Post by King on Mar 31, 2024 20:53:26 GMT
{ Story continued from Wraith RP }
"FUCK" Brandy barely gets the word out before Terrella polishes off the beer he was drinking.
"What the fuck, Brandy?! You're bringing him to my fucking club now?!" Terrella holds the empty bottle in a manner that he could quickly swing it, and both his tone and body language suggest he is ready for a fight.
Sabin’s eyes dart back and forth momentarily, but lock onto Stephen, and still the cocky smirk on his face as he cocks his head to the side, “Just wanted to see what you’ve done with the place.”
Stephen Terrella and Sabin each take a step forward, ready to fight.
Brandy steps between the two men, facing Sabin, with her back to Terrella. She glances over her shoulder, feeling the gap closing.
The patrons start to gather in a circle around the scene, anticipating a fight. Some grow quiet, taking out their phones to record. Some egg the situation on. Portia takes notice, and rapidly comes over to grab Stephen's arm. "Baby, no, you'll wreck this place if you do it in here, and it might be your second arrest this month if you do it outside."
The ladies do their best to stand between the men, but Terrella's fiery temper and Sabin's cocky, antagonistic nature draw the two men closer to confrontation as they move almost within arm's reach.
"Enough!" Brandy bellowed in frustration. "Cut the bullshit! Now!"
Brandy whips around, verbally unleashing on Stephen. "I brought Sabin in here to get my fucking license. That's it. You know I wouldn't bring him in here to hang out. It was supposed to be a quick in-and-out, and as far as I knew, you weren't even supposed to fucking be here! We would've left, but you had to start shit!"
Sabin isn't spared from Brandy's verbal lashing. She turns to her boyfriend, angrier than a hornet. "Stop smirking. You're antagonizing him, and you fucking know it. You want a fight. Don't tell me you don't."
Speaking to them both, she continues: "If the two of you want to whip'em out and see who has the bigger dick, go ahead. I don't give a fuck. I'll leave. I don't need it."
She looks at Stephen, adding: "But if I leave, you can find another partner for Sunday. With less than a week to go, and as many enemies as you have, good fucking luck with that, too."
Stephen aggressively rubs at his face, unable to argue against how difficult that would be.
Brandy draws closer to Sabin, lowering her tone. "And if I leave, not only are you going to have to call a fucking ride, but you can forget about me doing that thing you like for a long, long time!"
The smug look on Sabin’s face immediately drains. He parts his lips, almost ready to protest but on second thought, just sighs, “Fine. Best behavior,” he says begrudgingly.
"Okay." Brandy says with the slightest of nods.
Speaking to them both once more, her tone remains stern, but her voice doesn't carry the same level of volume it has. "I don't need you two to be friends. I don't want any fake bullshit. We're going to go back in the office though, and both of you are going to figure out a way to be in the same room with each other for five minutes without fucking killing each other."
"Now," she says, reaching over top of the bar for a bottle of Vodka, "I can take this bottle of vodka and we can walk back, or I can take my license and dip. Which is it?"
Terrella looks to Portia, and Portia looks back at him; both almost resigned to the fact that this conversation is going to have to happen. Through gritted teeth, Stephen tells Brandy. "Lets fucking go then."
"Sabin?" Brandy asks, awaiting an answer from her boyfriend.
“Let’s go.” Sabin answers, unable to help but glance over the amassed crowd before trying to call them off, “The show is Sunday, folks.” He says while following Brandy to the back.
Terrella's eyebrows lower as they draw closer together, two vertical wrinkles forming between them as he stares down a heavy-set, unkempt bouncer leaning against the bar. Terrella says with a nasty growl, "Damn it! What the fuck am I paying you for?!"
Terrella shakes his head as he marches to the office with Portia.
The bouncer is left standing by the bar, hat in hand, and his mouth loosely hanging open. He openly wonders, "I just wanted to know what the thing was. What is the thing?!"
Krystal -the bartender- breaks the news as gently as she can in her thick, southern accent. "That's not for you to know. Sorry, hun."
*********************
A few moments later…
After having closed and locked the door to the office, Terrella and Portia make their way to the black leather chair behind the desk. Stephen sits down first, and Portia seats herself on his lap. Terrella gestures to a chair on the other side of the desk, telling Sabin, "Sit, or don't. I don't give a fuck."
Brandy sets the bottle of vodka she had taken from the bar on the surface of the desk, and the glass bottle lands with a gentle thud. She tells Stephen to, "get us some fucking glasses at least."
