"That'll be the rip-cord in my destiny..." (TTA 1st round)
Oct 4, 2023 14:50:19 GMT -5
Dave D-Flipz likes this
Post by bloodiedfox on Oct 4, 2023 14:50:19 GMT -5
H.R. Car-Wolf stood and silently watched his father lying in a hospital bed.
This wasn’t what he wanted to do. He wanted to scream. He wanted to roar. He wanted to seize the man responsible for this and tear his limbs off one by one. But that would fix nothing now. Killing Bloodied Fox would not magically bring Armbishi out of the coma he’d been in since the stabbing at GUNS. Bob had double-checked.
The hulking part werewolf/part eldritch vehicle didn’t turn his head at the noise beside him. When all five of your senses are far sharper than any human not much surprises you, but even without those he’d have known it was Jack Gaines. His Godfather’s tag partner wordlessly handed him a cup of terrible hospital coffee as he had countless times before. With Uncle Brendan having to tend to his responsibilities as JROK Visual Kei champion, Bob and Dilbert being busy with some secret project, and Mama not being able to get into the building without demolishing half of it due to being a car-shaped abomination, it had just been the two of them for a while now.
It was Jack who finally broke the silence.
You’ll go mad if you stay here.
H.R. emptied the styrofoam cup into his fanged maw. It tasted like shit, same as always.
I don’t know where else to go.
Home?
H.R. shook his disturbingly phallic head.
It doesn’t feel right without Pa Pa there.
Then you need a third option.
H.R. looked at him. There was something in the tone of Jack’s voice that gave the sentence the air of beckoning.
Such as?
Well, End of Days is coming up…
Uncle Brendan didn’t want me running off wrestling.
Uncle Brendan didn’t want you running off and trying to kill his estranged husband. Given that, he wouldn’t be too happy if you entered the singles tournament. The Tag Team Annihilator, on the other hand…
Jack gave him a wolfish grin.
Well, he can hardly complain if you and someone else go and crack some skulls to try and get a tag title shot, can he?
H.R. turned and looked down at Jack, as though assessing him.
Why are you doing this?
Doing what?
Going against what you know Uncle Brendan wants; encouraging me to go fight people.
Silence. Jack looked up at him, and for the first time ever H.R. could swear he saw the flicker of an actual emotion in the man’s eyes.
Because I know what this feels like.
It was sadness.
I spent 6 months watching my mum die slowly in a hospital bed. I was 7. Maybe I was always destined to be this empty hollow thing, but whatever hope there was I could be an actual functioning human being died with her. I would give anything… fucking anything!... to step into that place and time and tell that little boy to run and never look back. But I can’t. All I can do is tell you what you already know: you can’t save him, but you can save yourself.
Silence returned. They looked at each other for a long moment. Then H.R. turned and walked away. Jack watched him leave with a sad smile, which then became a grimace as he confirmed for himself that the coffee still tasted like shit.
Darkness. A spotlight. H.R.Car-Wolf.
Motor City Mafia. I hope you realise that this isn’t personal. Under any other circumstances I’d want you to succeed. A career long journeyman and someone whose only claim to fame was holding the tag titles for a month in the old XHF is one heck of an underdog story. But that isn’t the story that’s going to be told this Sunday. No, the story that day is going to be survival of the fittest. It’s going to be overwhelming power overwhelming. It’s going to be two men whose best days were over before I was even born coming to an unfortunate end.
Another spotlight beside the first. It bear-ly illuminates all of Triple B, the Big Bad Bear. From the silver disk hanging from his neck we hear the dulcet tones of Sir Patrick Stewart.
Gentlemen, you are about to learn that nature is blood red in Tooth and Claw. If you’ll pardon my language, we are going to fuck your shit up.
The abomination and the ursine fistbump. The lights go out.
This wasn’t what he wanted to do. He wanted to scream. He wanted to roar. He wanted to seize the man responsible for this and tear his limbs off one by one. But that would fix nothing now. Killing Bloodied Fox would not magically bring Armbishi out of the coma he’d been in since the stabbing at GUNS. Bob had double-checked.
The hulking part werewolf/part eldritch vehicle didn’t turn his head at the noise beside him. When all five of your senses are far sharper than any human not much surprises you, but even without those he’d have known it was Jack Gaines. His Godfather’s tag partner wordlessly handed him a cup of terrible hospital coffee as he had countless times before. With Uncle Brendan having to tend to his responsibilities as JROK Visual Kei champion, Bob and Dilbert being busy with some secret project, and Mama not being able to get into the building without demolishing half of it due to being a car-shaped abomination, it had just been the two of them for a while now.
It was Jack who finally broke the silence.
You’ll go mad if you stay here.
H.R. emptied the styrofoam cup into his fanged maw. It tasted like shit, same as always.
I don’t know where else to go.
Home?
H.R. shook his disturbingly phallic head.
It doesn’t feel right without Pa Pa there.
Then you need a third option.
H.R. looked at him. There was something in the tone of Jack’s voice that gave the sentence the air of beckoning.
Such as?
Well, End of Days is coming up…
Uncle Brendan didn’t want me running off wrestling.
Uncle Brendan didn’t want you running off and trying to kill his estranged husband. Given that, he wouldn’t be too happy if you entered the singles tournament. The Tag Team Annihilator, on the other hand…
Jack gave him a wolfish grin.
Well, he can hardly complain if you and someone else go and crack some skulls to try and get a tag title shot, can he?
H.R. turned and looked down at Jack, as though assessing him.
Why are you doing this?
Doing what?
Going against what you know Uncle Brendan wants; encouraging me to go fight people.
Silence. Jack looked up at him, and for the first time ever H.R. could swear he saw the flicker of an actual emotion in the man’s eyes.
Because I know what this feels like.
It was sadness.
I spent 6 months watching my mum die slowly in a hospital bed. I was 7. Maybe I was always destined to be this empty hollow thing, but whatever hope there was I could be an actual functioning human being died with her. I would give anything… fucking anything!... to step into that place and time and tell that little boy to run and never look back. But I can’t. All I can do is tell you what you already know: you can’t save him, but you can save yourself.
Silence returned. They looked at each other for a long moment. Then H.R. turned and walked away. Jack watched him leave with a sad smile, which then became a grimace as he confirmed for himself that the coffee still tasted like shit.
Darkness. A spotlight. H.R.Car-Wolf.
Motor City Mafia. I hope you realise that this isn’t personal. Under any other circumstances I’d want you to succeed. A career long journeyman and someone whose only claim to fame was holding the tag titles for a month in the old XHF is one heck of an underdog story. But that isn’t the story that’s going to be told this Sunday. No, the story that day is going to be survival of the fittest. It’s going to be overwhelming power overwhelming. It’s going to be two men whose best days were over before I was even born coming to an unfortunate end.
Another spotlight beside the first. It bear-ly illuminates all of Triple B, the Big Bad Bear. From the silver disk hanging from his neck we hear the dulcet tones of Sir Patrick Stewart.
Gentlemen, you are about to learn that nature is blood red in Tooth and Claw. If you’ll pardon my language, we are going to fuck your shit up.
The abomination and the ursine fistbump. The lights go out.