Post by Payne on Aug 6, 2019 17:53:51 GMT -5
Nick Morgan
Day 587 of 30
Anarchy 50
Riyadh, Saudi Arabia
“Did you see that travesty” Dex raged as he climbed into the limo and slammed the door. “Did you see it?!”
Of course I saw it. I was there when it was recorded and while those words had come out of Dexter’s mouth, it hadn’t been in that order or that context. In person he had seemed distracted, barely interested and reluctantly willing… But ‘On Air’ it had come across like he had wanted to kill that poor girl and anyone else that crossed his path. “Yarp.” I nodded my head as the privacy screen rolled down, revealing a professionally dressed driver, his face smiling back at us.
“Good Evening, Sir’s. Mr. Payne, congratulations on your victory tonight.” The driver smiled. “Would you like to go somewhere before returning to the airport? I understand your flight isn’t for some time and Riyadh is beautiful this time of year. I would be happy to give you a tour.”
“Congratulations?!” Payne bristled and turned on the friendly driver like a bull toward a red rag “Con-grat-u-fuckin’-lations?!” Dexter leaned forward in his seat, the veins in his neck pulsating as he did so. “Are you fucking kidding me?!” Dex edged forward, his voice raising another octave, just waiting for the driver to offer a retort, anything would do at this point. As a homosexual man in Saudi Arabia, Dexter’s heckles had been up since before we landed, but the poorly edited promo had pushed him over the edge… and this poor man was about to pay the price.
“I..” Farouq stammered “I meant no offence, I assure you, but… you were victorious, were you not?”
“You call that a win? A professional, seasoned fighter against a woman… and a screw job by my employers to make ME seem like the asshole!” Dexter’s jaw clenched bared his teeth like an animal, grinding them as he did so. “And if I wanted to spend hours driving around an arid, barren shithole, I never would have left Texas!”
“I… I apologize Sir.” The driver was obviously terrified and wanted to be anywhere other than here. I could tell from the rabid look in his eyes that Dexter was like a dog with a bone and wasn’t ready to let this go.
“Sorry for Riyadh being a shithole, or for you being a poorly informed shithead?!”
“Sir, please… If you’d just let me show you… Riyadh is beau..”
The response from the driver was respectful and polite… Dexter would view it as an argument.. an Insult… And that was enough to justify retaliatory action when he was in this kind of mood. He bolted, leaving his seat with vicious intent. Immediately I lifted a hand, hefting my former ward across the jaw with an audible crack, rocking his head backwards. My other hand was to his chest before his spittle had hit the roof of the car, and I forcibly pushed him back into his seat. He turned on me then, his eyes brimming with hatred and his fist knotted into a ball and… immediately he calmed down. He dabbed his fist against his mouth to check for blood in the trickle of spit which had run to his chin and relaxed his hand, rubbing the palm against his knee to massage the crescent shaped cuts which would remind him of this shame later tonight. As his jaw unclenched and his eyes cleared, I fixed him with a firm, unwavering look which hadn’t been convincing to either of us for five years and asked one simple question.
“You done?” Reluctantly Dexter nodded his head. “Now, Dex… You know I need to hear it.”
“I’m done.” His words betrayed him. He was still brimming with anger, but I’d helped raise the boy to be the man and men kept their words despite their temper. I nodded “Good.” And turned toward the driver. “Farouq, I apologize for the actions of my companion. It was unbecoming and a poor reflection on us both. I hope you will forgive us both.” The driver sheepishly nodded his head. I doubted the sincerity of the acceptance, especially as the apology shouldn’t have come from me… But now wasn’t the time to argue etiquette with Dexter Payne. “Now, you’ll have to forgive us, but I don’t think this a prudent time to explore your beautiful country. Could you get us to the airport? Please.”
“Of course, Sir.” Farouq regarded Dexter with brief mistrust and resentment before rolling up the privacy window.
Within a moment the engine turned over and the car began to move. I turned, locking eyes on Dexter who sat leaned back in his seat with his arms folded across his chest. Slowly I shook my head. “Arid, barren shithole?”
“Would you have preferred overpopulated, stinking, arid, barren, shithole?” Dexter smirked and I knew the red mist had cleared.