"You got to be shitting me, Brandy." Stephen opens the top drawer to his desk, retrieving a couple of shot glasses that he and Portia kept tucked away for their own personal use. He slams the glasses on the desk one-by-one. "He old enough to be drinking if the fucking cops came in here?!"
Brandy fires back at Stephen, "if he wasn't, you think that's the biggest problem you'd have if the cops came in here?"
Taking a glass in hand, she asks Sabin, "do you want a drink?"
Sabin takes a glance at the bottle and looks rather impressed as he pours himself a shot of Beluga Gold Line, “Don’t mind if I do,” and he raises his eyes to Terrella, and pours himself a double. He raises the glass to everyone else in the room, his eye contact faltering, “Salud!”
Portia reaches across the desk for the bottle of Beluga Gold Line, pouring two glasses out for Stephen and herself. "We may as well have a drink if we're going to do this."
Not wanting to be outdone by Sabin, Terrella asks Portia to make his drink a double as well. Stephen holds an intense stare on Sabin while Portia finishes pouring. Portia leaves the bottle open, and hands Stephen his glass while keeping her's.
Stephen half raises his without a word, then throws the double back. He slams the glass. "Brandy, if we're going to drink my liquor, pour me another double."
Brandy grabs the bottle, and she looks to Sabin. "Do you want another? I'm already pouring."
“Yeah,” Sabin says with a slight smirk, “Make it a double.”
Brandy hands him the glass, and his eyes look back to Stephen as he finishes the drink almost as fast as it was poured.
Stephen takes his glass in hand and tosses the liquor back as hastily as he's able, again slamming the glass on the desk. "Two more doubles, unless you need a fucking sandwich?" Terrella keeps his unflinching stare on Sabin.
“Are you gonna cut the crust off?” Sabin says with another smirk… He picks up the bottle and checks Stephen to see if there’s any sign of him backing down from the challenge, while pouring another double shot. The music from the club becomes a little louder.
I'm good, yeah, I'm feeling alright
Baby, I'ma have the best fucking night of my life
And wherever it takes me, I'm down for the ride
Baby, don't you know I'm good, yeah, I'm feeling alright
Sabin downs the glass again, and moves his head in rhythm to the song. “Digging this music, though.”
Portia sways back-and-forth on Stephen's lap, enjoying the music as well. "Bebe is so good. The girls requested it."
Stephen rubs at his chin. "I told them they could play it when I'm not fucking here. That was the deal."
"We weren't supposed to be, baby. We were supposed to be in Vegas, for the–" Portia's voice trails off, catching herself before saying too much in front of Sabin.
"Things change," Terrella grumbles, reaching for his glass. He raises it to Sabin. "But here's to you beating Nick Danger on Sunday, that way you'll have one belt left. 'Cause after me and Brandy beat the fucking Kings of Flight, those tag titles are coming to us."
“That’s a lot of weight for Brandy to have to carry, but I know she can handle it.” Sabin answers with a sly smile and winks at his girlfriend.
Brandy chuckles.
Terrella finds no humor in Sabin's remark. He taps Portia on the leg, wanting her to get up. Terrella stands up, his fiery gaze fixed on Sabin. "Hell, maybe I'll make her life easy then, since you're worried about it. I could take your ass out right here, and we could take those titles by forfeit." Terrella slams both his fists down on the desk, leaning toward Sabin.
"Baby," Portia says, putting her hand on Stephen's shoulder, "not here, not now."
No more time for words. Sabin slams his hands against the desk, and gets up as well, getting nose-to-nose with Stephen Terrella.
"Shit", Brandy mutters...
*********************
The camera begins to record.
Somewhere in the desert, with nothing but sand, rock and cacti as a backdrop, the viewer's eye beholds the Black Widow, Stephen Terrella and Portia gathered beneath a setting Nevada sun. Cvetkova is seated on a large rock, wearing one end of the dog collar -complete with chain attached- around her neck as she partakes in a cigarette. Terrella stands to her left, carrying a wad of Skoal in his lower lip, and a heavy metal chain over his left shoulder. To Stephen's right stands Portia, hanging on his stone-like right bicep with both of her arms.
"When this all started, the Kings of Flight were nothing more than an annoyance to us," Portia states. "Tyson and Charlie obviously didn't know their place around here which, sadly, isn't that uncommon. It usually just takes a little convincing though, and people start to get it."
"No matter how many times Brandy and Stephen have beaten you down and embarrassed you, the two of you just can't take a hint. You come back, and you come back... again and again, fighting with everything you have to prove something to someone. It'd be admirable, if it wasn't so stupid."
