Post by Cyrus Daniels on Jul 19, 2024 15:20:39 GMT
If Warren Harper’s explanation last week for his part in the almost unfathomable destruction of Rowan MacDonnough was supposed to help Vivienne understand, it absolutely didn’t. She seemed just as, if not more incensed by Warren’s deceit now.
Even Dawn Halliwell’s efforts to temper all of Vivienne’s hurt and rage were wasted as she tried to once again play Devil’s Advocate for her half-brother’s questionable life decisions. If Cyrus had not stepped in when he did between the two women, Vivienne would have slapped the taste out of Dawn’s mouth for even daring to defend Warren’s decision to betray their friendship, a friendship she had considered unbreakable, until now.
Cyrus held Vivienne’s open hand above her head.
“That’s enough, Kitten,” he commanded, firm and authoritative. He felt her shiver at his tone and his restraint of her with his bare hands. He smiled, safe in the knowledge that no other bloke had that effect on her. “Ya need ta calm down, so go ta the hotel spa and unwind. Take the whole day if ya need it, I insist.”
“Yes, Daddy,” Vivienne acquiesced and dropped her head.
“Good girl,” he praised softly. “Dawn and I will take Noah and Liam ta the Capybara Land cafe so ya can relax without the boys.”
“Yes, Daddy,” Vivienne raised her head again, and smiled as their eyes met. “Thank you.”
Cyrus got Noah dressed in a Lion King t-shirt whilst Dawn got Liam dressed in a Buzz Lightyear t-shirt.
“They’re much better behaved for their daddy than they’ve ever been for me,” Dawn laughed. “You’re much better with kids than I imagined.”
“Thank ya, comes from growin’ up under a firm hand, and knowing to do the exact opposite of everything my father did to raise me,” Cyrus said. “You’re great with them too. Ever thought of havin’ some of your own?”
“Sure, I mean I’d love to, someday. If the right person came by, you know. But I’m not holding my breath, I know I’m an acquired taste.”
“So was I,” Cyrus said. “It’ll happen when ya least expect it, an’ probably ta the last person you expect. I know from first hand experience, trust me.”
“Thank you, but my first hand experience has made me more than a little gunshy about putting myself out there again. Last time I thought I’d found my one and only, she ended up fucking her ‘just a friend’ friend in our kitchen. I’m not the biggest fan of Dean but I can certainly understand his anxiety over losing Warren to his ‘just a friend.’”
“Ya mean Shea O’Hara? She can’t be that much of a threat, especially as she’s gone back home for some family emergency. Isn’t that why Roberto asked you to step in as a last minute replacement on all her signings and photo ops?”
“Yeah, Shea is in Ireland right now, and Dean has Warren all to himself again, but we both know that’ll all change once Shea comes back. It always does. I love my brother but I don’t know why he insists on being so unhappy. He’s pigheaded about it, and Shea won’t tell him how she feels as long as he’s married and clearly settled for Dean.”
“Is it really that bad between the two? I can’t say I’ve ever noticed.”
“Men never do, but trust me,” Dawn said. “They’re always two minutes from tearing each other’s clothes off. Like you and Vivienne. God, I’d give anything for someone to look at me like that.”
Listening to Dawn lament her lack of love only made Cyrus appreciate all he had that much more. He kissed Noah on the top of the head, instinctively holding his precious boy closer.
Cyrus Daniels stood in front of a black-barred cage with a pair of capybaras in though they aren’t seen from behind his massive physical frame, the first four buttons of his olive green shirt unfastened so as to tease his hairy and muscular torso underneath. Black trousers, leather shoes and belt with a steel buckle.
His sleeves were unbuttoned and rolled up. His left wrist was adorned with a black wristband engraved with a sound wave pattern. He glanced at it and then smirked at his wedding ring as he balled up his fist. He had a kendo stick in his other hand.
Cyrus snapped the kendo stick in half, unintimidated by Pax’s weapon of choice last week. A weapon he and his mates were apparently too afraid to actually try and use when sending him a clear message of defiance last week - Pussies, he thought as he smirked. Perhaps they’d be stupid enough to try again this week, he hoped - no.