“I would have preferred if you asked him politely to take us back to the airport without the theatrics.” Dexter’s smirk faded. I held for a moment or two and then smirked myself “That way we’d have got out of this arid, barren, shithole a little faster.”
At that Dexter laughed heartily and with that the preceding drama and the grave offence of the promo was forgotten. We could fly back to the states and this could be forgotten… for now.
Dexter Payne
Day 601 of 30
Hotel Blue Moon Boutique
New York City, New York.
The warm water cascaded over my body, the suds running off of my legs, across the porcelain and down the drain. I ran my hands through my hair, still somehow able to feel the grains of the desert sand thick there within. My eyes were closed, shielded against the brilliant white of the tiled room, protecting my pounding head from the unnatural brilliance.
Normally we would pitch camp outside of the city boarders and away from the thrum of the crowd, but since Riyadh I had felt a strange urge to be near civilization and surrounded by people. American people.
Don’t misunderstand. This wasn’t through a misguided notion of superiority, or a racially motivated intolerance; it was a fear of being alone with my thoughts. I had shamed myself and Nick in Riyadh. He hadn’t mentioned the incident since and that was how I knew it was truly as bad as I remembered. The poor driver had wanted no more than to be friendly. To share with us something of which he was truly proud… and I had reared and thrashed and attempted to attack… I looked down at my hand. The crescent scars barely visible now… but I could still feel the ache from them. I shook my head and muttered “Fucking idiot.” Before shutting off the water.
The thoughts swirled in my head. A constant repeat reminding me of every hate filled word. A shudder went along my spine and I pulled open the frosted glass shower screen, lifted my phone from a stack of towels – dabbing my hand on them in the process to absorb the moisture, before swiping my hand to unlock the screen.
As the phone lit up, the smiling face of the driver looked up at me from the front of his Facebook page. I grimaced, as I had done every day since looking him up. I hesitated, reluctant, resistant… but finally I hit the ‘Message’ icon. When the new window loaded I quickly tapped in “Hi Farouq, This is Dexter Payne. You probably don’t remember me… Perhaps you do. I was extremely rude to you. I am sorry. Truly. I hope you can forgive me. – Dex.” And hit the send button before I could reconsider and delete the message again. I put the phone back down on the stack of towels and turned the water back on. Perhaps now I could get the sand.
Nick Morgan
Day 601 of 30
Hotel Blue Moon Boutique
New York City, New York.
I heard the water start up for the third time and, assured, once again pressed the ‘play’ button on the remote, bringing to life the motionless image of Eoin O'Rourke on the television screen. The unexpressive Irishman would have seemed to have still been paused if not for the running of his mouth.
"It's funny to me, that people believe that despite the evidence to the contrary that I've shown my strength, my power, my knowledge, my assets... And even winning RSW, championship gold and its still, not enough to convince people that I am a complete package.”
Even on a third viewing I found myself perplexed by the way the Irishman bragged; as though his meager accomplishments elevated him to levels far beyond his capabilities. The immodest way he claimed credit for the talents of his better half were astonishing; even for someone as ill-informed as myself. This obvious attempt at self-promotion was cloying.
“A true, Irish Warrior full of power, intent, charisma, and wrestling ability and its still... Not enough to impress. No, because apparently my only redeeming quality is, I'm married to the baddest bitch on the planet. And she is the reason why, I am covered in gold."
His dishonesty runs so deep he even has the nerve to openly acknowledge that people recognize his short falling in comparison to his spouse and dismiss them as the deluded ones. His try hard Irish accent about the most convincing thing about him, no doubt the self-proclaimed Irish Warrior as the Payne’s were Scottish. Amazing how many American’s claim a Celtic identity despite never leaving the states.
"I love my dear Liz with my whole heart, but get it straight. She is well and truly powerful. The best woman to ever walk in any arena having the honor to have her presence. But I am not my love. I'm my own beast. I ripped apart those "Convicted" emo pricks out of RSW. And I know how to rip apart a clown who thinks that he can maim, kill, hurt women... And he thinks that will make him a legend.”
And there it is. The RSW Propaganda machine has found it’s ‘mark’ and never before has the term sounded so apt. O’Rourke blindly accepted the obviously edited piece which had aired ‘live’ from Riyadh. His lack of reasoning and understanding told all that needed to be told, especially in regard to how he viewed himself.
