For Love (Supremacy)
Jan 21, 2023 12:16:18 GMT -5
Mongo the Destroyer, Dave D-Flipz, and 3 more like this
Post by bloodiedfox on Jan 21, 2023 12:16:18 GMT -5
You want a refill, hon?
Bloodied Fox tears his gaze from out of the window to look at the waitress. She nods her head towards the mostly empty glass of iced tea that stands by the plate wiped practically clean of its Moons Over My Hammy. Fox fakes a polite smile.
Sure, why not?
He let the smile linger as the waitress took the empties away, allowing it to slip once she was gone. He spares a glance down to his phone for the brief moment it took him to see there were no messages before returning his focus to the view through the window. It was nothing special: a concrete parking lot adjacent to a busy road. But on the 28th of January it would be a battleground, a killing floor. It would be where he dealt with a thorn in his side once and for all. In his mind’s eye, he already saw Marty Donovan bleeding out on that cold ground.
The smile returns, now quite genuine.
You know, there was a time I would have found your schtick funny, Marty…
Fox sits on the end of a hotel room bed. Those anticipating his martial issues triggering a descent into Seth Dillinger-esque narcotics and casual sex debauchery will be disappointed that the room looks reasonably neat and tidy, albeit lived in.
A spokesman for Disney? How wacky! You wander around dressed as the male lead in one of their more underrated animated films, shill their media and theme parks, and even pitch in on a CAR team that drives a vehicle vinyl wrapped to look like a four wheeled Owen Wilson! Isn’t that just so kooky?!
His facial expression, having played along with the words’ jovial tone, then drops to show the truth.
But times have changed, and I have changed with them. The scar tissue from the countless knives in my back has callused my heart. There is room now for nothing but contempt for you and your antics. That in and of itself wouldn’t have been a problem if you’d just stayed out of my way. Trust me, I would have been perfectly happy to have left you pootling around in Hardkore World, passive aggressively slapfighting with your frenemy Wesley Crane, out of sight and out of mind. But you got in my way, not once but twice. First, you took up space in the first round of the End of Days tournament, whining like a little bitch about getting stabbed by Zoran Sainovic and running around crying instead of actually doing something about it. Then, in Wrestle:UK’s Battle of Britain Invitational, after I for some reason turn you on to your side so you don’t choke to death on your own blood, you thank me by spearing me through a table and helping your love/hate target Crane eliminate me. Did you think I was just going to let that shit go?
Fox shakes his head with the air of a man saddened by another’s delusions.
Sure, you’re much lower down my priority list than Zoran Sainovic and the X*Crown, but all dues must be paid unto the Bloody Rainmaker. With no company to get me into Battle For Hegemony and thus no path into the Supremacy main event, the time was right to settle this. Unfortunately, your cowardice presented an issue. You won’t go to global events for fear of Zoran, and I have no intention of going near your home federation given its basically SWAT 2: The SWATening. Hence why we’re doing this in a parking lot down the road from the event arena, and hence why I had to goad you into accepting the challenge. Though admittedly that acceptance went a little differently than I expected…
I don’t like this. It feels like a distraction.
Lunchtime. The same table. Fox finishes taking a sip from his smoothie and narrows his eyes at King Submaxiswear, who is seated opposite.
What would you suggest? Sitting around not doing anything until I can actually get Zoran in a match? Marty Donovan got one over on me at Battle of Britain. I need to even that score. Besides, the Network’s scaling back global events and I’ll be damned if I’m missing out on Supremacy.
You should remain focused on what matters.
Oh I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware you decided what matters to me. I didn’t realise helping me beat up Jack Gaines in GUNS made you arbiter of my fucking destiny.
Submaxiswear, covered head to toe as always in white, inclines his head in just the right way to convey condescension to the sarcasm.
We both want the same thing, Peter: you with the X*Crown and Zoran gone from the XHF. I just don’t see how beating Marty Donovan to a pulp in a parking lot gets you there.
It keeps me sharp. For all his tiresome antics, Donovan is genuinely damn good in the ring. With NLW gone and no other company looking suitable to join right now I need matches with quality opponents to avoid ring rust. Now, could I have gotten a more conventional match with a challenge? Yes, but I want this issue with Donovan settled once and for all. If it takes concrete being the mat instead of canvas, then that’s what it takes.