"For every drop of Stephen and Brandy's blood you've spilt, for every victory you've taken from us- you've paid a price tenfold, and you've forced us to do that. You've turned our irritation with you into anger, and trust me when I tell you, that should have been the very last thing you wanted."
"So when you asked for this match, it was like Christmas had come early."
"It may be one of the most brutal, barbaric matches in professional wrestling... Chaining yourself to another human being by the neck, in an environment where absolutely anything goes may be the type of thing that shortens careers, and it may well leave lasting physical and mental scars for everyone involved... but there will be one key difference." Portia flashes a wicked smile. "You're coming to High Stakes to teach us about consequences for our actions, but we're coming to High Stakes to completely erase the two of you from existence."
The Black Widow takes a drag off her cigarette before flicking it onto the sand. "Tyson... Charlie, time changes all. What now lays before you- an exciting, mysterious future- will soon be behind you. Lived; understood; disappointing. You will realize you are not special. As the people who adore you stop adoring you; as you bleed; as you flail; as you fail; what will become of you then? What fate befalls the virtuous?"
"That is the problem with your morality-- you try to paint yourself as something better. Everyone is just everyone. No better; no worse. You are capable of the same levels of depravity as we are, at your core, but you hold yourselves back to be... loved. You are like so many that live within the shackles of a society that will abandon them at the drop of a hat."
"Tell me, will that love fill your lungs with breath when I have a chain wrapped around your throat, choking you?"
"Will that love lift you when your legs cannot?"
"It is fitting you want it to end this way, in a match where we will all be restrained within these shackles?" Brandy holds up the chain, illustrating her point. "You've fought your entire war that way, only allowing yourself freedom from your code in the brief moments we have pushed you to be free. Perhaps that is your subconscious speaking to you, begging for your crutch back... begging for your restraint."
"Or can you silence those voices? Can you bury those deep down to do what needs to be done if you're going to stop us? I am willing to wager you cannot. Even if you can bind and gag that nameless, faceless voice in your heads... sooner or later you will lookout into flock of sheep you have cast your lot with, and you will see a face that's voice will be harder to silence. You will wither. You will wilt. You will allow yourselves to become martyrs, all so you can continue to cling to what you will inevitably lose anyway."
Brandy runs her hand along the collar around her neck. "Even in this restraint, I will not be restrained by their rules, nor yours. You all can take your petty judgments and shove them straight up your own asses. If that offends you, you will find no apology here-- because I am a product of you. Cold; calculating; full of hate. I am the monster you all created, and I will fight until the last drop of blood -or last breath of air- leaves my body. But not for them." She glances over at Stephen. "Or just for my partner, nor golden trinkets."
"I fight to feed my hunger."
"I fight to appease for insatiable appetite for pain, and this match will be a veritable buffet of carnage."
"I'm here for it."
"Whips and chains excite me."
Brandy looks to Stephen once more, asking him: "Only how long do you think it will take for Tyson and Charlie to break?"
Terrella tilts his head from side-to-side, audibly cracking the joints in his neck. "Longer than I fucking imagine, I hope."
His face is flushed, and his shoulders rise and fall with his rapid breathing. "Only because it isn't going to be enough for me to just beat the Kings of Flight anymore. I want you motherfuckers to suffer. I'm not looking for quick work. I want to hear the sounds of metal crashing down against flesh and see the damage it causes on your fucking bodies! I want to take from you the way nobody has ever taken from you before, because I want you to fucking remember!... Three days from now, I want to remember!... Three months from now, I want you to remember!... Three years from now, I want your asses to remember this face! I want that image burned in your minds because I'm the guy that's going to fucking cripple you!"
"You want to run your worthless little fucking mouths, say we're running from you... well Sunday, you ain't got to worry about that shit! It won't be because of those collars, either! No, I'm going to stand in that ring, look you in the eye, man-to-man, and I am going to rip the still-beating hearts from your chests and snuff the last bit of light out in your eyes!"
"And maybe the two of you watch this, and you're telling yourselves someone will step in before that happens... that it's not possible. I'd just tell you this: don't bet on anything being impossible. Sometimes all it takes is the wrong guy to want something bad enough, and that shit happens."
Terrella pauses to spit a mouthful of tobacco juice into the sand, then levels a hard stare on the camera. "And at High Stakes, Everest... Van Ruth, I want your fucking heads!"
Terrella maintains his intense glare as the Black Widow rocks back-and-forth on her rock, smiling. Portia gives the camera a little wave as the scene fades to black.
