The Old Familiar Places (Rumble RP#2)
Apr 8, 2023 16:11:36 GMT -5
Mongo the Destroyer, Dave D-Flipz, and 4 more like this
Post by bloodiedfox on Apr 8, 2023 16:11:36 GMT -5
April 1st. GUNS. Time has clearly passed since Bloodied Fox’s discussion with his compatriots, given he exits the locker in street clothes with shower damp hair. Kit bag slung over his shoulder, he walks down the corridor… only to stop after a few steps. His brow furrows, as though mentally unpicking the meaning of a sensation. Then his eyebrows raise slightly as something clicks into place.
You.
He suddenly turns on his heel, to see that he is indeed not alone. At the other end of the corridor stands Feral. The other man is also in street clothes, but still has his face covered with his wrestling mask.
Now you’re an interesting one.
Fox starts to work towards him. Feral doesn’t move; neither does he make a sound.
See, I get Jackalope showing up. The gem is tied into the destruction of his home. Misha sticking his nose in was a given since Max seems determined to goad him into it for some reason, and of course wherever there’s Misha you’ll invariably get Johnny Five. But you...
Fox reaches Feral. The two being of a height, he stares into the masked man’s eyes.
...you I don’t understand. What’s your interest in this? You someone with a past with Max? With SEIRIOS? Or are you just in this for a payoff?
I’m in this for you.
Fox blinks. With words like that he’d expect anger, or maybe the arrogance of a hunter seeking a trophy. But the tone in the young man’s voice was… sad, somehow. Resigned. He buried his reaction and brought back his smile.
I’m flattered, but I’m afraid I’m happily married.
Feral tilts his head.
“Happily.”?
As fast as it appeared, Fox’s smile vanishes. Not just at the dig. There was something about Feral’s voice. Something almost familiar that he couldn’t place.
I’d strongly advise you not to make me angry. If Zoran Sainovic has regained consciousness yet he can tell you what my ire feels like.
He can’t tell me anything I don’t already know. That’s why I’m here.
Fox’s smile returns with an extra frisson of condescension.
So you’re going to stop me, hmm?
If I have to.
Fox looks the other man over. The whole air of him felt… off. Like someone forced by necessity to play a role they despised. It was confusing, and starting to make his head hurt.
Well you have fun with that.
Fox turns back around and starts to walk away. He gets a couple of metres before…
Fox?
Fox stops. In spite of himself, he cranes his head around to look at the other man, who hasn’t moved an inch.
You can still stop this. It’s not too late.
Fox tries to smile. For some reason, he finds he can’t.
It really is.
He turns his head back and leaves. Feral watches him go.
I know.
So, this is the part where we go over the other entrants, I suppose. You know the routine: I dismiss the chaff, make a few cutting barbs on the people who theoretically have a chance, then talk about how I’m still going to win. It’s cheap and easy and practically mandatory for everyone’s Rumble promo cycle.
The sunroom is a prime example of Victorian upper class British interior design. Specifically built to allow for maximum daylight, its plush elegance exudes comfort through the screen. Certainly, Bloodied Fox looks very comfortable as he sips tea from fine china.
But let’s not kid ourselves, doing that this year is an utter waste of time. It’s not hard to see why. Everyone’s thinking it, they just haven’t got the balls to say it. Well, let me apply some testicles to the situation:
The 2023 XHF Rumble entry list is a fucking joke.
Keeping cup and saucer in a firm grip in one hand, Fox raises the other to ward off outraged responses only he can hear.
Before you even start with the vitriol, let’s deal with some cold hard facts: The 2020 XHF Rumble had sixty entrants. 2021 had fifty. 2022 fifty five. This year? Thirty. Just to give you some perspective on that, in the 2020 Rumble I entered at number 11. When I was finally eliminated by your beloved hero Zoran Sainovic stabbing my hand after he’d set an army of robots on all the remaining competitors, forty nine other people had already entered. That’s half again the entire fucking field of this year.
Then there’s the quality, or more accurately the complete lack thereof. The fact that Cheez honestly cracks the top ten likeliest winners list highlights the embarrassment of poverties that’s going on here. Pepsiman? The Star Trekker? Fucking Tinto the fucking orphan?! Yeah, those are the low hanging fruits, but it’s not much better further up the vine, is it? Career-long mediocrities old and new like Wellington Dunne and AVB. Interchangeable GUNS meat slabs like Redmond Fury and Beef...
No, I’m not doing the extra e’s...
Some guy named after the least worst Rob Zombie movie. Wildcat Capone, who was the most useless person on my GUNS Fight Club team. Florida Man, who I’m surprised hasn’t been headhunted by Ron DeSantis to start murdering trans kids yet.