He dared.
Team Diversity Hire, what’s up my Bitches?
An’ make no mistake, whether ya wanna acknowledge it or not, you are all whiny little bitches. Beyond that though, you all need ta recognise the stone cold truth that no matter which one of ya is yappin’ at me in any given week, you’re all my little bitches. In every way that will ever matter ta ya bratty little faggots, you ain’t ever gonna get the better of a bloke like me.
And that means that like it or not, and I know ya bloody don’t, you’ll always be my bitches. And this week, I’m bein’ paid the big bucks ta beat the bloody piss outta the biggest bitch of them all in your little crew, Pax Stormcrow.
And I really have ta ask what’s your bloody problem, mate?
You’ve been chafing my arse for months now, since before the Joker In The Pack, an’ I really don’t get why you’ve got your little loincloth in a twist. I really don’t. For a bloke who lives an’ breathes this biz more than I ever will, I thought you’d have a much better grasp of how things work ‘round here.
Tytus an’ I ain’t done nothin’ but raise your bloody stock ‘round here.
An’ for that we’re the baddies?
Ya an’ your mates are now more relevant in IWF than you’ve ever been. Nate wouldn’t have been considered ready ta challenge for the Gladiators belt if I hadn’t first shown the world just how much of a beatin’ that little dick muncher could take. An’ he certainly wouldn’t be in a position ta use his new status ta lobby for his boyfriend ta be seen by management.
Don’t say my straight white privilege never did anythin’ for ya redskin queers.
The way I see it you and your mates owe me for revitalising your career, Pax.
Your spot in the finals of the Heir Ta The Throne will settle that debt nicely.
You’re a pro wrestler, one of the very best I’m told, and yet ya still can’t get ta grips with the brass tacks and basic psychology of somethin’ the world wants me ta believe ya mastered years ago. Ain’t nobody ever gonna try gettin’ me ready for the Olympics Pax, so I don’t know as much as you do about competin’ at that level, but the more ya flap your gums at me, the more I’m startin’ ta appreciate that I ain’t at as big a disadvantage as I thought I was this week.
See ya may be able ta wrestle circles around me, and you may be able ta lock me up in a thousand different holds, nine hundred ninety of which I’ve probably never even heard of, ‘cause I ain’t a wrestler, and will never be a wrestler of your ilk, Pax, but it’s becomin’ pretty bloody clear that for all your trainin’ and natural gifts, ultimately it ain’t ever gonna mean shit if ya don’t have the mental capacity ta put it all together.
An’ evidently ya ain’t the sharpest knife on the belt are ya, mate?
Jesus Christ, no wonder ya flunked out of the Olympics and took so long ta salvage your professional career if it’s still down ta a bloke like me ta learn you on the very simple formula on which your entire fuckin’ industry is founded. I mean, how hard is it ta twig that all Tytus an’ I did was pick out a group of so called ‘legitimate wrestlers’ ta make an example out of. The big Russkie an’ I needed ta re-establish ourselves as threats goin’ inta the most important match we had ever been picked for, and ‘cause I know that a predator is only ever as impressive as the prey it chooses ta pick off, we needed someone people would actually care about.
An impact is only impressive if what it hits actually matters, and in 2024 the biggest impact ya can make is by challengin’ the corporate avatars of diversity and inclusion in any walk of life.
An’ ‘cause that half-blind moron Gilmore had already been retired by a retard in the most impressive an’ least cared about cripple fight this company has ever promoted, you boys were the next logical target. An’ I ain’t apologisin’ for shit about that ‘cause you’re a former World Champion Pax, a redskin one at that so if anybody should be used ta bein’ made a target, surely it’s you, ya snivellin’ little cunt.
If bein’ targeted an’ torn down for everythin’ ya respresent in this business makes ya madder than a cut grass snake, then it’s no real surprise that ya were only at the top for the blink of an eye.