"FUCK" Brandy barely gets the word out before Terrella polishes off the beer he was drinking.
"What the fuck, Brandy?! You're bringing him to my fucking club now?!" Terrella holds the empty bottle in a manner that he could quickly swing it, and both his tone and body language suggest he is ready for a fight.
Sabin’s eyes dart back and forth momentarily, but lock onto Stephen, and still the cocky smirk on his face as he cocks his head to the side, “Just wanted to see what you’ve done with the place.”
Stephen Terrella and Sabin each take a step forward, ready to fight.
Brandy steps between the two men, facing Sabin, with her back to Terrella. She glances over her shoulder, feeling the gap closing.
The patrons start to gather in a circle around the scene, anticipating a fight. Some grow quiet, taking out their phones to record. Some egg the situation on. Portia takes notice, and rapidly comes over to grab Stephen's arm. "Baby, no, you'll wreck this place if you do it in here, and it might be your second arrest this month if you do it outside."
The ladies do their best to stand between the men, but Terrella's fiery temper and Sabin's cocky, antagonistic nature draw the two men closer to confrontation as they move almost within arm's reach.
"Enough!" Brandy bellowed in frustration. "Cut the bullshit! Now!"
Brandy whips around, verbally unleashing on Stephen. "I brought Sabin in here to get my fucking license. That's it. You know I wouldn't bring him in here to hang out. It was supposed to be a quick in-and-out, and as far as I knew, you weren't even supposed to fucking be here! We would've left, but you had to start shit!"
Sabin isn't spared from Brandy's verbal lashing. She turns to her boyfriend, angrier than a hornet. "Stop smirking. You're antagonizing him, and you fucking know it. You want a fight. Don't tell me you don't."
Speaking to them both, she continues: "If the two of you want to whip'em out and see who has the bigger dick, go ahead. I don't give a fuck. I'll leave. I don't need it."
She looks at Stephen, adding: "But if I leave, you can find another partner for Sunday. With less than a week to go, and as many enemies as you have, good fucking luck with that, too."
Stephen aggressively rubs at his face, unable to argue against how difficult that would be.
Brandy draws closer to Sabin, lowering her tone. "And if I leave, not only are you going to have to call a fucking ride, but you can forget about me doing that thing you like for a long, long time!"
The smug look on Sabin’s face immediately drains. He parts his lips, almost ready to protest but on second thought, just sighs, “Fine. Best behavior,” he says begrudgingly.
"Okay." Brandy says with the slightest of nods.
Speaking to them both once more, her tone remains stern, but her voice doesn't carry the same level of volume it has. "I don't need you two to be friends. I don't want any fake bullshit. We're going to go back in the office though, and both of you are going to figure out a way to be in the same room with each other for five minutes without fucking killing each other."
"Now," she says, reaching over top of the bar for a bottle of Vodka, "I can take this bottle of vodka and we can walk back, or I can take my license and dip. Which is it?"
Terrella looks to Portia, and Portia looks back at him; both almost resigned to the fact that this conversation is going to have to happen. Through gritted teeth, Stephen tells Brandy. "Lets fucking go then."
"Sabin?" Brandy asks, awaiting an answer from her boyfriend.
“Let’s go.” Sabin answers, unable to help but glance over the amassed crowd before trying to call them off, “The show is Sunday, folks.” He says while following Brandy to the back.
Terrella's eyebrows lower as they draw closer together, two vertical wrinkles forming between them as he stares down a heavy-set, unkempt bouncer leaning against the bar. Terrella says with a nasty growl, "Damn it! What the fuck am I paying you for?!"
Terrella shakes his head as he marches to the office with Portia.
The bouncer is left standing by the bar, hat in hand, and his mouth loosely hanging open. He openly wonders, "I just wanted to know what the thing was. What is the thing?!"
Krystal -the bartender- breaks the news as gently as she can in her thick, southern accent. "That's not for you to know. Sorry, hun."
*********************
A few moments later…
After having closed and locked the door to the office, Terrella and Portia make their way to the black leather chair behind the desk. Stephen sits down first, and Portia seats herself on his lap. Terrella gestures to a chair on the other side of the desk, telling Sabin, "Sit, or don't. I don't give a fuck."
Brandy sets the bottle of vodka she had taken from the bar on the surface of the desk, and the glass bottle lands with a gentle thud. She tells Stephen to, "get us some fucking glasses at least."
