Post by Nick Hunter on Mar 26, 2018 3:15:03 GMT
We open on Nick Hunter standing on the balcony of his hotel room, sunglasses reflecting the setting Phoenix sun. He grins at the camera, sliding the sunglasses down briefly to make eye contact with the camera.
"Oh, y'all didn't think I wasn't gonna say more? Y'all was hopin' I'd stay quiet, stick to just tearing a hole in a couple of you and call it a day? I mean, I could rely on my athleticism and talent to take me through, but when there's so much to say, so many fools to smack upside the head...shit, leaving it unspoken would be a damn disservice. And unlike last time, I ain't givin' y'all the chance to volunteer. I know who I'm talkin' about. Couple fools who can't shut their damn mouths, braggin' how great their shit is. That's right, ladies and gentlemen, today we're talking about everyone's favorite furries in denial, the Pack. Starting with their main man, Dean Harper. Dean..."
Nick claps his hands together, as if in prayer, inhaling and leaning back slightly. He holds the pose for a moment, tight-lipped, before he leans forward again, letting out the air in his lungs in what might be described as a quick bark.
"BOY! You got the LITERAL devil in you! Do you have any comprehension of how fucked that is?! This is why cults are a fucking bad idea! They got you on some Get Out shit! I talked to people backstage, Dean! You used to be quiet, nerdy, kind of a loser but a good dude! You get involved with Rowan, all of a sudden you're all about hurtin' people, actin' some kinda psychopath? Huh? That how it goes? I ain't gonna say you tappin' that, because you made it damn clear that ain't what's going on, but she done SOMETHING to your ass to make you this way. Shit ain't right, fam."
Nick shakes his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose and taking a step back.
"Like, I'm a church-going man. My mama raised me a certain kinda way, and I like it that way. I ain't got no problem giving you the Jesus-approved ass-whooping you so clearly need. My grandmama always said some people need the Devil beat out of them, but until I got here I didn't think I'd ever meet someone who actually needed it. This is for your own good, homeboy. Power of Christ compels your ass to sit the fuck down."
Nick, ironically, does just that, sitting down in a lounge chair and sprawling out with a grin on his face. He stretches out, making full use of the chair's length to lean back and relax.
"Now, you ain't the only one I gotta worry about flyin' the freak flag. What about your boy Caleb Lockwood? Look, I'ma be straight here: dude looks like the last kind of person I wanna deal with. Twitchy-ass white boys with shaved heads who like curbstomping people? Yeah, fuck that noise and fuck you. I get you had a bad life. Livin' on the street, starving and shaking with cold. That shit sucks. But boy, you got your head on all kinds of wrong if you think the right response is to hook up with these motherfuckers. Either we ain't gettin' the whole story, or you've been a son of a bitch the entire time, just lookin' for an excuse. Well come on, motherfucker. You won't be the first skinhead I've beat the shit out of."
Nick pulls his sunglasses off for a second, rubbing his eyes, and takes a deep breath, exhaling again slowly.
"And then there's the third wheel in this little gang of fuckboys, Warren Kane. Warren, I'ma make something real clear right from the start: I don't give a FUCK that you're your daddy's boy. I don't care what you did to his ass. You both hoes, and you both gonna get what you got comin'. Nah, I care about the fact that you got your boys' backs. You three are the biggest group in this match, which means we gotta pick your asses off as you come. You ain't gonna end up back-to-back-to-back. I only got a little bit of time once I get in to get y'all gone before your boy Caleb shows up, so some of this gonna come down to luck. But that's alright, baby. Saints got all the luck in the world. Jesus Christ himself has blessed me with many gifts, and one of them is gonna be throwing your asses over the top so hard y'all end up in New Mexico."
Nick slips his sunglasses back on, grinning, and settles back again, folding his hands behind his head.
