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Post by Admin on May 30, 2018 15:57:54 GMT -6
Falls Count Anywhere Match Forge Mitchell vs DEUCE HOLMES Roleplay Limit: 2 Roleplay Deadline: Wednesday, June 6, 2018 @ 2AM Central Time
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Post by Deleted on Jun 3, 2018 9:23:32 GMT -6
> ... > Playing video “file002b.wma”... > ... > Date: 05/30/18 > Time: 10:03pm, Central > Location: Denver, Colorado > ... > Scene: Magness Arena, Rear Parking Lot > … > Starting...
After the triple threat match, Forge marched back to the locker room area with a twisted grin galvanized on his face. Deuce Holmes still writhed and arched in the ring from the effects of the Steel Twister and the so-called winner of the match, Skrabz, had the lower half of his face busted wide open thanks to the fists and skull of the Martyr Machine. Forge stops at the top of the ramp, first looking over his shoulder, then down at his bloodstained hands... and the monster laughs out loud, drawing more boos and hatred from the Denver crowd. He turns his back on them and disappears behind the curtain, the view changing to view him as he walks down the hallways toward the locker room area. The reactions of those he passes amuse him, whether it is an agent whispering behind their hand at someone or the gestures and muttering from those who just witnessed Forge's grisly assault. More than once he whips around at one of the former cases, making them just from his stare for his own amusement. Entering the locker room area, Forge moves out of sight, intending to wash the crimson from his flesh.
One fade later, Forge is spotted in the rear lot of the arena leaning on his bike while in the midst of an intense phone conversation. Listening at first, making gestures of negligent irritation as the poor soul on the other end of the line continues ranting, Forge finally cuts in on the barely-audible jabber.
"How many times do you plan on making me repeat myself, Bryce? I'm losing my fucking patience here."
Pushing up to his full height, Forge runs a hand through his hair, gripping it briefly before letting go in a moment of higher agitation.
"We offered the deal. You agreed to the deal. Now you're claiming you want to back out because you're afraid? That's not how we do business."
Bryce, on the other end, starts talking again but Forge cuts him off sharply.
"Extenuating circumstances my ass, Bryce. Goldie told you exactly what do do, when to do it and how. You obviously didn't do that or we wouldn't be having this fucking conversation. Next thing you know you'll be telling me Kallahan was on your doorst-"
Very suddenly, Forge stops his pacing and his expression contorts nastily.
"MotherFUCKER! Bryce, you'd BETTER be fucking kidding me!"
Robi exited the arena at around the point, having been in to finish the massacre that was her own match later in the evening. Naturally, upon seeing Forge, she made a beeline for him… and in the process she took in some of the conversation he was having. It took only a couple moments for her to pick up on the name ‘Kallahan’ and both realize who her husband was talking to and the tone of the matter in question.
“Shut up… just stop fucking talking for two seconds and let me think, goddamn it.”
Taking a couple of deep breaths while pinching the bridge of his nose, Forge is silent until he can compose himself enough so as not to burn Bryce down through a cellular phone call. Feeling Robi’s presence, Forge turns her way and holds up a hand as if to say that everything was in hand. The fierce look and folded arms betrayed the Shieldmaiden’s mood but trust won out and she maintained her distance.
“So he showed up. What then? Yeah? And what did you tell him? Did he have a warrant?”
Listening in silence, Forge’s tension gradually lessens. This is perhaps helped by the presence of Robi and the rest of the Maidens as well as the Chrome Dragons pulling into the lot as well, the roars of their bikes causing a brief pause in the conversation.
“All right, we can handle this. Keep everything going like we talked about, Bryce. Yes, everything. This is Kallahan being Kallahan; we’ve been putting up with his bullshit for years and the old buzzard hasn’t touched us yet. YES, I’m fucking sure. Do you know who you’re talking to here?”
Another pause, then-
“Yeah, we’ll be back in town in a couple days. Hold down the fort and try not to piss yourself next time Old Man Kal comes trying to beat down your door, hear me?”
Hanging up, Forge comes within inches of slamming the pre-paid against the concrete but Robi reaches up to take his wrist in her grip, in the same motion leaning up for a kiss that, for the moment, soothes the beast. Soon his free arm, then the other, are snaked around her waist. As she’s lifted to her toes she slides her arms about his neck and the two keep on a couple moments longer before Robi lowers, flashing a saucy smile up at her husband.
“...better?”
“Glad I washed my hands first, at least.”
Khary and Goldie chuckle at that one, a reference to the blood all over Forge’s hands after the post-match beating he dished out to both opponents. Well, Goldie actually hoots a little at it until Kyojin nudges him, a nudge from the Mongolian bastard almost enough to knock a normal man off his feet. Goldie is still grinning, though, pushing back but not even budging the braided beast.
“Dude, I thought you were gonna come up with teeth in your knuckles! And didja hear ol’ boy squeal when he went back-first on your leg? Looked like he was gonna piss himself!”
Ah, the heady cocktail of having no filter and finding yourself hilarious. In this case, though, Forge found the same level of amusement that Goldie did in his wrecking of Holmes and Skrabz, though he kept his reactions far more subdued.