Submaxiswear sighs.
Very well, but after this there can be no more distractions.
Fox downed the last of his drink and gave a dangerous smile.
After I’m done with Marty Donovan, there won’t be. Trust me.
You know, I really think you should be thanking me for saying what I did, Marty. I gave you the best opportunity you’ll ever get to pretend to give a shit about Ollie.
The hotel room once more. Fox as a smile here also, though moreso wry than threatening.
I saw the camera phone footage on r/squaredcircle. How chivalrous of you to take such offence at me dropping the See You Next Tuesday bomb on her! Storming off to actually show up at a Network event for once to defend her “honour”!
Yes, he did the finger quotes. It looks exactly as douchey as you’d think.
I made you the hero in all this, Marty. Why shouldn’t I? Everyone’s already decided I’m the villain because I got tired of being an afterthought or a sympathy case. Rather than it just being de facto I ensured the people will cheer you on for this. I guaranteed that Ollie swoons over you as her shining white knight for standing up to that nasty Fox who said a bad word. With one crude vaginal synonym I got the people rooting for you.
Fuck knows you wouldn’t have been able to do it yourself.
You should apologise to your husband.
The sun is setting through the window. Fox had been alone once more at the table. He looks up from the just finished plate of country-fried steak dinner and gave the server who has just spoken a look of mild incredulity.
I’m sorry?
The young man seems oblivious to the hornet’s nest he’s just kicked.
Obviously a bit more detailed than that, but yeah.
Fox assesses the young man, trying to decide if this is a joke or the kid’s really this stupid.
I wasn’t aware that my marriage was a matter open for public debate.
The server smiles and gives a little eye roll, apparently sure he’s the smarter one in this conversation.
Dude, you’re a public figure; of course people talk about your marriage. Especially when you do something dumb like cost him a title match out of paranoia.
Fox’s face sets, blank and eerily calm. His reply comes in a flat tone.
I am aware that you are a terminally dense little prick, so you might not be aware just what you’ve said. Given that you may theoretically grow up to be less of a moron, I’m going to give us both a break. You’re going to walk away now. You’re going to get someone else to bring me the cheque. I’m going to pay it and leave and not come back. If you do not walk away now, or if you come back to this table, or if I ever see you again, I am going to take this steak knife…
Fox ever so gently takes hold of the gravy stained steak knife and lifts it just a little from the plate.
…and I am going to cut your balls off and shove them down your throat. Now, do you want to be a eunuch, or do you want to get out of my face?
Deathly pale, the young man turns and walks away. Fox lets the knife back down onto the plate. He looks at his phone. No messages. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He manages not to cry.
You’re a prick, Marty. You’re a self-serving, self-absorbed, obnoxious prick.
The hotel room. Fox wears an expression of absolute contempt.
You have no actual friends. The nearest you’ve managed to get is the equally unpleasant twat with the same finisher as you who’s challenging you for HKW’s world title, and a fat washed up film director. Fuck knows what Ollie sees in you beyond your abs. Quite frankly she can do much better, especially given the way you’ve time and again put your own needs and wants before hers.
But now I’ve given you the chance to play hero. You can ride in on a noble steed and have these fickle idiots cheer you as you seek vengeance for your girlfriend, who’ll be so touched and charmed that you love her enough to do it.
He gives a snort of disgusted amusement.
You aren’t doing this for her, Marty, and you aren’t doing this for love. You’re doing this because you think you can make a name for yourself at my expense and get some momentum for your title defence against Wesley Crane at the same time. And I’m sure you’re going to say that of course you’re doing this for love. Fuck, you might even genuinely think you are.
Another shake of the head.
Save your breath. This isn’t love, this is ego masturbation, whether you can see it or not. You know what real love is, Marty? It’s the hard choices. It’s being prepared to hurt the one you love the most to save them. It’s being willing to have them think you’ve taken something from them because they don’t realise you gave them the greatest gift you could. It’s accepting their hate as a consequence of doing what’s best for them. It’s…
Fox trails off. He takes a breath to steady himself, then gives himself a little nod.
