Post by “The Better Man” Warren Kidd on Oct 26, 2024 17:22:54 GMT
Dean Harper just couldn’t do anything right.
Shea O’Hara’s concerned phone call at 3 am last night had confirmed that and so much more for Warren Kidd. Apparently Mai Everstone was growing increasingly more anxious, suffering vivid and lucid nightmares and seeing demonic visions. Warnings of broken seals and promises of a fiery wrath and eternal torment, all things both Shea and Warren had not only dealt with before, but also experienced personally.
Apocalyptic harbingers of a fate already sealed, Warren knew.
Rowan MacDonnough was out of her coma and she was as restless as she was hungry. She was coming back, he didn’t know how or why, but he knew it was only a matter of time. This was how it had always gone when Abadon had broken free of her chains and regained full control of her vessel. Those who fought in her name or by her side experienced blood curdling nightmares for weeks before her return.
“Maybe when she comes back you could try the exorcism again. Maybe it’ll hold this time, it’s not like her most devoted acolytes are around anymore to undo the process. Caleb Lockwood is dead,” Warren said, running a hand through his hair as he sat up in bed.
“What about Brooklyn or Vivienne? You don’t think those two could easily be swayed to believe that Rowan needs the demon to be whole? She already hesitated in abandoning The Murder, and still has her moments of acting not quite herself. I think she may not be acting entirely under her own will, but I have no way of proving it, much less breaking it. Do you still have Damien with you?”
“Yeah, in the guest room, why?”
“I don’t think you should send him back to Dean and risk the potential collateral damage if she’s really out for Dean’s blood exclusively like Mai has been insisting she knows and feels.”
“What makes you think Damien is any safer with me? If Rowan wants him, there’s nothing I can do. I’m just a man, just flesh and blood.”
“Sure, but like you’ve always said she’s never really come after you, even when she’s had opportunity and reason to. Damien is safest with you, right now, trust me.”
“Even if you’re right, Shea,” Warren sighed, “Mimi isn’t going to like it. I’m supposed to drop Damien back off with Dean in the morning. I promised.”
“If Mimi can’t make an exception given the exceptional circumstances we’re dealing with here, she’s just not the one for you, Warren,” Shea said. “Remember the promise you made Max, to protect Damien at all costs. That was a promise made for times like this.”
“Okay, okay. Jesus Shea, you don’t have to lay it on quite so thick. I get the point, and as much as I hate to admit it, you’re right. Damien is innocent and should be protected, but if I try to warn Dean, he’s just going to think I’m trying to keep Damien for myself. He’s already paranoid that I’ll try and supersede his parental rights even though I have no interest or legal standing to do so, even if I wanted to.”
“Fine, I’ll handle Dean,” Shea said confidently. “He has no reason to doubt me.”
“God bless you,” Warren breathed a little easier. “You’re a lifesaver.”
“I know.”
Mimi stirred in her sleep, next to Warren. Warren sighed deeply as he glanced at her, still sound asleep and blissfully unaware of the fresh hell on the horizon.
“No I mean it Shea, you’re a Godsend,” Warren said. “I don’t think I could handle both Mimi’s and Dean’s rampant paranoia at the same time.”
“Yeah, well, that’s your own fault,” Shea laughed. “You sure can pick them.”
“Yeah, I guess I do have a type,” Warren smiled. Shea’s laugh always lifted his mood,and right now there was nothing he needed more.
Shea O’Hara’s concerned phone call at 3 am last night had confirmed that and so much more for Warren Kidd. Apparently Mai Everstone was growing increasingly more anxious, suffering vivid and lucid nightmares and seeing demonic visions. Warnings of broken seals and promises of a fiery wrath and eternal torment, all things both Shea and Warren had not only dealt with before, but also experienced personally.
Apocalyptic harbingers of a fate already sealed, Warren knew.