I shook my head in despair. How the hell do I show Dexter this?
“I'm no woman laddie. I'm no tramp who can be so easily plucked from these bastard streets of New York and found in Jersey the next week. In fact boy... I could do that very easily to scum like you."
I gritted my teeth, unconsciously gripping the television remote in both hands and twisting it, producing an audible creak from the plastic... Hearing a second-rate ponce such as this speak like such about a boy I’d raised as my own filled me with the urge to show how red my neck really is.
"Fucktards like you Payne like to take advantage over little things and exploit and try to get away with, but you have no tools in any part of your arse that'll help you get by me mate. None. You have no friends, no ally, no brains, no guts, not even a penis that could fuck a goat. You have nothing more than just, desire to hurt. I don't hurt. I destroy. I destroy weak, fragile punks like you.”
His vein attempt to convince even himself of his masculinity eased my heckles some… But still, I find myself relishing the prospect of Payne beating this moron within an inch of his life.
“Just like me and Liz had done to the Convicted, and proved that we are the only true team here in RSW. There is no other team. And neither of us are the weak link in it. And you have the misfortune of facing, half of the only team in RSW. Its a shame, cause you don't have the balls to stand in the ring with me."
I shook my head, unknowingly muttering. “Shame it aint Liz gettin’ in the ring. She has more fight than you, bitch.”
"And when I am done with you Payne, you'll be hard pressed to find your way around. Cause I'll have your head lodged so far up your ass you'll be legally blind for life."
I extended my arm and exited the recording, my head still shaking through pure shame. Pure… disappointment at RSW’s low standards. As I turned, I caught sight of Dexter standing half naked in the open doorway between our room and the bathroom. Water dripped from his hair, the white towel covering his modesty wrapped tightly around his waist and hanging down past his knees. His phone was held in his hands and a small smirk was on his face. I froze and looked back to the now darkened screen of the television.
“That eh..” I hesitated and looked back and forth again “Look, Dex… Don’t let that get to you.”
“Eoin O'Rourke?” He asked the question in disbelief. I nodded in confirmation. Dexter immediately threw his head back laughing, turned and walked back into the bathroom.
Day 587 of 30
Anarchy 50
Riyadh, Saudi Arabia
“Did you see that travesty” Dex raged as he climbed into the limo and slammed the door. “Did you see it?!”
Of course I saw it. I was there when it was recorded and while those words had come out of Dexter’s mouth, it hadn’t been in that order or that context. In person he had seemed distracted, barely interested and reluctantly willing… But ‘On Air’ it had come across like he had wanted to kill that poor girl and anyone else that crossed his path. “Yarp.” I nodded my head as the privacy screen rolled down, revealing a professionally dressed driver, his face smiling back at us.
“Good Evening, Sir’s. Mr. Payne, congratulations on your victory tonight.” The driver smiled. “Would you like to go somewhere before returning to the airport? I understand your flight isn’t for some time and Riyadh is beautiful this time of year. I would be happy to give you a tour.”
“Congratulations?!” Payne bristled and turned on the friendly driver like a bull toward a red rag “Con-grat-u-fuckin’-lations?!” Dexter leaned forward in his seat, the veins in his neck pulsating as he did so. “Are you fucking kidding me?!” Dex edged forward, his voice raising another octave, just waiting for the driver to offer a retort, anything would do at this point. As a homosexual man in Saudi Arabia, Dexter’s heckles had been up since before we landed, but the poorly edited promo had pushed him over the edge… and this poor man was about to pay the price.
“I..” Farouq stammered “I meant no offence, I assure you, but… you were victorious, were you not?”
“You call that a win? A professional, seasoned fighter against a woman… and a screw job by my employers to make ME seem like the asshole!” Dexter’s jaw clenched bared his teeth like an animal, grinding them as he did so. “And if I wanted to spend hours driving around an arid, barren shithole, I never would have left Texas!”
“I… I apologize Sir.” The driver was obviously terrified and wanted to be anywhere other than here. I could tell from the rabid look in his eyes that Dexter was like a dog with a bone and wasn’t ready to let this go.
“Sorry for Riyadh being a shithole, or for you being a poorly informed shithead?!”
“Sir, please… If you’d just let me show you… Riyadh is beau..”
