Post by King on Feb 19, 2024 5:59:29 GMT
Stephen Terrella sits behind his desk in the Black Sands, making eye contact with a heavily tattooed man who seems uncertain as he enters the room. The man in his mid-thirties glances at Portia, holding an ice pack to her head, laying on the black leather couch positioned against the office wall, then back at Stephen, who spits tobacco juice into an empty water bottle.
"Bodhi, right?" Terrella points to the chair in front of him, offering the seat.
Bodhi approaches the chair, glancing back at Portia. "Is she okay, man? I can come back another time."
"I'd tell you the fucking story, but that shit will just piss me off again. She'll be ok, and the motherfucker that did it, won't be," Terrella explains.
"Damn, man." Bodhi takes a seat.
"I'm going to cut the bullshit and lay it out for you, Bodhi." Stephen leans back in his chair. "I asked around, and your name came out of more than one mouth as a guy that might want some easy money. Are you interested?"
"I guess it depends," Bodhi says, still unsure of the situation. "What are we talking about here?"
Terrella spits into the bottle again. "I'm looking to run some fights in this club, only these won't be the type that go through the fucking Nevada State Athletic Commission. It'd mostly be average people down on their luck fighting in tournaments for a few thousand bucks, only we're taking bets on these fights, too. That's why I need you. I put you in these tournaments, and we make sure the outcomes are always in the house's favor–"
Quickly catching on, Bodhi says, "You want someone willing to take a dive."
Terrella nods affirmatively. "That a problem?"
"I don't know, this is some serious shit, man." Bodhi is visibly apprehensive as well. "I've done plenty of amateur MMA fights, but nothing like this."
"You make it look like these people have a chance, you can take the purse plus a cut of the vig. But win or lose, I'll make sure you walk out of here with at least five grand in your pocket at the end of the night. I'm looking to run twelve of these a year, so you do the math."
Bodhi runs his hands through his hair, wrestling with the decision. "Can I think about it?"
"Yeah," Terrella says. "I'll give you two weeks. You got my number. If you're in, let me know."
"Ok, man, yeah." Bodhi turns as he hears the door open behind him, and sees Brandy Cvetkova walking in.
"Damn it, Brandy, can't you fucking knock?!" Terrella shakes his head.
"You said six, and it's six." She shrugs.
Portia lifts the ice pack off her head, looking around the room to see what's going on.
"I should probably go," Bodhi says.
—------------------
One hour later…
Perched on the desk corner inside the Black Sands office, the Black Widow exhales a cloud of smoke as she pulls her cigarette away from her lips. Behind the desk, Portia sulks as she presses an ice pack to her face where the cage door had hit her at Metamorphosis. To Portia's left, Stephen Terrella stands seething at the thought of Tyson Everest and Charlie Van Ruth. With each heavy breath, his broad shoulders rise and fall.
"Everest… Van Ruth, did you think I gave a rat's ass what you needed…?" Terrella's low voice carries an anger with it as his eyes fixate on the floor. "You stood in the middle of that ring -our ring- after you struck my angel in the face with a cage door, and you had the balls to say you're on top of the mountain where you fucking belong…"
Terrella lifts his head so his eyes meet the camera's gaze. "I'm going to say this shit slowly, and I'm going to say it loud, that way you two stupid motherfuckers understand me– that shit was never going to slide. The moment you slammed that cage door in her" -Stephen points to Portia- "face, this shit went way past fucking personal! This stopped just being about the rankings, or the money!… This stopped being about just running the Kings of fucking Flight out of the IWF!… This shit became about us burying your hotshot, smart-mouthed fucking asses!"
"Which is exactly what we fucking did at Sacrifice."
"Now I know, wherever you are, whatever you're doing, you're feeling that pain and that fucking embassment… and you're already talking yourselves into coming back, because as many times as we're beaten you down, I've learned that's what you do… you come back. If you piece yourselves back together enough to get cleared though, I'm telling you both, every time we see you, it's going to be the same damn thing again. We'll punish you until we break your fucking spirits!"