Of course, there are some credible names mixed in there to try and save this from reaching Royal Rumble 1995 depths of barrel scraping. Pity they’re all too busy distracting themselves with other shit, isn’t it? Lord Dominicus is obsessed with yelling at HKW roster for not entering rather than thinking about anyone in the match. Cross Recoba’s balancing the TAPOUT books. Jesse Jamester is understandably trying to track down whoever blew up his house. Natasha’s stoned out of her mind yet again. Esmeralda von Krauss is helping treat us all to a Donzig origin story, because when I see a giant pile of dog shit in the street my first thought is always “Wow, I wonder what mongrel’s sphincter shat that out?!”. Steve Awesome’s pouting that everyone prefers Brendan Fraser to him, when really he should be reflecting on why everyone prefers leprosy to him. Jack Diamond must contend with a man wanting to re-enact the crap Wicker Man’s ending on him because he thinks he cucked him.
Fox pauses and drinks some more tea to sooth his throat from that little rant. Cup drained, he sets it aside on small table.
Still, there’s two very important names I’m not mentioning there: our current champion and last year’s Rumble winner. Well, their pre-show activities aren’t that important because they’ve already signed their own death warrants for earlier in the event.
Fox leans back in the arm chair, tutting and shaking his head.
Oh dear, Super Frenemies, it seems your overconfidence really will be your undoing. You just had to cash in those tag team contendership points for the night of the Rumble, didn’t you? I suppose you though that two on two you’d be able to sneak past Top of the Class. Unlikely, though not impossible. Now though? Now you’ve got yourself caught up in a triple threat against Off The Wagon, a team that has consistently had your number, and the new tag team champions, two men with a penchant for ultraviolence and a particular dislike for murderers.
A sick grin spreads across his face as Fox leans forward.
Tell me Dylan, how much good is entering last in the Rumble going to do for you after Randy Angel can-cans your balls again and my husband finally gets to inflict some justice on you for what you did to the people of Tokyo?
Fox leaves a moment’s pause for any answer Dylan could conceivably stammer out before calmly settling back and pouring himself another cup of tea.
Zoran Sainovic is already a dead man walking. I proved that at GUNS last week. Now you’ve ensured that by the time you enter the Rumble you will be as well, Dylan. So thank you, for making what was already going to be a routine task for me even easier.
Fox adds two sugars and some milk, stirring briskly, then bringing to his lips. Before he can have a sip however, he pauses, as though noticing something.
Huh, I did the same kind of promo I said I wasn’t going to bother with this year.
He thinks about it for a moment more, then shrugs.
Ah well, sometimes the classics really are the best...
You.
He suddenly turns on his heel, to see that he is indeed not alone. At the other end of the corridor stands Feral. The other man is also in street clothes, but still has his face covered with his wrestling mask.
Now you’re an interesting one.
Fox starts to work towards him. Feral doesn’t move; neither does he make a sound.
See, I get Jackalope showing up. The gem is tied into the destruction of his home. Misha sticking his nose in was a given since Max seems determined to goad him into it for some reason, and of course wherever there’s Misha you’ll invariably get Johnny Five. But you...
Fox reaches Feral. The two being of a height, he stares into the masked man’s eyes.
...you I don’t understand. What’s your interest in this? You someone with a past with Max? With SEIRIOS? Or are you just in this for a payoff?
I’m in this for you.
Fox blinks. With words like that he’d expect anger, or maybe the arrogance of a hunter seeking a trophy. But the tone in the young man’s voice was… sad, somehow. Resigned. He buried his reaction and brought back his smile.
I’m flattered, but I’m afraid I’m happily married.
Feral tilts his head.
“Happily.”?
As fast as it appeared, Fox’s smile vanishes. Not just at the dig. There was something about Feral’s voice. Something almost familiar that he couldn’t place.
I’d strongly advise you not to make me angry. If Zoran Sainovic has regained consciousness yet he can tell you what my ire feels like.
He can’t tell me anything I don’t already know. That’s why I’m here.
Fox’s smile returns with an extra frisson of condescension.
So you’re going to stop me, hmm?
If I have to.
Fox looks the other man over. The whole air of him felt… off. Like someone forced by necessity to play a role they despised. It was confusing, and starting to make his head hurt.
Well you have fun with that.
Fox turns back around and starts to walk away. He gets a couple of metres before…
Fox?
Fox stops. In spite of himself, he cranes his head around to look at the other man, who hasn’t moved an inch.
You can still stop this. It’s not too late.
Fox tries to smile. For some reason, he finds he can’t.
It really is.
He turns his head back and leaves. Feral watches him go.
I know.