The response from the driver was respectful and polite… Dexter would view it as an argument.. an Insult… And that was enough to justify retaliatory action when he was in this kind of mood. He bolted, leaving his seat with vicious intent. Immediately I lifted a hand, hefting my former ward across the jaw with an audible crack, rocking his head backwards. My other hand was to his chest before his spittle had hit the roof of the car, and I forcibly pushed him back into his seat. He turned on me then, his eyes brimming with hatred and his fist knotted into a ball and… immediately he calmed down. He dabbed his fist against his mouth to check for blood in the trickle of spit which had run to his chin and relaxed his hand, rubbing the palm against his knee to massage the crescent shaped cuts which would remind him of this shame later tonight. As his jaw unclenched and his eyes cleared, I fixed him with a firm, unwavering look which hadn’t been convincing to either of us for five years and asked one simple question.
“You done?” Reluctantly Dexter nodded his head. “Now, Dex… You know I need to hear it.”
“I’m done.” His words betrayed him. He was still brimming with anger, but I’d helped raise the boy to be the man and men kept their words despite their temper. I nodded “Good.” And turned toward the driver. “Farouq, I apologize for the actions of my companion. It was unbecoming and a poor reflection on us both. I hope you will forgive us both.” The driver sheepishly nodded his head. I doubted the sincerity of the acceptance, especially as the apology shouldn’t have come from me… But now wasn’t the time to argue etiquette with Dexter Payne. “Now, you’ll have to forgive us, but I don’t think this a prudent time to explore your beautiful country. Could you get us to the airport? Please.”
“Of course, Sir.” Farouq regarded Dexter with brief mistrust and resentment before rolling up the privacy window.
Within a moment the engine turned over and the car began to move. I turned, locking eyes on Dexter who sat leaned back in his seat with his arms folded across his chest. Slowly I shook my head. “Arid, barren shithole?”
“Would you have preferred overpopulated, stinking, arid, barren, shithole?” Dexter smirked and I knew the red mist had cleared.
“I would have preferred if you asked him politely to take us back to the airport without the theatrics.” Dexter’s smirk faded. I held for a moment or two and then smirked myself “That way we’d have got out of this arid, barren, shithole a little faster.”
At that Dexter laughed heartily and with that the preceding drama and the grave offence of the promo was forgotten. We could fly back to the states and this could be forgotten… for now.
Dexter Payne
Day 601 of 30
Hotel Blue Moon Boutique
New York City, New York.
The warm water cascaded over my body, the suds running off of my legs, across the porcelain and down the drain. I ran my hands through my hair, still somehow able to feel the grains of the desert sand thick there within. My eyes were closed, shielded against the brilliant white of the tiled room, protecting my pounding head from the unnatural brilliance.
Normally we would pitch camp outside of the city boarders and away from the thrum of the crowd, but since Riyadh I had felt a strange urge to be near civilization and surrounded by people. American people.
Don’t misunderstand. This wasn’t through a misguided notion of superiority, or a racially motivated intolerance; it was a fear of being alone with my thoughts. I had shamed myself and Nick in Riyadh. He hadn’t mentioned the incident since and that was how I knew it was truly as bad as I remembered. The poor driver had wanted no more than to be friendly. To share with us something of which he was truly proud… and I had reared and thrashed and attempted to attack… I looked down at my hand. The crescent scars barely visible now… but I could still feel the ache from them. I shook my head and muttered “Fucking idiot.” Before shutting off the water.
The thoughts swirled in my head. A constant repeat reminding me of every hate filled word. A shudder went along my spine and I pulled open the frosted glass shower screen, lifted my phone from a stack of towels – dabbing my hand on them in the process to absorb the moisture, before swiping my hand to unlock the screen.
As the phone lit up, the smiling face of the driver looked up at me from the front of his Facebook page. I grimaced, as I had done every day since looking him up. I hesitated, reluctant, resistant… but finally I hit the ‘Message’ icon. When the new window loaded I quickly tapped in “Hi Farouq, This is Dexter Payne. You probably don’t remember me… Perhaps you do. I was extremely rude to you. I am sorry. Truly. I hope you can forgive me. – Dex.” And hit the send button before I could reconsider and delete the message again. I put the phone back down on the stack of towels and turned the water back on. Perhaps now I could get the sand.
