiveness. He rummages through his desk and pulls out a flask, taking a long sip of cheap whiskey as he rolls his eyes. “Fucking white hats. Thinking they can save the goddamn world…”***** Suspect #1Alias: LegacyPurported Crimes: Assault and Battery, Grand Theft and Larceny, Possession of Drugs, and Drug TraffickingThe suspect, who’s been assigned the moniker Legacy, sits in his interrogation room, eyes darting and fingers twitching. The bright light illuminates the bruising around his face and arms, and it’s apparent by the way Legacy is shifting in the metal chair that even more bruising is hidden by his bulky, ill-fitting and stained clothing. There’s a massive one-way mirror in the interrogation room, and we see Detective Howser standing on the opposite side, silently observing with his massive hat drawn down low while Legacy can only see his own reflection. The silence is uncomfortable until the door opens. In strides Detective Truman, a folder tucked underneath his arm and two cups of coffee in his hands. He has a seat opposite Legacy and slowly passes one of the cups down. “Here. Drink that. You look like you could use it.”Legacy, still twitching a bit, looks at the cup of coffee somewhat suspiciously before eventually grabbing it. He takes a weary sip before taking a much larger gulp, despite how hot it is as evident by the rising steam. “Take it easy, kid. You won’t do either of us any good if you burn your throat before we’ve had a chance to talk.”Legacy gulps down the mouthful of cheap coffee before setting the styrofoam cup down and, in as much as he possibly can, gives the detective a dirty look. “Ey, you’ll be wastin’ your time. Man’s not about to tell ya nuthin’, pigman. Man wants my phone call and my lawyer.”Truman stops himself from rolling his eyes at this boy’s…”choice” in dialect. Still, the veteran gumshoe simply chuckles at that as he takes a sip of his own coffee and opens up the file he has on Legacy. “Yeah, I suppose you would want that. Though how much it’d do you any good is another question altogether. Especially considering what we’ve got on you and your partner.”The mention of a “partner” causes a noticeable twitch from the corner of Legacy’s eye. Howser sees that as clear as day, and he smiles as he sees that look of recognition on Truman’s face. “Fuckin’ bullshit, pigman. Man knows you got nuthin’, else you wouldn’t be wastin’ time on this chin waggin’. So why don’t you get me a phone and…”
“Your partner gave you those bruises, didn’t he?”Truman’s words cut Legacy off, like a knife to the ribs, sucking the air out of Legacy’s puffed-up rebuttal. As if to accentuate that point, Truman pulls photos out from the folder and lines them out in front of Legacy, pointing to each one. “We got these pictures from a security camera outside the Meltdown Tavern. Bold of you two to come back there after you punks managed to escape with the gold and dodge getting locked up and sent back to the Northern General Wayward Correctional Facility. But, we all knew that this little ‘alliance’ you and Vicious had wasn’t ever going to last.”
“Lasted long ‘nough to pull one over you pigmen.”
“Yeah. Admittedly, it wasn’t Howser’s and my proudest moment. But then again, if you had any shame, it wouldn’t have been that proud for you, either. You survived, kid. You would have been put in the ground had you not pulled out every dirty trick in the book and Vicious decided not to flip that switch. And how does he reward you, hmm? How does your partner-in-crime show his goddamn gratitude?”Truman gets up from his chair as he walks over to where Legacy is sitting, as the young hoodlum fidgets in his chair. Getting close and leaning over his shoulder, close enough that Legacy can feel the detective’s breath on his ear, as Truman points to the photos that show Vicious and Legacy getting into a shouting match, and the first sucker punch delivered by the violent thug that had but weeks earlier allied to pull what some might consider the heist of the century. “How’d it feel, hmm? You’ve been doing everything you can to make it work. You did something nobody would’ve thought possible, and got away with not just your life but a prize men have killed for. But that’s not what Vicious wanted. He took it simply because he was more than happy to take it over your lifeless body. And he wanted more. And took an opportunity from you with a cheap shot, beating you down like a dog. Or would you prefer the term…’bitch?’"Legacy’s anger flare, driving out the pain or the drug-fueled haze as he tries to lunge at Truman. However, he’s been handcuffed to the table, which has been securely bolted to the concrete floor. Even if he was free, Truman has seen this all before and is quick to back off, putting some distance between him and the hoodlum. The veteran detective even laughs at this as Legacy tries to reach him, but is unable to. “Well, I guess we’ll have to add “Attempted Assault of a Police Officer” to the list of your crimes, don’t we?”
“Ey, fuck you, pigman!”
“Why? Why the hell are you mad at me, boy? What the fuck did you think was going to happen? W-what? Did you think that you’d win over Vicious with your ‘sparkling’ personality? Maybe you thought that your marble-mouthed gargle would wear Vicious down to where he considered it charming. But despite the fact that you’re high on something and you’re concussed beyond reason, you literally cannot be that stupid!“Vicious made it very fucking clear that he didn’t want anything to do with you, and the only thing he wanted from you? He’s gotten. You were USED, kid. Used like a prostitute looking for that next fix. The only difference between you and a prostitute? Prostitutes recognize that they’re getting fucked and they’re the ones who get paid in the end. What’s it feel like…being screwed, beaten, and abused and having to watch the bastard who did it end up with all the glory?”Legacy snarls, but says nothing. His attempts to break free of the handcuffs and bolted-down table continue, but there’s not nearly as much fight as in the first attempt. Truman re-adjusts his tie as he takes a slow walk around the interrogation room. Howser knows this ploy all too well…his partner smells blood in the water and is circling his prey like a hungry great white. Legacy, for his part, eventually stops struggling and sits back down, his face twisted into an amalgamation of indignation and the pouting face of a toddler being scolded. “...Nuthin’ you say matters, pigman. Man’s still got your number and I ain’t ‘bout to give you nuthin’.”
“The flaccid response of a man who has seen the Truth and refuses to accept it. Ultimately, whether you try to plea bargain or not isn’t that important to me. Your crimes are well-known, and you and Vicious stole something you had no right to possess. And at the end of the day, you’re fucked no matter what. You’re the used Kleenex to Vicious’s blatant masturbation and that’s all you’ll ever be.“So now’s the time you have to consider what’s important. Because I hate to be the bearer of bad news to you, but that rich uncle of yours? He isn’t shit. No lawyer worth a damn is going to want to touch your case as long as your wagon’s hitched to Vicious.”After circling the perp, Howser knows what’s next. That final dagger to the heart. Truman walks up and puts a pad of paper and a pen in front of Legacy. He again gets uncomfortably close and practically growls in Legacy’s ear. “You know that you’re screwed. You stole something right from under my nose and you HAVE to know that you’re going to need to pay up for that crime. The only question is how badly I’m going to have to nail you to the wall. Write a confession. Admit that you made a mistake in trusting Vicious and sell him out the same way he’s been selling you out ever since you two crossed paths. Because if you don’t? You’re going to get crucified. Howser and I will make sure that you get reamed in court harder than Vicious reamed you. I will make it my life’s mission to ensure that you steal nothing nor have the opportunity to own anything except for what the prison warden decides you get to keep in your six by eight hole in the wall.”Legacy looks at the pen and paper, and the twisted look on his face suggests that he’s considering Truman’s words. Almost subconsciously, he massages the bruises on his neck, a violent reminder that his partner, the man he helped pull the heist of the century, beat him down like a dog because he wasn’t ready to share the glory. Legacy looks up, his eyes meeting Truman’s… And he spits in the detective’s face. Truman’s eye twitches. A flash of rage and indignation. But it passes. And the detective simply wipes the loogie off with a handkerchief. He sighs as he walks away from Legacy, still handcuffed with nowhere to go. “A prime example of the detrimental effects of drug abuse and post-concussion syndrome. Suit yourself, kid. But if you think anybody’s going to save you and you’re done being used by people? You clearly haven’t learned a damn thing. And I have to say…I wasn’t particularly looking forward to watching you get thrown into a cell and making sure your burnout, nepotistic trust-fund bitch ass would never see the light of day again?“Well, let’s just say that it’s probably a good thing you went into crime. Nobody but the scum of the world would want anything to do with your utterly charmless ass.”Legacy, incensed at this cop’s utter disrespect of him, tries to lunge again as he completely forgets that he’s trapped. And not just trapped by the handcuffs. But trapped by the poor decisions he’s made to get to this point. The crimes he committed, hoping to find his place in the city. The partnerships he chose to put his faith in. All of it, everything that brought him from obscurity into the spotlight? All it’s done is made him a victim. A victim of his own partner-in-crime. A victim of his own shortsighted greed. A victim…unable to save himself from the hand of justice reaching for his throat, ready to strangle him. But Legacy can’t see it. And he continues to rant, rave and spit as if it will save him as Truman exits the interrogation room, and closes the door on the soon-to-be condemned young thug… ***** Suspect #2Alias: ViciousPurported Crimes: Attempted Murder, Grand Theft and Larceny, Robbery, Extortion, Drug Trafficking“You’re wasting your time, pig.”
“Hmph. A rather bold claim, considering we haven’t even begun to talk.”Another interrogation room. Another perpetrator being grilled under the bright fluorescent lights, with the only thing standing out is the reflections in the one-way mirror. The only difference this time? This time, it’s Truman behind the glass and Howser doing the interrogation. Truman silently watches as he sips a fresh cup of coffee. There’s a certain sense of concern in the veteran detective’s body language. Howser, despite his eccentricities, is a world-class detective and interrogator, but things have not been great for him lately. Howser blamed himself for the botched sting operation that resulted in Vicious and Legacy completing their robbery and escaping into the city’s underbelly, and it’s been weighing heavily on the detective since then. However, time and perspective have helped, and now? Howser’s interrogating the bastard that screwed him over with a cool resolve that would make an iceberg shiver. Vicious, handcuffed to the secured table, puts on the mask of a man who’s in complete and utter control. A cocky smirk, the lean of a man who believes he has the world on a string. All accented by the look in his eyes of a violent, unrepentant monster who has no problems inflicting the same pain on the world that he believes the world inflicted upon him. “You’re wasting your time. I got nothing to say to you.”
“Do you think that repeating yourself enough times will make reality what you want it to be, hmm? You do know WHY you’re here, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I know. You dipshits lost something valuable and you think you’re going to make me pay for your incompetence. I bet that’s why you’re in here talking to me instead of that fossil of a partner of yours, right? You’re wanting payback for me making you look like a bitch.”
“Kehahaha…”That…was not the reaction Vicious was expecting. He keeps his emotions masked by that aura of bloated confidence, but Truman watching from behind the mirror cracks a small smile. It was faint, but the veteran could see that twitch in his lips. Vicious is insulted that he wasn’t able to get Howser to rise to the obvious bait. “Oh, spare me the dreadful droll that you’ve become accustomed to. Honestly, you did better keeping your mouth shut and just smashing others’ teeth down their throats. But, that’s always been your biggest flaw, hasn’t it? You, who’ve spent more than their fair share indulging in the hospitality of various penal systems. Letting your frustration boil and simmer into a stew of indignant victim mentality and unearned entitlement.”
“The fuck you say?”
“I’m sorry. Was that too fast for you? I keep forgetting that you never had a chance to finish your education properly due to the multitude of awful decisions you made. Very well, I’ll do you a small courtesy and repeat myself slowly so that you can keep up.
“You…are…an…entitled…brat.”The veneer of confidence vanishes from Vicious’s face as he struggles against the table he’s handcuffed to. He slams his free hand onto the table and glares at Howser. “Entitled brat? Who the fuck do you think you are, huh?! You don’t know me, pig. You don’t know what I had to do to survive, the shit I had to…”
“ENOUGH. I know full well your past, your history, the world you grew up in. It’s not as if you haven’t made it painfully obvious every time you have a free second to speak that you grew up disadvantaged. But I have neither the time, the patience, nor the desire to listen to you regurgitate the same gods-damned story once again as if that excuses the choices you’ve made in the here and now.”Vicious looks stunned. Looks as if he can’t believe that this detective, this fancy-speaking asshole that he’s made a fool of, has the audacity to speak to him with that dismissive tone. But he is silenced, as Howser stands up and opens his folder and presents reports, photos, and testimonies outlining the various crimes that Vicious is accused of. Calmly, firmly, and without an inkling of reservation, Howser begins the dissection. “Nobody cares, Vicious. Nobody gives a damn that you ‘had’ to join a gang, that you ‘had’ to push drugs because you were afraid of going hungry or without. Truth be told, there is a small part of me that empathizes with the situation your younger self was forced to endure in. But here’s the minor bit that you refuse to accept.
“Everything, and I do mean EVERYTHING bad that has ever happened to you is due solely to the poor decisions that YOU made. That you chose. Your time spent in prison, that mark on your record, the indignities you suffered? It’s because you CHOSE a path that would eventually lead you to those same indignities. And the worst part of all of this is that, instead of LEARNING from your stupidity, you continue to act like that same young cretin that allowed the world to decide when and how he breaks bad. You think that behavior deserves to be rewarded? That the world owes you something because you foolishly chose a path that led to suffering? Spare me the idiocy, Vicious. Nobody gives a damn about what you think you’re owed.