“Told their asses. You remember that shit, Goldie: you give your word, you fucking live up to it. No matter what.”
“Got it, boss!”
Turning his attention back on Robi, Forge pockets the phone and runs his fingers through her hair.
“Now, my fair Shieldmaiden on the other hand… SHE had a HELL of a night. Making bitches scream. How did it feel?”
Robi was listening intently, nodding in agreement with her husband’s words to Goldie. But then he was praising her and the Maidens about their win over Ginger and Streetz with Robi getting the pin. She grinned and playfully bowed as those gathered began hootin' and hollerin' with pride.
"I don't think they were expecting us to go at them like we did. I mean, fuck, the looks on all their faces was classic. I wish you would've been there. But I understand why you weren’t."
The last bit was for Forge’s ears only. Based on his expression, he clearly wished the same; the mere thought of what that was not the case pissed him off again.
"I was watching from the back. Boss man didn't think it would be a good idea to allow a loose cannon back out to ringside after my match. I may not give a fuck for his rules but I'm not enough of an asshole to screw my people over."
It is clear that Forge wanted to be out there at ringside, and Robi understood this despite her distaste for the situation. Any lingering stress over the matter would be dealt with when they got back to the hotel. One way or another. Forge gave his attention to his fellow Dragons for a moment as Robi stepped back alongside the other Maidens.
"Word is Kallahan's been poking his beak into business that ain't his. Chrome Dragon business. Again."
Immediately a growl emits from within the throat of Khary, the big Samoan of the Dragons. Goldie is equal parts angry and tense and Kyojin is... Kyojin. He stands like a statue, as though unfazed. A careful eye can see his arms flex slightly and his hands clench. Forge did so see these changes and they told him all he required.
"I talked Bryce down from doing something stupid, but soon as we hit town, Goldie, I want you to go reassure him. Take a couple of the prospects with you so they get a little on-the-job training… and in case there are issues. The next call I get from Bryce needs to be from a confident man, not a scared rabbit."
"You got it, boss."
"Khary, you and Kyojin keep your eyes and ears open. Do a couple ride-arounds, see what you can see. Kallahan didn't know shit about Bryce before this deal went down, so that says to me that someone's running off at the mouth. Find out who."
The two powerhouses nod slowly, the only response necessary. Forge then turns to the Shieldmaidens, Robi included, which is the reason for his tone being less commanding; they might be allies, but they were also equals.
"Robi, I'd like you and your Maidens to keep an ear out, too... see if anyone's acting weird or out of character. If they're in your chair, give them a little nudge and see what spills out."
This moment is why the Shieldmaidens and the Chrome Dragons worked in tandem with each other so flawlessly; It wasn't because the Presidents of each club were married to the other, but because each President treated the members with the same respect that they treated their own. When Forge spoke, Robi nodded… as did the rest of the Maidens.
"Of course."
Robi took a moment after this to address the other Maidens, following up on Forge’s request with her own personal instructions, most of her attention on Fianna in the process. After a minute or two, Robi turned back to Forge. She then turned to look at her ladies.
"If it's okay, can Fi ask Khary to go with her? I'd like for her to have some kind of back-up. And… well, I think they're sweet on each other, too."
"You good with that, K?"
This was said low enough so that only Forge heard what she said. Passing a glance to a suddenly-blushing Fi who, perhaps, had understood the real thrust behind Robi's suggestion, Khary returned his attention to Forge with a slow nod. The man really didn't speak at all, did he? Forge, however, is used to this as are the rest and he nods in return. This done, Robi spoke up again, her statement to the group making the Martyr Machine chuckle a little.
"Now, I'd like to take my husband back to the hotel and do a little celebrating."
"Tell the whole world how ya feel, Robi. Somehow I think you're using me to put off that shopping trip a little bit longer."
All said in good fun, though; Forge knew how much Robi was looking forward to some mother-daughter time back home. Anything to get his lady fired up just a little bit more. However, he knew better than to push his luck. His attention went back to the others.
"We're heading out at seven in the morning. For now, you're off the clock."
Long story short, farewells were exchanged as the Maidens and Dragons all took their leave until it was just Forge and Robi in the otherwise-empty lot. Forge took her arm, pulling her in close and mashing a fierce, hungry kiss on her mouth. Feeling her fingers dig into him through his shirt had him gripping her closer though both had to come up for air eventually...
"I'm thinking I want you right here, right now. Call it a warm-up for a little later."
When Robi heard his words, she turned to look around the parking lot. There were hardly any cars left since the show was over. And, it also helped that they weren't standing under a streetlight. They had managed to find a place away from the lights of the arena's parking lot. She turn to grin at him. Tilting her head slightly.
"I'm thinking I like that idea. I mean, there's no one here. And we're in the far back of the parking lot. With no one around... I'd ask... What are you waiting for?"
She moved back over to Forge, wrapped her arms around his neck and moved up on tiptoes to kiss him. Hard and hungry.
> ...video file error, please wait... > … > ...remaining data corrupted… > ...shutting down… > … > … > Searching… > ... > Playing video “file003.wma”... > ... > Date: 06/02/18 > Time: 9:18am, Central > Location: New Orleans, Louisiana > ... > Scene: The Chapel, Outside > … > Starting...
