Post by Dave D-Flipz on Jun 20, 2023 22:36:13 GMT -5
*The scene opens up shortly after Tapout 13’s big six man tag match. A weary and busted up hunter stalks his way to the gorilla position. He stops as he comes through the curtains as he sees a shadow in the corner, just out of sight. He smirks and diverts his path over to the man who clearly had been watching the match with great interest.*
Merric: Well that match was a beaut! I’d say an ace performance wouldn’t you?
*The man just chuckles. Aiden gets serious for a moment and pulls something out from the pouch on his left chest from his bandolier. It is a vial full of black ichor. And the whole vial is wrapped in a shred of white cloth.*
Merric: And here is proof of it. See when I set out to do something, I don’t stop until it’s done right. And I got me my trophies. Well two of three. The other one … well you’re closer to that target than me tonight. Point is, you’ve seen what I offer. Who else could have put down that mongrel ratbag as decisively as I did with these arms?
*The man steps into the light and we see it is Tapout Openweight Champion, Jack Diamond.*
Jack Diamond: Yes, quite impressive. A fine demonstration.
Merric: Glad we agree. I assume we will be working together then, if that performance was to your approval? The terms are to my liking.
*A smirk on the champ’s face as he looks at the card Aiden had given him so many moons ago when he first won the title.*
Jack Diamond: We’ll be in touch...
Merric: Bet on it. Yer lucky. Most people ain’t rich enough, smart enough, or tough enough to get a bastard like me on retainer. Look forward to hearing from ya.
Merric: BLOODY RAT BASTARD!
*We abruptly cut to the present day, as our favorite Aussie hunter extraordinaire hurls a can of Bastard Brew at the wall. It explodes and coats the wall, floor, a large trophy head of a 5 point buck, and … Tucker Bernard … with the foul amber suds.*
Tucker: Actually I don’t think it’s really him.
*Aiden snaps his head around in disbelief with a sharp exhale, an exasperated sigh.*
Merric: But it might as well be, Tuck. It’s the foul spawn of his tainted loins. The result of the Bastard broth making it’s way to the soup kettle of some poor shiela who likely didn’t know better. Or was drunk off her arse.
Tucker: Ugh, not sure I wanted to hear it explained THAT way, Merric.
*Aiden throws his hands up in more exasperation and begins to pace around.*
Merric: Why would Cross set me up against a guest star, and make it this little baby bloke bastard? This kid clearly needs to be taught a lesson in manners and respect!
Tucker: And yer the one to do it?
*Aiden wheels around and shouts at the top of his lungs*
Merric: FUCK NO! I ain’t know a single damn thing about manners and I sure as shit ain’t treating any drongo spawn of too much grog, a broken franger, and a hefty helping of the brown-eyed mullet with any respect. He ain’t earned a lick of it. He parades around on his daddy’s limited name recognition, claiming to be blessed by some deity he probably doesn’t even believe in, and surrounding himself with more talented folks to cover for his own lack of personality and talent. FUCK this little shitstain. I aims to take his head clean off his blessed bloody neck.
*Aiden sits down into his favorite lounge chair and begins firing an airsoft gun at the wall to calm himself down.*
Merric: Reach in the esky and grab me some amber fluid, Tuck. I need to reframe this entire setup. Need to mull it over in my head for a sec. What could a shonky sook like AVB want with an appearance here?
Tucker: Well his pops is from here isn’t he?
Merric: Don’t remind me. Ratty and I go back to AWF. I had his number then and I have his bastard’s number now.
*Aiden catches the can of Bastard Brew, tossed lightly by his portly not-manager. He pops it open and sips it, thinking.*
Merric: Nah I think I understand. This pissant is always needing to be the center of attention, to overcome the shortcomings in his own head. He knows he ain’t earned shit, ain’t done shit, ain’t WORTH shit. So he has to loudly proclaim his glory from every boozer, billabong and dunny. Especially the dunnies with this poser. See this is his chance to get his name to the masses. But he ain’t expected to get stuck against the likes of Main Event Merric. See I ain’t about to mess up my chances by blowing this one. Clearly Cross believes I can show this ratbag bastard son of a rat bastard the truth about what superior wrestlers look like. Tapout would look mighty bad if one of their marquee signings went and hosed up a guest spot. Especially to a silver spoon tossabout son of a Vegas washout. Except in this case the spoon is silver plated and made of stolen golden corral silverware.
*He downs the entirety of the beer and crushes the can on his face, mutilating the image of Rat Bastard on the can, then dumping it promptly in the recycling. Hey he is a bushman, he cares for the environment, he has to hunt in that.
Tucker: So this is just some ploy to impress his friends?
Merric: Sure, you saw what Steve Awesome had them do to the Disney boy. Scrawny nepotism hire like AVB? What does he bring to the party if not publicity and attention? He’s out to make his name at our expense. And I am the one to put his head squarely back up his own arsehole. See I am now on the job two times over though. It’s funny really. Two guys at each other’s throats, both paying me the big bucks. One wants me to represent his fed, maybe even eclipse his champion. And the other wants me to protect that very championship. I don’t think it’s nearly as duplicitous as what this kid is doing, trying to claim some favoritism from a deity. Anyone from Coober Pedy could tell him … God is dead. Ain’t no good omnipotent creator would put his favored creation through living in an arse hole like CP.
