Open Season.

[vaevictis]

Cold. Both in the atmosphere and the look in the eyes of Jack Haggard, drawing in a deep inhale of the cigarette between his lips. The ever-feint humming of the refrigeration system that kept the meat locker cold, carcasses of beheaded pigs hanging from meat hooks, one being aggressively tenderized by Hank Haggard Jr, using it as an improvised boxing bag. Hank was energetic, slack-jawed as he was, was invigorated compared to his last vignette appearance where he was more so a bystander. Further in the background, Clancy -- or rather the back of him that faced towards the camera -- was at a workbench bringing down the cleaver against what can only be assumed a carcass he was collecting produce from. That methodical sound of sharp steel against a wooden board, flesh and bone being pulverized by bludgeoning fists, a refrigeration hum, all background behind the words of the eldest Haggard.  

Jack Haggard: You would think after a double disqualification that I would be mad. That havin' a match thrown out because of some excessive violence, you'd think that I would be a little bit upset to not have that braggin' right of beatin' that bum ass PRICE in a wrestlin' match. 'Cause that's what we're told to do; go out there and put on a show, have a match, come back through those curtains and get paid for doin' our jobs.

Hank Haggard Jr: We didn't come ta I-P-Dubbya to do no pussy ass job.

Jack Haggard: Damn right, Boar; we here to make people bleed. We here to be the cause of and be the solution to fights. I don't wanna wake up with a wallet burstin' at the seems with cash.

Hank Haggard Jr: Nah, we ain't materialistic like that.

Jack Haggard: Only thing I wanna wake up with is someone's dried blood on my knuckles and a few of their teeth on my nightstand. I want their beggin' and pleadin' for me to stop punching them in the face to be the lullaby that helps put me to sleep at night. I don't give a shit about no bell ringin', tellin' me I lost a fight or it went to a draw. That shit don't mean a thing to a man like me. As far as I'm concerned if I'm the only motherfucker that walked out of that damn match on their own two feet, I won that bitch.

Hank Haggard Jr: Hardcore Messiah boy sure ain't walkin'.

Jack Haggard: Bitch ain't talkin' neither. Quite frankly, I don't blame him neither. He was talking all that good shit, bein' an addict for the violence and a legend of it. Regaling us on his war stories, what he been through, that he's the hardest boy to ever give up fightin', look where that got him. Driven through a table head first, foldin' that bulldog neck of his in half. Boy should have stayed at home collectin' those benefit cheques, should have just tied a belt around his arm and shot some shit in his arm like a good lil junkie instead of tryin' to take something as dangerous as fuckin' with the Haggard Boys.

Hank Haggard Jr: Spike didn't do a damn thing ta help him neither.

Jack Haggard: Nah, he was just an enabler. Kept givin' PRICE that little bit of extra push, tellin' him he stood a damn chance. Even put his hands on Clancy here.

A pat against the shoulder by the eldest Haggard sibling seemed to provoke the youngest, turning around with cleaver in hand and grit teeth, heavy breaths escaping as mist in the cold air with the tendencies of a rabid pitbull.

Clancy Haggard: I WANT HIS HEAD ON A STICK! I WANT IT ON MY WALL! I WANT BOTH OF EM! YOU DONE FUCKED WITH HAGGARDS IN A FIGHT YOU DON'T LEAVE TIL WE FINISHED, YA HEAR ME!

Jack Haggard: You gotta calm yourself, Butch; ya gotta wait until we get to Ireland before you get all riled up. We can get our pound of flesh and then you can worry about the souvenirs you wanna take from 'em.

Clancy looked Jack dead in the eyes before he returned his attention to the chopping block where he aggressively slams the blade of his cleaver down against a hunk of meat.

Hank Haggard Jr: You sure we shouldn' just leave him here?

Jack Haggard: Nah see you don't do family like that. You don't come at one not thinking you aren't coming at the whole group. Much like we are coming at this whole I-P-Dubya tag team division, taking them all on and taking no prisoners. Bossman Jason said its great for the market. Bossman Jason put together a little clusterfuck gauntlet to prove who the best team is in the entire company. What bossman Jason really did boys, is make it open season on your bitch asses!

Hank Haggard Jr: WHO GOIN' CHICKEN HUNTIN'? YEEEEEW!

Jack Haggard: Fuckin' crusade against these self-proclaimed Messiah of Hardcore and God of Extreme.

Hank Haggard Jr: God is good. But these two wouldn't know nothin' 'bout that.

Jack Haggard: These old heads still thinkin' they the shit around here. That they legacies mean shit around here. Their names gonna be best remembered by punk-ass kids that will vandalize their damn tombstones, VHS tapes collecting dust in some attic. They call themselves Chaos Theory but they Chaos Myth 'sfar as I'm concerned 'cause they haven't been shit. They just living in their younger years, when they were harder, when they could actually throw a stiff punch or kick without their tired bones hurtin'. PRICE ain't the only one that needs to be put out to pasture, need to take Spike Kane with him.