The heat is close to overpowering while the humidity on top adds considerable pressure to the sun’s strength. Non-natives wash out pretty quickly in the summer months, same way they do over across the gulf in Florida. Forge, though, was born and raised in this pressure-cooker environment and it does not touch him. Leaned on his bike outside outside an old-yet-sturdy brick building at the edge of the New Orleans city limits, the man known of late as the Martyr Machine is doing his own recording duties, holding the portable camera before himself. For now his surroundings are silent with the odd car passing by once in a while; even in the morning the heat is keeping folks inside.
Giving the device his attention, Forge lifts his shades and stares down at the camera From the get he looks like a man ready to crush the skull of anyone daring to breathe his air. Then, with a hint of a smirk, he turns the camera toward his free hand. Clean, yes, but sharp eyes can see a few faint streaks in the creases… dark red to the point of going brown. Dry laughter sounds from the hand’s owner.
”These hands, boys. Look real fucking close. You see what I see? The remnants of the insides of Skrabz’s face staining my flesh. Blood doesn’t wash out easily, you see… not even with bleach. Me, though? I wear that like a badge of honor. The rapping bastard got the win and good on him; made it clear from the start that victory is, at best, secondary to me. And while they were stitching his face back together, I left the ring with his life streaked across these hands, knowing that he’s got a lot fewer matches in his future after one tangle with me. And as for you, Deuce? Looks like we ain’t done yet.”
Gradually the camera is brought around to Forge again… and the smirk is gone.
”Would’ve been willing to call it done between us, but it sounds like the boss-man enjoys watching you get tossed around like raw meat in a pitbull’s grip, so here we are again. The differences between you and me were made clear last time, but I’m betting you’re going to ignore every inch of that ass-kicking. Why? Because it doesn’t fit this illusion you have of yourself as some badass. Let me guess now, because I’m pretty fucking sure I’ve got you pegged at this point:
You’re gonna run down the big, old rookie down because he didn’t get the win, something he said from the get that didn’t make a lick of difference to him. After that, there’s going to be calling be a coward or maybe an animal for breaking both you and Skrabz after the match. And then, the best part: threats for what you’re going to do to me in our Falls Count Anywhere match at Mile High #4, probably calling back on some other fight like this you’ve had in the past and claiming you’re gonna make an example of the big, bad biker who made you scream like a bitch with the Steel Twister.
Like. A. Bitch.”
Snorting, Forge turns his attention to the distance ahead of him, a faint shaking of his head showing his derision toward both the fight and Deuce himself.
”Anyone taking you seriously around here at this point is more fucked up than you are. There’s a big damn difference between talking large about what you’re gonna do… and actually doing it. You talked about putting the rookies down and sauntering off for some tournament bullshit elsewhere, toes in the sand, coconut in hand. Instead they were wheeling your ass backstage after rapper-boy beat you and I contorted your spine. Me? I said I’d walk that aisle and beat the shit out of a few punk-asses, win or lose. Mission accomplished. Now for the fucking sequel.”
That low, dry chuckle again… Forge actually enjoying himself. Not a good sign.
"The beautiful part for me, Deuce, is that every fucking step you take, every gulp of air you suck into your lungs, is going to feel like knives between your ribs. And that's because of ME. And in a couple days or so, when you're finally able to sit up in bed without gasping in pain? You're going to take those first tentative steps, feeling hale and healthy... then collapse to your fucking knees realizing that that night, you're back in the devil's den with the baddest motherfucker in Mile High Wrestling. You'll beg for mercy and I'll laugh in your face before denting your skull against the concrete. And it will be fucking beautiful.
I'm a cycle of suffering that would make Satan himself piss his pants. There are no proper adjectives for the level of violence that I'm capable of. How, little boy, do you defend yourself against a monster without limits? You ever smelled the cloying scent of hair and flesh burning and listened to the screams coming from the source swearing it was fucking Wolfgang Von Beethoven? Have you ever heard the crunch a two-ton vehicle causes when it slams into a stoolie running for his life at 50 miles per hour?
I have. And it is fucking rapturous! Don’t delude yourself into believing that I have limits or even the faintest shred of consideration for another soul’s health and humanity when it comes time to fight! And without any pissy rules to get in my way at Mile High #4? You’re a doomed motherfucker!"
Got a little wound up in the moment there, calling back on old memories that were still fresh… and apparently quite amusing to the big bastard. But he wouldn’t go to those lengths in a match, right? Setting Deuce on fire, running him down with a car, beating him half to death…
...he wouldn’t go there. Right?
”Whatever it takes, Holmes. Not to beat you but to put you in your place and make sure you never forget the moment you fucked up. For every night after this pounding I lay on your worthless hide, you’re going to live in fear of me and every breath you take is going to remind you of what I’m capable of. You’ll never admit it, but in those quiet moments where you think everyone else is sleeping? You’re going to close your eyes and see my face. And you’re going to cry for the bitch that spawned you before checking under the bed for the monster that I am… and only then will you dare sleep. Rest assured, the nightmares will be waiting, bucko.”
