The Hunt for Jonnie Valentine: a trilogy in four parts.
Nov 20, 2020 13:06:35 GMT -5
Jonnie Valentine, bloodiedfox, and 2 more like this
Post by The Colossus on Nov 20, 2020 13:06:35 GMT -5
After the Jonnie Valentine CBC.. thing. Angus had noticed a change in Scott Steel. A man for whom subtly does not exist. There had been more oomph in the deadlifts, and maybe Scott was throwing the weight down, instead of putting it down.
This is relatively speaking of course. The difference is mostly logarithmic, like the Richter scale. In either event, you didn’t necessarily want to be near the epicenter of the shockwaves. Just that one level is “I live in California and it stirs my latte for me” and the other is “HOOOOLY FUCKING MOSES ONLY RATS SHOULD BEED HERE”.
Angus had thought to mention it to Dane, who perhaps could calm the man down. Not even the vapidity of Maverick trying to use the word “cunt” because he is stuck in the year of his lord nineteen-hundred and ninety-nine and finds such contrivances edgy, seemed to have allayed the simmering rage and anger that was coursing through Crescent City Fight Club.
There was a buzz in the air.
“Hey, big guy.”
Angus approached Scott with mild trepidation.
Scott was staring a borehole in the wall while toweling sweat off of his face. Scott looked almost like what you would carve out of marble. He also probably thought about as deeply as a marble statue.
Scott predictably didn’t respond or even really acknowledge Angus the first time he said something. Angus didn’t take this as a sign of disrespect, but more in line with a processor coming back online from having been in sleep mode.
Scott lobbed the towel towards a hamper. He missed.
“Wanna go outside? Get some fresh air?”
Scott grunted something inaudible, and put on his “High Altitude Powerbomb Project” Muscle shirt, he neglected to change out of his wrestling attire. Choices.
Angus grabbed a cup of coffee and made sure Scott’s ever-present cameraman. Who were now working in shifts, maybe to ensure that if The Mountain opted to cut a promo at a wall or other inanimate object at 3:46 in the morning, but also that whole Cassie Hunter thing..
In the era of COVID, it has become important to advertise well in advance of important retail holidays. The Treme Flower Shop, while perhaps unknown to most of these viewers is a successful, but not considered chainable shop operating out of the Treme. What they may lack in terms of a creative name, has been reconciled with the ability to create dynamic floral arrangements of all stripes.
Do you need something to say “Hey, Baby, I’m sorry, can we try again? I quit drinking for real this time.” to the more mundane “You are my secretary, I acknowledge you exist on the holiday for secretaries”. If you happen to need to put flowers on the grave of someone perhaps more ingrained with organized crime, they can do that too. It costs extra, cash only, and it’s in the back room.
Needless to say, when they decided to buy advertising on the city bus line, they thought it was a good idea. In fact, increasing visibility is a great way to increase customer penetration.
What they didn’t consider, or anybody should have to consider, is Scott Steel living next to a city bus stop.
Angus had decided to go to a different Starbucks now that he, CCFC, and most of all Scott Steel had been made persona non-grata. It was also still closed for reconstruction. So instead, Angus had devised this period of “cardio” around just walking the neighborhood, and not letting Scott ruin any of his other favorites in the neighborhood.
Scott didn’t seem to mind as he seethed and stomped around while Angus followed at what you could call a safe distance in the event, which was very likely, that the Mountain opted to hurl for distance and great force any nearby object. Angus had his money on a street lamp. Like twenty on it.
The distance whine of bus breaks went ignored by all as They approached a street corner with an old-style traffic control dangling from a wire. Angus looked directly at the camera.
“Five says he takes down the traffic light.”
“Ten.”
The few pedestrians had made themselves appear magically on the other side of the street.
The uneven mechanical hum of a bus engine approached. A large “VALENTINE’S DAY IS COMING!” Wrapped the nearside of the bus.
The light turns red. Steel, who at this moment had chosen to stop, only saw VALENTINE on the side of the bus.
…
…
“VAAAAAAAAALLLENTINE!”
With what would be generously described from an assist from physics, the road sloped slightly away from where Scott chose to base himself in a power squat position. Given the time of the day as Scott started rocking the bus, the few passengers and drivers were able to flee in what would be described as “the nick of time.” Scott never understood this and thus had been feuding with Nick most of his life.
The Bus turned on to its side, safety windows popping open from the impact, the blare of screeching brakes and horns as the bus lay on its side. The bus’s engine sputtering to a halt.
If Angus had, had a cigarette, it would be hanging from his mouth.
Instead, after his jaw had resettled. He sipped his coffee. He sipped it again. Animalistic and Primitive rage was painted across the Mountain’s face.
“VAAAAAAAAALLLENTINE!”
Scott’s heavy breathing from exertion was rumbling and deep, ragged exhalations.
Scott screamed something beyond coherence at the bus, and trudged past Angus, right back CCFC. Presumably to keep training.
“God in heaven.”
…
…
Angus simply ignored the comment and sipped on his coffee. Opting to just walk back to Crescent City Fight Club, because today was Friday, in the year of two-thousand and twenty, and if you had told Angus at the end of two-thousand and nineteen that he would see a human being overturn a city bus and destroy a starbucks. He’d have laughed.