When this is over, Marty; when you’re a bleeding heap of muscle and bone on the ground and the ref is pulling me off of you to save your life, you will understand the most important thing:
Love isn’t playing the hero.
Love is accepting being the villain.
Bloodied Fox tears his gaze from out of the window to look at the waitress. She nods her head towards the mostly empty glass of iced tea that stands by the plate wiped practically clean of its Moons Over My Hammy. Fox fakes a polite smile.
Sure, why not?
He let the smile linger as the waitress took the empties away, allowing it to slip once she was gone. He spares a glance down to his phone for the brief moment it took him to see there were no messages before returning his focus to the view through the window. It was nothing special: a concrete parking lot adjacent to a busy road. But on the 28th of January it would be a battleground, a killing floor. It would be where he dealt with a thorn in his side once and for all. In his mind’s eye, he already saw Marty Donovan bleeding out on that cold ground.
The smile returns, now quite genuine.
You know, there was a time I would have found your schtick funny, Marty…
Fox sits on the end of a hotel room bed. Those anticipating his martial issues triggering a descent into Seth Dillinger-esque narcotics and casual sex debauchery will be disappointed that the room looks reasonably neat and tidy, albeit lived in.
A spokesman for Disney? How wacky! You wander around dressed as the male lead in one of their more underrated animated films, shill their media and theme parks, and even pitch in on a CAR team that drives a vehicle vinyl wrapped to look like a four wheeled Owen Wilson! Isn’t that just so kooky?!
His facial expression, having played along with the words’ jovial tone, then drops to show the truth.
But times have changed, and I have changed with them. The scar tissue from the countless knives in my back has callused my heart. There is room now for nothing but contempt for you and your antics. That in and of itself wouldn’t have been a problem if you’d just stayed out of my way. Trust me, I would have been perfectly happy to have left you pootling around in Hardkore World, passive aggressively slapfighting with your frenemy Wesley Crane, out of sight and out of mind. But you got in my way, not once but twice. First, you took up space in the first round of the End of Days tournament, whining like a little bitch about getting stabbed by Zoran Sainovic and running around crying instead of actually doing something about it. Then, in Wrestle:UK’s Battle of Britain Invitational, after I for some reason turn you on to your side so you don’t choke to death on your own blood, you thank me by spearing me through a table and helping your love/hate target Crane eliminate me. Did you think I was just going to let that shit go?
Fox shakes his head with the air of a man saddened by another’s delusions.
Sure, you’re much lower down my priority list than Zoran Sainovic and the X*Crown, but all dues must be paid unto the Bloody Rainmaker. With no company to get me into Battle For Hegemony and thus no path into the Supremacy main event, the time was right to settle this. Unfortunately, your cowardice presented an issue. You won’t go to global events for fear of Zoran, and I have no intention of going near your home federation given its basically SWAT 2: The SWATening. Hence why we’re doing this in a parking lot down the road from the event arena, and hence why I had to goad you into accepting the challenge. Though admittedly that acceptance went a little differently than I expected…
I don’t like this. It feels like a distraction.
Lunchtime. The same table. Fox finishes taking a sip from his smoothie and narrows his eyes at King Submaxiswear, who is seated opposite.
What would you suggest? Sitting around not doing anything until I can actually get Zoran in a match? Marty Donovan got one over on me at Battle of Britain. I need to even that score. Besides, the Network’s scaling back global events and I’ll be damned if I’m missing out on Supremacy.
You should remain focused on what matters.
Oh I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware you decided what matters to me. I didn’t realise helping me beat up Jack Gaines in GUNS made you arbiter of my fucking destiny.
Submaxiswear, covered head to toe as always in white, inclines his head in just the right way to convey condescension to the sarcasm.
We both want the same thing, Peter: you with the X*Crown and Zoran gone from the XHF. I just don’t see how beating Marty Donovan to a pulp in a parking lot gets you there.
It keeps me sharp. For all his tiresome antics, Donovan is genuinely damn good in the ring. With NLW gone and no other company looking suitable to join right now I need matches with quality opponents to avoid ring rust. Now, could I have gotten a more conventional match with a challenge? Yes, but I want this issue with Donovan settled once and for all. If it takes concrete being the mat instead of canvas, then that’s what it takes.
Submaxiswear sighs.