That’s… a little unpleasant. A smile might soften the blow but Forge isn’t in the mood. Bringing up the camera again, he stares right into it.
"I've done things to people that would make you fall to your knees and ask a God that doesn't even exist why he allowed it to happen. To protect my club, to see justice done, to make sure no one forgets the moment that they fucked up... I have done all that and more. Are you getting it yet? Or are you sucking your teeth and claiming that I'm talking shit while that niddling doubt in the back of your skull keeps clawing at you like a rat in the cupboard? If the latter is the case, enjoy your delusion. A quick call to the man in charge will plainly tell you that every fucking bit of it is true. My rap sheet is as long as you are tall. And my mean streak is even bigger. It's about time you pulled your head out of the sand, put down your virgin daiquiri and faced facts:
This ends in one of only two ways, Deuce: either I put you down... or I put you down for good. Make your choice and pray it's the right one. Because Forge is coming for you... and he WILL have satisfaction."
And he means every blood-soaked word...
"If you want to blame someone, blame Mack. And speaking of the man in charge, who had best be listening, I have a message for HIM, too:
Tell your roster, Mack. Tell your champions. Make them watch what I did and will do to Deuce. Make them stare at the face of Skrabz. Because I don't want any salty tears when they're next in line to face me. No crying foul, no claiming that you have it in for them. I don't have friends or enemies, Mack; I only have victims. And as far as I'm concerned, everyone in your company that isn't a Chrome Dragon or a Shieldmaiden is meat for the Martyr Machine. One at a time or altogether I'm going to rip them apart and take a piece of them with me like notches on my belt. NO ONE is safe, from your champions to the wannabes begging for an opportunity. That’s up to and including the so-called ‘Pretty Boy’ Stanton as well. Might want to beef up his security detail… otherwise he might get caught in the crossfire."
Threatening the boss now, too? And the guy who owns the place? If that doesn’t tell you what you need to know about Forge...
”So step up, junior. Make more threats. Brush me off like you did before Mile High #3. But before you do, watch this a couple times and get everything I said through your thick skull into your bruised brain. Partly because I don’t want a lot of tears and bitching after the fact, but secondly, and more importantly, because I’m the only one in that triple threat that lived up to their words… and unless you want your career to be prematurely aborted, I suggest coming correct and showing a little respect for the man who came within inches of snapping your spine.
Or don’t. I’ll sleep just fine whether you can walk again after this match or not. One way or the other, you’re just fodder for the Martyr Machine.”
Lowering the camera just as the roars of other bikes sound in the near distance, Forge shuts it off and brings an end to a message full of violent promises.
> ... > End feed... > ... > Shutting down...
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Post by Deleted on Jun 3, 2018 9:40:45 GMT -6
“Forge. I fast forwarded through most of your first promo...and didn’t even bother myself with your second one.”
Deuce Holmes and Lavinia laughed out loud at this. They sat playfully together on an oversized couch. They were watching Stanton Enterprises Network. The #QuagCup seeding and round one match-ups had just been announced. Well, the top sixteen seeds were announced. Seventeen and below were not seeded but merely in a pool. Deuce Holmes seeded number twelve in currently the biggest and best known professional wrestling tournament in the world. Deuce pressed a few buttons on his remote control and the #QuagCup press conference disappeared and the screen he and Lavinia watched filled with last Wednesday night’s episode of Mile High Wrestling. Also brought to you by Stanton Enterprises.
“And look at what all that hard work and big words got you. Basically, just got you in the way of what could have been an epic match between Skrabz and I.”
As Deuce and Lavinia watch their television, on the screen Deuce simply flattens Skrabz with a ring shaking Hip Toss. Seeing Forge making his way to his feet on the outside, Holmes hits the ropes running! He flies through the ring ropes with a Suicide Dive and catches Mitchell with a Spike DDT!!! Even though she’d already seen the match twice, when this sequence occurred, Lavinia screamed loudly in delight and began clapping. Deuce ran the volume on his television to the max, really highlighting the capacity crowd’s “HOLY SHIT!!!” chant. Then he muted the television and continued.
“I’m usually good for at least one Holy..”
Deuce Holmes rarely curses so he covered his lips with his index finger and gave us one of his catchphrases before continuing.
“SSHHHHHHH! Chant every time I wrestle. Bet if you weren't in our way, Skrabz and I could have gotten a ‘THIS IS AWESOME!’ chant. You seriously did absolutely nothing except show that you have a hard thick skull and that you’re a really sore loser.”
Deuce Holmes gave his slow, sarcastic golf clap. On the screen, Skrabz still muted, silently hit Holmes with the ‘'Mic Check and pins him clean in the middle of the ring.
“And you didn’t even take the loss! I ate not one, but…”
Deuce and Lavinia held up the ‘'Too Sweet” that the entire world of professional wrestling recognizes as ‘The Deuce’.
“Two ‘Mic Checks’ and a clean pin!”
Holmes just shrugged.
