Post by The Mad King on Dec 28, 2015 16:25:18 GMT -6
Exordium; Click
WrestleFest XIII was the peak of my laziness in the ring. I worked as a pseudo-lumberjack in the fatal four way for the United States Championship, a match I had little business interfering in. There were a lot of factors that played into me being out there that night. Factors I'll get into shortly. The only thing that mattered to me at that point was walking out of Rome with the International Championship. I needn't remind you of the details there, but I'll give a quick refresher in the form of three little words. Didn't even sweat. Chris Calvin played that referee like a fiddle while Marcellus and Shelley Silver came out and laid down some swift justice. Shelley Silver, the same girl that could barely walk earlier on in the night. The same girl whose ass I fucking saved from getting eaten by those Goblins out there. But we're jumping ahead in the story, aren't we? First came the celebration, the announcing that I'd picked up a new moniker, then the massive party... then came an old friend. A mentor. Somebody that used to respect me because I represented something he'd spent so long to build. The feeling of letting him down took 'the wind out of my sails' so to speak. It was a crushing blow to my sense of self. He clearly couldn't understand what it meant to be doing as well for oneself as I've been doing over the last five years
Do I really want to regress back to what I used to be?
Scene; "Welcome home..."
There's a quaint little place in Los Angeles that has withstood decades of elemental abuse with no remorse. The city doesn't appear to even want to look at this stain on their city, much less renovate it or even step foot on its grounds. I stood on its outskirts behind a rented fence that has been around it since at least the 80's with a bit of a frozen feeling once more. The same feeling that bothered me before the big night at the 'Fest. This wasn't fear instilling this feeling, however, it was regret. It was sadness. Regret that I could let down someone who is still a very important figure to me. Sadness that he could walk out of my life without so much as a goodbye. That seems to be a bit of a pattern these last few days, though, as marked by the blood on my right hand. Blood that has cauterized down to my elbow. King Flip didn't hear what he thought he needed... and he got angry.
Shelley Silver broke a piece of me off for her own to play with. I called her a couple hours ago with the intent of asking her out on a date. A real date. Something romantic without the feeling of a forced cliche. Her voice was... different. It wasn't as kind. It wasn't as sweet. It should've been a sign to me, but my heart was beating just a little too fast from the nerves of mustering the courage for making that leap in our friendship. I was nice. There was no resentment in my voice, no cold or callous retort, no ill will. We ended the phone call and I crushed my cell phone by immediately bashing it into a brick wall an incessant amount of times. My feet then took me from Hollywood to this old place. The only place I know that can give me the answers I've sought out on this day. A full moon above made this moment all the more perfect.
This would be the transformation I sought out before. The past I've hardly hinted.
"Are you even here anymore...?"
One step at a time, my feet moved upward and onward with my hands as we made our way over the old chain-link. I hopped over and nearly stumbled on the landing. My eyes look around at the putrid sight: an old forest green water tower, boarded up windows and doors, a rickety set of two swings, and an overall sense of creepily unkempt grounds. The air already felt colder as it whispered by me. The biggest building was by far the filthiest. Grime seeped from every corner of this God forsaken place, but I knew that's exactly what he looked for in a home. A lair, more like, but we'll get there when we get there. My steps echoed in my head as my heartbeat grew heavy. Something flashed by through my peripheral out in the distance. It would've made me jump had I not been expecting it. This play forced me to walk directly to the swings and sit down, close my eyes and wait. The sound of the swing as it moved and picked up in speed was that of something from a horror movie. A deep, low moan filled the dead space like a flood. One side of the swing set lifted an inch off the ground as the swing moved back and forth. I open my eyes and there he is, making this racket on the swing next to me, having the time of his life for almost a minute before he launched himself into a front flip. He lands on his feet and combat rolls into a position facing me.
"We have been expecting you... sweet brother."
A soft applause for his little feat. He and I have almost never seen eye to eye, but we've kept our distance when things got too hairy or uncontrollable. It's probably been the better part of half a decade since I'd last seen my older brother. Spoiler alert: Chris Calvin and I aren't actually related, we're just incredibly close as friends. Juncko -- real name withheld -- is and has always been the big brother I modeled myself after, both in and out of the ring. Until he went completely off the deep end, that is, but we'll get to that story some other time. I smile as I approach him.
"Brother, I come for your--"
He cut me off.
"Juncko is not interested in you've come for. Indeed, you look to be in pain. Perhaps you seek the solace of violence now that the target has been painted upon your back, hm? A target patted on by the company you've kept. Juncko has no interest in such meaninglessness. You fucked up, brother Flip. It is you and you alone that gets out of this. Not Juncko. Never Juncko. Not for tagging, not for wrestling, not for advise, not for anything."
His eyes pursed with his words. Again, we don't exactly get along, but desperate times are a different beast. I let his words wash over me with a smile without allowing them to break my saunter toward him. He gave a grimace as I extended my hand toward him in peace. He growls and lunges at me, but I stand my ground. He's actually a couple inches shorter and a solid sixty to eighty pounds lighter than I am... so, in this moment, he seems much more like the little brother in this situation. My hand doesn't move, nor do I.
"EWC isn't big enough for both of us, brother. Its hardly big enough for Marcellus. Jesus, its like he's gained another hundred pounds chewing the fat back in Compton. Anyway, I know you don't owe me shit. Its just... Al showed up."
He nods.
"Juncko knows."
Wha-- How? I don't have time to waste on the details.
"Then you know why I've come. Not for council, not much of it anyway. I've painted myself into a bit of a corner here. I won the International Championship and, professionally speaking, that's going as well as it can. But I keep having the thoughts. I keep seeing it. I know it never left you... I know because, I mean, look around you my brother. This is beyond batshit insane. And I'm not losing everything I've built because of this. I need you to come with me, Juncko. It's for both of us."
He swats my hand away and gives me the finger.
"Fuck you."
Like a comic strip, he shoves his hand all up in my face. Almost to the point that I couldn't help but laugh at the gesture. The echoing sound of a car door slamming in the distance stops my laughter, however, as two light clicks follow it and two policemen wielding flashlights spot us with ease. Did I mention we're trespassing? Because, as desolate and deserted as this place is, its still city property and devoid of our loitering. Anyways~
"HEY! What are you two doing in there?"
I smile to my brother, extending my hand again as the two policemen begin working on a lock to a chain holding the fence shut.
"Seems you don't have a choice, brother."
He snarls as he shakes it, making sure to clearly state his position once more.
"Fuck you."
And with that, we're off. The brothers running in the opposite direction of these policemen before they can even get the fence open. We spend the next ten minutes hopping gates and fences until we've found ourselves in the clear of the night, shambling into a Denny's Diner to get a table for two and talk things over. Juncko is the definition of insane, but he still loves me under all that hate. Otherwise, he would've just turned me down and turned a different direction when he ran, right? Well... we'll have to wait and see. I call Chris and let him know of my company before getting a ride via the good ol' limousine.
Much development. So character. Wow.