Tucker: As I’m sure our “learned” friend will be sure to point out to you.
Merric: Pfft, let him. There’s a reason I moved to the UK and then to the US. Step one: Get away from the mob and find a place where the standard of living is … actually being alive. Step two: Look at all those tasty gun laws across the pond! Step three: Profit.
*Aiden holds up three fingers then waves his hand off in a dismissive motion and laughs.*
Tucker: Can’t say ya didn’t get that done…
*Tucker reaches into the cooler and tosses him another beer*
Merric: Listen here ya Annoying Vexing Bastard … it takes a lot to get the apple to fall far from the tree. And it looks like you got all yer old man’s ego, attitude, and narcissism. Also a better grasp on hygiene … and none of the street smarts or actual talent. A revolutionary wanting for a revolution and settling for a mild objection… Yer pops is a right Cadbury Dero … but he could actually back up his words. He could manipulate people and stab’em in the back and not come out on the wrong end of the knife. But see, you? Yer just a wee bit too scrawny and inexperienced. You got the killer instinct but yer carrying a switchblade to a pistol duel. Ya ain’t on the level of the competition here in Tapout. Hell yer old man wasn’t either. What we have here is a sorry set of circumstances where Cross Recoba has a rolodex full of bodies he can throw to the wolves to sell tickets. And you missed the part where you were the food for the beasties to get them to put on a display. And well? I’m feeling that exhibitionist streak. Call it Vegas, call it money, call it good dirty fun.
*He twirls his longest knife in his hands as he laughs.*
Merric: AVB, hate to be the one to break it to you … but you are here to get a hometown pop and then be made an example of. Ain’t nothing “hardkore” about you. Yer just one of the bastards Cross keeps on retainer to trot out for the fans. And I’m the bastard he trots out to keep the local talent in line. See, Australia may be known for the deadliest fauna in the world. But ain’t nothing changed about the Down Under that ain’t the same as it’s been in the world since the stone age. You can worry about all the beasties I may or may not have tracked, hunted, killed, made trophies of …
*Aiden casually points the knife over his shoulder. Snake skin boots, crocodile skin belts, kangaroo pelt underwear, dingo tooth necklace, a jelly in a jar.*
Merric: What you should really worry about, and remember among all the info you retain about the best tiktoks and titty bars … is the lesson learned from Richard Connell. The most dangerous game is man. And the most dangerous man … is Aiden Merric. I can hear the hounds of Zaroff howling Alexander. Better count all your blessings, son.
*He licks his knife and scowls into the camera as we fade.*
Merric: Well that match was a beaut! I’d say an ace performance wouldn’t you?
*The man just chuckles. Aiden gets serious for a moment and pulls something out from the pouch on his left chest from his bandolier. It is a vial full of black ichor. And the whole vial is wrapped in a shred of white cloth.*
Merric: And here is proof of it. See when I set out to do something, I don’t stop until it’s done right. And I got me my trophies. Well two of three. The other one … well you’re closer to that target than me tonight. Point is, you’ve seen what I offer. Who else could have put down that mongrel ratbag as decisively as I did with these arms?
*The man steps into the light and we see it is Tapout Openweight Champion, Jack Diamond.*
Jack Diamond: Yes, quite impressive. A fine demonstration.
Merric: Glad we agree. I assume we will be working together then, if that performance was to your approval? The terms are to my liking.
*A smirk on the champ’s face as he looks at the card Aiden had given him so many moons ago when he first won the title.*
Jack Diamond: We’ll be in touch...
Merric: Bet on it. Yer lucky. Most people ain’t rich enough, smart enough, or tough enough to get a bastard like me on retainer. Look forward to hearing from ya.
Merric: BLOODY RAT BASTARD!
*We abruptly cut to the present day, as our favorite Aussie hunter extraordinaire hurls a can of Bastard Brew at the wall. It explodes and coats the wall, floor, a large trophy head of a 5 point buck, and … Tucker Bernard … with the foul amber suds.*
Tucker: Actually I don’t think it’s really him.
*Aiden snaps his head around in disbelief with a sharp exhale, an exasperated sigh.*
Merric: But it might as well be, Tuck. It’s the foul spawn of his tainted loins. The result of the Bastard broth making it’s way to the soup kettle of some poor shiela who likely didn’t know better. Or was drunk off her arse.
Tucker: Ugh, not sure I wanted to hear it explained THAT way, Merric.
*Aiden throws his hands up in more exasperation and begins to pace around.*
Merric: Why would Cross set me up against a guest star, and make it this little baby bloke bastard? This kid clearly needs to be taught a lesson in manners and respect!
Tucker: And yer the one to do it?