“Now, if you’re done throwing a temper tantrum like a spoiled child, and are done deluding yourself into thinking that you can victimize me like you did that strung-out nincompoop you were working with during that sting, then SIT DOWN and let’s discuss how badly you’re screwed.”Howser is calm as he sits back down. Vicious is fuming. He wants to throttle this man, this insect that refused to stay down when he made a fool out of him. Where is this confidence coming from? Why wouldn’t he just give up already? Regardless, Vicious sits down as he takes a deep breath. That furor subsides as the criminal puts the mask of confidence back on. “None of this matters, you know. That shit you think I stole? Doesn’t really mean anything to me.”
“Oh, I know.”
“But maybe, if I did steal it, I might just keep it. If nothing else than to piss you off.”
“How utterly charming. Are you going somewhere with this, or are you just rambling to make yourself feel better about having to spend the rest of your life behind bars due to the mistakes you made?”
“Keep talking. You and that self-righteous partner of yours have said the same shit since we crossed paths, and I don’t give a shit. You and I both know that nothing you throw at me is going to stick. I’ve got…”
“‘Friends in low places,’ yes, I’m well aware of your dealings with the shadow cabal. Anything else you want to add?”Wait, what? Vicious blinks as if he got hit with a cannonball, his face a twisted, contorted mess of confusion and indignation. What did Howser just say? Truman cracks a smile again, one that Howser replicates. Truman knows that Howser has him by the balls, now. Howser slides the folder over to Vicious, as Vicious is surprised to see that there’s photographs of his meetings with several shadowy members of the underbelly. Figures in masks, promising power and influence to the young thug. Before Vicious can reply, Howser chimes in. “Oh, and yes…I should mention that there are multiple recordings of your conversations with them. Funny thing about dealing with shadows, Vicious. As much as anybody wants to keep things from seeing the light of day, it’s not so difficult to determine the truth if you know where to look.”
“This…this doesn’t prove shit.”
“Perhaps, perhaps not. But that’s not the point of this demonstration. See, the thing is…I’m guessing you think that those shadows will save you. That even if you get over your head, and allow me to be crystal clear about this? You are so far over your head that your belly is scraping the bottom of the ocean floor at this point considering how badly you’ve fumbled. But you seem to be under the impression that you can’t be touched, that whatever you can’t achieve with violence can be achieved by your connections.
“Newsflash, whelp! You’re alone. Your little shadow friends, the ones promising you the world? They will up and ABANDON you because you’re too stupid to be smart. Your partner, Legacy? He’s in another room right now, likely contemplating selling you out as payback for what you did to him. You’ve accomplished a lot with your criminal acts, but you’ve done it in the worst possible way. Not a single person in this city wants to see you succeed. The shadow cabal will string you along as long as you win. But the second you stumble? The second you get thrown into solitary confinement and have nobody left but the voices in your head to keep you company? They’ll move on to the next patsy. Legacy will do unto you what you’ve done unto him. And not a single soul left in this city will ever look at you as some kind of worthwhile hero or nightmare to be afraid of…
“...They’ll stop thinking of you at all. Just another young man, lost in the cracks of society, never to be thought about again.”
“You’re lying.”Howser simply shrugs. “You’re LYING!”
“What did we just say about repeating things? It doesn’t make what you wish to be a reality. You’ve committed great crimes, young man. You’ve deceived, stolen, and tormented so many in the vain pursuit of glory. You’ve used your past as an excuse for your abhorrent actions. And what alliances you could’ve had or think you have? Either you ruined them for your own vanity…or they were never real to begin with."Howser stands up and grabs the photos in front of Vicious, swapping them out for pictures and witness testimonies of his thievery and his brutal beatdown of his partner. He takes one of the pictures, heads over to the wall, and pins it with a massive thud. “I’m going to enjoy watching as the world you thought was yours burns around you, and chokes you out with the smoke.”Howser turns to walk away, but Vicious, somewhat feebly, croaks out. “What kind of deal can I get if I make a confession? If I give you Legacy on a platter?”Howser turns to face Vicious again. Vicious, all the bluster gone from his face, just looks at Howser with tired, desperate eyes. Truman sees this and simply chuckles. It wasn’t ever a matter of dragging a confession out of Vicious. It was simply getting him to recognize how many bridges he’s burned, and realizing what bridges remained were rotted and rickety. Howser walks over to Vicious and, using a handcuff key, frees the thug from his bondage. There’s a moment where Vicious thinks about taking a swing at the detective, but…even that wouldn’t save him in the end. “So…what am I going to get if I sell out Legacy? Do I get to walk free?”Howser, head tilted quizzically, simply laughs. “KEHAHAHA! KEHAHAHA!”Vicious is shocked. Why? Why is he not taking the deal? Why is he LAUGHING as if the offer he just made was the most absurd thing he’s ever heard? WHY ISN’T THIS PIG GIVING HIM A CHANCE TO SAVE HIS NECK? Vicious doesn’t move from his seat as he pleads with Howser to stop laughing and answer him. But Howser does nothing. He just…walks away. As Howser reaches the door, Vicious gets up to try and stop him from leaving, but the officer outside points his gun at the criminal, forcing him to back out. Vicious finally realizes that he’s well and truly screwed. He’s pissed off the wrong people. And there’s no escaping his punishment in the end. All that’s left…is the mocking laughter of Howser. The soundtrack of the end of his dreams of power… ***** Suspect #3
Alias: Hood
Purported Crimes: Assault and Battery, Public Indecency, Extortion, Bribery, TheftHowser can’t help but find this silent staredown between Truman and long-time rival Hood utterly fascinating from behind the one-way mirror. Unlike with Legacy and Vicious, this isn’t two hardboiled detectives cracking the soft eggs of a couple young upstarts thinking that they own the world. Hood is a different beast altogether. Arrogant, much like the young thugs, but unlike them? Much of his arrogance has been earned. Still…not all of it. Truman and Hood remain locked in a staredown, the detective’s steely gaze meeting the hidden eyes behind the drawn-up hoodie. It’s a standoff, each man almost daring the other to be the first to blink and say something. Minutes pass in silence. And eventually, someone finally breaks. “You’re a fucking cunt, Truman.”Truman can’t help but smile at the coarse, blunt statement as he takes the documents he laid out on the table from Hood’s case file, neatly stacks them up, and puts them back in the folder and closes it. The utter nonchalance that he does this with is a story in and of itself. Truman thinks he has Hood dead-to-rights, and doesn’t need to bother with the evidence. “Anything else you want to say? You were read your Miranda rights, so you know anything you say can and will be used against you.”
“As if I give a fuck. I don’t give a damn what you think you have on me. I don’t give two fucks about what crimes you want to accuse me of. All this? Just personal business. So don’t fucking sit there and give me that whole speech about justice or whatever other bullshit you want to spew.”
“‘Personal business?’ You’re going to have to explain that to me. How is anything since Howser and I nailed you and Wisteria last month ‘personal?’ Way I see it, I settled my business with your buddy.”
“Maybe…but you sure as shit didn’t settle anything with me.”Hood leans in, a low growl from his throat punctuating his accusation. He looks through the shroud as he grasps the edge of the table, as if trying to use it as a life raft against the sea of rage. “Things were going just fine until you decided you couldn’t let shit go. You just couldn’t accept someone being better than you, smarter than you. Wisteria was making shit happen, man. He was bringing things back to prominence, making things better in the city. We were bringing PRESTIGE back to this shithole, and you and that fucking bug-eyed loser Howser came in and ruined that!
“Now, my partner, my best friend is M.I.A. and you two dumbasses let a couple of kids roll you. You fucked everything up, Truman! You were a jealous bastard who ruined everything that…”
“Do you believe even half of the bullshit that comes out of your mouth, Hood? God, it must be nice, living in that fantasy world you’ve created for yourself.”
“Oh, no…fuck that. You don’t get to…”
“SHUT. THE FUCK. UP.”Hood is stunned. He wants to keep talking, but more importantly? He wants to stop Truman from saying anything. Is it because he doesn’t think Truman has anything important to say? Or…maybe it’s because Hood doesn’t want to hear what he has to say. After all, if Truman’s interjection was true… “Hey, Hood! Focus. And listen for once in your worthless life.”Hood snaps back to reality, and scowls as Truman looks him dead-on from across the table. He taps the metal table, the rhythmic thrumming almost echoing. “I am sick and fucking tired of listening to you run your mouth. You and Wisteria brought prestige back? You fuckers rolled through town spraying human semen from a goddamn truck. Wisteria brought down the thunder that ended up cooking you two. Not me. He made things personal when he screwed me over and stole something that he had no right to hold onto anymore. You want to sit here and blame somebody for losing your friend? How about you look at Wisteria and ask him? Ask him why he was so scared of losing his roost at the top of the city. Ask HIM if stooping to using his little toady to escape with the prize was worth the war that you’d have to fight alongside him.”
“You still could’ve…”
“No, I couldn’t let it go. You’ve known me a lot longer than he did. You should’ve warned him that what he did wouldn’t be forgotten or forgiven. So maybe he’s not to blame, after all. Maybe you’re the reason that you lost your friend. After all, you certainly weren’t too hesitant to knock him off the perch and rule as king of the city after Howser and I busted your asses and broke up your little partnership.”That…that stings. Even if Hood will never admit it, nor let his body language suggest it, both Howser and Truman know Hood well enough to know how he thinks…and how to slide the proverbial knife. But a simple emotional jab isn’t enough. No…Truman’s had enough of this verbal diarrhea, and it’s long past time that Hood was put in his place. “I have been nothing but absolutely honest with you ever since the day I met you, Hood. Because of the respect I have for your former partner, I never felt the need to sugarcoat my words with you. So for once, just…listen.“You’re the man who knocked off the top dog in this city. Circumstances notwithstanding, you now rule the perch. And the only thing you decide to do with your newfound stroke is try and take back what those punk kids took from under our watch. What, you didn’t think to try and give Wisteria a shot to reclaim what YOU took from him? Or maybe focus on the asshole who interjected and opened the door for you to knock off Wisteria and take his place. That seems like a better use of your energy. But, no. Instead of thinking about how to make things right, you waste your time and stroke on something that shouldn’t matter. If your friendship with Wisteria needed what Howser and I took from you? Then your friendship’s a fucking joke. If Wisteria’s not enough of a man to take his punishment for his crimes and be happy that his partner was smart enough and tough enough to finally get one over on him? Then he’s not worth your fucking time. Certainly not worth mine.”
“Oh, don’t give me that. You’re obsessed with…”
“HAHAHA! Oh, come on. Obsessed with Wisteria? Yeah, maybe…for a minute. When he had something that he shouldn’t have had. But I told you, didn’t I? Howser and I settled that by taking something from him. You just happened to get dragged into his war. But that’s what you’re good for in the end. You have a damn hard time standing on your own when the city’s worst criminals and finest law enforcement officers are gunning for you. The cries of ‘Hood ain’t nobody to fuck with!’ really don’t mean shit, do they? You’re the king of the goddamn city, and the only thing people think when they see you or hear you speak is how much of a goddamn simp you are for the man you beat.“Wisteria has nothing I care about anymore. He paid for his crimes, and now? The only thing he has is himself and the realization that he’s nothing without his tricks or his ill-gotten prizes. But you? Oh, Hood…you have plenty that I want. And thanks to your stupidity, you’ve given me and Howser the chance to not only finish what we started a month ago, but pay back those brats for stealing from us.”
“You’re welcome.”A snide remark. That’s all Hood offers as Truman chuckles. The detective stands up and grabs his chair, dragging it as the sound of the chair leg scratching against the concrete floor produces a horrendous scratching, scraping sound. Eventually, Truman pulls the chair to the side of the table, to where he’s perpendicular to where Hood is sitting. “You and Howser wouldn’t have a damn thing if Wisteria and I didn’t give you a chance.”
“Hmm. Hard to argue that.”
“So where’s your goddamn gratitude?”
“Oh, it’s there. It’s just buried underneath a shit ton of curiosity. For example, why bother? Why did you and Wisteria go through the trouble of rising to our bait? You had nothing to gain from it. You could’ve just as easily ignored us. But you didn’t, and you lost.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it matters. Everything that’s led you to this point matters. You’re just too damn proud or too damn stupid to understand that. It’s fascinating, really. You and Wisteria really did have everything in the world you could’ve possibly wanted. And yet…Wisteria’s obsession with proving he wasn’t the bitch-main that everybody in the city knows he is led to you being dragged into a conflict you weren’t prepared for. And when the hammer fell and you realized that your supposed ironclad friendship was rusted and rotted out? You go out and sell out those young kids to us in order to try and get some payback, hoping against hope that Wisteria will come rolling in and save you.”
“I don’t need him to save me, Truman. I can beat you by myself if I have to.”
“Oh yeah? And what evidence do you have to support that hypothesis? How I see it, when it comes to who has whose number? I think you’ll find that past history suggests that I have yours. Not the other way around.”
“Doesn’t matter. Wisteria will show up. He’ll come swaggering into this station, as he always has, and we’ll raise hell like we did before…”
“Weren’t you listening? You two lost. You picked the battlefield and you still LOST. And where has Wisteria been since then? You have to realize that Wisteria has given up on you. You ran your course when it came to usefulness and he doesn’t CARE anymore. And even if he did? You two haven’t proven that you’re up to the task of outsmarting and outfoxing Howser and me. You’re doomed to lose in this fight, Hood. You’ve once again chosen a gambit that you think will end with your victory, and once again justice will prevail. All you’ve done is HELP us. It’s about the only thing you’ve done in the past few weeks that you’ve been successful in."Hood, in a flash, takes a swing at Truman. He’s heard enough. Heard all he could stomach. Heard too much of what he fears is the Truth. But because he’s still handcuffed to the table, his swing goes wide as Truman ducks and rolls away from his chair and to his feet. The detective is grinning ear-to-ear at this outburst as he looks at his reflection in his mirror. “I assume we caught all that on camera, right?”Howser, on the other side, holds a button and says into a loudspeaker: “All of it. He took an unwarranted swing at you. That should be more than enough.”
