Azad; or The Player of Games (X*Crown RP#2)
Sept 24, 2023 9:21:22 GMT -5
Dave D-Flipz and Jesse Jamester like this
Post by bloodiedfox on Sept 24, 2023 9:21:22 GMT -5
The bone was warm beneath his touch. Was that normal? Should bone be warm? What even constituted normal when it came to grown architecture? Bloodied Fox was so preoccupied with these thoughts he nearly missed what Submaxiswear said to him.
Why bother attacking the doctor?
Hmmm?
Fox turned, brain processing the words.
Ah.
He shrugged.
Why not?
Submaxiswear, sitting in the glow of the gem as he had been any time he’d seen him outside of matches since the Bone Church had risen, gave Fox a look that somehow translated his exact response to that even underneath that all encompassing white mask. Fox responded with a look of his own.
No, it is not because I still have some feeling for Brendan.
Submaxiswear let the silence hang for a long moment before replying.
If you say so.
I do.
Then there isn’t a problem.
Good.
Indeed.
Another long pause.
Why do I get the impression you don’t believe me?
Your neuroses are not my concern, Fox. You can choose not to believe what I say, but do consider that I have not lied to you before.
Because it’s benefitted you.
Yes, and you as well. We are working together because it is of mutual benefit. There is no reason for me to lie to you.
Fox gave him the ghost of a smile.
Yet.
Submaxiswear responded in kind.
Yet.
Fox couldn’t help but chuckle.
And here’s Cross Recoba saying I’m just your pawn.
A pawn? Ridiculous. You’re at least a rook.
Fox laughed.
Chess jokes? Really?
Submaxiswear tilted his head inquisitively.
Would you prefer checkers?
Fox smiled.
Keep developing a sense of humour and I might actually start to trust you.
That would be a very poor decision.
I know. Still, it is tempting to believe.
Yes, for me as well. But neither of us are that naïve. We will always be waiting for the dagger in the back.
Fox nodded. He almost looked sad.
Well, at the very least we can try and do it in the front instead.
Perhaps.
Why should I be afraid of how history will see me, Cross? After all, it’s written by the victors.
Fox sits upon a hilltop, looking out over the forest. At an angle to the camera, his face is only partly visible. What we can see of it seems almost amused.
And why, exactly, should I care about being called a hypocrite by someone who is practically the dictionary definition of the word? You laud your world championship in a company you actively despise; a championship you won because Marty Donovan’s cheating backfired, subsequently lost to Kalmin Watts when the playing field was level, managed to claw back when you were fresh and he was on his second match of the night, and retained because you could use the iron man rules to take one fall for bludgeoning a chair apart on him. You claim all my achievements in the AWF were because of LGBTKO when you had Chris Card holding your hand the entire time you were there and you still achieved sweet fuck all. You deride me for using the XHF Network’s jet, a perk of holding the X*Crown, to travel in and out of a state whose legislators have made it very clear they think people like me should not exist, like you’re some fucking salt of the earth man of the people instead of an anthropomorphic tick grown fat on blood money.
He chuckles and shakes his head.
I never claimed that this was going to be some squeaky clean single-handed triumph of a title reign. I already did that when I made the XHF Junior Heavyweight title actually mean something for the first time in… well, ever. The XHF fans…
The disdain in his voice as he says that is so acidic you can practically feel your eardrums melting.
…decided that it didn’t matter what someone did, only that they were successful. So in turn I decided to do whatever was convenient to get the results I wanted. Yes, I’ve had my colleagues run in and help me in previous matches. Yes, there’s every possibility that they’ll do it in our match too. The only reason you don’t do the same thing is because you have no-one on your side. You got fed up being Chris Card Jr and ran away from home…
He stops and looks thoughtful for a second.
Huh, your constant harping on about me being nothing but a Seth Dillinger clone really is projection, isn’t it?...
He nods to himself, then continues.
…and of course we all know how things went down with Dakota Jennings, though at least you got to keep custody of the creepily named finisher in the split. The best you can manage is droning on about how Las Vegas is ‘your backyard’, which I guess means you’ll get some of your mafia friends to try and ‘whack’ me or whatever because apparently you really enjoy living down to every stereotype about Italian Americans. It’s not like it means you think the fans are going to cheer you. You’d have to be fucking delusional not to notice the only reason I’m more disliked than you is I used to be on their side. No-one likes a traitor. That’s why I hate them, after all.
Fox stands up, casually brushing dirt of himself.
At the end of the day, Cross, this goes the same way it did when I beat you in the AWF, or when you were the only member of Team Boss Rush to get eliminated in round one of Call to Arms last year, or when you were tossed out of the Rumble for being in the way of dealing with the people who actually mattered: I beat you, you fuck off back to irrelevancy, and I focus on getting ready for whoever makes it through End of Days. Because however high you may think you are climbing, I will still be above you ready to kick you right back down where you belong.