"We're coming for the throne, boys, and ain't nobody stoppin' us. Not a bunch of wolves, not some wannabe saviors, not anyone callin' themselves a god, nobody. It's gonna be one hell of a time in Phoenix for your boys, and anybody wanna stop us? Well, shit. Y'all can 'bow on up. It's our time. Can't nothing change that. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'ma get some last-minute relaxation in. I need my rest if I'm gonna fling your asses out of here. Peace, bitches."
Nick flashes a quick peace sign to the camera before shooing it away. The camera backs up, lingering on Nick for a moment before turning away as it fades to black.
"Oh, y'all didn't think I wasn't gonna say more? Y'all was hopin' I'd stay quiet, stick to just tearing a hole in a couple of you and call it a day? I mean, I could rely on my athleticism and talent to take me through, but when there's so much to say, so many fools to smack upside the head...shit, leaving it unspoken would be a damn disservice. And unlike last time, I ain't givin' y'all the chance to volunteer. I know who I'm talkin' about. Couple fools who can't shut their damn mouths, braggin' how great their shit is. That's right, ladies and gentlemen, today we're talking about everyone's favorite furries in denial, the Pack. Starting with their main man, Dean Harper. Dean..."
Nick claps his hands together, as if in prayer, inhaling and leaning back slightly. He holds the pose for a moment, tight-lipped, before he leans forward again, letting out the air in his lungs in what might be described as a quick bark.
"BOY! You got the LITERAL devil in you! Do you have any comprehension of how fucked that is?! This is why cults are a fucking bad idea! They got you on some Get Out shit! I talked to people backstage, Dean! You used to be quiet, nerdy, kind of a loser but a good dude! You get involved with Rowan, all of a sudden you're all about hurtin' people, actin' some kinda psychopath? Huh? That how it goes? I ain't gonna say you tappin' that, because you made it damn clear that ain't what's going on, but she done SOMETHING to your ass to make you this way. Shit ain't right, fam."
Nick shakes his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose and taking a step back.
"Like, I'm a church-going man. My mama raised me a certain kinda way, and I like it that way. I ain't got no problem giving you the Jesus-approved ass-whooping you so clearly need. My grandmama always said some people need the Devil beat out of them, but until I got here I didn't think I'd ever meet someone who actually needed it. This is for your own good, homeboy. Power of Christ compels your ass to sit the fuck down."
Nick, ironically, does just that, sitting down in a lounge chair and sprawling out with a grin on his face. He stretches out, making full use of the chair's length to lean back and relax.
"Now, you ain't the only one I gotta worry about flyin' the freak flag. What about your boy Caleb Lockwood? Look, I'ma be straight here: dude looks like the last kind of person I wanna deal with. Twitchy-ass white boys with shaved heads who like curbstomping people? Yeah, fuck that noise and fuck you. I get you had a bad life. Livin' on the street, starving and shaking with cold. That shit sucks. But boy, you got your head on all kinds of wrong if you think the right response is to hook up with these motherfuckers. Either we ain't gettin' the whole story, or you've been a son of a bitch the entire time, just lookin' for an excuse. Well come on, motherfucker. You won't be the first skinhead I've beat the shit out of."
Nick pulls his sunglasses off for a second, rubbing his eyes, and takes a deep breath, exhaling again slowly.
"And then there's the third wheel in this little gang of fuckboys, Warren Kane. Warren, I'ma make something real clear right from the start: I don't give a FUCK that you're your daddy's boy. I don't care what you did to his ass. You both hoes, and you both gonna get what you got comin'. Nah, I care about the fact that you got your boys' backs. You three are the biggest group in this match, which means we gotta pick your asses off as you come. You ain't gonna end up back-to-back-to-back. I only got a little bit of time once I get in to get y'all gone before your boy Caleb shows up, so some of this gonna come down to luck. But that's alright, baby. Saints got all the luck in the world. Jesus Christ himself has blessed me with many gifts, and one of them is gonna be throwing your asses over the top so hard y'all end up in New Mexico."