If ya ain’t cool with bein’ hunted, ya ain’t as ready for the big boy chair again as you’d like ta be. If you ain’t prepared ta be shot at, you ain’t ready ta be Champ, and that is a fundamental character flaw that no amount of tryna teach me a lesson and takin’ a stand for the rest of your little group of arse bandits will ever fix. Even if ya prove yourself ta be the hero this week, the biggest hurdle between you and bein’ top dog again ain’t gonna be Dean or Sabin or even Warren, it’s gonna be your own mental weakness.
Ya present the idea of beatin’ me as an inevitability, an’ for your sake Pax, I hope ya really can back up all that shit you’ve been talkin’ ‘cause if ya can’t and cold hard reality ends up back-handin’ another woke idiot out of his stupid utopian dream where blokes like me no longer exist or have any real power or privilege, well then, you’re gonna have quite the egg on your face, ain’t ya mate?
I can’t match ya move for move, so I ain’t even gonna try ‘cause I don’t need to.
It ain’t gonna matter how physically prepared you are ta make it passed me and maybe even go all the way when you’ve already shown the world how unprepared you are both emotionally and mentally. And as fun as it will be for a bloke like me ta break ya even more than you’re already broken, my real goal here is ta make ya eat your own words with a side order of tongue and teeth.
Humiliation ain’t usually a kink that gets me off, but I’d be lyin’ if I said I didn’t feel more than a little tingle downstairs at the utter humiliation you’re in for when a trash bloke like me ends up puttin’ the boots ta your classically trained not quite Olympian arse. Ya need ta beat me more than I need ta beat you, and if you don’t, well…
You’ll never be able ta live that down, will ya Paxxy?
The pressure’s on you mate, not me. Just imagine if a bloke you’ve been tryin’ so hard ta prove a point to winds up stealin’ your dream and your destiny. You’ve put so much behind bein’ the first bloke in history ta repeat that the slap of bein’ denied that chance not by another multiple time tourney participant like Sabin or Dean, but by a first time trash wrestler like me, well that will hit ya even harder than my very best swing ever could. Now I ain’t ever been one for superstition, but that sounds like so much more than the cruel whims of fickle fate, don’t it, mate?
That sounds like Manifest Destiny.
Even Dawn Halliwell’s efforts to temper all of Vivienne’s hurt and rage were wasted as she tried to once again play Devil’s Advocate for her half-brother’s questionable life decisions. If Cyrus had not stepped in when he did between the two women, Vivienne would have slapped the taste out of Dawn’s mouth for even daring to defend Warren’s decision to betray their friendship, a friendship she had considered unbreakable, until now.
Cyrus held Vivienne’s open hand above her head.
“That’s enough, Kitten,” he commanded, firm and authoritative. He felt her shiver at his tone and his restraint of her with his bare hands. He smiled, safe in the knowledge that no other bloke had that effect on her. “Ya need ta calm down, so go ta the hotel spa and unwind. Take the whole day if ya need it, I insist.”
“Yes, Daddy,” Vivienne acquiesced and dropped her head.
“Good girl,” he praised softly. “Dawn and I will take Noah and Liam ta the Capybara Land cafe so ya can relax without the boys.”
“Yes, Daddy,” Vivienne raised her head again, and smiled as their eyes met. “Thank you.”
***
Cyrus got Noah dressed in a Lion King t-shirt whilst Dawn got Liam dressed in a Buzz Lightyear t-shirt.
“They’re much better behaved for their daddy than they’ve ever been for me,” Dawn laughed. “You’re much better with kids than I imagined.”
“Thank ya, comes from growin’ up under a firm hand, and knowing to do the exact opposite of everything my father did to raise me,” Cyrus said. “You’re great with them too. Ever thought of havin’ some of your own?”
“Sure, I mean I’d love to, someday. If the right person came by, you know. But I’m not holding my breath, I know I’m an acquired taste.”
“So was I,” Cyrus said. “It’ll happen when ya least expect it, an’ probably ta the last person you expect. I know from first hand experience, trust me.”