And with that Fox walks out of shot, leaving us with his elevated view as we fade to black.
Why bother attacking the doctor?
Hmmm?
Fox turned, brain processing the words.
Ah.
He shrugged.
Why not?
Submaxiswear, sitting in the glow of the gem as he had been any time he’d seen him outside of matches since the Bone Church had risen, gave Fox a look that somehow translated his exact response to that even underneath that all encompassing white mask. Fox responded with a look of his own.
No, it is not because I still have some feeling for Brendan.
Submaxiswear let the silence hang for a long moment before replying.
If you say so.
I do.
Then there isn’t a problem.
Good.
Indeed.
Another long pause.
Why do I get the impression you don’t believe me?
Your neuroses are not my concern, Fox. You can choose not to believe what I say, but do consider that I have not lied to you before.
Because it’s benefitted you.
Yes, and you as well. We are working together because it is of mutual benefit. There is no reason for me to lie to you.
Fox gave him the ghost of a smile.
Yet.
Submaxiswear responded in kind.
Yet.
Fox couldn’t help but chuckle.
And here’s Cross Recoba saying I’m just your pawn.
A pawn? Ridiculous. You’re at least a rook.
Fox laughed.
Chess jokes? Really?
Submaxiswear tilted his head inquisitively.
Would you prefer checkers?
Fox smiled.
Keep developing a sense of humour and I might actually start to trust you.
That would be a very poor decision.
I know. Still, it is tempting to believe.
Yes, for me as well. But neither of us are that naïve. We will always be waiting for the dagger in the back.
Fox nodded. He almost looked sad.
Well, at the very least we can try and do it in the front instead.
Perhaps.
Why should I be afraid of how history will see me, Cross? After all, it’s written by the victors.
Fox sits upon a hilltop, looking out over the forest. At an angle to the camera, his face is only partly visible. What we can see of it seems almost amused.
And why, exactly, should I care about being called a hypocrite by someone who is practically the dictionary definition of the word? You laud your world championship in a company you actively despise; a championship you won because Marty Donovan’s cheating backfired, subsequently lost to Kalmin Watts when the playing field was level, managed to claw back when you were fresh and he was on his second match of the night, and retained because you could use the iron man rules to take one fall for bludgeoning a chair apart on him. You claim all my achievements in the AWF were because of LGBTKO when you had Chris Card holding your hand the entire time you were there and you still achieved sweet fuck all. You deride me for using the XHF Network’s jet, a perk of holding the X*Crown, to travel in and out of a state whose legislators have made it very clear they think people like me should not exist, like you’re some fucking salt of the earth man of the people instead of an anthropomorphic tick grown fat on blood money.
He chuckles and shakes his head.
I never claimed that this was going to be some squeaky clean single-handed triumph of a title reign. I already did that when I made the XHF Junior Heavyweight title actually mean something for the first time in… well, ever. The XHF fans…
The disdain in his voice as he says that is so acidic you can practically feel your eardrums melting.
…decided that it didn’t matter what someone did, only that they were successful. So in turn I decided to do whatever was convenient to get the results I wanted. Yes, I’ve had my colleagues run in and help me in previous matches. Yes, there’s every possibility that they’ll do it in our match too. The only reason you don’t do the same thing is because you have no-one on your side. You got fed up being Chris Card Jr and ran away from home…
He stops and looks thoughtful for a second.
Huh, your constant harping on about me being nothing but a Seth Dillinger clone really is projection, isn’t it?...
He nods to himself, then continues.
…and of course we all know how things went down with Dakota Jennings, though at least you got to keep custody of the creepily named finisher in the split. The best you can manage is droning on about how Las Vegas is ‘your backyard’, which I guess means you’ll get some of your mafia friends to try and ‘whack’ me or whatever because apparently you really enjoy living down to every stereotype about Italian Americans. It’s not like it means you think the fans are going to cheer you. You’d have to be fucking delusional not to notice the only reason I’m more disliked than you is I used to be on their side. No-one likes a traitor. That’s why I hate them, after all.
Fox stands up, casually brushing dirt of himself.
At the end of the day, Cross, this goes the same way it did when I beat you in the AWF, or when you were the only member of Team Boss Rush to get eliminated in round one of Call to Arms last year, or when you were tossed out of the Rumble for being in the way of dealing with the people who actually mattered: I beat you, you fuck off back to irrelevancy, and I focus on getting ready for whoever makes it through End of Days. Because however high you may think you are climbing, I will still be above you ready to kick you right back down where you belong.
And with that Fox walks out of shot, leaving us with his elevated view as we fade to black.