“You sons of bitches! You ruined EVERYTHING. I’m going to kill you and burn this fucking city to the ground!”Truman simply shakes his head as he heads for the door, completely nonplussed by Hood’s indignation. As he reaches the door and knocks on it, he simply says back: “You’re the architect of your own downfall, Hood. Your friendship, your time in control of the city, everything you’ve ever accomplished? All of it’s going to come crashing down on your head. You’re going to get humiliated…AGAIN. And at a certain point? You really have to start blaming yourself for your fuck-ups and your friendships being nothing more than a passing delusion.”Hood unleashes a series of expletive-ridden rants as the door opens and Truman walks out, greeting him. Hood continues to spout off his nonsense, his arrogance bleeding into his perceived injustice at the hands of the detectives. All Howser and Truman do? They simply shut the door. *****The suspects have been successfully broken. When Vicious is brought from his interrogation room without handcuffs around his wrists, and Legacy still in chains sees this, he immediately goes into a fury, thinking he’s been sold out yet again. It’s all the attending officers can do to keep them from killing one another. Safe to say, their partnership, tenuous as it was, was never meant to last. Hood, for his unprovoked assault of Truman, is forced into a prison van to be brought to a holding cell on the outskirts of town. The interrogations against all three men have proven enough to get the criminals unsettled, rattled enough that there could be no doubt that they deserve to rot for their crimes. But as Hood is being loaded into the van, he sees someone stagger towards the stairs leading to Precinct 64. A man in a frazzled suit that would’ve looked tacky in the 1970s with unkempt hair and a handlebar mustache that hasn’t seen a comb in weeks. He comes rolling up, staring Howser and Truman down as he says with a slight slur: “Hey, fuckboys! I’ve got a bone to pick with you.”Hood, from a distance, almost looks hopeful. Wisteria has shown up to bail him out, to give him a chance to avoid the punishment for his hubris. That hope quickly evaporates. “Look, I want payback against that shit-head wannabe rock star. So, tell me where he is or I’ll fuck you up!”Howser and Truman look at one another. They share a quick glance. And just walk past him. After all, Truman said it himself. Hood looks crushed. His best friend is bitching about the rock star, and isn’t even bothering with him? That betrayal, that feeling of worthlessness, is all that remains as he’s loaded into the van. And all he hears is the sound of Wisteria, begging and pleading for attention from a couple of detectives who couldn’t care less. “Hey! I’m talking to you! Pay attention to me! I own you, Truman! I own you as well, Howser! Hey! STOP WALKING AWAY! HEY, LOOK AT ME WHEN I’M WAVING MY DICK AT YOU!
“HEY!
“DON’T YOU FUCKING WALK AWAY FROM THE KING!!!” |
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Post by supinesnake on May 29, 2024 14:01:31 GMT
Originally posted by Jimmy. Jackson Fenix and Nate Savage are standing outside the medical room stationed backstage at Fallout in Beirut. They both look concerned for the well-being of their friend and tag team partner, Xperienx Xtacee, who was at the receiving end of a horrible incident involving The Coven. Nate Savage especially looks overly concerned because he knows that whatever hit Xtacee intended for him was intended for him, but Xtacee moved him out of the way in time.
Nate Savage: “I feel like this is my fault.”
Nate says to Jackson, who looks at Nate and shakes his head.
Jackson Fenix: “Bro, don’t say that.”
Nate Savage: “That was meant for me; whatever she shot at him was meant for me.”
Jackson puts a reassuring hand on Nate’s shoulder.
Jackson Fenix: “Hey man, it’s not your fault. How were you supposed to know that crazy witch would shoot a hex or whatever that was?”
Nate Savage: “I shouldn’t have run my mouth off at them, and Xtacee wouldn’t be in his condition.”
Jackson Fenix: “Yeah, but Xtacee shoved you out of the way. He risked his well-being for you.”
Nate Savage: “I didn’t ask him to do that, Jack.”
Jackson Fenix: “I know, but that’s what friends do, man. Xtacee took a bullet for you, or in this case, a hex or whatever. Listen, don’t beat yourself up over this. It’s not your fault, okay?”
“Jackson’s right.”
Monica says as she exits the medical room and touches Nate’s shoulder.
Monica: “You didn’t do anything wrong, love.”
Nate looks at her and Jackson and nods in understanding.
Nate Savage: “Is he going to be okay?”
Monica: “I don’t know; Doctor Smith says he’s never seen anything like that. He says we should take him to a medical facility for further evaluation.”
Jackson’s eyes light up like a lightbulb went off in his head.
Jackson Fenix: “I know a doctor we can take him to.”
***************
Fast-forward to the next day and the gang is going to the particular doctor Jackson Fenix knows will help Xtacee with whatever is ailing him. Nate Savage is behind the wheel while Jackson is in the passenger seat, and in the backseat are Xtacee, Monica, and Antonio.
Nate Savage: “Jack, are you sure about this doctor? Do you think he can help Xtacee before our match?”
Jackson Fenix: “Bro, I’m positive he can help Xtacee! After an unfortunate incident, he helped out another friend of mine a little while back this year.”
Antonio: “Oh no, what happened to your friend?”
Jackson Fenix: “He was tossed off the roof of a two-story building into a dumpster.”
Monica: “Oh dear, I sure hope he’s okay now!”
Jackson Fenix: “He sure is; he’s better than ever now!”
Nate Savage: “Wait, that sounds a lot like…oh no.”
Monica: “What? What is it, Nate?”
Instead of a verbal response, Nate points to a brightly colored sign…
The Undisputed Xperienx in...
Sesame Street X
Monica: “What the fudge? Wait, I didn’t say that. I said fudge.”
Jackson Fenix: “You can’t swear here, unfortunately.”
Nate Savage: “Fudge me.”
Antonio: “Anytime, big boy.”
Nate’s face turns beet red as he glances back at Antonio while Monica playfully slaps him on the arm. Xtacee has been silent this entire time, but he looks alert and around the various buildings in Sesame Street before they stop at 123 Sesame Street.
Jackson Fenix: “Here we are; I can’t wait for you all to meet everyone!”
They exit the car, Jackson pops open the trunk and Bubbles the Clown hops out of the trunk, much to the surprise of a startled Nate Savage.
Honk
Nate Savage: “Where did he come from?!”
Jackson Fenix: “He wanted to come along, but there was no room in the backseat, so he decided to ride in the trunk.”
Nate tries to piece all of this together but soon decides it’s not worth it. Soon enough, they’re all greeted by Elmo.
Elmo: “Jackson! Elmo is so happy to see you again!”
Fenix kneels to give a hug to Elmo.
Elmo: “Elmo sees that you brought friends this time! Elmo already knows your friend Nate!”
Nate Savage: “Hi Elmo.”
Jackson Fenix: “This is Monica, Antonio, and Xperienx Xtacee.”
Monica and Antonio wave to Elmo while helping a bandaged up Xtacee keep his balance.
Elmo: “Oh no, your one friend doesn’t look well, Jackson! Elmo is worried!”
Jackson Fenix: “That’s why we’re here, Elmo. We’re here to see Doctor Grover; hopefully, Doctor Grover can help fix up our friend before our big match.”
“Oh dear, this is worse than I imagined.”
Soon, they are joined by the beloved large yellow Bird, once the bane of Jackson’s existence.
Big Bird: “May I ask what happened?”
Jackson Fenix: “Well, there’s this talk show that Xtacee hosts called Pillow Talk. It’s where we met Xtacee right after my street fight with…well, you know…”
Nate Savage: “During the show, Xtacee already wasn’t feeling his best, but we still had guests on the show. The guests were The Coven, these two wannabe witches, and their little minion Trixie.”
Jackson Fenix: “Things got ugly in a hurry, as they tend to do in those situations in wrestling, and one of them shot out a hex or whatever that was meant for Nate, but Xtacee shoved Nate out of the way and got hit with it. That’s why he’s wearing those bandages on his face, and we came here to see Doctor Grover.”
Big Bird: “I see; yes, this is a nasty situation we are dealing with here.”
Antonio: “Do you think he can be helped?”
Big Bird: “Grover hasn’t dealt with many situations as serious as this. The last time was when I fell off that roof this year.”
Jackson Fenix: “Fell? No, Big Bird, you didn’t fall. Jeremy threw you off!”
Everyone stares at Jackson awkwardly, Jackson composes himself.
Big Bird: “Jackson, let’s not get into that now, okay? Let’s focus on helping your friend.”
Monica: “He’s right; let’s get our Xtacee the help he needs!”
***************
Fast-forward to them at the doctor’s office, where they’re waiting outside in the lobby while Grover examines Xtacee in his office. The door opens, and Grover walks out, looking concerned with a clipboard in his hand.
Monica: “Is he going to be okay, doctor?”
Grover: “I’m afraid this is much more serious than I feared. I must keep him here overnight for further evaluation and to run some tests. Those witches used a nasty hex on your friend in there.”
Nate Savage: “Those fudging witches! It should’ve been me!”
Jackson Fenix: “Bro, don’t get so worked up; save that energy for the match.”
Monica: “Jackson’s right.”
Antonio: “How long will Xtacee have to stay?”
Grover: “Just an overnight visit should suffice.”
Jackson Fenix: “Will he be okay to compete?”
Grover: “I do not know for sure, but I wouldn’t advise. Your friend needs plenty of rest after you pick him up tomorrow.”
Antonio: “Do you think he’ll be okay here overnight without us?”
Grover: “Oh yes, we’ll take good care of him, don’t you worry, my friend.”
***************
They’ve left the doctor’s office and are on a tour of Sesame Street led by Big Bird.
Big Bird: “And here’s Oscar the Grouch!”
They approach the familiar trash can that has a recognizable dent in it. Suddenly, Oscar pops out of his home.
Oscar the Grouch: “Hey, what’s with all the noise?!”
Big Bird: “Sorry, Oscar, I was just giving Jackson Fenix and his friends a tour. You do remember Jackson Fenix, right?”
Oscar the Grouch: “Yeah, that guy left this dent in my home!”
Jackson Fenix: “I’m so sorry, Oscar, it was nothing personal. I was trying to stop Jeremy from hitting me with your home.”
Oscar the Grouch: “Yeah, yeah, excuses, excuses!”
Oscar drops back down into the can and slams the lid on top. Big Bird continues the tour and stops in front of Hooper’s General Store.
Big Bird: “I’m sure you remember this place, Nate.”
Nate nervously scratches the back of his head and laughs.
Nate Savage: “Heh, sorry about that, Big Bird.”
Big Bird: “It took some time, but it’s as good as new! Promise me you won’t throw yourself onto someone through the glass again!”
Nate Savage: “I promise, but if you ask me, Baxter had it coming. Just like those witches and that goofy Trixie have it coming!”
Jackson Fenix: “Hey, Big Bird, if Xtacee can’t compete, can you help us against The Coven at Winter Wasteland? You could become a champion with Nate and me. What do you think?”
Before Big Bird can give a proper answer, he’s interrupted by a concerned Rosita.
Rosita: “Big Bird, come quick! There’s been an incident at the doctor’s office!”
Antonio: “Oh dear, you don’t think…”
Monica: “Oh, our poor baby!”
They all rush to the doctor’s office and find Grover tied to a bed. Grover looks unharmed but a bit shaken up.
Big Bird: “Grover, what happened?!”
Grover: “I was about to run some tests on their friend when he lunged at me and tied me to this bed, and then he took off. I don’t know where he went, though, unfortunately, I’m so sorry.”
Jackson Fenix: “Oh no, I’m sorry, Grover. I’m sorry, Monica and Antonio. We probably should’ve taken him to an actual doctor. No offense, Grover.”
Grover: “None taken.”
Jackson Fenix: “I just thought Xtacee could get better here, and we could have a fun trip together before our big match.”
Just then, there’s a loud banging sound outside of the building. It sounds like the banging of a trash can belonging to a grouchy little green creature living inside it. They all run outside to check out the source of the sound.
Grover: “Uh, is anyone going to untie me?”
They get outside to find Xtacee near Oscar the Grouch’s trash can. On the ground is Oscar’s home, tipped over. The green Grouch is poking his head out from the opening of the can and is yelling at Xtacee.
Oscar the Grouch: “Hey, what’s the big idea?! How could you be worse than him?!” Oscar says while pointing angrily at Jackson.
Monica: “X, what are you doing? Leave him alone!”
Xperienx Xtacee says nothing. He stares back at his group of friends through the eye holes of his bandages. The rest of his face is covered, so there is no way to know his expression, but his eyes give off the feeling of regret.
Big Bird: “Hey, why did you knock over Oscar’s house?”
Xtacee slowly shakes his head as if to say “no” and then reaches down to pick up the garbage can and put it how it’s supposed to be. He even puts the lid back on for Oscar, who refuses to come back out.
The group starts to walk toward Xtacee, but he takes a stutter step back, catching them all off guard and stopping them in their tracks.