Rowan MacDonnough was out of her coma and she was as restless as she was hungry. She was coming back, he didn’t know how or why, but he knew it was only a matter of time. This was how it had always gone when Abadon had broken free of her chains and regained full control of her vessel. Those who fought in her name or by her side experienced blood curdling nightmares for weeks before her return.
“Maybe when she comes back you could try the exorcism again. Maybe it’ll hold this time, it’s not like her most devoted acolytes are around anymore to undo the process. Caleb Lockwood is dead,” Warren said, running a hand through his hair as he sat up in bed.
“What about Brooklyn or Vivienne? You don’t think those two could easily be swayed to believe that Rowan needs the demon to be whole? She already hesitated in abandoning The Murder, and still has her moments of acting not quite herself. I think she may not be acting entirely under her own will, but I have no way of proving it, much less breaking it. Do you still have Damien with you?”
“Yeah, in the guest room, why?”
“I don’t think you should send him back to Dean and risk the potential collateral damage if she’s really out for Dean’s blood exclusively like Mai has been insisting she knows and feels.”
“What makes you think Damien is any safer with me? If Rowan wants him, there’s nothing I can do. I’m just a man, just flesh and blood.”
“Sure, but like you’ve always said she’s never really come after you, even when she’s had opportunity and reason to. Damien is safest with you, right now, trust me.”
“Even if you’re right, Shea,” Warren sighed, “Mimi isn’t going to like it. I’m supposed to drop Damien back off with Dean in the morning. I promised.”
“If Mimi can’t make an exception given the exceptional circumstances we’re dealing with here, she’s just not the one for you, Warren,” Shea said. “Remember the promise you made Max, to protect Damien at all costs. That was a promise made for times like this.”
“Okay, okay. Jesus Shea, you don’t have to lay it on quite so thick. I get the point, and as much as I hate to admit it, you’re right. Damien is innocent and should be protected, but if I try to warn Dean, he’s just going to think I’m trying to keep Damien for myself. He’s already paranoid that I’ll try and supersede his parental rights even though I have no interest or legal standing to do so, even if I wanted to.”
“Fine, I’ll handle Dean,” Shea said confidently. “He has no reason to doubt me.”
“God bless you,” Warren breathed a little easier. “You’re a lifesaver.”
“I know.”
Mimi stirred in her sleep, next to Warren. Warren sighed deeply as he glanced at her, still sound asleep and blissfully unaware of the fresh hell on the horizon.
“No I mean it Shea, you’re a Godsend,” Warren said. “I don’t think I could handle both Mimi’s and Dean’s rampant paranoia at the same time.”
“Yeah, well, that’s your own fault,” Shea laughed. “You sure can pick them.”
“Yeah, I guess I do have a type,” Warren smiled. Shea’s laugh always lifted his mood,and right now there was nothing he needed more.
~~~
Warren Kidd sat backwards on a black steel folding chair. He folded his arms across the top of the back of it and fixed the camera with a cold and intense stare. Warren wore a classic ‘Hall of FameAcer’ T-Shirt and shorts. He smirked, derisively.
Am I a joke to you, Verona?
No, seriously. Explain to me why I’m expected to carry your prestigious Invictus Championship number one contender, Tytus Rost on my back this week? Why should it be my bloody job to keep the big Russian Bear looking strong going into his Gauntlet Match against one of the whiniest, inattentive and conceited champions you’ve ever personally endorsed?
Before October Revolution, I asked what was in it for me?
Now, I’m forced to ask once more, what the fuck is in it for me?
I mean, Rost isn’t even the fun kind of bear. In fact it was just about a year ago that the big meathead was trying to kill me on my Odyssey debut at Halloween Hell. I barely survived then, and then two weeks later you made us run it back. I beat him then too, and those victories should’ve granted me some kind of immunity from having anything to do with the grizzled veteran motherfucker.