So, this is the part where we go over the other entrants, I suppose. You know the routine: I dismiss the chaff, make a few cutting barbs on the people who theoretically have a chance, then talk about how I’m still going to win. It’s cheap and easy and practically mandatory for everyone’s Rumble promo cycle.
The sunroom is a prime example of Victorian upper class British interior design. Specifically built to allow for maximum daylight, its plush elegance exudes comfort through the screen. Certainly, Bloodied Fox looks very comfortable as he sips tea from fine china.
But let’s not kid ourselves, doing that this year is an utter waste of time. It’s not hard to see why. Everyone’s thinking it, they just haven’t got the balls to say it. Well, let me apply some testicles to the situation:
The 2023 XHF Rumble entry list is a fucking joke.
Keeping cup and saucer in a firm grip in one hand, Fox raises the other to ward off outraged responses only he can hear.
Before you even start with the vitriol, let’s deal with some cold hard facts: The 2020 XHF Rumble had sixty entrants. 2021 had fifty. 2022 fifty five. This year? Thirty. Just to give you some perspective on that, in the 2020 Rumble I entered at number 11. When I was finally eliminated by your beloved hero Zoran Sainovic stabbing my hand after he’d set an army of robots on all the remaining competitors, forty nine other people had already entered. That’s half again the entire fucking field of this year.
Then there’s the quality, or more accurately the complete lack thereof. The fact that Cheez honestly cracks the top ten likeliest winners list highlights the embarrassment of poverties that’s going on here. Pepsiman? The Star Trekker? Fucking Tinto the fucking orphan?! Yeah, those are the low hanging fruits, but it’s not much better further up the vine, is it? Career-long mediocrities old and new like Wellington Dunne and AVB. Interchangeable GUNS meat slabs like Redmond Fury and Beef...
No, I’m not doing the extra e’s...
Some guy named after the least worst Rob Zombie movie. Wildcat Capone, who was the most useless person on my GUNS Fight Club team. Florida Man, who I’m surprised hasn’t been headhunted by Ron DeSantis to start murdering trans kids yet.
Of course, there are some credible names mixed in there to try and save this from reaching Royal Rumble 1995 depths of barrel scraping. Pity they’re all too busy distracting themselves with other shit, isn’t it? Lord Dominicus is obsessed with yelling at HKW roster for not entering rather than thinking about anyone in the match. Cross Recoba’s balancing the TAPOUT books. Jesse Jamester is understandably trying to track down whoever blew up his house. Natasha’s stoned out of her mind yet again. Esmeralda von Krauss is helping treat us all to a Donzig origin story, because when I see a giant pile of dog shit in the street my first thought is always “Wow, I wonder what mongrel’s sphincter shat that out?!”. Steve Awesome’s pouting that everyone prefers Brendan Fraser to him, when really he should be reflecting on why everyone prefers leprosy to him. Jack Diamond must contend with a man wanting to re-enact the crap Wicker Man’s ending on him because he thinks he cucked him.
Fox pauses and drinks some more tea to sooth his throat from that little rant. Cup drained, he sets it aside on small table.
Still, there’s two very important names I’m not mentioning there: our current champion and last year’s Rumble winner. Well, their pre-show activities aren’t that important because they’ve already signed their own death warrants for earlier in the event.
Fox leans back in the arm chair, tutting and shaking his head.
Oh dear, Super Frenemies, it seems your overconfidence really will be your undoing. You just had to cash in those tag team contendership points for the night of the Rumble, didn’t you? I suppose you though that two on two you’d be able to sneak past Top of the Class. Unlikely, though not impossible. Now though? Now you’ve got yourself caught up in a triple threat against Off The Wagon, a team that has consistently had your number, and the new tag team champions, two men with a penchant for ultraviolence and a particular dislike for murderers.
A sick grin spreads across his face as Fox leans forward.
Tell me Dylan, how much good is entering last in the Rumble going to do for you after Randy Angel can-cans your balls again and my husband finally gets to inflict some justice on you for what you did to the people of Tokyo?
Fox leaves a moment’s pause for any answer Dylan could conceivably stammer out before calmly settling back and pouring himself another cup of tea.
Zoran Sainovic is already a dead man walking. I proved that at GUNS last week. Now you’ve ensured that by the time you enter the Rumble you will be as well, Dylan. So thank you, for making what was already going to be a routine task for me even easier.
Fox adds two sugars and some milk, stirring briskly, then bringing to his lips. Before he can have a sip however, he pauses, as though noticing something.
Huh, I did the same kind of promo I said I wasn’t going to bother with this year.
He thinks about it for a moment more, then shrugs.
Ah well, sometimes the classics really are the best...