Nick slips his sunglasses back on, grinning, and settles back again, folding his hands behind his head.
"We're coming for the throne, boys, and ain't nobody stoppin' us. Not a bunch of wolves, not some wannabe saviors, not anyone callin' themselves a god, nobody. It's gonna be one hell of a time in Phoenix for your boys, and anybody wanna stop us? Well, shit. Y'all can 'bow on up. It's our time. Can't nothing change that. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'ma get some last-minute relaxation in. I need my rest if I'm gonna fling your asses out of here. Peace, bitches."
Nick flashes a quick peace sign to the camera before shooing it away. The camera backs up, lingering on Nick for a moment before turning away as it fades to black.
Nick walks back into his hotel room, a smile on his face. Nate is sprawled out on the bed, staring at the ceiling, eyes open as he taps out a rhythm on his thigh. Nick tilts his head, watching Nate for a second as he slowly swings the door closed. “You okay, bruh?”
“Hm?” Nate looks over, cocking an eyebrow. “Oh. Yeah. Fine, I guess.” He checks his nails idly. “You flew that girl out here, huh?”
Nick starts to protest, but falls silent, merely nodding. “Yeah. I did. They gave me comp tickets, and my folks had plans. Something wrong with that?”
“No, no.” Nate shakes his head, sitting up and turning to face Nick. “I just wanna make sure you’re not gonna lose focus ‘cause you’re trying to flex for this girl, understand me?”
Nick clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “Hooker, when have I EVER lost sight of the prize? Crunch time happens, I turn it on. Every time.”
Nate shrugs. “I mean, there was that time in Bossier City…”
Nick’s eyes widen, and Nate grins wickedly as he sees Nick’s impending reaction. He levels an accusing finger at Nate. “Fuck you, that doesn’t count! We both did stupid shit in Bossier City, and we agreed we’d never bring it up again!”
Nate puts his hands up, shrugging. “Alright, alright. I’m just saying you don’t have a spotless record when it comes to stuff like this. Didn’t you catch a pass one-handed with a game on the line just to impress one of the cheerleaders once in high school?”
“And it worked, didn’t it? I caught the damn pass and I impressed her.” Nick pauses, walking over, and sits down next to Nate, putting an arm around his best friend’s shoulders. “Bro, you got something to say, say it. I ain’t afraid of what you got to say, ‘cause I know it’s important.” He pats Nate on the shoulder. “You’re important. Hell, the whole reason we’re here is ‘cause of you. You worked overtime to get us into top team shape, and we made it.”
“It was your idea in the first place.” Nate points out, and Nick nods, shrugging. “Thank you for noticing the work, though.” Nate shakes his head. “Look, you’re my best friend. Always have been. I just don’t want you getting hurt because you cared too much about someone who didn’t really deserve it.”
“I know.” Nick nods again, looking over at Nate. The two lock eyes for a brief moment before Nick looks away, faking a cough. Nate cracks a grin, shaking his head, and Nick stands up again. “Look, this is our cheat night. We get one before the pay-per-view. What you wanna do?”
“Is it lame of me if I say I want to order room service and watch shitty stuff on Netflix?” Nate asks, looking up at his partner.
Nick shakes his head, grinning. “Nah, man. You wanna eat room service and watch bad Netflix? We gonna eat room service and watch bad Netflix. Dial it up, I’ma pick us out our first show.”
Nate nods, grinning, and reaches over to grab the room service menu. Nick flops down on the couch, grabbing a laptop from one of the bedside tables, and opens it up, beginning to browse with a grin on his face. Nate looks over at Nick, his grin fading slightly, and turns away, trying to lose himself in the menu. Nick looks over as Nate’s head turns, his own smile fading a bit. Nick shakes his head, focusing on the screen again, and we fade out on the two trying to arrange their evening, back to back.
Well howdy there pardner.