"Watch how easily those people you cherish so dearly will forget you then," the Widow says. 'It is a cruel, fickle world, after all."
"As much as we all want to believe we're special, none of us are. Tyson… Charlie, I have tried so hard to show you that… to break through the walls of your own arrogance, but you continue to see yourselves as the victims here… and someone with that victim mindset is always looking for a villain to blame and a situation to suffer from."
Brandy tilts her head to the side, a movement eerily reminiscent of her boyfriend, Wraith. "I want you to take a long, hard look in the mirror, and I want you to ask yourselves: are you really the saints you portray yourselves to be?"
"What makes your selfish desires more noble than ours?"
"One could argue our methods are more pure because you'll find no false pretenses here. We may be violent, impulsive and calloused… but when have we ever tried to pretend we were something that we are not? We are predators, and I am comfortable in my skin."
"If that makes me the villain, so be it. I won't starve for the benefit of other people's misguided morals." Brandy hocks a loogie into the trash can beside the desk, an uncouth act that encapsulates her crude nature.
Terrella rubs at his chin, giving thought to the week that lies ahead. "The Kings of Flight ain't going to be at Odyssey this week though, and somehow that shit lands me back inside a ring with Jennie Fenix… only this time, she's got her fat fucking boyfriend riding shotgun while I got Brandy here. That shit is alright though because, Fenix, you and I both know the deal– you're playing hurt, and you can't say you ain't. You got to be. Brook beat your ass in that Dragon's Den match… and even if the better woman didn't win, she sure as hell got a pound of your flesh."
"That leaves you two choices– suck it up, tag in, and make our lives a hell of a lot easier; or let Chaney do the bulk of the heavy lifting, and hope he doesn't get knocked out by his own gut rolling around under that fucking Cheeto stained shirt. Tough spot, Fenix. Damn tough spot. But you ain't going to find any sympathy here. I got one goal, and that shit hasn't changed since the last time we fought- and that's to send your family a message written in your blood that I still want those tag team titles, only this time I'll get to see if the Comedian really bleeds Kansas City red, too.'
"The Comedian." Brandy inhales deeply from her cigarette, then blows a cloud of smoke into the air as she ponders what is in a name. "They say that by using humor as a coping mechanism, people are able to bear the burden of suffering or misfortune. I find that fascinating, Allen, because it makes me wonder what happened to you that might have fucked you up half as bad as I am…"
Brandy snuffs out her cigarette by driving the hot ash into her own leg and twisting. "Allow me to share a secret with you, Allen… those laughs you seek, they're an addiction. When you look for approval from a society that wouldn't take the time to piss on you if you were on fire, you'll only find an anchor that will drag you under until you drown. They can't save you, Allen, nor do they care to, no matter how much you make them laugh. The very moment they've drunk the last drop of blood from your veins like the vampires they are, they'll cast you aside like trash. Take it from a girl that knows what it is to be discarded."
"A therapist would never tell you this, but it's far easier, and healthier, to just give in to your more violent urges. Whatever this world has done to you, punish a world that has punished you. Pain, no matter which end of it you're on, can be cathartic if you let it. Again, take it from a girl that knows."
"Your girlfriend's sister held this hand" -Brandy holds up her right hand, which is adorned with a black leather glove that runs the length of her forearm- "in the fire, and you know what I thought about in that moment…?"
"Absolutely nothing but the pain."
"I didn't think about how my father abandoned me… or what this world has done to me… that pain, it was an escape. My flesh may have been burnt and blistered, but for a fleeting moment, I was in a state of ecstasy. I crave those highs."
Stephen and Portia exchange puzzled looks as they gaze upon the Black Widow. Terrella brushes it off, unwilling to delve into this revelation with his tag team partner. The Black Widow continues on, "And as for you, Jennie, what a tangled web we have woven. I can't fucking run you down again, I suppose, even if the poetry of doing it again after your second world title win would be beautiful. I will help my partner make you bleed though if only to spill some blood in the water to watch the sharks feed."