"You got to be shitting me, Brandy." Stephen opens the top drawer to his desk, retrieving a couple of shot glasses that he and Portia kept tucked away for their own personal use. He slams the glasses on the desk one-by-one. "He old enough to be drinking if the fucking cops came in here?!"
Brandy fires back at Stephen, "if he wasn't, you think that's the biggest problem you'd have if the cops came in here?"
Taking a glass in hand, she asks Sabin, "do you want a drink?"
Sabin takes a glance at the bottle and looks rather impressed as he pours himself a shot of Beluga Gold Line, “Don’t mind if I do,” and he raises his eyes to Terrella, and pours himself a double. He raises the glass to everyone else in the room, his eye contact faltering, “Salud!”
Portia reaches across the desk for the bottle of Beluga Gold Line, pouring two glasses out for Stephen and herself. "We may as well have a drink if we're going to do this."
Not wanting to be outdone by Sabin, Terrella asks Portia to make his drink a double as well. Stephen holds an intense stare on Sabin while Portia finishes pouring. Portia leaves the bottle open, and hands Stephen his glass while keeping her's.
Stephen half raises his without a word, then throws the double back. He slams the glass. "Brandy, if we're going to drink my liquor, pour me another double."
Brandy grabs the bottle, and she looks to Sabin. "Do you want another? I'm already pouring."
“Yeah,” Sabin says with a slight smirk, “Make it a double.”
Brandy hands him the glass, and his eyes look back to Stephen as he finishes the drink almost as fast as it was poured.
Stephen takes his glass in hand and tosses the liquor back as hastily as he's able, again slamming the glass on the desk. "Two more doubles, unless you need a fucking sandwich?" Terrella keeps his unflinching stare on Sabin.
“Are you gonna cut the crust off?” Sabin says with another smirk… He picks up the bottle and checks Stephen to see if there’s any sign of him backing down from the challenge, while pouring another double shot. The music from the club becomes a little louder.
I'm good, yeah, I'm feeling alright
Baby, I'ma have the best fucking night of my life
And wherever it takes me, I'm down for the ride
Baby, don't you know I'm good, yeah, I'm feeling alright
Sabin downs the glass again, and moves his head in rhythm to the song. “Digging this music, though.”
Portia sways back-and-forth on Stephen's lap, enjoying the music as well. "Bebe is so good. The girls requested it."
Stephen rubs at his chin. "I told them they could play it when I'm not fucking here. That was the deal."
"We weren't supposed to be, baby. We were supposed to be in Vegas, for the–" Portia's voice trails off, catching herself before saying too much in front of Sabin.
"Things change," Terrella grumbles, reaching for his glass. He raises it to Sabin. "But here's to you beating Nick Danger on Sunday, that way you'll have one belt left. 'Cause after me and Brandy beat the fucking Kings of Flight, those tag titles are coming to us."
“That’s a lot of weight for Brandy to have to carry, but I know she can handle it.” Sabin answers with a sly smile and winks at his girlfriend.
Brandy chuckles.
Terrella finds no humor in Sabin's remark. He taps Portia on the leg, wanting her to get up. Terrella stands up, his fiery gaze fixed on Sabin. "Hell, maybe I'll make her life easy then, since you're worried about it. I could take your ass out right here, and we could take those titles by forfeit." Terrella slams both his fists down on the desk, leaning toward Sabin.
"Baby," Portia says, putting her hand on Stephen's shoulder, "not here, not now."
No more time for words. Sabin slams his hands against the desk, and gets up as well, getting nose-to-nose with Stephen Terrella.
"Shit", Brandy mutters...
*********************
The camera begins to record.
Somewhere in the desert, with nothing but sand, rock and cacti as a backdrop, the viewer's eye beholds the Black Widow, Stephen Terrella and Portia gathered beneath a setting Nevada sun. Cvetkova is seated on a large rock, wearing one end of the dog collar -complete with chain attached- around her neck as she partakes in a cigarette. Terrella stands to her left, carrying a wad of Skoal in his lower lip, and a heavy metal chain over his left shoulder. To Stephen's right stands Portia, hanging on his stone-like right bicep with both of her arms.
"When this all started, the Kings of Flight were nothing more than an annoyance to us," Portia states. "Tyson and Charlie obviously didn't know their place around here which, sadly, isn't that uncommon. It usually just takes a little convincing though, and people start to get it."
"No matter how many times Brandy and Stephen have beaten you down and embarrassed you, the two of you just can't take a hint. You come back, and you come back... again and again, fighting with everything you have to prove something to someone. It'd be admirable, if it wasn't so stupid."