*Aiden wheels around and shouts at the top of his lungs*
Merric: FUCK NO! I ain’t know a single damn thing about manners and I sure as shit ain’t treating any drongo spawn of too much grog, a broken franger, and a hefty helping of the brown-eyed mullet with any respect. He ain’t earned a lick of it. He parades around on his daddy’s limited name recognition, claiming to be blessed by some deity he probably doesn’t even believe in, and surrounding himself with more talented folks to cover for his own lack of personality and talent. FUCK this little shitstain. I aims to take his head clean off his blessed bloody neck.
*Aiden sits down into his favorite lounge chair and begins firing an airsoft gun at the wall to calm himself down.*
Merric: Reach in the esky and grab me some amber fluid, Tuck. I need to reframe this entire setup. Need to mull it over in my head for a sec. What could a shonky sook like AVB want with an appearance here?
Tucker: Well his pops is from here isn’t he?
Merric: Don’t remind me. Ratty and I go back to AWF. I had his number then and I have his bastard’s number now.
*Aiden catches the can of Bastard Brew, tossed lightly by his portly not-manager. He pops it open and sips it, thinking.*
Merric: Nah I think I understand. This pissant is always needing to be the center of attention, to overcome the shortcomings in his own head. He knows he ain’t earned shit, ain’t done shit, ain’t WORTH shit. So he has to loudly proclaim his glory from every boozer, billabong and dunny. Especially the dunnies with this poser. See this is his chance to get his name to the masses. But he ain’t expected to get stuck against the likes of Main Event Merric. See I ain’t about to mess up my chances by blowing this one. Clearly Cross believes I can show this ratbag bastard son of a rat bastard the truth about what superior wrestlers look like. Tapout would look mighty bad if one of their marquee signings went and hosed up a guest spot. Especially to a silver spoon tossabout son of a Vegas washout. Except in this case the spoon is silver plated and made of stolen golden corral silverware.
*He downs the entirety of the beer and crushes the can on his face, mutilating the image of Rat Bastard on the can, then dumping it promptly in the recycling. Hey he is a bushman, he cares for the environment, he has to hunt in that.
Tucker: So this is just some ploy to impress his friends?
Merric: Sure, you saw what Steve Awesome had them do to the Disney boy. Scrawny nepotism hire like AVB? What does he bring to the party if not publicity and attention? He’s out to make his name at our expense. And I am the one to put his head squarely back up his own arsehole. See I am now on the job two times over though. It’s funny really. Two guys at each other’s throats, both paying me the big bucks. One wants me to represent his fed, maybe even eclipse his champion. And the other wants me to protect that very championship. I don’t think it’s nearly as duplicitous as what this kid is doing, trying to claim some favoritism from a deity. Anyone from Coober Pedy could tell him … God is dead. Ain’t no good omnipotent creator would put his favored creation through living in an arse hole like CP.
Tucker: As I’m sure our “learned” friend will be sure to point out to you.
Merric: Pfft, let him. There’s a reason I moved to the UK and then to the US. Step one: Get away from the mob and find a place where the standard of living is … actually being alive. Step two: Look at all those tasty gun laws across the pond! Step three: Profit.
*Aiden holds up three fingers then waves his hand off in a dismissive motion and laughs.*
Tucker: Can’t say ya didn’t get that done…
*Tucker reaches into the cooler and tosses him another beer*
Merric: Listen here ya Annoying Vexing Bastard … it takes a lot to get the apple to fall far from the tree. And it looks like you got all yer old man’s ego, attitude, and narcissism. Also a better grasp on hygiene … and none of the street smarts or actual talent. A revolutionary wanting for a revolution and settling for a mild objection… Yer pops is a right Cadbury Dero … but he could actually back up his words. He could manipulate people and stab’em in the back and not come out on the wrong end of the knife. But see, you? Yer just a wee bit too scrawny and inexperienced. You got the killer instinct but yer carrying a switchblade to a pistol duel. Ya ain’t on the level of the competition here in Tapout. Hell yer old man wasn’t either. What we have here is a sorry set of circumstances where Cross Recoba has a rolodex full of bodies he can throw to the wolves to sell tickets. And you missed the part where you were the food for the beasties to get them to put on a display. And well? I’m feeling that exhibitionist streak. Call it Vegas, call it money, call it good dirty fun.
*He twirls his longest knife in his hands as he laughs.*
Merric: AVB, hate to be the one to break it to you … but you are here to get a hometown pop and then be made an example of. Ain’t nothing “hardkore” about you. Yer just one of the bastards Cross keeps on retainer to trot out for the fans. And I’m the bastard he trots out to keep the local talent in line. See, Australia may be known for the deadliest fauna in the world. But ain’t nothing changed about the Down Under that ain’t the same as it’s been in the world since the stone age. You can worry about all the beasties I may or may not have tracked, hunted, killed, made trophies of …
*Aiden casually points the knife over his shoulder. Snake skin boots, crocodile skin belts, kangaroo pelt underwear, dingo tooth necklace, a jelly in a jar.*
Merric: What you should really worry about, and remember among all the info you retain about the best tiktoks and titty bars … is the lesson learned from Richard Connell. The most dangerous game is man. And the most dangerous man … is Aiden Merric. I can hear the hounds of Zaroff howling Alexander. Better count all your blessings, son.
*He licks his knife and scowls into the camera as we fade.*