“Maybe you were just mad that you couldn't make a bigger impact in your debut. I don’t know. I told you last week and boy was I right! You’re not one of us Forge. You’re not a wrestler. You have zero concept of how to do business. I tried to initiate you last week but I guess being one of the boys is beneath you. I guess we’re all supposed to cower at the feet of a guy who’s had one match. Give me a break man. You can’t back up and single foul word that falls from your lips and I’m the guy who does everything I say I’m going to do and more!”
Lavinia gets up and bends over giving the camera a way better image than Deuce’s face. Which she kisses after she whispered something in his ear.
“I'll be done in a bit. I don’t have much more to say to this guy..”
He turned to watch her disappear into their bedroom. Lovely little Lavinia. There was so much she didn’t know. She still didn’t know how two of trainers at Deuce’s Alpha Academy tried to sell his home and training facility out from under him when they left for the Tournament of Icons at the Omega Academy which was quickly followed by the infamous Kansas City edition of Hardcore Championship Wrestling’s Monday Night Hell. She also didn’t know that one of those trainers, actually Deuce’s own twin sister Trinity had also burned down the family farm in Texas. She knew there was a fire, only Deuce and his old man knew who’d done it. Lavinia didn’t know that when Deuce rarely prayed, lately it sounded a lot like:
‘'Thank you Jesus for Robert Mack. He saved my house and Alpha Academy. Thank you Jesus for Alessandro Quagliaterre. He saved my Dad’s farm. Thank you Jesus for James Donovan. I hate his guts and he hates mine and no one can out draw our matches. And most of all Jesus thank you for Lavinia. She has the sweetest little butt and the biggest prettiest smile that makes me smile. Amen.’
Deuce snapped out of the trance Lavinia’s sweet ass always put him in, cracked his knuckles and was ready to go.
“Forge. I keep telling you, ‘You’re not one of us. You’re not a wrestler.’ I think one day you will be. I even think you have a better shot than most. But what I really think is, you should take some advice that I doubt you’ll even listen to. And it’s not even from me!”
From out of nowhere, Holmes pulled a banged up ukulele. With no tuning and no pick he began playing pretty badly..
“Fram-fram-a-lamm. Fram-fram-a-lam. FuhFram fram fram FuhFram”.
If you’d heard the song about a million times you might recognize it.
“David Allen Coe sang: ‘If you’re big star bound, let me warn you it’s a long hard ride.’ and boy was he right! Somedays I feel like my ride is just beginning. Other days, I marvel at how long it’s taken me to get here. I mean, think about it Forge, right now I am booked in a tag match with Snakebite as my partner at the KFV versus MHW Civil War Supershow. I am booked against the founder and lead trainer of Omega Academy at his Bloody Icon tournament. Number twelve seed overall in the Quag Cup and set to face the Golden Bull Quiang Chen in round one. If you any clue about this business and who I am to it, you’d see things a lot differently. Skrabz took me seriously and look where he is...number one contender to the Mile High Championship.”
Holmes smiled a big goofy smile.
“If Skrabz had pinned you, there’s no way he’d be number contender to anything. Ricky Stanton couldn’t even sell that! No one would believe it. And I told you so at Cosmo’s beach bash. I said I would and could make ours the match of the night. I said to bring your best and I'll do the rest. Skrabz can do business so I was able to keep my word with him.”
Holmes pointed at the camera.
“And if what you showed me last week was any indication of what you’re bringing to the table this week, then I should’ve just taken the week off and focused on the Quag Cup. I can just see it now, Forge. Half the seats are empty. Hallways full of congestion and lines at concessions and the toilets. No wonder Robert Mack made it falls count anywhere! He had to try and sell our match somehow! God knows someone needs to! You’re not going to sell this match...so why should I?”
Dun! Dun!! DUN!!! Holmes violently frammed the ukulele strings.
“Then a spotlight shines down on two big bare feet. And since it’s falls count anywhere, here’s what I’m going to do. For the first time anywhere outside of the Alpha Academy where I’ve it five hundred times this week...I’m gonna start that finisher inside of the ring and connect on the outside. Impossible? Well I hope you’re ready for the next episode. And that..concludes my thoughts on Forge. I do not care what he thinks or says. I will again be skipping his promo. He tweet what he wants to his twenty something followers because I don’t and won’t follow him. And if he gets a retweet off of dropping my name, it won’t matter. I had Lavinia teach me how to mute folk’s accounts and she muted him for me.”
Again, the single index finger covered his lips.
“SSHHHHHH!”
The ukulele disappeared back to wherever he’d pulled it from and Deuce stood. On the wall was an awesome caricature drawing of Deuce and Lavinia. He took it down, revealing a wall safe behind it. Deuce opened the safe and palmed a small jewelry box before slamming it closed and spinning the dial. He hung the drawing back, but kind of crooked though that was not on purpose.
“Check this out everybody. I do have an ulterior motive in being here with you all today.”
He couldn't have planned it any better. Right on cue and for the first time ever, Lavinia was ready without taking two hours to get ready. He motioned her closer and she stepped up to him. Slowly he lifted the jewelry box and opened it. She gasped. Her eyes widened and the prettiest smile covered her face. Deuce took the ring out of the box and set the jewelry box down. He took her left hand.