"For every drop of Stephen and Brandy's blood you've spilt, for every victory you've taken from us- you've paid a price tenfold, and you've forced us to do that. You've turned our irritation with you into anger, and trust me when I tell you, that should have been the very last thing you wanted."
"So when you asked for this match, it was like Christmas had come early."
"It may be one of the most brutal, barbaric matches in professional wrestling... Chaining yourself to another human being by the neck, in an environment where absolutely anything goes may be the type of thing that shortens careers, and it may well leave lasting physical and mental scars for everyone involved... but there will be one key difference." Portia flashes a wicked smile. "You're coming to High Stakes to teach us about consequences for our actions, but we're coming to High Stakes to completely erase the two of you from existence."
The Black Widow takes a drag off her cigarette before flicking it onto the sand. "Tyson... Charlie, time changes all. What now lays before you- an exciting, mysterious future- will soon be behind you. Lived; understood; disappointing. You will realize you are not special. As the people who adore you stop adoring you; as you bleed; as you flail; as you fail; what will become of you then? What fate befalls the virtuous?"
"That is the problem with your morality-- you try to paint yourself as something better. Everyone is just everyone. No better; no worse. You are capable of the same levels of depravity as we are, at your core, but you hold yourselves back to be... loved. You are like so many that live within the shackles of a society that will abandon them at the drop of a hat."
"Tell me, will that love fill your lungs with breath when I have a chain wrapped around your throat, choking you?"
"Will that love lift you when your legs cannot?"
"It is fitting you want it to end this way, in a match where we will all be restrained within these shackles?" Brandy holds up the chain, illustrating her point. "You've fought your entire war that way, only allowing yourself freedom from your code in the brief moments we have pushed you to be free. Perhaps that is your subconscious speaking to you, begging for your crutch back... begging for your restraint."
"Or can you silence those voices? Can you bury those deep down to do what needs to be done if you're going to stop us? I am willing to wager you cannot. Even if you can bind and gag that nameless, faceless voice in your heads... sooner or later you will lookout into flock of sheep you have cast your lot with, and you will see a face that's voice will be harder to silence. You will wither. You will wilt. You will allow yourselves to become martyrs, all so you can continue to cling to what you will inevitably lose anyway."
Brandy runs her hand along the collar around her neck. "Even in this restraint, I will not be restrained by their rules, nor yours. You all can take your petty judgments and shove them straight up your own asses. If that offends you, you will find no apology here-- because I am a product of you. Cold; calculating; full of hate. I am the monster you all created, and I will fight until the last drop of blood -or last breath of air- leaves my body. But not for them." She glances over at Stephen. "Or just for my partner, nor golden trinkets."
"I fight to feed my hunger."
"I fight to appease for insatiable appetite for pain, and this match will be a veritable buffet of carnage."
"I'm here for it."
"Whips and chains excite me."
Brandy looks to Stephen once more, asking him: "Only how long do you think it will take for Tyson and Charlie to break?"
Terrella tilts his head from side-to-side, audibly cracking the joints in his neck. "Longer than I fucking imagine, I hope."
His face is flushed, and his shoulders rise and fall with his rapid breathing. "Only because it isn't going to be enough for me to just beat the Kings of Flight anymore. I want you motherfuckers to suffer. I'm not looking for quick work. I want to hear the sounds of metal crashing down against flesh and see the damage it causes on your fucking bodies! I want to take from you the way nobody has ever taken from you before, because I want you to fucking remember!... Three days from now, I want to remember!... Three months from now, I want you to remember!... Three years from now, I want your asses to remember this face! I want that image burned in your minds because I'm the guy that's going to fucking cripple you!"
"You want to run your worthless little fucking mouths, say we're running from you... well Sunday, you ain't got to worry about that shit! It won't be because of those collars, either! No, I'm going to stand in that ring, look you in the eye, man-to-man, and I am going to rip the still-beating hearts from your chests and snuff the last bit of light out in your eyes!"
"And maybe the two of you watch this, and you're telling yourselves someone will step in before that happens... that it's not possible. I'd just tell you this: don't bet on anything being impossible. Sometimes all it takes is the wrong guy to want something bad enough, and that shit happens."
Terrella pauses to spit a mouthful of tobacco juice into the sand, then levels a hard stare on the camera. "And at High Stakes, Everest... Van Ruth, I want your fucking heads!"
Terrella maintains his intense glare as the Black Widow rocks back-and-forth on her rock, smiling. Portia gives the camera a little wave as the scene fades to black.
Well howdy there pardner.