“Thank you, but my first hand experience has made me more than a little gunshy about putting myself out there again. Last time I thought I’d found my one and only, she ended up fucking her ‘just a friend’ friend in our kitchen. I’m not the biggest fan of Dean but I can certainly understand his anxiety over losing Warren to his ‘just a friend.’”
“Ya mean Shea O’Hara? She can’t be that much of a threat, especially as she’s gone back home for some family emergency. Isn’t that why Roberto asked you to step in as a last minute replacement on all her signings and photo ops?”
“Yeah, Shea is in Ireland right now, and Dean has Warren all to himself again, but we both know that’ll all change once Shea comes back. It always does. I love my brother but I don’t know why he insists on being so unhappy. He’s pigheaded about it, and Shea won’t tell him how she feels as long as he’s married and clearly settled for Dean.”
“Is it really that bad between the two? I can’t say I’ve ever noticed.”
“Men never do, but trust me,” Dawn said. “They’re always two minutes from tearing each other’s clothes off. Like you and Vivienne. God, I’d give anything for someone to look at me like that.”
Listening to Dawn lament her lack of love only made Cyrus appreciate all he had that much more. He kissed Noah on the top of the head, instinctively holding his precious boy closer.
Cyrus Daniels stood in front of a black-barred cage with a pair of capybaras in though they aren’t seen from behind his massive physical frame, the first four buttons of his olive green shirt unfastened so as to tease his hairy and muscular torso underneath. Black trousers, leather shoes and belt with a steel buckle.
His sleeves were unbuttoned and rolled up. His left wrist was adorned with a black wristband engraved with a sound wave pattern. He glanced at it and then smirked at his wedding ring as he balled up his fist. He had a kendo stick in his other hand.
Cyrus snapped the kendo stick in half, unintimidated by Pax’s weapon of choice last week. A weapon he and his mates were apparently too afraid to actually try and use when sending him a clear message of defiance last week - Pussies, he thought as he smirked. Perhaps they’d be stupid enough to try again this week, he hoped - no.
He dared.
Team Diversity Hire, what’s up my Bitches?
An’ make no mistake, whether ya wanna acknowledge it or not, you are all whiny little bitches. Beyond that though, you all need ta recognise the stone cold truth that no matter which one of ya is yappin’ at me in any given week, you’re all my little bitches. In every way that will ever matter ta ya bratty little faggots, you ain’t ever gonna get the better of a bloke like me.
And that means that like it or not, and I know ya bloody don’t, you’ll always be my bitches. And this week, I’m bein’ paid the big bucks ta beat the bloody piss outta the biggest bitch of them all in your little crew, Pax Stormcrow.
And I really have ta ask what’s your bloody problem, mate?
You’ve been chafing my arse for months now, since before the Joker In The Pack, an’ I really don’t get why you’ve got your little loincloth in a twist. I really don’t. For a bloke who lives an’ breathes this biz more than I ever will, I thought you’d have a much better grasp of how things work ‘round here.
Tytus an’ I ain’t done nothin’ but raise your bloody stock ‘round here.
An’ for that we’re the baddies?
Ya an’ your mates are now more relevant in IWF than you’ve ever been. Nate wouldn’t have been considered ready ta challenge for the Gladiators belt if I hadn’t first shown the world just how much of a beatin’ that little dick muncher could take. An’ he certainly wouldn’t be in a position ta use his new status ta lobby for his boyfriend ta be seen by management.
Don’t say my straight white privilege never did anythin’ for ya redskin queers.
The way I see it you and your mates owe me for revitalising your career, Pax.
Your spot in the finals of the Heir Ta The Throne will settle that debt nicely.
You’re a pro wrestler, one of the very best I’m told, and yet ya still can’t get ta grips with the brass tacks and basic psychology of somethin’ the world wants me ta believe ya mastered years ago. Ain’t nobody ever gonna try gettin’ me ready for the Olympics Pax, so I don’t know as much as you do about competin’ at that level, but the more ya flap your gums at me, the more I’m startin’ ta appreciate that I ain’t at as big a disadvantage as I thought I was this week.