“I’m not down on one knee..”
He slid the ring on Lavinia’s ring finger. It fit her perfectly. Both in ring size and ring style.
“But. I promise...I will be one day.”
She giggled a little. Not because this was a funny moment but she was really nervous.
“I promise I'll always be right where you can find me. I won’t be off your radar for ten seconds. I'll never vanish. I promise.”
She sighed, laid her head against his chest and hugged him tightly.
“And I promise. We’re going to have one killer party to celebrate!”
The camera finally revealed Lavinia’s promise. There was a five karat black diamond surrounded by sapphires set in black platinum which was covered with black diamonds. As the focus zoomed in on the flawless black diamond, the scene faded to black.
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Post by Deleted on Jun 5, 2018 17:20:31 GMT -6
> ... > Starting audio playback...
”You got that look on your face again… fuck happened now?”
”Nothin’, boss, I swear! Just wanted to let ya know that that Holmes dude got up to talkin’ more shit the other day.”
”Nothin’ special there. You only need to hear that guy run his mouth once before you get a handle on him. After that, it’s just daring him to try and back up his big-ass mouth which, like the world saw, he can’t do. There ain’t a whole lot of follow-up when you brag to the world how you’re gonna drop a couple rookies and then not only eat the loss but get the shit kicked out of you after the fact.”
”So, uh… no credit for staying the course, eh?”
”The fuck is that stupid shit? Do you know what the definition of insanity is?”
”Doing the same thing over and over an’ expecting it to turn out different, right?”
”Congratulations! You just explained Deuce Holmes to the entire fuckin’ planet!”
”So that means you got a plan, right?”
”Not even a little.”
”Now you’re confusin’ me, boss…”
”It’s simple. The match is Falls Count Anywhere. That means there’s no limits to where I can drag him while I beat the dog out of him. There’s no boundaries on what I can use to turn him into a bleeding pile of broken bones and bullshit, either. No rules whatsoever. I don’t need a plan, Goldie. All I need is to get hold of his scrawny ass. The rest of the obituary writes itself.”
”Y’know, if I didn’t know you, boss, I’d be fuckin’ scared of you. No shit.”
”You STILL oughta be scared of me.”
”...okay, fair play on that one.”
> ...end of audio playback... > ... > Playing video “file004.wma”... > ... > Date: 06/04/18 > Time: 8:33pm, Central > Location: Metairie, Louisiana > ... > Scene: Deke’s Roadhouse, Basement > … > Starting...
Just outside of New Orleans, the town of Metairie is where those who seek them will find most of the Chrome Dragons activity that goes on in the area. They have their hands in several local businesses and most of the club members have homes in or around the area. The main hotspots for them are in the Big Easy itself, but the influence spreads a bit further than that. Tonight, however, is not about business. Not about Chrome Dragon business, at least. In the basement of a local dive named Deke’s, most of the Chrome Dragon higher-ups, Forge included, are standing on the opposite side of a cage from a couple sweaty powerhouses doing their utmost to dent one another’s skulls with heavily taped fists.
Usually the most reserved of the club, Kyojin is taking pleasure in the battle going on before his eyes. He watches not with the wide-eyed joy of a fan but the critical eye of a man who knows a thing or three about punching faces. Khary, as per usual, is taking in the vibe and doing so quietly for the most part… the difference being the lovely lady under his powerful arm: Fianna Donnelly. Goldie, standing on the opposite side of Forge, is truly getting into the display of grimy, dirty violence… even going so far as to yell at the guys inside the cage as if his advice would give one the win. A tanned, stone-faced local is lumped up something fierce yet he keeps coming at his opponent, a thick fellow of African descent with tattoos and braids. The local throws a few feints and tries for a big right hand but eats a low left hook that takes the breath from him. The way his arm lowers makes it a fair bet that he just earned a cracked rib.
Forge, his arms folded across his barrel-sized chest, has several bills gripped in one hand, watching the fight with a critical eye. So intense is his focus that it takes Goldie several jabs to his side to get his attention. Though there’s no way conversation is going to be held here, Forge still (after some prodding) looks to where Goldie is pointing… and his own expression hardens.
”Look what happens when they stop charging a cover.”
Several muscled-up and ink-laden white gentlemen in leather cuts make their way down the rickety steps on the far side of the basement, shouldering and elbowing their way to the cage on that side. Kyojin and Khary see them shortly after Forge does and the three exchange looks.
”Get back on the clock, boys.”
”The Pride...”
”If they don’t start anything, WE don’t start anything. If they fuck around-”
”-they get fucked up.”
Khary interjects firmly and all four of the present Dragons nod in agreement to this. The fight in the cage officially ends a few moments later with the braided beast battering his local opponent to the mat. As the other man is dragged out, the announcer on the repurposed karaoke machine asks if there’s anyone else in the crowd who wants to take a swing at the winner. One of the Pride, who looks for all the world like he wants to be Chris Hemsworth’s stunt double, steps up to the door. He doffs his cut, passing it back to another member of the club and entering the cage. He smirks at the African fellow who just stares… most likely he’s taken by the symbols and propaganda tattooed all over the biker’s neck, chest and arms.