Hank Haggard Jr: Loyalty to sinkin' ships fellas.

Jack Haggard: But they ain't the only people that need to be put in check now are they? There's also that yippin' lil terrier acting like a big dog speaking for that Donzig-Gun.

Hank Haggard Jr: KON-NICHI-WAH! Bitch.

Jack Haggard: Man thinks we don't have any idea of what we walkin' into.

Hank Haggard Jr: NA-NI?

Jack Haggard: ...

Hank Haggard Jr: That means what in that Japanese speak.

Jack Haggard: I ain't even gonna ask why you know that. Much like why I ain't gonna ask this Gavin Drake bitch why he think we don't know what we do. Why he thinks we give a fuck about this "the scourge" shit he is talkin' about. He think he put everyone on notice, he think he a big threat. Lotta bark but dog got no teeth. No bite in those words, son. Cause you're a tough nobody from nowhere, done nothin' to make us give a fuck 'bout who you are or the master you done serve.

Hank Haggard Jr: We didn' even know ya damn names, son.

Jack Haggard: Not like we gonna be needin' to remember it neither. Shit, we never bow to no man, we aren't gonna start with your wet-dog lookin' ass. Your wannabe king shit lookin' ass. Y'ain't no conqueror, ya a snake oil salesman, son -- and we ain't buyin' a damn drop.

Hank Haggard Jr: Var Vic Tise, or some shit like that.

Jack Haggard: Talkin' all that Rome shit, weren't built in a day but it can sure as hell fall in one. You boys feel safe, but neither y'all know what you're up against. You don't know shit about shit. Drake just saying shit to act tough, but he don't have a damn thing to say. Just recycle cool words, hard lingo, don't have any fuckin' meanin' behind em. Y'all didn't come correct, so you're about to be corrected hard way. You can kiss your bold-headed keeper on the forehead, sing him mockingbird before we put him and your dumbass to sleep.

Hank Haggard Jr: MOU SHIN-DE-IRU!

Jack Haggard: Boy, will you cut that out?! You talkin' more gibberish nonsense than them there Jamrockers.

Hank Haggard Jr: UU UU AHH AHH!

Jack Haggard: If you don't get your god damn--

Hank Haggard Jr: I'm speakin' monkey. You said they were monkeys.

Jack Haggard: I said they were spot monkeys, not literal monkeys. But they do fling their shit around like they were some tho. It's June, I ain't gonna mock 'em for that gay incestral shit they were talkin' you do you behind closed doors.

Hank Haggard Jr: I'm judgin' a little bit, they obsessed with semen or somethin'.

Jack Haggard: I ain't touchin' that. Hard to hear anything over these circus monkeys just repeatin' shit like "WE BE JAMMIN' WE BE JAMMIN'"

Hank Haggard Jr: What they be jammin' to?

Jack Haggard: They be jammin' into a six-feet deep hole talkin' that shit. They actin' like clowns, I hear squeaks when they walk. They ain't got no business bein' in no fight, they should be on them unicycles jugglin' balls and holdin' up bowlin' pins on their noses or somethin'.

Hank Haggard Jr: Or like them cool clowns that distract the bulls when they get aggressive.

Jack Haggard: Nah, they don't got the testicular fortitude to do that, only talk shit. But they sure as hell actin' like them clowns when they get in the ring with Dead End Express seein' red.

Hank Haggard Jr: Damn, sucks ta be them.

Jack Haggard: Hell, first thing they ever do that'll make me laugh.

Hank Haggard Jr: Ain't one of them beat that Judith girlie while back? Said all that weak shit and somehow won?

Jack Haggard: Luck of fools, Boar; some folk just get things they damn well don't deserve. Big Jude would'a eaten skinny boy alive and used his [censored] brother to pick her teeth.

Hank Haggard Jr: Don't think you can say that word.

Jack Haggard: I ain't disparaging against the differently-abled, I'm just saying those boys talk like they're mentally [censored].

Hank Haggard Jr: It's like some big thing that you can't call people that no more.

Jack Haggard: Well that's [censored]. Be that as it may, boys -- this ain't no damn circus. We don't dance around here. We certainly don't jam like that -- all we do is jam ya teeth down your throats, and mute that damn noise y'all are makin' on your clown shit.

Hank Haggard Jr: That's some serious shit.

Jack Haggard: Point is four teams gonna be walking out, First Contact, only one team gonna walk out with a winners purse and on they own two feet. Ain't gonna be old feeble dogs Chaos Theory.

Hank Haggard Jr: No sir.

Jack Haggard: Ain't gonna be them broody talkin' emo boy shit Donzig-Gun.

Hank Haggard Jr: No sir!

Jack Haggard: And most certainly ain't gonna be no [censored] sexpest ass Jamrockers neither.

Hank Haggard Jr: NO SIR!

Jack Haggard: You boys on the tracks of the Dead End Express. Run out the way, or get run over, boys.

Hank Haggard Jr: CHOO! CHOO!