Terrella concludes, "And when shit is all said and done, we're going to stack two more bodies on the fucking pile because violence is what we do."
"Bodhi, right?" Terrella points to the chair in front of him, offering the seat.
Bodhi approaches the chair, glancing back at Portia. "Is she okay, man? I can come back another time."
"I'd tell you the fucking story, but that shit will just piss me off again. She'll be ok, and the motherfucker that did it, won't be," Terrella explains.
"Damn, man." Bodhi takes a seat.
"I'm going to cut the bullshit and lay it out for you, Bodhi." Stephen leans back in his chair. "I asked around, and your name came out of more than one mouth as a guy that might want some easy money. Are you interested?"
"I guess it depends," Bodhi says, still unsure of the situation. "What are we talking about here?"
Terrella spits into the bottle again. "I'm looking to run some fights in this club, only these won't be the type that go through the fucking Nevada State Athletic Commission. It'd mostly be average people down on their luck fighting in tournaments for a few thousand bucks, only we're taking bets on these fights, too. That's why I need you. I put you in these tournaments, and we make sure the outcomes are always in the house's favor–"
Quickly catching on, Bodhi says, "You want someone willing to take a dive."
Terrella nods affirmatively. "That a problem?"
"I don't know, this is some serious shit, man." Bodhi is visibly apprehensive as well. "I've done plenty of amateur MMA fights, but nothing like this."
"You make it look like these people have a chance, you can take the purse plus a cut of the vig. But win or lose, I'll make sure you walk out of here with at least five grand in your pocket at the end of the night. I'm looking to run twelve of these a year, so you do the math."
Bodhi runs his hands through his hair, wrestling with the decision. "Can I think about it?"
"Yeah," Terrella says. "I'll give you two weeks. You got my number. If you're in, let me know."
"Ok, man, yeah." Bodhi turns as he hears the door open behind him, and sees Brandy Cvetkova walking in.
"Damn it, Brandy, can't you fucking knock?!" Terrella shakes his head.
"You said six, and it's six." She shrugs.
Portia lifts the ice pack off her head, looking around the room to see what's going on.
"I should probably go," Bodhi says.
—------------------
One hour later…
Perched on the desk corner inside the Black Sands office, the Black Widow exhales a cloud of smoke as she pulls her cigarette away from her lips. Behind the desk, Portia sulks as she presses an ice pack to her face where the cage door had hit her at Metamorphosis. To Portia's left, Stephen Terrella stands seething at the thought of Tyson Everest and Charlie Van Ruth. With each heavy breath, his broad shoulders rise and fall.
"Everest… Van Ruth, did you think I gave a rat's ass what you needed…?" Terrella's low voice carries an anger with it as his eyes fixate on the floor. "You stood in the middle of that ring -our ring- after you struck my angel in the face with a cage door, and you had the balls to say you're on top of the mountain where you fucking belong…"
Terrella lifts his head so his eyes meet the camera's gaze. "I'm going to say this shit slowly, and I'm going to say it loud, that way you two stupid motherfuckers understand me– that shit was never going to slide. The moment you slammed that cage door in her" -Stephen points to Portia- "face, this shit went way past fucking personal! This stopped just being about the rankings, or the money!… This stopped being about just running the Kings of fucking Flight out of the IWF!… This shit became about us burying your hotshot, smart-mouthed fucking asses!"
"Which is exactly what we fucking did at Sacrifice."
"Now I know, wherever you are, whatever you're doing, you're feeling that pain and that fucking embassment… and you're already talking yourselves into coming back, because as many times as we're beaten you down, I've learned that's what you do… you come back. If you piece yourselves back together enough to get cleared though, I'm telling you both, every time we see you, it's going to be the same damn thing again. We'll punish you until we break your fucking spirits!"
"Watch how easily those people you cherish so dearly will forget you then," the Widow says. 'It is a cruel, fickle world, after all."