See ya may be able ta wrestle circles around me, and you may be able ta lock me up in a thousand different holds, nine hundred ninety of which I’ve probably never even heard of, ‘cause I ain’t a wrestler, and will never be a wrestler of your ilk, Pax, but it’s becomin’ pretty bloody clear that for all your trainin’ and natural gifts, ultimately it ain’t ever gonna mean shit if ya don’t have the mental capacity ta put it all together.
An’ evidently ya ain’t the sharpest knife on the belt are ya, mate?
Jesus Christ, no wonder ya flunked out of the Olympics and took so long ta salvage your professional career if it’s still down ta a bloke like me ta learn you on the very simple formula on which your entire fuckin’ industry is founded. I mean, how hard is it ta twig that all Tytus an’ I did was pick out a group of so called ‘legitimate wrestlers’ ta make an example out of. The big Russkie an’ I needed ta re-establish ourselves as threats goin’ inta the most important match we had ever been picked for, and ‘cause I know that a predator is only ever as impressive as the prey it chooses ta pick off, we needed someone people would actually care about.
An impact is only impressive if what it hits actually matters, and in 2024 the biggest impact ya can make is by challengin’ the corporate avatars of diversity and inclusion in any walk of life.
An’ ‘cause that half-blind moron Gilmore had already been retired by a retard in the most impressive an’ least cared about cripple fight this company has ever promoted, you boys were the next logical target. An’ I ain’t apologisin’ for shit about that ‘cause you’re a former World Champion Pax, a redskin one at that so if anybody should be used ta bein’ made a target, surely it’s you, ya snivellin’ little cunt.
If bein’ targeted an’ torn down for everythin’ ya respresent in this business makes ya madder than a cut grass snake, then it’s no real surprise that ya were only at the top for the blink of an eye.
If ya ain’t cool with bein’ hunted, ya ain’t as ready for the big boy chair again as you’d like ta be. If you ain’t prepared ta be shot at, you ain’t ready ta be Champ, and that is a fundamental character flaw that no amount of tryna teach me a lesson and takin’ a stand for the rest of your little group of arse bandits will ever fix. Even if ya prove yourself ta be the hero this week, the biggest hurdle between you and bein’ top dog again ain’t gonna be Dean or Sabin or even Warren, it’s gonna be your own mental weakness.
Ya present the idea of beatin’ me as an inevitability, an’ for your sake Pax, I hope ya really can back up all that shit you’ve been talkin’ ‘cause if ya can’t and cold hard reality ends up back-handin’ another woke idiot out of his stupid utopian dream where blokes like me no longer exist or have any real power or privilege, well then, you’re gonna have quite the egg on your face, ain’t ya mate?
I can’t match ya move for move, so I ain’t even gonna try ‘cause I don’t need to.
It ain’t gonna matter how physically prepared you are ta make it passed me and maybe even go all the way when you’ve already shown the world how unprepared you are both emotionally and mentally. And as fun as it will be for a bloke like me ta break ya even more than you’re already broken, my real goal here is ta make ya eat your own words with a side order of tongue and teeth.
Humiliation ain’t usually a kink that gets me off, but I’d be lyin’ if I said I didn’t feel more than a little tingle downstairs at the utter humiliation you’re in for when a trash bloke like me ends up puttin’ the boots ta your classically trained not quite Olympian arse. Ya need ta beat me more than I need ta beat you, and if you don’t, well…
You’ll never be able ta live that down, will ya Paxxy?
The pressure’s on you mate, not me. Just imagine if a bloke you’ve been tryin’ so hard ta prove a point to winds up stealin’ your dream and your destiny. You’ve put so much behind bein’ the first bloke in history ta repeat that the slap of bein’ denied that chance not by another multiple time tourney participant like Sabin or Dean, but by a first time trash wrestler like me, well that will hit ya even harder than my very best swing ever could. Now I ain’t ever been one for superstition, but that sounds like so much more than the cruel whims of fickle fate, don’t it, mate?
That sounds like Manifest Destiny.
Well howdy there pardner.