I have nothing to prove to Tytus Rost, but he has everything to prove to me, and from where I sit there’s nothing to stop him from laying me the fuck out after he’s done feasting on the bones of poor Billie Parris and Phillip DeForrest for both of us. As the only one in this match that has carried an Invictus Championship before, I’m right there for Tytus to make an example out of if he really wants to, and after not one but two frankly embarrassing losses to me, I’d be a fool not to anticipate that Rost has been biding his time for an opportunity to show me just how much more prepared he is to seize his golden opportunity than he was a year ago.
I could explain in great detail that whilst I am indeed a former Invictus Champion, when I first held it it was a different belt with different rules and now the wildly unimaginative championship committee behind the scenes are just repurposing the name for a belt that means so much less than the one I held years ago, but I don’t think such crucial and detailed nuances translate well to a stoic man-mountain who can barely speak any English - and I just don’t have the time, patience or nearly enough phlegm in my throat to become as fluent in Russian as I’d need to be to get my point across.
My only hope is that Rost doesn’t get as easily rattled by our Coliseum debut as he was by the unsolicited opinion of Madjinn on his former moniker and whether something clearly metaphorical made literal sense. Tytus should’ve just let the nepo baby know he isn’t a literal Mad Prince either, instead of fixing what was never broken.
Don’t embarrass me like you so frequently do yourself, Rost.
We’ve got this, if you can keep your shit together for five minutes and follow my lead, the lead of someone you already know to be your better.
Warren Kidd sat backwards on a black steel folding chair. He folded his arms across the top of the back of it and fixed the camera with a cold and intense stare. Warren wore a classic ‘Hall of FameAcer’ T-Shirt and shorts. He smirked, derisively.
Am I a joke to you, Verona?
No, seriously. Explain to me why I’m expected to carry your prestigious Invictus Championship number one contender, Tytus Rost on my back this week? Why should it be my bloody job to keep the big Russian Bear looking strong going into his Gauntlet Match against one of the whiniest, inattentive and conceited champions you’ve ever personally endorsed?
Before October Revolution, I asked what was in it for me?
Now, I’m forced to ask once more, what the fuck is in it for me?
I mean, Rost isn’t even the fun kind of bear. In fact it was just about a year ago that the big meathead was trying to kill me on my Odyssey debut at Halloween Hell. I barely survived then, and then two weeks later you made us run it back. I beat him then too, and those victories should’ve granted me some kind of immunity from having anything to do with the grizzled veteran motherfucker.
I have nothing to prove to Tytus Rost, but he has everything to prove to me, and from where I sit there’s nothing to stop him from laying me the fuck out after he’s done feasting on the bones of poor Billie Parris and Phillip DeForrest for both of us. As the only one in this match that has carried an Invictus Championship before, I’m right there for Tytus to make an example out of if he really wants to, and after not one but two frankly embarrassing losses to me, I’d be a fool not to anticipate that Rost has been biding his time for an opportunity to show me just how much more prepared he is to seize his golden opportunity than he was a year ago.
I could explain in great detail that whilst I am indeed a former Invictus Champion, when I first held it it was a different belt with different rules and now the wildly unimaginative championship committee behind the scenes are just repurposing the name for a belt that means so much less than the one I held years ago, but I don’t think such crucial and detailed nuances translate well to a stoic man-mountain who can barely speak any English - and I just don’t have the time, patience or nearly enough phlegm in my throat to become as fluent in Russian as I’d need to be to get my point across.
My only hope is that Rost doesn’t get as easily rattled by our Coliseum debut as he was by the unsolicited opinion of Madjinn on his former moniker and whether something clearly metaphorical made literal sense. Tytus should’ve just let the nepo baby know he isn’t a literal Mad Prince either, instead of fixing what was never broken.
Don’t embarrass me like you so frequently do yourself, Rost.
We’ve got this, if you can keep your shit together for five minutes and follow my lead, the lead of someone you already know to be your better.
Well howdy there pardner.