”How the hell did these guys get past the gate?”
”Money talks. Deke’s gotta make a livin’ same as anyone else. Place has always been neutral ground… even when it comes to dicks like these.”
Goldie doesn’t look convinced, but watches with the rest as the fight begins. For the first bit the Pride member seems fine with sneaking in shots on his somewhat-winded opponent, the bigger man having been in there for some time already. However, the braided brute starts fetching the blonde with a couple of stiff shots and, on the other side of the cage, another of the Pride members gestures to the guy in the cage. He makes a swipe at the African that seems to miss widely… until he starts bleeding from the arm.
”Fucker snuck a blade in there! What a piece of shit!”
”Son of a- hey, where the fuck are you going?!”
The moment he saw blood spilled, Kyojin knew what was going on. Before Forge’s words even reached him the giant bastard was heading toward the cage door on the Dragons’ side of the room. He did not open the door so much as wrench it open, the hinges and wiring giving way to his strength, leaving the latch and lock as the only means by which the passage hangs on. Covering his wound, the African does not see what’s going on until Kyojin has the Pride member by the throat, tripping him to the floor and bouncing his head off the canvas-covered wooden planks!
The spectators are in an uproar right now and the Pride are yelling for someone to open their side of the cage while the Dragons swarm in through the hole their member had made. Deke, an Italian fellow looking for all the world like Robert Garcia in the flesh, comes scrambling down the stairs, trying to defuse the situation before it gets bad. It’s too loud to hear what’s said at first, but the noise dies down soon enough. By then, though, the feed has cut out, leaving the last image as the Dragons blocking the Pride from getting to either their mate or the fighter while Deke tries to defuse things...
> ... > End feed... > ... > Playing video “file004a.wma”... > ... > Date: 06/04/18 > Time: 9:57pm, Central > Location: Metairie, Louisiana > ... > Scene: Deke’s Roadhouse, Rear Parking > … > Starting...
”I know ya meant well, fellows… I get that. But that’s the kinda shit that starts wars. I can’t be havin’ that on neutral ground.”
”You can’t be having your meal ticket getting shivved by a bunch of Neo-Nazi fuckwits, either. Both are bad for business. You had to know that that’s what those assholes had in mind tonight when you let them in. You ain’t stupid, Deke.”
The view starts up again on the outside of the club with Forge and Deke discussing while the rest of the Chrome Dragons, and now the Shieldmaidens, stand in the background.
”You either need to shell out for security or be a little more careful about who you let in the doors. Better yet, tell the Pride their money ain’t no fuckin’ good here.”
Deke shakes his head, the feather in his fedora swaying with each move.
”Not that easy and you damn well know why. Still...”
He straightens his tie, tries to get his emotions under control.
”I appreciate your steppin’ in. So does Klodt. He’d tell you himself but Sazzie is stitching him up right now. He won’t be going anywhere till she says he can.”
”Sounds like Sazzie all right. Just got a little somethin’ to handle here, Deke, then we’ll be out your hair. Bit of a… message, if you will.”
”The wrestlin’, yeah? You know, seein’ you on the screens brings a lot of people here. I oughta be givin’ you a cut. I mean, I can’t… neutral and all that. But I should. Thought counts, yeah?”
Forge chuckles lightly.
”Yeah, yeah… get your ass back in there.”
Deke takes his leave and Forge, walking to his bike, retrieves the camera and hands it over to Goldie, who takes it up and gets the red light to blaring.
> ... > Playing video “file004b.wma”... > ... > Starting...
The camera is locked on Forge from the get and he does not waste a moment before launching into his latest tirade.
”Guess the idea of thinking before you speak is still pretty alien, Deuce. For a minute there, after I bent your spine backwards at Mile High #3, part of me thought you might step up with a little humility… maybe a few words of congratulations or at the very least some gratitude for not crippling you. Guess that just proves my feelings on most of humanity, and you in particular, correct once again: a bunch of dense, unthinking meatbags wasting everyone else’s oxygen.
Well, don’t sweat that after Mile High #4, kid. You’ll be lucky to be breathing unaided when that last bell rings this time. If I were you, I’d go ahead and wave bye-bye to the ring, because if I have my way you won’t see much of it. Matter of fact, we might have a little one-on-one sightseeing tour of Denver on Wednesday night so I can smash your skull against every cheap tourist trap and gaudy statue in town until I’ve had my fun and decide to put you out of your misery.”
Chuckles, outright laughter and hoots of agreement sound from off-camera, male and female alike. Sure as the sun rises Goldie is one of ‘em, too. Forge, though… neither tone nor expression are of the joking variety; he means every angry syllable.
”Problem here is that I’m bored talking about it. Bored of listening to YOU talking about it. But there’s just no letting go of the stupidity that sprays out of your mouth every time you get in front of a camera. If I wasn’t spending most of my time trying to shove a boot or fist into it, you’d probably still be talking shit during the fight!”
He shakes his head a bit.