"As much as we all want to believe we're special, none of us are. Tyson… Charlie, I have tried so hard to show you that… to break through the walls of your own arrogance, but you continue to see yourselves as the victims here… and someone with that victim mindset is always looking for a villain to blame and a situation to suffer from."
Brandy tilts her head to the side, a movement eerily reminiscent of her boyfriend, Wraith. "I want you to take a long, hard look in the mirror, and I want you to ask yourselves: are you really the saints you portray yourselves to be?"
"What makes your selfish desires more noble than ours?"
"One could argue our methods are more pure because you'll find no false pretenses here. We may be violent, impulsive and calloused… but when have we ever tried to pretend we were something that we are not? We are predators, and I am comfortable in my skin."
"If that makes me the villain, so be it. I won't starve for the benefit of other people's misguided morals." Brandy hocks a loogie into the trash can beside the desk, an uncouth act that encapsulates her crude nature.
Terrella rubs at his chin, giving thought to the week that lies ahead. "The Kings of Flight ain't going to be at Odyssey this week though, and somehow that shit lands me back inside a ring with Jennie Fenix… only this time, she's got her fat fucking boyfriend riding shotgun while I got Brandy here. That shit is alright though because, Fenix, you and I both know the deal– you're playing hurt, and you can't say you ain't. You got to be. Brook beat your ass in that Dragon's Den match… and even if the better woman didn't win, she sure as hell got a pound of your flesh."
"That leaves you two choices– suck it up, tag in, and make our lives a hell of a lot easier; or let Chaney do the bulk of the heavy lifting, and hope he doesn't get knocked out by his own gut rolling around under that fucking Cheeto stained shirt. Tough spot, Fenix. Damn tough spot. But you ain't going to find any sympathy here. I got one goal, and that shit hasn't changed since the last time we fought- and that's to send your family a message written in your blood that I still want those tag team titles, only this time I'll get to see if the Comedian really bleeds Kansas City red, too.'
"The Comedian." Brandy inhales deeply from her cigarette, then blows a cloud of smoke into the air as she ponders what is in a name. "They say that by using humor as a coping mechanism, people are able to bear the burden of suffering or misfortune. I find that fascinating, Allen, because it makes me wonder what happened to you that might have fucked you up half as bad as I am…"
Brandy snuffs out her cigarette by driving the hot ash into her own leg and twisting. "Allow me to share a secret with you, Allen… those laughs you seek, they're an addiction. When you look for approval from a society that wouldn't take the time to piss on you if you were on fire, you'll only find an anchor that will drag you under until you drown. They can't save you, Allen, nor do they care to, no matter how much you make them laugh. The very moment they've drunk the last drop of blood from your veins like the vampires they are, they'll cast you aside like trash. Take it from a girl that knows what it is to be discarded."
"A therapist would never tell you this, but it's far easier, and healthier, to just give in to your more violent urges. Whatever this world has done to you, punish a world that has punished you. Pain, no matter which end of it you're on, can be cathartic if you let it. Again, take it from a girl that knows."
"Your girlfriend's sister held this hand" -Brandy holds up her right hand, which is adorned with a black leather glove that runs the length of her forearm- "in the fire, and you know what I thought about in that moment…?"
"Absolutely nothing but the pain."
"I didn't think about how my father abandoned me… or what this world has done to me… that pain, it was an escape. My flesh may have been burnt and blistered, but for a fleeting moment, I was in a state of ecstasy. I crave those highs."
Stephen and Portia exchange puzzled looks as they gaze upon the Black Widow. Terrella brushes it off, unwilling to delve into this revelation with his tag team partner. The Black Widow continues on, "And as for you, Jennie, what a tangled web we have woven. I can't fucking run you down again, I suppose, even if the poetry of doing it again after your second world title win would be beautiful. I will help my partner make you bleed though if only to spill some blood in the water to watch the sharks feed."
Terrella concludes, "And when shit is all said and done, we're going to stack two more bodies on the fucking pile because violence is what we do."
Well howdy there pardner.