Post by The Colossus on Jan 5, 2021 12:31:25 GMT -5
Angus Skaaland was the first back into the Crescent City of the entire crew.
This meant he had had a blessed few hours not involving the rubbing of his temples or fielding calls about missing livestock and the like.
Peace was shattered upon the return of the Syndicate, and while things seemed icy between Eric Dane and one Scott Steel. It was not a bijective relationship, and Steel and The Aurochs, and yet another Meathead who had joined the Steel Liberation Front recently were back at throwing gigantic objects and yelling at the tops of their lungs completely oblivious to the fact that Eric Dane was murderously angry with them.
Aspirin was like Bitcoin in CCFC these days.
Angus sat in his office. He realized several things all at once. One, his coffee mug was where he had set it ten minutes ago. This meant that the damned racoon hadn’t stolen it.
Count that one directly into the win column!
Number two?
It was quiet.
He pleasantly mused on this fact for a moment.
...
...
It was in fact too quiet.
Angus hurried out of his chair and to the back door, where the yard while still smelling like a barn was completely silent. A Ox slowly chewed some cud and stared at Angus.
Shit.
Dane was going to have his ass. Angus rubbed his forehead, and the Ox helpfully lowed at him. Angus closed the door and returned to his office.
How in the actual holy fuck was he going to explain this? Was he going to call the police? Eric Dane? Northern Pro Wrestling?
This was a five alarm shitfire, and Angus, inexplicably had been in charge.
Of course now was when his cellphone would start buzzing.
BZZZZZZ.
BZZZZZZ.
BZZZZZ..
He didn’t need to look at the screen. This was it, This was the end. No point in avoiding the inevitable. The phone came to Angus almost dejectedly, with a codeine haze in his eyes. His voice is defeated answering his cellphone.
“HE WHAT!?”
Eye’s going wide as diner plates. Angus displayed nearly doe-like grace leaping out of his seat and running to the Scott Steel indoor zone, where the television famous mostly for watching Cassie Hunter sat, always on, and always tuned to the XHF network.
Standing in front of the SLF logo was Scott Steel, dressed to the nines, in his wrestling gear, because that or leather pants appear to be all that Scott Steel wears, freshly doused in what everyone hopes is water, but it also just as equally likely to be naturally(ALLEGEDLY) occurring rage sweat. His Leather vest newly painted with the logo of the SLF
With him, is the Masked Behemoth, The Bull of Bronze, The Aurochs. He is also inexplicably, though entirely unsurprisingly in his wrestling gear as well, tights now bearing the logo of the SLF. To say neither man looks entirely there would rank as an understatement along the lines of the Dark Stars not being an AI forced to read Olive Garden commercials and then spit out an advertisement.
Steel’s mighty hands break the silence with a massive clap, right hand coming forward accusingly to the screen. Maniacal grin replaced with the kind of somber look that is akin to the sea pulling back during a tsunami.
The video is grainy with glitches and sharp cuts between side angles. The whole package looks incredibly modern.
“You see Necrophage when you took that puppy that out of that box.”
Nodding, flecks of sweat coming out of his blonde curls. The color in Scott’s cheeks is beginning to rise.
“You didn’t realize you were signing a contract with The Mountain. You see, at the end of every year, they make videos of wrestlers like you, like Brad Swann, like Bryan Chase. Like Maverick.
You and Nemo with your big words.
You think at Cruiserweight Cup Day One, you can outsmart me?”
Glitch Cut. Now behind them. Scott’s curls have begun to vibrate around his shoulders. A drumhead struck with water on it. Steel is right on the edge of an eruption.
“Maybe.
Maybe.”
Tight on Steel, red-faced and explosive. His voice comes like that tsunami, smashing into a building, the sonic boom of sound matched with glitched video noise.
“BUTIHAVEYETTOMEETANYONEWHOCANOUTSMARTAPOWERBOMB. YOUAREFACINGSOMETHINGYOUHAVENEVERSEENBEFORE.
THEMOUNTAINISAMAGMAFUELEDPOMPEIIBURIALMACHINE. ANDWHATYOUFEELINTHEPITOFYOURSTOMACH.THEHAIRRASINGONYOURARMSNECROPHAGE.
YOUFLIPPYLITTLEDOLLHOUSETOY.THEBILERISINGINYOURTHROAT."
Steel is starting to push the level of coherence right to its bleeding edge. The Aurochs nods breathing heavily. Both men primal avatars of blunt force trauma of differing varieties.
“THATSFEARBROTHER.”
The last word leaves like a hurricane, all rage and spittle. The Aurochs claps The Mountain hard on the shoulder as the entire room vibrates with the two large man.
The video goes all noise at the same time. Cutting back to the next part of the daily XHF video package.
Angus sat dumbstruck. Around him had gathered a group of trainees. It looked like a scene out of Ocean’s Eleven. Angus looked at the current trainee responsible for filming steel, who just shrugged.