Antonio: “X, babe, relax. Monica and I can make this better, you know that.”
Antonio’s words catch Nate’s ear.
Nate Savage: “Care to enlighten the rest of us as to what the fudge this is?”
Monica and Antonio glance at one another and debate with their faces as to what they should say next.
Monica: “It’s… I… this is hard to explain. Quick version: he had something wrong with him before, and I think The Coven’s weird hex thing made it worse."
Nate Savage: “That’s way too gosh darn vague for me.”
Jackson Fenix: “Well, how can we help our buddy out?”
Monica: “We just need to be quiet for him.”
Nate looks at everyone else in an “Are you serious” manner. Monica and Antonio lead the rest of the group quietly towards Xperienx Xtacee. She holds her arms to hug him, and Xtacee nervously does the same as the group approaches him. Now fingertips away, Monica leans in-.
Clang!
The lid of Oscar’s house flies off the garbage can and lands next to Xtacee!
Oscar the Grouch: “BOO!”
Having been startled, Xperienx Xtacee turned around and darted straight through the window of one of the buildings on Sesame Street. He continues running off into the dark building, entirely out of sight. The group all turn to Oscar.
Oscar the Grouch: “Whaaaaaaaat?”
Nate Savage: “Jiminy fudgin’ Crickets… Okay, we duct tape his lid shut next time we’re here.”
Jackson Fenix: “So, what now? Xtacee just jumped through that window, and we don’t know where he went.”
Antonio: “Oh, idea! The Sesame Street crew stays here in case he returns, and we go through the building to find him.”
Nate Savage: “Well, no shoot, Sherlock. Come on.”
The group starts walking to the unfamiliar dark building. There’s a sign on the door that reads vacant. Nate Savage reaches for the door han-
Crash!
Jackson Fenix jumps through the other window next to the one Xtacee had gone through. Nate Savage opens the door, followed by Monica and Antonio. The three of them stare at Jackson.
Nate Savage: “Why?”
Jackson Fenix: “It looked fun!” he says as he brushes a bit of glass off his arm.
Nate Savage rubs his temples with his fingers.
Nate Savage: “Okay. Let’s split up. I need to be away from Jackson for a second, so he’ll go with Antonio upstairs, and we will search down here. Move out.”
Antonio: “Right, come on, Jackson.”
Jackson Fenix: “Alright, have fun with Monica, Nate!”
Monica: “We will!”
Nate Savage: “We’re just looking for X!”
Nate and Monica disappear into another room as Jackson and Antonio head upstairs and into a room resembling a cross between a bedroom and a science classroom.
Antonio: “What even was this building? I’ve never seen a place abandoned on Sesame Street before… and why are there all these posters about space and stuff?”
Jackson Fenix: “Oh! That’s because this place was abandoned after Big Bird decided not to be on the Challenger.”
Antonio pauses in his tracks and turns to look at Jackson, who is rummaging through a drawer.
Antonio: “Wait, what?”
Jackson Fenix: “Oh, you don’t know? Big Bird was almost in the Challenger explosion. That’s a fact, look it up!”
Thump, thump, thump
Antonio: “What was that?”
Jackson Fenix: “I think it came from under that desk over there.”
Jackson Fenix and Antonio carefully walk over to a desk and start to peer over it. Jackson suddenly leaps over the desk, reaches down, and grabs a hold of something!
Jackson Fenix: “Got him!”
Antonio reaches down with him, and the two pull to their feet… Bubbles the Clown.
Honk
Jackson Fenix: “Bubbles!”
Jackson hugs Bubbles the Clown as Antonio lightly laughs. Unexpectedly, A figure brushes past the three of them towards the door.
Antonio: “It’s X! Quick!”
Antonio, Jackson Fenix, and Bubbles the Clown chase Xtacee out the room’s door and into the rest of the house. Somewhere along the way, Bubbles loses the desire to chase them all and stands downstairs with his back against the wall. He watches as everyone runs from room to room, chasing Xtacee as if this were some cartoon. One door opens as another closes, causing someone to miss grabbing Xtacee by barely a hair. Jackson Fenix and Antonio run face-first into one another as Xtacee hops over them and through another door before being followed by both. Nate Savage appears through a different door and seems like he is running for his life-
Nate Savage: “Monica, cut it out!”
Monica appears from behind another door and chases Nate across the hall-
Monica: “Let me love you!”
The two disappear through another door as Xtacee reappears and runs from Antonio and Jackson Fenix. He hops down over the staircase railing and heads towards a back door. Jackson Fenix hops over the rail and holds his arms out to catch Antonio as he also jumps over the rail. Jackson Fenix looks at Bubbles and urges him to come over, which he does, and Jackson hops onto his back.
Jackson Fenix: “Bubbles, Antonio, let’s get our friend!”
The three run towards Xtacee, trying to stop him from reaching the door, but are stopped when Xtacee tosses what appears to be a red blanket onto the floor, causing them to trip and land on the soft blanket. Xtacee gets to the door and reaches out to grab the handle, but as he does this, a familiar voice yells out-
Monica: “Baby!”
Monica and Nate Savage run out of nowhere and carefully tackle Xperienx Xtacee onto the ground. Nate holds him down and directs the rest of them to grab the red blanket to wrap Xtacee up in.
Nate Savage: “Alright, that’s done. I don’t know what’s wrong with him, but it clearly isn’t just the hex from The Coven; that’s what made it worse. Monica and Antonio, the two of you have a lot of explaining to do. Bubbles…”
Honk
Nate Savage: “You carry Xtacee and hold him tight so he doesn’t disappear before our match. Jackson, you’re driving… Now, can someone tell me how the heck to get out of Sesame Street?!”
Nate Savage kicks open the back door and exits the house. Bubbles the Clown picks up Xtacee, and follows behind Nate. Monica, Antonio, and Jackson Fenix follow shortly behind them. Soon a voice over is heard, a familiar that belongs to a big yellow bird.
And so, our friends set off on their journey and headed to Winter Wasteland where they will tangle with two witches and a Trixie.
What kind of shape will Xperienx Xtacee be in at Winter Wasteland? Will he even be able to compete? Can the trio overcome The Coven and capture the trios championship?Tune in to Winter Wasteland to find out! |
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Post by supinesnake on May 29, 2024 14:02:27 GMT
Originally posted by Jimmy. “Almost 20 years.”
That’s the first thing Jason Randall says as the camera rolls. The Wildcard appears to be in a studio in an undisclosed location. He’s sitting on a chair as he stares into the camera, and he lets those words linger without any context until he decides to continue.
“It’s been almost 20 years since I started doing this thing. It’s been almost 20 years since I first stepped foot inside of a wrestling ring. It’s been 20 years since I started doing the only thing I’ve ever been good at.”
He pauses and lets those words linger while pondering what to say next. He places his hands inside the pockets of his hooded sweater and leans back in his chair.
“I think Albert Einstein said insanity is doing the same thing repeatedly and expecting different results. Twenty years is a long time to be doing the same thing day in and day out, and I didn’t think I’d be doing this for as long as I have, but here we are. Some people doubted me, people close to me who didn’t believe in me or didn’t understand why I wanted to do this. I don’t speak about him often because it’s a bit of a sore subject with me, but my father was one of those people who didn’t believe in me. Not only did he not believe in me, but he didn’t understand. He never understood anything I showed a hint of an interest in and acted like he cared about my life and my future, but the truth is he didn’t. He wanted me to follow in his footsteps and do what he did, but I didn’t want that; I wanted to do my own thing, and he didn’t like that.”
“He was never there for me that much anyway, if I’m being honest, and when he decided he wanted to be a dad and treat me like his son, it was too late. I was beyond the age where I wanted to be treated like a child by him, so I lashed out, and of course, he didn’t like that. I went along to the beat of my own drum, which didn’t sit well with him. When he learned I wanted to be a wrestler, he didn’t support me, but I didn’t care. Well, maybe I did a little because all I ever wanted was for him to show that he truly cared, but deep down, I had come to terms with that would never happen.”
Randall pauses again and leans forward now. He removes his hands from the sweater pocket and rubs them together.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get all personal for this shit. That was not my intention when I sat down in front of this camera today to do this promo for my match with Sawyer Xavier at Winter Wasteland. I wanted to tell a story, but then I got sidetracked with that tangent and got a little too personal, but I suppose that sort of ties into the story I wanted to tell. I wanted to tell the story of my very first match; the story won’t be about the match, but it’s on that day. The story takes place after the match.”
“Before I get into that, though, I want to say that Sawyer Xavier reminds me a lot of myself back then, especially after being in the business a little over five or so years. Around that time, I wasn’t sure if this was what I wanted to keep doing. I had been given opportunities everywhere I went, but I would squander them repeatedly. Then, I would take my frustrations out on anybody but myself when it was my fault. I got in my way of achieving what I wanted. That’s where Sawyer Xavier is now, but I digress because this story is not about that; this is about the beginning of what you see before you now. Long before I was The Wildcard, I guess you can call this The Wildcard Origins…”
********************
Jason Randall in…
The Wildcard Origins
Sometime around 2004
I was on cloud nine.
I was on top of the world.
I was feeling good after my very first wrestling match. The match itself was nothing to write home about. Honestly, it was the drizzling shits, but you couldn’t tell that to me at the time. If you tried to tell me that, I wouldn’t believe you. I thought my shit didn’t stink, but it did stink. It was nowhere near as bad as that match, though, if I’m honest.
Anyway, after the match, I found the guy I had faced. Out of respect, I’ll keep his name out of this. Honestly, I can’t remember his name, but I do know he was a big name at one time, and I believe he’s no longer with us, so with all due respect to him, he’ll remain nameless in this story.
Here I was, young, fresh-faced. Full of inexperience but ready and willing to learn. I was eager to gain any knowledge as I was diving head first into this next chapter of my life. This guy, on the other hand, was not having it. I said he was a big name in his time, but he had seen better days. He was well past his prime and mentally checked out at this point in his life. I was too oblivious to make that observation, though. I wanted to learn, and who better to give me some advice than the guy who threw me around for about five minutes? My body was feeling it after those awful bumps I had taken, but that didn’t deter me.
“Um, excuse me, sir.”
He turned to look at me with his raggedly run-down facial features and a cigarette hanging between his lips. He had a look on his face like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world at that time so he could smoke his cigarette in peace for five minutes. It was the only good feeling he had left in his life, and this young schmuck was disturbing his peace.
“Uh, I’m new to the business, and I was wondering if you could give me some advice…”
He let out a rough-sounding cough; he nearly coughed up a lung at my feet, he was coughing so much. He finished his cigarette, flicked it to the ground, and stomped it out. He did this all while looking at me.
“You want some advice, kid? Get out while you still can. Do something else with your life; do something more meaningful. This isn’t the life you want, kid, believe me.”
He starts having another coughing fit as he slowly wanders off back into the building. I didn’t know what to think. That’s not the advice I was looking for at the time, but I was young, determined, and I wasn’t going to let his words deter me.
About a year or so later, I was signed to my first significant promotion, and things were going well there for a bit. I was still finding my footing and placed in a tag team with a guy named Josh. No, not Josh Drake. If that guy had been my partner all those years ago, I would’ve listened to that old-timer’s advice.
We captured tag team gold, and I won some singles gold. Then I had my big break. I was given a shot at the world champion, and wouldn’t you know it, I won. I was the world champion.
I was what you would call a transitional champion. They had no intention of me holding the belt for an extended period. There was a lot of backstage politics going on, and that’s when I realized that the old timer was correct, but I was too far into this now to back out, so I stuck around.
I would go to another promotion, PWF, where once again, I was inevitably screwed out of a world title.
The CWA offered me a contract, but I passed up on that. What could’ve been? Maybe if I had signed that contract, I would be treated like a big deal like other CWA stars of the past who have now stepped into the FWA.
I opted to take some time off before ultimately signing with FWA.
***************
“There you go, the origins of The Wildcard. I guess it wasn’t all bad. I did meet Penny along the way, so that’s one bright spot.”
Randall leans back in his chair once more.
“Sawyer, you’re probably thinking to yourself, what does that story have to do with me? What does any of this have to do with me? Well, I did say you reminded me a lot of myself at one time. You were probably happy to be there like I was back then, but then you experienced pain. This business didn’t waste its time chewing you up and spitting you out, am I right? But can you blame this business? You freeze up whenever you’ve been given an opportunity to run with something in FWA. Every time you’ve been handed the ball to run with it. Instead, you drop it.”
“You won the match for Team Meltdown last year in the brand warfare, but then what? What happened after that, huh? Nothing, you flushed it all down the crapper. You let it all go to waste. You couldn’t handle it, so you backed down and soon disappeared.”
“Now, you’re back, and here you are, you make your grand return, and you eliminate me in the Gunfight Battle Royale. Then you have the nerve to call me out on national TV. You want to help me, but you can’t even help yourself. You should be helping yourself before you try to help me. I’m not denying everything you said to me. I know it all to be true, but I didn’t need to hear it from you. I know I’m not featured more prominently than others. I know I’m just another body for them to pad out the numbers, but at least it’s something. It’s more than I could say for someone like you, Sawyer.”
Randall pauses and lets out a sigh.