Very well, but after this there can be no more distractions.
Fox downed the last of his drink and gave a dangerous smile.
After I’m done with Marty Donovan, there won’t be. Trust me.
You know, I really think you should be thanking me for saying what I did, Marty. I gave you the best opportunity you’ll ever get to pretend to give a shit about Ollie.
The hotel room once more. Fox as a smile here also, though moreso wry than threatening.
I saw the camera phone footage on r/squaredcircle. How chivalrous of you to take such offence at me dropping the See You Next Tuesday bomb on her! Storming off to actually show up at a Network event for once to defend her “honour”!
Yes, he did the finger quotes. It looks exactly as douchey as you’d think.
I made you the hero in all this, Marty. Why shouldn’t I? Everyone’s already decided I’m the villain because I got tired of being an afterthought or a sympathy case. Rather than it just being de facto I ensured the people will cheer you on for this. I guaranteed that Ollie swoons over you as her shining white knight for standing up to that nasty Fox who said a bad word. With one crude vaginal synonym I got the people rooting for you.
Fuck knows you wouldn’t have been able to do it yourself.
You should apologise to your husband.
The sun is setting through the window. Fox had been alone once more at the table. He looks up from the just finished plate of country-fried steak dinner and gave the server who has just spoken a look of mild incredulity.
I’m sorry?
The young man seems oblivious to the hornet’s nest he’s just kicked.
Obviously a bit more detailed than that, but yeah.
Fox assesses the young man, trying to decide if this is a joke or the kid’s really this stupid.
I wasn’t aware that my marriage was a matter open for public debate.
The server smiles and gives a little eye roll, apparently sure he’s the smarter one in this conversation.
Dude, you’re a public figure; of course people talk about your marriage. Especially when you do something dumb like cost him a title match out of paranoia.
Fox’s face sets, blank and eerily calm. His reply comes in a flat tone.
I am aware that you are a terminally dense little prick, so you might not be aware just what you’ve said. Given that you may theoretically grow up to be less of a moron, I’m going to give us both a break. You’re going to walk away now. You’re going to get someone else to bring me the cheque. I’m going to pay it and leave and not come back. If you do not walk away now, or if you come back to this table, or if I ever see you again, I am going to take this steak knife…
Fox ever so gently takes hold of the gravy stained steak knife and lifts it just a little from the plate.
…and I am going to cut your balls off and shove them down your throat. Now, do you want to be a eunuch, or do you want to get out of my face?
Deathly pale, the young man turns and walks away. Fox lets the knife back down onto the plate. He looks at his phone. No messages. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He manages not to cry.
You’re a prick, Marty. You’re a self-serving, self-absorbed, obnoxious prick.
The hotel room. Fox wears an expression of absolute contempt.
You have no actual friends. The nearest you’ve managed to get is the equally unpleasant twat with the same finisher as you who’s challenging you for HKW’s world title, and a fat washed up film director. Fuck knows what Ollie sees in you beyond your abs. Quite frankly she can do much better, especially given the way you’ve time and again put your own needs and wants before hers.
But now I’ve given you the chance to play hero. You can ride in on a noble steed and have these fickle idiots cheer you as you seek vengeance for your girlfriend, who’ll be so touched and charmed that you love her enough to do it.
He gives a snort of disgusted amusement.
You aren’t doing this for her, Marty, and you aren’t doing this for love. You’re doing this because you think you can make a name for yourself at my expense and get some momentum for your title defence against Wesley Crane at the same time. And I’m sure you’re going to say that of course you’re doing this for love. Fuck, you might even genuinely think you are.
Another shake of the head.
Save your breath. This isn’t love, this is ego masturbation, whether you can see it or not. You know what real love is, Marty? It’s the hard choices. It’s being prepared to hurt the one you love the most to save them. It’s being willing to have them think you’ve taken something from them because they don’t realise you gave them the greatest gift you could. It’s accepting their hate as a consequence of doing what’s best for them. It’s…
Fox trails off. He takes a breath to steady himself, then gives himself a little nod.
When this is over, Marty; when you’re a bleeding heap of muscle and bone on the ground and the ref is pulling me off of you to save your life, you will understand the most important thing:
Love isn’t playing the hero.
Love is accepting being the villain.