Angus suddenly and deeply needed an aspirin and a coffee...
This meant he had had a blessed few hours not involving the rubbing of his temples or fielding calls about missing livestock and the like.
Peace was shattered upon the return of the Syndicate, and while things seemed icy between Eric Dane and one Scott Steel. It was not a bijective relationship, and Steel and The Aurochs, and yet another Meathead who had joined the Steel Liberation Front recently were back at throwing gigantic objects and yelling at the tops of their lungs completely oblivious to the fact that Eric Dane was murderously angry with them.
Aspirin was like Bitcoin in CCFC these days.
Angus sat in his office. He realized several things all at once. One, his coffee mug was where he had set it ten minutes ago. This meant that the damned racoon hadn’t stolen it.
Count that one directly into the win column!
Number two?
It was quiet.
He pleasantly mused on this fact for a moment.
...
...
It was in fact too quiet.
Angus hurried out of his chair and to the back door, where the yard while still smelling like a barn was completely silent. A Ox slowly chewed some cud and stared at Angus.
Shit.
Dane was going to have his ass. Angus rubbed his forehead, and the Ox helpfully lowed at him. Angus closed the door and returned to his office.
How in the actual holy fuck was he going to explain this? Was he going to call the police? Eric Dane? Northern Pro Wrestling?
This was a five alarm shitfire, and Angus, inexplicably had been in charge.
Of course now was when his cellphone would start buzzing.
BZZZZZZ.
BZZZZZZ.
BZZZZZ..
He didn’t need to look at the screen. This was it, This was the end. No point in avoiding the inevitable. The phone came to Angus almost dejectedly, with a codeine haze in his eyes. His voice is defeated answering his cellphone.
“HE WHAT!?”
Eye’s going wide as diner plates. Angus displayed nearly doe-like grace leaping out of his seat and running to the Scott Steel indoor zone, where the television famous mostly for watching Cassie Hunter sat, always on, and always tuned to the XHF network.
Standing in front of the SLF logo was Scott Steel, dressed to the nines, in his wrestling gear, because that or leather pants appear to be all that Scott Steel wears, freshly doused in what everyone hopes is water, but it also just as equally likely to be naturally(ALLEGEDLY) occurring rage sweat. His Leather vest newly painted with the logo of the SLF
With him, is the Masked Behemoth, The Bull of Bronze, The Aurochs. He is also inexplicably, though entirely unsurprisingly in his wrestling gear as well, tights now bearing the logo of the SLF. To say neither man looks entirely there would rank as an understatement along the lines of the Dark Stars not being an AI forced to read Olive Garden commercials and then spit out an advertisement.
Steel’s mighty hands break the silence with a massive clap, right hand coming forward accusingly to the screen. Maniacal grin replaced with the kind of somber look that is akin to the sea pulling back during a tsunami.
The video is grainy with glitches and sharp cuts between side angles. The whole package looks incredibly modern.
“You see Necrophage when you took that puppy that out of that box.”
Nodding, flecks of sweat coming out of his blonde curls. The color in Scott’s cheeks is beginning to rise.
“You didn’t realize you were signing a contract with The Mountain. You see, at the end of every year, they make videos of wrestlers like you, like Brad Swann, like Bryan Chase. Like Maverick.
You and Nemo with your big words.
You think at Cruiserweight Cup Day One, you can outsmart me?”
Glitch Cut. Now behind them. Scott’s curls have begun to vibrate around his shoulders. A drumhead struck with water on it. Steel is right on the edge of an eruption.
“Maybe.
Maybe.”
Tight on Steel, red-faced and explosive. His voice comes like that tsunami, smashing into a building, the sonic boom of sound matched with glitched video noise.
“BUTIHAVEYETTOMEETANYONEWHOCANOUTSMARTAPOWERBOMB. YOUAREFACINGSOMETHINGYOUHAVENEVERSEENBEFORE.
THEMOUNTAINISAMAGMAFUELEDPOMPEIIBURIALMACHINE. ANDWHATYOUFEELINTHEPITOFYOURSTOMACH.THEHAIRRASINGONYOURARMSNECROPHAGE.
YOUFLIPPYLITTLEDOLLHOUSETOY.THEBILERISINGINYOURTHROAT."
Steel is starting to push the level of coherence right to its bleeding edge. The Aurochs nods breathing heavily. Both men primal avatars of blunt force trauma of differing varieties.
“THATSFEARBROTHER.”
The last word leaves like a hurricane, all rage and spittle. The Aurochs claps The Mountain hard on the shoulder as the entire room vibrates with the two large man.
The video goes all noise at the same time. Cutting back to the next part of the daily XHF video package.
Angus sat dumbstruck. Around him had gathered a group of trainees. It looked like a scene out of Ocean’s Eleven. Angus looked at the current trainee responsible for filming steel, who just shrugged.
Angus suddenly and deeply needed an aspirin and a coffee...