But it is two-thousand and twenty.
Angus bet it was going to get a lot weirder before it got any more normal.
This is relatively speaking of course. The difference is mostly logarithmic, like the Richter scale. In either event, you didn’t necessarily want to be near the epicenter of the shockwaves. Just that one level is “I live in California and it stirs my latte for me” and the other is “HOOOOLY FUCKING MOSES ONLY RATS SHOULD BEED HERE”.
Angus had thought to mention it to Dane, who perhaps could calm the man down. Not even the vapidity of Maverick trying to use the word “cunt” because he is stuck in the year of his lord nineteen-hundred and ninety-nine and finds such contrivances edgy, seemed to have allayed the simmering rage and anger that was coursing through Crescent City Fight Club.
There was a buzz in the air.
“Hey, big guy.”
Angus approached Scott with mild trepidation.
Scott was staring a borehole in the wall while toweling sweat off of his face. Scott looked almost like what you would carve out of marble. He also probably thought about as deeply as a marble statue.
Scott predictably didn’t respond or even really acknowledge Angus the first time he said something. Angus didn’t take this as a sign of disrespect, but more in line with a processor coming back online from having been in sleep mode.
Scott lobbed the towel towards a hamper. He missed.
“Wanna go outside? Get some fresh air?”
Scott grunted something inaudible, and put on his “High Altitude Powerbomb Project” Muscle shirt, he neglected to change out of his wrestling attire. Choices.
Angus grabbed a cup of coffee and made sure Scott’s ever-present cameraman. Who were now working in shifts, maybe to ensure that if The Mountain opted to cut a promo at a wall or other inanimate object at 3:46 in the morning, but also that whole Cassie Hunter thing..
In the era of COVID, it has become important to advertise well in advance of important retail holidays. The Treme Flower Shop, while perhaps unknown to most of these viewers is a successful, but not considered chainable shop operating out of the Treme. What they may lack in terms of a creative name, has been reconciled with the ability to create dynamic floral arrangements of all stripes.
Do you need something to say “Hey, Baby, I’m sorry, can we try again? I quit drinking for real this time.” to the more mundane “You are my secretary, I acknowledge you exist on the holiday for secretaries”. If you happen to need to put flowers on the grave of someone perhaps more ingrained with organized crime, they can do that too. It costs extra, cash only, and it’s in the back room.
Needless to say, when they decided to buy advertising on the city bus line, they thought it was a good idea. In fact, increasing visibility is a great way to increase customer penetration.
What they didn’t consider, or anybody should have to consider, is Scott Steel living next to a city bus stop.
Angus had decided to go to a different Starbucks now that he, CCFC, and most of all Scott Steel had been made persona non-grata. It was also still closed for reconstruction. So instead, Angus had devised this period of “cardio” around just walking the neighborhood, and not letting Scott ruin any of his other favorites in the neighborhood.
Scott didn’t seem to mind as he seethed and stomped around while Angus followed at what you could call a safe distance in the event, which was very likely, that the Mountain opted to hurl for distance and great force any nearby object. Angus had his money on a street lamp. Like twenty on it.
The distance whine of bus breaks went ignored by all as They approached a street corner with an old-style traffic control dangling from a wire. Angus looked directly at the camera.
“Five says he takes down the traffic light.”
“Ten.”
The few pedestrians had made themselves appear magically on the other side of the street.
The uneven mechanical hum of a bus engine approached. A large “VALENTINE’S DAY IS COMING!” Wrapped the nearside of the bus.
The light turns red. Steel, who at this moment had chosen to stop, only saw VALENTINE on the side of the bus.
…
…
“VAAAAAAAAALLLENTINE!”
With what would be generously described from an assist from physics, the road sloped slightly away from where Scott chose to base himself in a power squat position. Given the time of the day as Scott started rocking the bus, the few passengers and drivers were able to flee in what would be described as “the nick of time.” Scott never understood this and thus had been feuding with Nick most of his life.
The Bus turned on to its side, safety windows popping open from the impact, the blare of screeching brakes and horns as the bus lay on its side. The bus’s engine sputtering to a halt.
If Angus had, had a cigarette, it would be hanging from his mouth.
Instead, after his jaw had resettled. He sipped his coffee. He sipped it again. Animalistic and Primitive rage was painted across the Mountain’s face.
“VAAAAAAAAALLLENTINE!”
Scott’s heavy breathing from exertion was rumbling and deep, ragged exhalations.
Scott screamed something beyond coherence at the bus, and trudged past Angus, right back CCFC. Presumably to keep training.
“God in heaven.”
…
…
Angus simply ignored the comment and sipped on his coffee. Opting to just walk back to Crescent City Fight Club, because today was Friday, in the year of two-thousand and twenty, and if you had told Angus at the end of two-thousand and nineteen that he would see a human being overturn a city bus and destroy a starbucks. He’d have laughed.
But it is two-thousand and twenty.
Angus bet it was going to get a lot weirder before it got any more normal.