“Look, I’m not mad at you or what you said. Yeah, it hurts, but the truth always hurts. Just like what that old timer told me all those years ago. I may not have known it then, but now I know how he felt, and it hurts. Not just physically but mentally. I’m still here, though. Why am I still here? I don’t know. I ask myself that every day. It beats having one of those 9-5 desk jobs, flipping burgers, or pushing shopping carts. No offense to anyone who does those jobs that take a certain skill that I’m not built for. I’m built differently; I was put on this earth to wrestle.”
“I know that deep down inside of you, there’s a part of you that wants to succeed, Sawyer. Hell, I want you to succeed. You’re a hell of a talent. Half of the shit you do in the ring I sure as hell couldn’t do, I don’t know how the hell I’m going to combat any of it, but I’ll do my damndest.”
Randall stands up from his chair and gets closer to the camera.
“I know you’re hungry, kid; I want you to prove it. I want to see that same kid who won the match for Team Meltdown in brand warfare. I want to see the same Sawyer Xavier that tossed me on my ass in the gunfight battle royale. I want you to give me your best because I will give you my best.”
“May the best man win.” |
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Post by supinesnake on May 29, 2024 14:03:15 GMT
Originally posted by Blaine. SAWYER XAVIER PRESENTS
INTO THE SAWYERVERSE
The night time streets on the outskirts of Istanbul were near empty. It was late into the night as Sawyer stepped across the pavement, looking around the area. Somedays, he just needed to walk around. He looked at his watch, he hit 20k steps. Breaking off from his short sprint, Sawyer would lean alongside a wall, taking a breather.
It was only a few weeks until the moment he had wished for had arrived. A chance to showcase himself to the masses, to get his message out, to try and make the change that he needed. This match was more than just a match. It was a moment in history that would determine everything. Randall needed to be converted, or else everything would break apart.
Sawyer knew this was his final chance at breaking out. His one message would die if he couldn’t make Randall realize his destiny. This … fueled a desire in him. Not to win, but to inspire. He wanted to make sure Randall would know what it was like to be hungry again, to have a passion to excel in the business. This wasn’t for any bragging rights, this was to enlarge the spark and burn the people at the top.
Sawyer would continue to lean on the wall, slightly closing his eyes. He wanted to rest so badly, but couldn’t. He couldn’t let himself stop fighting for both men’s careers. Why should they be destined towards simply exciting a crowd. They were both starving for opportunity and moment, and he wanted to help both him and Jason feast on chance.
Sawyer kept his eyes closed, before bursting them open after hearing footsteps. He examined the environment around him, it was still the outskirts. Only, something was off. Everything looked the same, but there was something different, something hazy. He stepped off the way, looking around the street, when he saw a figure leaning on a street lamp the opposite side of him.
SAWYER: Hello? Are you okay over there?
The figure didn’t answer, but looked up, its eyes glaring at Sawyer. They almost had this tense, cold nature to them, but slightly softened at the look of Sawyer. It began to walk figure, its stature being oddly similar to Xavier … as it had a hood to cover its face. Sawyer would back up slightly, as the figure approached him, only to take off the hoodie. Here, we see a man who nearly looks identical bodywise to Sawyer, but his face was coated with hair. His eyes baggy, a drunken grin on his face.
SAWYER: You good man? You probably don’t want to be out this late, especially in your state. Lord knows how much that has screwed me.
The figure laughed, his laugh similar to Sawyer’s own. It was like looking into a distorted mirror, and Sawyer felt an uncanny feeling … and that’s when the figure spoke.
FUTURE SAWYER: There you are! Oh, to be young again. Better enjoy it before you get addicted to the hard stuff.
It was him. Sawyer was staring himself down, but it didn’t feel right. Nothing else made sense, except for the image in front of him. The older version let out a drunken burp, as he rested his hand on Sawyer’s shoulder.
FUTURE SAWYER: This is where everything went wrong. I remember it like it was yesterday. Winter Wasteland, Istanbul! I was backstage, readying for my biggest match to date. I had never had the chance to be on a stage until I decided to grow some balls and talk down Randall. I was in gorilla, as my music hit. And when I got on stage, my body froze. It was freaky, but I froze. I didn’t know what to do. That was the last chance I had. Of course, no need to worry you, but I just had the final hiccup.
SAWYER: Okay, let’s slow down. Who the hell are you? Why do you look like me, why do you know stuff about me?
FUTURE SAWYER: Look at me Sawyer. I’m you, if you just decided to give up and become a drunken old man. So, I guess I’m a future version of you.
SAWYER: Oh … okay. So, is this like a dream or something. Did someone slip me some LSD while I was eating. You can’t be me because I’m me, and I certainly am not that bad with my habits.
FUTURE SAWYER: Dream or not, I’m still you. I figured I’d pay you a visit, try to see what my younger self is doing before he fucks it all up. This is a big moment, I hope you know. If you mess this up, it’s game over.
Sawyer blinked repeatedly, slapping his face slightly. There was no pain to it, but it tingled slightly as he looked at another figure approaching from the shadows. Its feet stepped with the confidence of a stone-hearted man. His shoes appeared first, sleek black, matching the black dress pants. As the rest of its body walked into frame, it was another Sawyer. Only, this was a more modern version. Still youthful, but with a slight beard. His hair was cut, slicked back. He stared down Sawyer, with a look of disgust.
CORPORATE SAWYER: And look here. It's me, only a me who resents everything that I am. Tell me, Sawyer, do I intimidate you? Do I show off everything you wish you could be. You do hate the men in suits, because they’re holding you down. However, the only limitations you have are those you insist upon yourself. If you were to give up your barbaric nomadic ways and chose to put some dignity into your character, maybe you wouldn’t be so … what’s the word, Nugatory.
SAWYER: Do I have to even ask where you’re from. Look at you, this isn’t the Sawyer that said fuck the world when he was 18 and left to become his own thing. This … isn’t who I am. You are the amalgamation of everything I, no we, have fought against our entire careers. It’s always been marking our own destiny, and for what. You show up here, dressed up like a suck-up who’s going to go with the flow? You’re not me, you will never be me. I’m not going to put on a suit to appeal to anyone.
CORPORATE SAWYER: You might regret it. Picture the scene. Winter Wasteland. Jason Randall has just knocked you out. When you think your done, you get up and strike him. So, what does Randall do? He knocks you right out. That cycle repeats, until your strikes end up pitiful, broken, obsolete. Randall beats you until you give up. You head to the back in shame, when Jon Russnow approaches you. Next thing you know, you cut your hair, you put on one of the best beards in wrestling, and boom. You go from a zero with a passion to the top of the world. Maybe you should learn from me, and understand that sometimes, you just got to give into life.
Sawyer grit his teeth and went to throw a punch at the corporate version of himself. The suited man faded into mist as the fist flew through him, before materializing behind him. Sawyer would back up, staring at the older and cold-hearted versions, before bumping into another. This time, he had another suit, but it was white. This Sawyer dawned a cane and had a jolly smile on his face.
SAWYER X. BRILLIANT: Greetings kiddo! Sawyer X. Brilliant, famed protege of the infamous George E. Brilliant. Heard what these two were spitting from the outside, and decided to come in. You know what we all have in common? We all were at this exact same place, in the exact same time. All of us somehow ended up in Winter Wasteland, facing off against Jason Randall. However, instead of cold feet or getting my teeth kicked in, I took a more, devastating approach. Shit happens as they say, and boy shit did happen. My knee snapped. I mean, it was disgusting. Docs told me my career was donezo, but was I really going to let a simple injury take me away? It did, however, I decided to take up training from ol’ George, as I became the world-famed Sawyer X. Brilliant, manager and talent scouting extraordinaire.
SAWYER: Really, you let that hack keep riding around with you. All he was using me for was to get a paycheck. He didn’t care about me, he was making his name relevant because I was trying to be relevant. Let me guess, you’re going to give me a lecture on how I shouldn’t take this for granted. I know I shouldn’t, that’s why I’m trying my damn best to prepare myself for Randall. This is my moment, and I’m not going to let you or anyone else convince me otherwise.
The bearded Sawyer came and placed his hand on Sawyer's shoulder. He shook his head slightly in slight defeat, before staring into Sawyer’s eyes. Sawyer’s body shook, as the eyes he stared at were dead. They weren’t real, but they felt alive … they felt important.
OLDER SAWYER: That’s not the point, son. This is the point in time that matters most to you. Whatever happens in that ring will set you along the path for the rest of your career. You could end up like me, killing all my passion for business and becoming a drunk slob. You could end up like suits here, a corporate ass-kisser but having more success than we could dream for. Or, something could go freakishly wrong. You need to realize that this is your making point. Every Sawyer to this point has failed. None of us have been able to come out with a victory over Randall, and that’s fine. You can either take that in stride and choose to make your path, or you could prove yourself better than us and break that fact. You may become the only one of us to take out Randall. What you choose to do after that … nobody can tell you. This is your moment Sawyer, it’s make or break.
CORPORATE SAWYER: And if these two slobs are anything to speak about, I’m inclined to believe you’ll break … and break … and break again until you’re nothing but broken dreams and disgust. Maybe then, you’ll realize the good in stepping up to fill the void you didn’t want to fill.
SAWYER X. BRILLIANT: Don’t listen to him. Sawyer, you’re destined for greatness, and you are fingertips away from going full sprint towards it. Make your moment count, don’t let it go to waste.
Sawyer would nod slightly, as the figures started to fade away into mist. The environment began to shake, as a loud buzzing sound began to play. Sawyer backed up slightly before everything went dark … then he opened his eyes. The environment was still the same as before, but the Sawyer’s were gone. He breathed out slightly, before feeling the same buzzing sound. He quickly shuffled in his pockets, seeing a call from Oliver Kemp. He clicked accept, after staring blankly at it for a few seconds, trying to scramble back to normality.
KEMP: Where the hell are you? You promised to be back in an hour, and you’ve been gone for three. It’s getting a little tiring trying to come up with strategy without you.
SAWYER: Look, I’m sorry man. I got caught up with something. I found a voice … a few. I needed to hear that voice for a while. Besides, it’s my time. Nobody is forcing you to be awake, I’m a grown-up. We can discuss this in the morning when I get my voice situated.
KEMP: Alright fine, just, get back to the hotel as soon as possible. Can’t have you go rogue, again.
Kemp hung up, as Sawyer looked around the area. The figures of himself were gone. Was it just a dream … it sure didn’t feel like it. It felt like walking on a plain in between dreams and reality, a conversation with himself. He wanted his voice for so long, and he found three people with their own, all forged because of Jason.
Was this the chance to finally create himself what he desired? Was this the chance for Sawyer Xavier to grasp at opportunity, not just for himself but to prove to everyone that he deserved to be here? To prove to Randall that he deserved to be here. Hell, this was to prove to Randall that they both deserved to be here, to be more.
He wasn’t certain though, was he doing this for himself or the good of everyone. Were his desires to break the men at the top simply desires, or was he doing this for himself? Winter Wasteland is the final frontier, breaking off into dozens of paths. Anything could happen, and Sawyer was ready for it. For the first time … he was ready to lose, if it meant making a change for the better … or for the worse. |
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Post by supinesnake on May 29, 2024 14:03:39 GMT
Originally posted by ETE. FEBRUARY 10TH 2023
“How’s that deal sound to you Baby?”
Gabrielle closes the door behind herself before directing her attention upon the man who had just spoken to her. She doesn’t reply immediately, just letting a wicked smile slink across her face as she stands there. Her blonde messy hair is ever so slightly curled and frames the delicate features of her face. Her skin, that iconic skintone sparkles and dazzles under the low lighting even more than usual, as she’s decorated with glitter. That glitter and the minimalist lace she wears locked in a battle currently to see which conceals more of her body. The lace wins…just. Lace in the form of a tiny, near sheer black bra, an even tinier matching lace G-string, and a sheer red mini skirt. Those three clothing items do very, very little to retain any kind of modesty for Gabrielle. Her knee high stiletto heeled black boots cover more of her figure than all of her ‘çlothing’ combined.
But that's kind of the point isn’t it. I mean who wants a reasonably clothed stripper?
“Well…how's that sound?” The man chimes in again as he absent mindedly wipes some glitter off his lap.
Gabrielle bites down on her bottom lip and steps away from the door, closing the distance between the two of them.
“So…I’d get to choose everything? She says with a playful mirth to her tone. It's not really a question, more of a provocation to get him to repeat himself.
“Yeah, you pick everything about it. The scene, the setting, your co-Star, what you’re willing to do on camera, the Director. The works, you can pick how many camera men we have, even the Title of the scene.”
“And the price?” She asks as she stops right in front of him, his eyes wandering up along her body until he’s staring into her eyes, while her focus starts in his eyes and drifts…lower.
“You name it, as many zeros as you need.”
Gabrielle smirks, and he hopefully grins back, he expects the worst while hoping for the best. He’s made similar offers to her several times in the past. In fact over the years many Directors, Producers, Casting Agents and the like in the Adult Entertainment industry have made offers like this to her over the years. And everytime Gabrielle has said no.
But this time could be different. In the past he’d take her out for dinner, wine and dine her, lay out a proposal for her on the table, which she’d turn down before he’d inevitably lay her out on her bed that night. Gabrielle doesn’t say “no” that regularly. Instead tonight, he’s gone to where he’s heard rumours that Gabrielle has been working. This Strip Club in Las Vegas, and it's surprisingly not as busy as you’d expect it is.