”But that’s what happens when the illusion gets a little too real for someone. I’ve seen it more times than I care to count. Someone has a little success, either in fighting or in racing… pick your poison. That shit starts going to their head real damn quick. But for the first little while they’re killin’ it. Drifting through the hard turns and screeching past faster cars on the straightaways, leaning out of the way of their opponent’s best shots and at the same time winding them before moving in for the kill… and then, just like that, reality steps in and kicks them square in the mouth. You know what that’s like right? Skrabz still does. I’m still pulling pieces of his face out of my fingernails.
That’s right about where you’re at, Holmes. You’ve been in the business a bit, picked up a couple wins, connived your way into a couple of big shows… and now you’re walking and talking like you’re Hall of Fame material. My guess is that I put you down harder than I thought I did last week, hearing just how skewed your memory of our fight was. But it’s cool, kid. You’ll have a legit excuse to not remember this time after I get finished playing kick the can with your cranium in Denver. You’ll be lucky if you can remember your phone number when you wake up.”
It’s faint, but there’s a smirk there.
”But I’m not going to stand here trying to correct all the mistakes you made. Why? Because you’re a walking mistake, Deuce; the only way a clown like you gets corrected is a total system reset. I’m actually a little concerned that I might have to snap your goddamn neck to pull that one off. Ever felt a bone pop and crack between your hands? It’s a dangerous sensation, bucko. One that’s easy to get addicted to. Maybe that’s something you can’t understand, soft as you wrestlers are. Thankfully, I’m a fighter. I have no compunctions about rearranging your skeleton to make a point or, well, just for shits and giggles. Like I’ve been saying since the start, I get paid either way. It’s all the same where I’m standing.”
He gestures off camera briefly, and as a result Robi comes into view.
”And why did I call my lovely wife over here? To show you what a real woman looks like, since you’re so keen on showing off your Barbie robot to the world. See, I can smell the desperation already, Deuce. This no-rules environment… it doesn’t favor you, boy. So I expect La-La there to be waiting in the wings, looking to give you a moment’s respite from the boom I’m lowering on you. And when she does? This striking young warrior goddess is going to tear her weave from her lumpy skull and choke her out with it.”
”With a motherfucking smile on my face, bitch.”
Robi leans back against Forge, his arm going around her waist as the Shieldmaidens shout their approval of this outcome.
”The weak always strive to be weaker, Holmes. Doesn’t matter if they’re changing minds or methods, going with the flow so they can be part of the crowd, or sticking to the same doomed tactics and mentality because their minds are too closed to allow for change. There IS such a thing as holding on too tight to a doomed plan or giving in to the norms because it looks easier. You’ll never find me doing either of those things. I’m an adaptive predator, Holmes, a machine of wrath and destruction that never stops moving, never stops grinding through everything in its path. That’s why in Denver at Mile High #4, I’m going to chew you up, spit you out and move on to the next victim. Because it’s what I do.”
He holds back one side of the cut and Robi holds the other aside, showing off the Martyr Machine shirt now available at the shows.
”I’ll never be like you and the rest, because for me that would be a step down. The day one of you wrestlers ever gets into a real fight in a back alley or some bar off the main drag? That’s the day you’re going to find out just how weak you really are. That’s every other night for me, and just as I did at Mile High #3 I come out every-damn-time with bloody knuckles and a smile on my face, riding off as the blue and red lights close in on the person dumb enough to step to me. Once more, at Mile High #4, that’s gonna be you. Maybe Lavinia will be able to super glue and duct tape you back together in time for that tournament of yours… maybe not. It isn’t my concern.
I show up, I bust faces, I get paid. Story of my life where this wrestling shit is concerned. Does my honesty offend you? Is that what has you flinging shit my way every time you open your mouth? Too fucking bad. Not sorry, never have been, never will be. When she’s crying over what’s left of you, maybe that’ll finally latch on to what’s left of your brain. It’ll be too late by then, but you won’t be able to say I was wrong then, either. If you wanna be a star, have at it. Let the drones in the crowd sing your praises and retweet your ramblings for the universe to see. Allow that to cause you to believe that you’re making a difference in the world. Whatever it takes to make you haul your ass out of bed after yet another beatdown like you caught in the Tournament of Icons.
Yeah, read about that one. That’s why you don't’ fuck with dragons… chrome or otherwise.”
From sardonic to stony he goes, almost as fast as one might clap their hands. Robi, of course, just keeps grinning at the camera… she’s soaking up the moment and rightfully so.
”Save your advice for the next fresh-faced punk coming down the stretch. Talking down to me is just another hit-and-a-half coming your way. If you’re smart, you’ll stop thinking that words are going to tear me down when you have no chance of doing it physically… and you’ll get down on a knee for real for that little strumpet… while your joints still function. Because every second that passes with you trying to talk shit to me, telling me that you’re going to bring me down… is another minute I’m going to spend pounding you into an unrecognizable mess. Push me just a little further, Deuce…”
Index and middle fingers get aimed toward his eyes, then pointed back at the camera.
”...and your little white wedding will be happening while they roll your hospital bed down the aisle.”
Draw a hand across his throat prompts Goldie to shut off the camera… and we go to black.
> ... > End feed... > ... > Shutting down...
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