Nick Morgan
Day 601 of 30
Hotel Blue Moon Boutique
New York City, New York.
I heard the water start up for the third time and, assured, once again pressed the ‘play’ button on the remote, bringing to life the motionless image of Eoin O'Rourke on the television screen. The unexpressive Irishman would have seemed to have still been paused if not for the running of his mouth.
"It's funny to me, that people believe that despite the evidence to the contrary that I've shown my strength, my power, my knowledge, my assets... And even winning RSW, championship gold and its still, not enough to convince people that I am a complete package.”
Even on a third viewing I found myself perplexed by the way the Irishman bragged; as though his meager accomplishments elevated him to levels far beyond his capabilities. The immodest way he claimed credit for the talents of his better half were astonishing; even for someone as ill-informed as myself. This obvious attempt at self-promotion was cloying.
“A true, Irish Warrior full of power, intent, charisma, and wrestling ability and its still... Not enough to impress. No, because apparently my only redeeming quality is, I'm married to the baddest bitch on the planet. And she is the reason why, I am covered in gold."
His dishonesty runs so deep he even has the nerve to openly acknowledge that people recognize his short falling in comparison to his spouse and dismiss them as the deluded ones. His try hard Irish accent about the most convincing thing about him, no doubt the self-proclaimed Irish Warrior as the Payne’s were Scottish. Amazing how many American’s claim a Celtic identity despite never leaving the states.
"I love my dear Liz with my whole heart, but get it straight. She is well and truly powerful. The best woman to ever walk in any arena having the honor to have her presence. But I am not my love. I'm my own beast. I ripped apart those "Convicted" emo pricks out of RSW. And I know how to rip apart a clown who thinks that he can maim, kill, hurt women... And he thinks that will make him a legend.”
And there it is. The RSW Propaganda machine has found it’s ‘mark’ and never before has the term sounded so apt. O’Rourke blindly accepted the obviously edited piece which had aired ‘live’ from Riyadh. His lack of reasoning and understanding told all that needed to be told, especially in regard to how he viewed himself.
I shook my head in despair. How the hell do I show Dexter this?
“I'm no woman laddie. I'm no tramp who can be so easily plucked from these bastard streets of New York and found in Jersey the next week. In fact boy... I could do that very easily to scum like you."
I gritted my teeth, unconsciously gripping the television remote in both hands and twisting it, producing an audible creak from the plastic... Hearing a second-rate ponce such as this speak like such about a boy I’d raised as my own filled me with the urge to show how red my neck really is.
"Fucktards like you Payne like to take advantage over little things and exploit and try to get away with, but you have no tools in any part of your arse that'll help you get by me mate. None. You have no friends, no ally, no brains, no guts, not even a penis that could fuck a goat. You have nothing more than just, desire to hurt. I don't hurt. I destroy. I destroy weak, fragile punks like you.”
His vein attempt to convince even himself of his masculinity eased my heckles some… But still, I find myself relishing the prospect of Payne beating this moron within an inch of his life.
“Just like me and Liz had done to the Convicted, and proved that we are the only true team here in RSW. There is no other team. And neither of us are the weak link in it. And you have the misfortune of facing, half of the only team in RSW. Its a shame, cause you don't have the balls to stand in the ring with me."
I shook my head, unknowingly muttering. “Shame it aint Liz gettin’ in the ring. She has more fight than you, bitch.”
"And when I am done with you Payne, you'll be hard pressed to find your way around. Cause I'll have your head lodged so far up your ass you'll be legally blind for life."
I extended my arm and exited the recording, my head still shaking through pure shame. Pure… disappointment at RSW’s low standards. As I turned, I caught sight of Dexter standing half naked in the open doorway between our room and the bathroom. Water dripped from his hair, the white towel covering his modesty wrapped tightly around his waist and hanging down past his knees. His phone was held in his hands and a small smirk was on his face. I froze and looked back to the now darkened screen of the television.
“That eh..” I hesitated and looked back and forth again “Look, Dex… Don’t let that get to you.”
“Eoin O'Rourke?” He asked the question in disbelief. I nodded in confirmation. Dexter immediately threw his head back laughing, turned and walked back into the bathroom.