It's almost like most people don’t really believe that Gabrielle would actually be working here. That she’d be dancing on stage, stripping out of her clothes, giving out lapdances…or especially not her ‘backroom activities’. But when Desmond had heard the rumblings of Gabrielle working here, he knew it was true, and he knew this presented itself as a prime opportunity. One that he would need to swoop on before anyone else did.
When he walked into the Club the first girl he saw was Gabrielle on center stage dressed as a…there’s no other way to put it; a Slutty Cowgirl and working the Pole. She was being showered in money as she removed her clothing bit by bit until only a Cowgirl Hat, Boots, some Nipple Pasties, and a little Thong had remained. She’d locked eyes with Desmond and handed her Hat off to him. Desmond had chuckled as seemingly he was the only person who noticed all the other items of clothing she’d removed had ‘disappeared’ into the throng of people watching her.
When she was done she returned to the back, got dressed in her minimalist lace outfit and re-emerged. Greeting Desmond with a warm embrace, the two are friends after all, it’s just one of those friendships where one of them really, really wants to film the other one having butt sex and then post it all over the internet…
She had given him a lapdance in a quiet corner of the Club, grinding her body against his as the two had caught up. It was almost comical as this beautiful woman, dressed in just lace and leather writhed in this mans lap and they talked about how life had been going for each other. Gabrielle’s run in the FWA hadn’t panned out how she hoped, now she’s here. Desmonds business was taking a hit with the rise of Only Fans, now he’s here.
But it wasn’t long before he made that familiar proposal, which sparked Gabrielle to slide out of his lap, take him by the hand and lead him back to this private room. Somewhere she’s quite familiar with. Occasionally she brings someone back here, someone that catches her eye in some way. Sometimes it's as simple as a very private dance with no prying eyes and some intimate touching. Rarely things went all the way with Gabrielle bent over the table, or flat on her back on the couch. Most often it’d just see Gabrielle on her knees with her companion's hand on the back of her head.
If you asked her why she was so willing to perform fellatio on these strangers, she still wouldn’t have an answer. It just felt right in the moment. All that dancing, stripping, grinding, little touches and everything else all exciting her a little too much. Perhaps she’s just lonely after having abandoned her identity as a Professional Wrestler..
So this time was very different up to this point for Desmond’s meetings with Gabrielle. He hasn’t winded her or dined her, and he’s already got her alone. She allows the glitter to win its war with the lace as she unclasped her bra and tossed it aside. His eyes lighting up as she then sits in his lap, straddling his waist as they stare into each other's eyes.
“So…” She begins as she slides a hand between her legs and undoes his fly with an alarming degree of skill. “Any amount of money…” Her ‘negotiation skills’ on display as she then swiftly slides a hand down his pants.
Desmond grins from ear to ear as he relaxes into the chair, letting Gabrielle take charge as she leans in closer to him, whispering into his ear. Every word, and every sentence making his smile grow even wider before she leans back with a devilish smile firmly on her face as well.
Gabrielle the two time Back in Business Main Eventer slides out of his lap so she can free him of his pants before she gets in that familiar position on her knees in front of someone in this room. A position the World will get to watch her in within a couple of days as her first scene; Carnal Slutendership is released…
10 MONTHS LATER
“Hows that deal sound to you Baby?”
Gabrielle closes the door behind herself before directing her attention upon the man who had just spoken to her. She doesn’t reply immediately, just letting an ever so slightly mischievous smile slink across her face as she stands there. Her brunette hair is ever so slightly curled and frames the delicate features of her face. Her skin, that iconic skintone sparkles and dazzles under the bright lighting even more than usual. It's a darker tone of Caramel now, more time spent out in the sun. Her tight denim jeans and a little white baby tee are locked in a battle currently to see which conceals more of her body. The denim wins…and quite easily so. The cloth of her baby tee, leaving much of her midriff and her cleavage bare. Some things never really change with Gabrielle, while some things inevitably do.
“Well…how's that sound?” The man chimes in again as he absent mindedly wipes some lint off his pants.
Gabrielle bites down on her bottom lip and steps away from the door, closing the distance between the two of them.
“So…I get it…the F1 Climaxxx…it sounds like a porno doesn’t it.” She says with a playful mirth to her tone. It's not really a question, more of a provocation to get him to repeat himself.
“Exactly. The F1 ClimaXXX starring Gabrielle in her return to Porn. It just makes so much sense, we can capitalise on that tournament. We’d be missing out on a huge opportunity if we don't take advantage of this.”
“How huge?” She asks as she stops right in front of him, his eyes drifting lower, from staring into her eyes he’s now unashamedly staring at her tits., while her focus had started lower before rising upwards to see the whites of his eyes.
“Well its a BIG tournament right.”
Gabrielle smirks, and he grins back hopefully, he expects the absolute best while also hoping for even better than the absolute best. Last time he made a similar pitch to Gabrielle was in that Strip Club, and everything worked out perfectly for him. He’d enjoyed every carnal delight imaginable with her in that back room she’d claimed as her own. Then the very next day they filmed her first scene to all her demands. It was more than anyone could have ever hoped for, Gabrielle didn’t just dip her toes into that new career, she dived in head first.
A well hung co-Star, a bigger list of sex acts performed, an entire crew of cameramen, and all for a sum of money that would shock the World with just how many zeros were involved. Desmond didn’t expect this time to be any different, she’d retired from this industry to return to the FWA, but from what he’d seen things weren’t working out for her.
But this time could be different. He’d taken her out to lunch, nothing special, nothing fancy, just a nice little cafe. It was nice for him being in her presence again. For most of this year he went everywhere with her. Gabrielle was on his arm everywhere he went, usually scantily clad at best and turning their heads whether he was taking her to a Porn shoot, a red carpet event, Dinner, or just to see the sights.
He’d felt like a King whenever he had Gabrielle on his arm. When she’d first signed onto his tactfully named ‘Stuffed Sluts’ Company it was such a thrill to go anywhere with her. She owned every room she walked into. She had this presence, this beauty that made every head turn. And as her ‘filmography’ had grown so did that feeling he got whenever he went anywhere with her. The more she did, the more the World wanted her, he felt powerful being the man that decided who could have her.
He’s missed that feeling. You’d think a man who routinely works with women desperate for approval, or money would just move onto the next girl. You’d think a man who was in the position to organise with essentially the highest bidder amongst the Pornographic Film Companies who gets to work with Gabrielle next and what she’ll be doing would have moved on. That sounds degrading, or even demeaning.
Maybe it's because Gabrielle had taken every scene on like a challenge’, but it never felt like he was degrading her. Just letting her do what she did best and getting to film it and profit from it. Just sitting with her for lunch, and watching all the glances thrown her way had brought back that sense of power he’d previously had.
But this time was different than the last, and he couldn’t ignore that. Last time she was barely clothed at all, and he couldn’t keep her off of his lap if he wanted too. He’s wined and dined her, and now has her alone. The denim continues its war with the cloth as she sits down beside him on the couch. A warm smile on her face as she tussles her hair.
“So…” He begins as he starts to undo his fly, sliding the zipper down as Gabrielle watches him, perhaps a little too intently. A little giggle escapes her lips as she subtly shakes her head. “Any amount of money…” He continues. “Last time, that deal we had…we can work a new deal out, whatever you need. Whatever you want for this I’ll pay it. Name your price, any price at all.”
He’s almost pleading with her by the end of it, his ‘negotiation skills’ are not quite as sinfully joyous or effective as Gabrielle’s…
“Des…I’m just not that person anymore. I want to be in the F1 Climaxxx, not just get filmed having guys climax on my face okay. I cant be that person anymore, I need to be someone else.”
“Well…” Desmond interjects. “What about what I saw a couple of weeks back? You and Mark? Tell me how does that work…you call him up and tell him you want to pretend to give him head for a Promo…then explain it all away in a dream?
Desmond stares into her eyes hopefully, one of her recent promos was a faux throwback to what he wants from her again after all. “You know Mark sent me a photo once you guys had ‘finished’ whatever that was right…”
Gabrielle nods her head, she cant pretend that didn’t happen after all. “You and what you offered were exactly what I needed in a certain part of my life Des…but not this time. You understand right?”
Desmond sighs as he sinks into the couch, looking absolutely deflated by what she has just told him. Gabrielle frowns as well before then sliding over closer to him, kneeling over top of him.
“Listen, in a weird way I’m flattered that still after all the movies I did for you that you still want more. Whatever kind of scene you want me to film, I’ve already done it, everyone can already watch it. Yet still everyone wants more. I need to give my everything to something else now. I gave you everything for as long as I did, now I’m doing something else...”
Desmond goes to reply but Gabrielle’s ‘negotiation skills’ are on display as she then swiftly slides a hand down his pants. Some things change, and some things never do, or they revert back to how they once were. Desmond puts the two time World Champion on her back easily where the denim and the white cloth both suddenly lose their battle in unison as they fly from her body like bullets out of a gun. Gabrielle doesn’t say “no” that regularly.
THE MORNING AFTER
Gabrielle’s sexuality has dominated her 2023. It was a year that perhaps people had always expected to see from her, but still not really thought it would ever happen. Gabrielle was a Back In Business Main Eventer, a World Champion, the first Women’’s Champion…you get the idea. She was even inducted into the Hall of Fame this year.
But her sexuality always dominated her life, truth be told. Whether it was people passing judgement on her because of the way she looked and dressed, perhaps fairly so. Or all her exploits, all the rumours, the sex tape she’d later admit to leaking herself. Her sexuality was her ‘ace up the sleeve’. It opened doors for her, it brought her opportunities, it got the World paying attention to her right from day one all those years ago.
Her wardrobe was revealing, her tongue was always dancing across her bottom lip, she knew how to accentuate everything. She knew how to get what she wanted from anyone. Whatever that was. In 2023 it was an identity, it was praise, it was a feeling of worth and value, as sad as that may be.
In years past it was her greatest weapon. People wouldn’t take her as seriously, or people wouldn’t want to go too hard against her, less they ruin their chances of hooking up with her. Gabrielle always prided herself on her toughness for all those years, but she still made sure everyone who stepped in the ring with her had other thoughts in the back of their mind.
Last night it was how she got what she wanted. How she let Desmond down easily. He didn't get what he wanted, but he still got what he wanted. Perhaps it was a stress relief for Gabrielle as well, and a way to take her mind off of things for a while.
Her return to the FWA wasn’t quite panning out as grand as she had hoped. For all of Desmond's talk of Gabrielle’s ClimaXXX she wasn’t even in contention to make the F1 Climaxxx. Yesterday, sans some kind of miracle will be as close as Gabrielle gets to the Climaxxx this year.
She’s already fallen short in a couple of matches, maybe she’s rusty, maybe her 2023 exploits made her a little too comfortable with going down easily. Maybe last night despite everything was a nice reminder that there’s always options out there for Gabrielle.
Just not right now.
She stirs from her sleep, leaving Desmond alone in bed as she gets dressed into something comfortable and slinky. A little nightie that blissfully clings to her curves.She heads into her Kitchen, quickly making herself a coffee and then heading out to sit in what sunlight she can bask in. It's warm against her skin, and makes that famed skintone of hers sparkle.
Last night was fun, yesterday in general was perhaps something she’s needed. As the former Goddess was reborn for that day. Wined and dined, lusted after, wanted. She doesn’t want to be that anymore, or rather only that but it's still a rush to experience it.
But there’s a bigger rush she’s chasing. Something that her exploits of this year just couldn’t replicate, no matter what or who she did. All that sex, all the lights, all the camera’s, all the men were no replacement for that rush of stepping into an FWA ring with the World watching intently.
The roar of the fans, the thud of the canvas, even the pain that would run through her body at times. It's the rush of all rushes. One she’ll always be chasing, probably forever. One that brings heartache and sorrow with it that matches or even eclipses the joy you can feel in that ring.
She sips from her coffee, and retrieves her phone. Something about yesterday has suddenly brought all of this into focus. It would be so easy to just slip back into being the Goddess. She flicks through a few apps, it’d be so easy to just log into onlyfans right now and take her camera to Desmond for round two…or well round four as it actually is. But that's not what she’s after.
She opens up Instagram instead and starts a live stream as she sits there sipping her coffee. She gives it a few minutes, letting the masses join in to watch as she sits there smiling and occasionally waving. There’s something so simple and pure about this. The warmth of the morning sun, the stillness and coolness of the air. The decadence of the silk gown. And of course that Caramel skin tone of hers.
It betrays the sinfulness of last night, the sinfulness of the past year of her life and the temptations she’s felt in recent weeks. You could forget about all of that as you look upon this woman, this Mother, this Daughter, this Friend, this Wrestler.
Äfter enough time has passed for her fans to jump on board the livestream, she finally begins.
“So Winter Wasteland is almost here. The match I’ve been chasing for these past few weeks, the confrontation I’ve been after with young Elizabeth. No…that just doesn’t sound right Lizzie. You’re still Lizzie Rose to me.”
“And I know, after everything that happened between us in the past, I have no right to call you that, I have no right to deny you being who you are. But I know better Lizzie, I know better than you, and I know where this path you’re on leads. What you’re doing now, I’ve done before, not just too you but to countless others.”
“And while you might find some reward for who you’ve become in the present, it won't last, and you wont look back on any of this fondly at all. Just look at me Lizzie…I came back for four of the longest and hardest years of my life, the worst four years of my career. To finally hold a Championship I had to become everything I had hated about myself again. I had to sell out, I had to betray my conscience and single mindedly only care about winning.”
