Post by EPFTW! on May 4, 2019 6:22:31 GMT -6
I'm gonna take my horse
to the old town road,
I'm gonna ride
'til I can't no more,
The dulcet tones of Lil Nas X shattered the early morning silence on the wards of the Royal London Hospital, waking a bed-bound and bandaged El Pablo from his slumber. The Technicolour Tecnico had been admitted to the medical facility following the conclusion of his long-awaited match with half-brother Xavier Reid at PRIME #46, a match that EP had lost when Reid countered a daring leap from the top of a ladder into a skull-shattering X-Ecution.
That wasn't even a metaphor, either; the first thing hospital staff insisted on doing was checking for orbital bone fractures.
With a groan of discomfort, EP forced himself to roll from left to right, an arm extending weakly towards the vibrating cellphone on the bedside table. Even though the vast majority of his face was covered, it was clear that the information displayed upon the screen confused him.
He answered the call.
"Hello?"
EP's eyes widened, colour draining immediately from his face. He recognized that voice, but he never expected to hear it on the other end of a phone. Not now.
EP didn't respond right away. How could he? Where would he start?
"Sorry," EP stammered, "Uh… how-"
"You raided a llama farm?"
"What about the farmers?"
“The llama farmers.”
"Hang on, I thought you said you were in a car…"
"So, not a llama."
"A baby llama."
"Oh, uh… I don't… I don't think so."
"I'm pretty sure the times we had caused the whole 'ditch' incident."
EP sighed, his mind wracked with conflict. He couldn't deny that the times he and the voice in his ear had spent together had been some of the best in his life. All he'd ever wanted was to receive appreciation and adulation, and together they'd achieved that in spades, cementing a legacy within certain quarters that could never be undone.
Still, there was another part of him that still felt an awful lot of resentment and hurt, because as bright as his star had shone, that same dizzying, dazzling roller-coaster had led directly to his greatest darkness. Who's to say which side of the coin they'd land on this time - and with his EWC career currently meandering in mediocrity, was he really in a position to take the risk?
"Look, I… I'm really sorry," EP whispered, his voice cracking slightly, "I have to go."
"Take care of yourself, okay?"
Before the caller could finish his argument, EP had hung up. His fingers nervously fumbled with the device, mind racing a mile a minute. He knew it would only be a matter of time before he was tracked down - the quasi-nomadic existence of the PRIME roster would offer little defence against a pursuer seemingly unbound by the limitations of space and time. Also the shows were advertised well in advance.
EP looked towards the window, cracked open just a little to allow the cool Spring air to ease the stillness and humidity of the hospital ward. For a moment, he contemplated running. That would’ve been ridiculous, though. As dire straits as the NHS was often reported to be in, there was no way they’d allow a patient to just hop out of the window and flee into the night.
Right?
to the old town road,
I'm gonna ride
'til I can't no more,
The dulcet tones of Lil Nas X shattered the early morning silence on the wards of the Royal London Hospital, waking a bed-bound and bandaged El Pablo from his slumber. The Technicolour Tecnico had been admitted to the medical facility following the conclusion of his long-awaited match with half-brother Xavier Reid at PRIME #46, a match that EP had lost when Reid countered a daring leap from the top of a ladder into a skull-shattering X-Ecution.
That wasn't even a metaphor, either; the first thing hospital staff insisted on doing was checking for orbital bone fractures.
With a groan of discomfort, EP forced himself to roll from left to right, an arm extending weakly towards the vibrating cellphone on the bedside table. Even though the vast majority of his face was covered, it was clear that the information displayed upon the screen confused him.
He answered the call.
"Hello?"
"Dear Mr I'm-Too-Good-to-Call-or-Write-My-Stans!"
EP's eyes widened, colour draining immediately from his face. He recognized that voice, but he never expected to hear it on the other end of a phone. Not now.
"I'm just kidding," the voice continued, jovially, "I am on a car though. Doing ninety. On the freeway. Not sure what a fifth of vodka is, but I'm pretty buzzed already anyway. Vengeance, betrayal, familial abandonment, all that good stuff. Which reminds me: next time you see our uncle, ask him if he wouldn't mind giving a little extra legroom next time! Got me feeling like the genie from Aladdin out here.
TEN THOUSAND YEARRRRRSSSSS!!
Heh.
Hey, do you think that genie's the same as the one in the Christina Aguilera song? Did she want Robin Williams to 'rub her the right way?' Coz I don't think that'd hold up too well, legally speaking.
Hello?"
EP didn't respond right away. How could he? Where would he start?
"Yo! You there?"
"Sorry," EP stammered, "Uh… how-"
"Did I get out? Same way you did: swam like a Sand Sharks until I hit the river, booked it across the border and then raided a llama farm."
"You raided a llama farm?"
"Yes; a farm for llamas."
"What about the farmers?"
“What farmers?”
“The llama farmers.”
"Oh! No dramas."
"No dramas with the farmers?"
"No dramas with the farmers?"
"No dramas with the llama farmers!"
"Hang on, I thought you said you were in a car…"
"On a car," the caller insisted, "an alpa-ca."
"So, not a llama."
"A baby llama."
"Nope."
"Yeah well, potato-tomato. Let's not split apples and oranges, shall we… not?
Anyway, never mind all that: where you at, ya squirr'ly sumbitch? We've gotta get the band back together!"
"Oh, uh… I don't… I don't think so."
"What? Come on, man! Remember the times we had? We took over the world, baby! Y'know, until the whole 'ditch' incident."
"I'm pretty sure the times we had caused the whole 'ditch' incident."
"That… will be for future historians to decide."
EP sighed, his mind wracked with conflict. He couldn't deny that the times he and the voice in his ear had spent together had been some of the best in his life. All he'd ever wanted was to receive appreciation and adulation, and together they'd achieved that in spades, cementing a legacy within certain quarters that could never be undone.
Still, there was another part of him that still felt an awful lot of resentment and hurt, because as bright as his star had shone, that same dizzying, dazzling roller-coaster had led directly to his greatest darkness. Who's to say which side of the coin they'd land on this time - and with his EWC career currently meandering in mediocrity, was he really in a position to take the risk?
"Look, I… I'm really sorry," EP whispered, his voice cracking slightly, "I have to go."
"Nonono, don't-"
"Take care of yourself, okay?"
"You can't just forg-"
Before the caller could finish his argument, EP had hung up. His fingers nervously fumbled with the device, mind racing a mile a minute. He knew it would only be a matter of time before he was tracked down - the quasi-nomadic existence of the PRIME roster would offer little defence against a pursuer seemingly unbound by the limitations of space and time. Also the shows were advertised well in advance.
EP looked towards the window, cracked open just a little to allow the cool Spring air to ease the stillness and humidity of the hospital ward. For a moment, he contemplated running. That would’ve been ridiculous, though. As dire straits as the NHS was often reported to be in, there was no way they’d allow a patient to just hop out of the window and flee into the night.
Right?