“I brought back Executive Excellence to become a Champion again, for that brief month. I betrayed my friends, I hurt you, I hurt Alyster…and I proved all my doubters like Cyrus Truth right in becoming that narcissistic ‘Goddess’ again. I don't look back at those decisions fondly, I don't look back on that month I spent as a Champion with Kayden proudly.”
“I don't want the same for you Lizzie. You don't deserve that, you don't deserve to feel so crushed. Where’s that blissfully happy, pure, woman I knew and saw something in gone?”
“The woman that glued her head to my wall…”
“Because I saw something great in that woman. And for all my faults, all my flaws, all my misdeeds I know talent when I see it. Perhaps it is my most underrated attribute, my least glorified skill. But what do all of these people have in common; Danny Toner, Drew Stevenson, Alyster Black, Cameron Cross, Dave Sullivan, James Hughes, Lizzie Rose…”
“I saw something in all of those people. Sometimes no one else did, sometimes I was just the first to see something special in them. But all of them went onto be Champions, all of them went onto do great things. All of them went onto be special, including you Lizzie. The former North American Champion. I wasn’t wrong about you was I?”
“Cleary not…because I didn’t just see greatness in you, I saw myself in you. I saw what once upon a time I could have been. I saw an innocence that I was jealous of. When I was a child, it was that innocent dreaming that made me chase greatness when I grew older. But I lost that innocence. The way people looked at me, talked about me, I couldn’t hide from that…and I used that, I leaned into that, I embraced that and lost my innocence.”
“But the Lizzie Rose I knew, the Lizzie Rose I miss was still innocent and pure. She dreamed big, and would never sell out or change herself to achieve those things.
“Lizzie I didn't come back to save myself from this identity of being remembered as a Whore, I came back to save you from being remembered as anything other than who you really are, deep down.”
“Lizzie Rose, make me proud of you.”
With that said Gabrielle signs off, ending her live stream and leaving all the words in the past. Mentor vs Mentee. Both of them became something that they wouldn’t recognise to get here, but both of them can become what they once knew again. |
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Post by supinesnake on May 29, 2024 14:04:49 GMT
Originally posted by Sully. Kleio's Home Alone
[ATTACH type="full" width="441px"]76676[/ATTACH]
Little Kleio, a foster kid in a broken home, was once again considered the runt of the liter. In a crazy house filled with other foster kids, she was somehow the most disregarded.
As all of the other kids screamed and cried during dinner, as pizza was served by a family who was only doing it for a subsidy check, Kleio just sat quietly.
That is until a drink got knocked over, and somehow little Kleio got blamed.
Soon enough she was sent up to the attic, alone.
And that is how she woke up.
The rest of the foster family had gone on vacation, and had mistakenly left Kleio behind. But she didn't care! It was perfect for her. For once, she was at peace. Kleio ran downstairs, and jumped on the couch. She turned on the TV, and for once she had it all to herself. She enjoyed a nice episode of Spongebob, as she ate some cold pizza on the fride. She even plaid with her foster brother's iPad! She didn't get one, her foster father told her she didn't deserve.
All was well.
That is until, some crooks arrived at the front door!
Little Kleio was startled, as she poked her head through the curtain. She could hear them talking.
"And that's why, we're going to call ourselves The Hairy Bandits!" the one said.
"That's the stupidiest thing I ever heard, Jack" the one said.
"Aw come on Brooklyn. It's our calling card! We leave hair trimmings all over the house. That way they know we're Jack Hairy and Brooklyn Marv. The two biggest crooks in the city" he said.
"Good crooks don't want their name to be known. Besides, hair is sort of your thing".
Kleio gasped! These two were about to rob the house. She had to think of something. So she grabbed the remote and switched it to the quickest channel she could find! Luckily, a mobster movie was on.
"GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE!" the tv screamed. It startled Jack Hairy, who jumped back.
Suddenly, the shooting started, and Jack and Brooklyn went running.
"What the hell! I thought you said they weren't home!" Brooklyn yelled at Jack.
"I didn't think they were!" he said.
The two ran off to go check. The TV saved her, just as it always had. That's why Kleio had the Television Championship after all. Kleio was smart, she knew they'd be back. They were after he title. So she did whatever she could to prepare. She spent the next few hours prepping the house as best as she could.
Soon enough, the bumbling thieves arrived yet again. And this time they meant business. But when Jack touched the doorknob, it was screeching hot! He screamed as loud as he could, and fell backwards into the snow.
"Come and get me you idiots!" Kleio yelled.
Brooklyn grumbled. Not falling for he tricks, he went around the back, but when he went up the stairs he slipped on ice!
The young Kleio had outsmarted them yet again! She had been outsmarted them every step of the way, and this was no different. They were after he championship, and she wasn't going to give it up without a fight. Soon the two busted through the door, but they were met with paint cans to the head!
They continued to chase Kleio. And eventually, Jack grabbed her by the leg.
"I got you, you little brat! You thought you could get one over on me with all your tricks. But guess what, I have a trick of my own! A monolgue! Muwahaha that is right! I am the monolgue king! I love monoluges! And now you're going to sit there and be bored to death as I go on one right now about why I am the greatest!" he says.
Kleio screams and tries to cover her ears.
But the hairy bastard just keeps on going.
"Blah blah blah, Jack is the best! Because I am the best at monologues! Even though they're usually just a bunch of paragraphs that nobody reads. And you end up having to repeat a bunch of stuff to make it seem bigger. But that's what makes monologues so great you see. It's the classic wrestling promo. Good old traditional wrestling".
But, while Jack was going on his monolgue, Kleio through a spider in his face. The Hairy Bandit screamed as he then stumbled down the steps.
All that was left was Brooklyn! He stared Kleio down, but she ran up the steps as fast as she could. Soon enough, she was cornered in the attic.
"Nice try Kid. But here's the thing. Halloween is over. Nobody cares about witches or barbers. They care about me...obviously, a generic acting person with no personality! I should know, being that I'm brand new in this business and don't have many wins! And also totally failed as an actor and now this is my backup job. So obviously nothing can go wrong!"
Kleio smirks.
He underestimated her.
She wasn't just wearing a costume! She was a witch. And soon enough the attic filled with smoke.
Kleio was gone.
She wasn't a foster kid anymore.
This wasn't a flashback.
She had enough of those. The past was in the past. The only thing now is the future. Whether she wins or loses, she knows that things are looking up. She won her first title ever, she successfully defended it against Madison Gray. and she's leading the strongest stable in the FWA right now. Jack The Clipper and Brooklyn Steiner couldn't come close to that. Whether they get a win in this match or not.
No, Kleio accomplished something.
But she wasn't alone anymore. She had friends, and it was time she started to rely on them. |
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Post by supinesnake on May 29, 2024 14:05:16 GMT
Originally posted by SJW. HALLOWEEN KNIGHT
TRASH MAMMAL
AND
JUAN TOTHREFOR
ARE
TR1CK OR TR4SH
IN
Insecurity In Security
It's the morning. Well, morning ish. It's double digits but not midday yet, so it's still morning, and that's the important thing. Within his classroom, currently empty because, yknow, holidays and all, Juan Tothrefor sat at his desk, idly debating what to get for the upcoming FWA secret santa. He was assigned Michelle von Horrowitz, what the fuck was he supposed to get her? A calendar of funny cats in amusing situations?
His laptop buzzed, a discord notification inviting him to a call. Without thinking twice, he idly threw on a headset and joined the call.
Immediately his ears were violated by the sound of his lucha compatriots, Halloween Knight and Trash Mammal, locked in a verbal battle, apparently about whether a hot dog was considered a sandwich. Juan promptly muted the call and continued quietly mulling things over in silence, until ten minutes later, he got another notification.
“Hola.” He greeted with a sigh.
“Juan, have you ever thought about adopting a police officer gimmick and calling yourself Nine Juan Juan?”
Juan once again muted the call for another ten minutes.
Ten minutes later, he finally rejoined the call. “Hey amigos. What’s a good gift for Michelle von Horrowitz?”
“A DVD boxset of Bear In The Big Blue House.”
"A pinata full of cocaine.”
“You two are terrible.”
“Thanks, sweetheart. Anyway, Juan, do we need ta talk about… The Thing?”
“You mean the 1982 John Carpenter movie?”
“No, Knight.”
“The 2011 edition? Boy, let me tell you, that movie gave me some THOUGHTS.”
“No, fer- No. The thing with those security bozos. Fuckin’ whosit. Triple Bypass Security or somethin’.”
“Oh, right. We did get arbitrarily challenged by a trio of historical losers out of the blue again, huh. Is this turning into a pattern? Can we get the trio of OMBHausen, Rawrdlow, and Michael Transactions next?”
“One of them was fired and another one died.”
“I like those odds.”
“Triple J Security. What’s the J even stand for?”
“Their names?”
“Nah. Probably something like… Jerks. Triple Jerks Security.”
“... Good one, Knight.”
“Thanks.”
“I’ve never seen a more hapless trio of nitwits and buffoons, and we just met the Bad Boys Bad Boy Band or somethin’, that’s taking the cake.”
“Y’know, I bet we could find a better trio of security guards than these bozos.”
“Oooh, a plan’s coming together. What’re you thinking about, Juan?”
“Let’s each hire our own security guard, bring them to dinner tonight, and we’ll see if a ragtag trio of randoms can secure something better than Triple J Security.”
“Now there’s a plan! On the count of three, we all scream Tr1ck or Tr4sh! Ready? One, two, th-”
Juan muted the call again without another word.
-=-=-=-
"AND WITH MY PARENTS MURDERED BEFORE ME, I SWORE VENGENCE; I BECAME A SYMBOL OF UNSTOPPABLE JUSTICE. I STOPPED BEING A MAN AND BURIED MYSELF IN SOMETHING THAT WOULD STRIKE FEAR INTO THE HEART OF MAN. FOR I AM THE LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS; I AM THE LONE CRY FOR HOPE IN THE NIGHT. I AM. COMBAT. WOMBAT!!!"
And upon the stage, the lone spotlight, the man dressed in a furry onesie competed with a matching fuzzy face mask, struck a dramatic hero pose, his hands on his hips, as Halloween Knight looked up with a notepad clutched in hand.
"So you're like a superhero-, crime fighter guy."
"THAT IS CORRECT-!"
"And you're themed around-"
"YES. THE HUMBLE WOMBAT. THE SCARIEST ANIMAL THERE IS. AND IF YOU SHOULD HIRE ME, I WILL STOP AT NOTHING TO GUARD AND SECURE ANYTHING AND EVERYTHING YOU TELL ME TO."
"....how?"
"I've mastered several forms of karate, that I have formed into my own fighting style, that I and only I can master, and no man can survive the deadly martial art- of Wombat Combat-! HI-YAH-!"
With that, Combat Wombat did a slow and some nervous-looking karate chop, at nothing in particular, the best possible way to show his deadly kung fu skills.
"Ok, so....All this? All this?"
Halloween Knight gestured with his hands up and down Combat Wombat's attire.
"I'm loving ALL of this. And I feel like you absolutely HAVE to teach me Wombat Combat by Combat Wombat, but here's the thing. Here's the deal, here's the dealio. Here's the sad and awful truth. We got a problem."
"PROBLEM?! THERE'S NO PROBLEMS FOR COMBAT WOMBAT, ONLY CHALLENGES."
"Ok, well there's a challenge."
"SUCH AS?"
"Well, this is a covert operation, done in utmost secrecy, and I don't know if a combat wombat is going to blend in with such a secret operation.
"Just to confirm, you're a grown-ass man who dresses as a skeleton and likes to dance."
"Yes."
Cue awkward silence
.....
....
"I don't see what point you're trying to make here."
Combat Wombat sighed to himself, unable to hide his disappointment.
"Well, if you need me...don't call me, I'll find you."
"How?"
"I live in your basement."
"Wait, what?!"
"SMOKE BOMB-!"
POW, out of Combat Wombat's hand, he smashes a smoke bomb onto the ground, which releases an.... embarrassing lack of smoke, which results in another awkward silence as Combat Wombat and Halloween Knight maintain silent eye contact before Combat Wombat sigh and just walk off the stage.
With a sigh, Halloween Knight scratches off the second to last name on his pad; running out of people, he can audition and quickly gets worried he won't find someone for his security gig...when suddenly? Hope.
Hope walks through the door in the form of a very non-descript-looking middle-aged man in a security guard uniform. "Hello, hi. My name is Larry, and I'm here to audition for the role of Security Guard; oh, and I should say for this, I'll be using the acting depersonalization wipe technique to remove elements of my personality. I think you're not looking for...
...A-hem....
"DOWN...DOWN, I SAY, LARRY! THEY DON'T WANT YOU, LARRY AHHHHHHHH....."
"OH BOY, I SURE DO LIKE BEING A SECURITY GUARD, IT'S SUPER COOL-!"
"AHHHHHH COME BACK LARRY, I COMMAND YOU TO RETURN-!"
"Thank you. That was my audition for a security guard, and my name is Larry Michaels....Or am I?"
"COME FORTH, I COMMAND YOU TO COME FORTH!"
"Hi, that was actually security guard audition Larry Michaels, One of my personas; I'm actually the real Larry Michaels-"
"RAHHHHHHHHHHH--!!!!!!!"
"Oh my god, you got to help me; I'm the real Larry Michaels. I took one acting class six years ago, and my soul splintered into eight different Larry Michaels who hunger for validation! Now, please, you got to help me; I haven't seen my wife and kids in years because I've been suppressed in the-"
"NO MORE-! BACK TO THE SHADOWS LARRY! BACK TO YOUR BANISHMENT."
"That wasn't supposed to happen, but you have to admit it does show range".
He was perfect.
-=-=-=-
“Roight. Roight. If I were some kinda security-type fella, what’d I need to be good at security-type things?” Trash Mammal wondered aloud, idly tapping his snout as searched within his trusty receptacle of information - namely, the dumpster behind the arena. Shifting aside important confidential contractual documents that probably should’ve been shredded, he inspected a receipt for a blender, before summarily discarding it. “Huh, someone brought one of those.”
Aside from a half-eaten apple, the search had been fruitless. No pun intended. He sat in the rim on the dumpster, expression torn in concentration, as he pressed a finger against his temple. “Y’know, I moight be approaching’ this in the wrong directional degree. Think, Basura, think. Yer’ a thief, you like to steal shit. Security guys exist to stop you from stealin’ shit. Ergo, a good security guy is someone who can stop me from stealin’ shit, fer one reason or another. So… A good security guy is someone who can prevent me from stealin’ some shit with just a look. They gotta be big, a brick shithouse of a person. They gotta look loike they can crush my face between their pecs. They gotta look like they eat nukes an’ shit out… uh. Bigger nukes. Or is it worse nukes? They’re a nuke incubator, or something, I don’t- Alright, Basura, put that train in reverse, we’re leaving the station too early. They’re intimidatin’, that’s the big thing. So, question is… Where can I find a big ol’ beefcake of an intimidator? A walkin’ slab of muscles, who has to enter a room sideways cos’ their shoulders are too wide?”
Trash Mammal squinted, before snapping his fingers, eyes growing wide. “A’ course! A security guard is a beefcake of insecurity, an’ who are the beefiest, most insecure guys on the planet? Gym Junkies! Basura, you idiot, you’re a fuckin’ genius!” He exclaimed, throwing a fist into the air. He rummaged through the dumpster again, grabbing an out-of-date newspaper to quickly find the location of the closest gym…
Which, conveniently, was just next door, which saves the time of writing a transition scene. Running a hand through the patch of fuzz on his mask, Trash Mammal confidently strode directly into the gym, the receptionist too bewildered by the approach of a man-sized rodent to tell him to, rightly, fuck off. Instead, they quietly sat back in their chair and vowed to check themselves into rehab as soon as possible. There was only one man inside the gym, doing bicep curls in the corner, mumbling to himself all the while. He was large, muscular, a big ol’ beefy fuck, and Trash Mammal audibly gasped, delighted that his search was over so soon.
Oblivious to his presence, the gym junkie continued doing bicep curls in the corner. Politely waiting for him to finish - it’s rude to interrupt someone’s gym routine, y’know - Trash Mammal texted his success to the Tr1ck or Tr4sh group chat, as the gym junkie finally stood, putting the weight back on the shelf.
Trash Mammal cleared his throat, eyeing the muscles on the man’s shoulder. “Scuze me, fella, I don’ mean ta interrupt, but I couldn’t help but…” He grinned in victory, eyeing the massive right arm of the man. “Notice how… Intimidating you are.”
The gym junkie turned to face Trash Mammal, and Trash’s gaze fell to the other side of the man’s body. “... At least, yer roight side is.” He said, torn between triumph and dejection. Whilst the man’s right arm was a swole beauty of muscles and power, his left was… Not. Limpy, puny, spindly, Trash Mammal glanced back and forth between the two appendages.
“Oh, thank you for noticing.” The gym junkie replied, smiling. “I do try to maintain my image, it’s nice to have some recognition. I’m ‘Strong Arm’ Ron Armstrong.” ‘Strong Arm’ Ron Armstrong greeted, extending his right hand out. “Called as such, on account of my-”
“Yer strong arm, yeah, I - I put that together.” Trash Mammal noted, accepting the handshake, mildly surprised at how light the hand was. “Not strong arms? Plural?”
“No sir.” ‘Strong Arm’ Ron Armstrong shook his head. “I only got one strong arm, so I figure keep things in line, y’know?” ‘Strong Arm’ Ron Armstrong said, gesturing to his arm. Particularly, the smaller, limp noodle left arm.
Trash Mammal stared quizzically at ‘Strong Arm’ Ron Armstrong noodle-like arm, the math in his head not quite adding together. “... That’s your strong arm?”
‘Strong Arm’ Ron Armstrong nodded. “Yup.”
Trash Mammal blinked, and stared at the oversized right arm. “... Not that one?”
“Oh, goodness no.” ‘Strong Arm’ Ron Armstrong said, chuckling. “Those are my glamor muscles.”
“Glamor muscles.” Trash Mammal quietly repeated. “Roight.” He glanced at ‘Strong Arm’ Ron Armstrong’s left arm. “Ya mind if i-”
“Oh, no, go ahead.” ‘Strong Arm’ Ron Armstrong replied, holding his left arm out for a handshake. Trash Mammal hesitantly accepted the handshake, and had to bite his lip to stop from shrieking out loud as ‘Strong Arm’ Ron Armstrong nearly crushed his hand without even exerting any visible effort.
“Yeah, no, that’s - Yeah, that’s strong, that is.”
“Hence the nickname, ‘Strong Arm’ Ron Armstrong.” ‘Strong Arm’ Ron Armstrong declared. What a tongue twister of a name. Say that five times real fast and try not to get tripped up.
“Hm.” Trash Mammal narrowed his eyes, considering. “Well… You’re intimidatin’ from one side. Good enough by my books. You ever thought ta be a security guard?”
-=-=-=-
Juan Tothrefor sat in the booth of the restaurant, staring at the floor and twiddling his thumbs, avoiding eye contact as Halloween Knight & Trash Mammal stared at him in disbelief.
“Juan, this was your idea.” Trash Mammal said.
“I know.”
“I spent five thousand dollars renting out a room to hold auditions, and you FORGOT to even look for a guy?!?” Halloween Knight shrieked.
“I didn’t forget!” Juan Tothrefor replied. “I just- Look, you try finding a present for Michelle von Horrowitz that’s under fifty dollars! Look, my security guy is waiting just… Just over there, see?” Juan pointed behind the other two. Trash & Knight immediately turned around, and Juan grabbed a passing waiter, forcing him into the empty seat beside him with a startled yelp.
“What’s the big ide- oh, hey Juan.” Lou Cha said, eyes glimmering in admiration.
“... Lou Cha is your security guy?” Trash Mammal noted with a raised eyebrow.
“Who’s Lou Cha?” Halloween Knight asked, leaning in to whisper to Trash. “Do- Do know him?”
Trash opened his mouth, then summarily closed it when he realized he genuinely wasn’t sure how to answer that question.
“Now, Lou Cha may LOOK like he got put in a microwave and left out in the sun for a few months-”
“I’ve been working on my tan, thank you for noticing.” Lou beamed, pointing to a patch of skin on his arm that was a crispy bright red, as opposed to the remainder of his body that was a blinding pale.
“But I assure you, Lou is MORE than qualified to be the best security guard of all time.”
“I- I am?”
"Sure you are! You're... You probably have hidden talents or something, right?"
An awkward silence ensured.
“Ha!” Halloween Knight laughed, beckoning his security guard over with a hand. “I’d like to see him try against my handpicked security guard, LARRY STEVENS!”
Larry Stevens waved politely. “Hello.”
“Hi.”
"How'd ya do?"
“Is this the- Should I do the thing?” Larry asked, looking at Halloween Knight expectantly. Knight nodded. Larry shuddered, going through his split personalities until he found the security guard one. “Halt! This is a restricted area. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
Juan & Trash ‘oooh’d’, impressed. “He’s got a good voice.” Juan noted.
“Alright, Larold, what if I refuse to leave?” Trash asked.
Larry blinked. “Sorry?”
“You asked me to leave. What if I say no?”
“I…” Larry glanced at Halloween Knight. “I don’t- This wasn’t in the script?”
“Improvise.”
“I’ll… I’ll ask you to leave again in a slightly more insistent tone.”
Trash Mammal shrugged. “Still here. Now what?”
Larry looked at Halloween Knight, and shrugged.
“Do the- Do the ‘help I’m trapped inside of myself’ thing, with your split personalities.”
“Oh. I dunno, that doesn’t seem appropriate.”
“... Please?”
“... HELP I’VE BEEN TRAPPED INSIDE OF MY OWN BODY FOR SIX YEARS. MY OTHER PERSONALITIES ARE VICIOUS, VICIOUS FIENDS! LET ME OUT LET ME OUT LET ME OU- is that enough? I don’t like it when I do that, it feels icky.”
“This seems medically inaccurate.” Juan noted with a sigh. “What do you got, Trash?”
“I’m glad you asked! Presenting, the most intimidating guy in the room, ‘Strong Arm’ Ron Armstrong!” Trash Mammal declared, pulling a blanket off of the person beside him. ‘Strong Arm’ Ron Armstrong waved, his right side facing the trio.
“Ooooh, look at that bicep!” Juan cheered.
“What a beefy boi!” Halloween Knight echoed.
“Yup! As long as you view ‘Strong Arm’ Ron Armstrong from this specific angle, he’s extremely intimidating, doncha agree?” Trash Mammal asked, vocally triumphant.
Juan hummed. “That’s an oddly specific requirement. Why this angle?”
“No reason.”
“Well, what happens if I walk around and look at him from- Oh. Oh yeah no, I see why there is a lack of plural in that nickname.” Juan noted. "That looks like a flaccid penis. You know?"
“I assure you, that arm may look as weak as a flaccid penis, but it's as strong and virile as the opposite of that." Trash Mammal said, before visually giving up. "Damn. You weren’t supposed to view him from any other angle.”
“I mean, you’re right, from this one angle he’s extremely intimidating, granted. It's just from the other side that it's all... Limp penis.”
“Alright, so, let’s recap. In an effort to arrange a security trio more effective than Triple J Security, we’ve assembled a man with split personality disorder, a man who only works out on one arm, and… Lou Cha.”
“Hello.”
“Quiet, Lou.”
“So, in summary, were we successful in our endeavor?”
“... Hm. What say you, Trash? You’re the thief.”
“I mean." Trash Mammal glanced at the three 'guards' with an expression that seemed to exhume sadness. "I’d probably hesitate to steal from anyone who hired these guys, because anything that is being protected by them probably isn’t worth stealing. No offense, Larry, Ron.”
“… Does that mean we win? Are these guys more or less qualified than Triple J Security?”
“... Both, kinda.”
“Hm. What were the parameters of the bet again?”
“... I don’t know, man. It’s fuckin’ Triple J Security. I wouldn’t even trust them to look after a plastic plant without somehow killing it through incompetence. This was all just window dressing to serve a point that I don’t think we even bothered to discuss.”
“... Who’s the bigger guy who can only say one word?”
“Jugem Jugem?”
“Yeah, he seems neat. It’s a fun word to say. Jugem Jugem.”
“What, Jugem Jugem?”
“Yeah, Jugem Jugem.”
“Jugem Jugem?”
“Jugem Jugem.”
“Jugem Jugem Jugem Jugem Jugem Jugem Jugem Jugem Jugem Jugem- oh god my brain is starting to hurt.” Halloween Knight cried, clutching his skull.
“Yeah, let’s just… Leave. Lou, you good to foot the bill, right?” Juan said, getting up and starting to walk away without waiting for a response.
“What? Oh, uh sure!”
“Thanks, later dawg.” Trash Mammal casually pointed a pair of fingerguns at Lou, as he dragged a pained Halloween Knight away. Lou vibrated in joy.
“Did you hear that, Larry? Ron? I’m their dawg.”
“Congratulations, Lou.”
“Everything’s coming up Lou!”
Ten minutes later, Lou Cha was summarily fired for abandoning his waiter post, and arrested for being unable to pay the bill. |
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Post by supinesnake on May 29, 2024 14:05:42 GMT
Originally posted by Filosa.
The bright vignette unfolds, casting a nostalgic glow on the earlier days of La Sombra Filosa – a hero adorned in vibrant colors, adored by fans, and soaring through the air with grace. Cheers resonate through the arena as the footage captures his triumphant moments. But then, the scene shifts.
The hues fade to grayscale, the vibrant colors draining away as the video chronicles the fateful day of the knee injury. The cheers morph into gasps, and the lively atmosphere turns somber. La Sombra Filosa, once a symbol of hope, now clutches his injured knee, the pain etched across his masked face.
As the footage turns grungey and black-and-white, a stark transformation unfolds. La Sombra Filosa, now shrouded in darkness, emerges with a menacing demeanor. The scenes of violence and chaos unfold, capturing the raw intensity of his new persona. Shadows dance across his figure as he unleashes relentless strikes and brutal maneuvers.
The crowd, once filled with cheers, now watches in awe and trepidation as the grungey black-and-white footage unfolds, revealing the depths of La Sombra Filosa's descent into darkness. The imagery echoes the struggles, the pain, and the violent rebirth of a fallen hero.
The vignette concludes with La Sombra Filosa standing tall, his silhouette imposing against a backdrop of shadows. The grungey, black-and-white footage leaves an indelible mark, a testament to the haunting journey that led him to this enigmatic and vengeful incarnation.
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