Post by Shelly Diamond on Aug 24, 2016 20:44:45 GMT
Laura Howlett sat across an oak oval table from a man in an expensive three piece suit. He shuffled and organized paperwork as he removed it from his black leather brief case while an irritated Laura fiddled with her fingers, loudly sighing as she then adjusted her own tan dress coat, which was buttoned up to just below her chest with a white silk shirt underneath. The obvious lawyer looks up from his paperwork as Laura cocks an eyebrow at him..
”I’m sorry this isn’t moving along at a pace to your liking but this is a serious matter.”
”Serious matter? That pretty boy little shit is suing my client for emotional distress over a lost tooth!”
Laura’s outburst doesn’t catch the man by surprise, he’s clearly worked with her before.
”Yes he is which is a form of aggravated assault.”
”They’re professional wrestlers!”
”At the time Mr. Field was not inside of a wrestling ring during a sanctioned match, he was allegedly attacked backstage, unprovoked.”
Laura groaned as she dropped her head into her hands and mumbled out loud.
”This is bullshit…”
”That is your opinion but this is still a matter we need to handle before it has serious ramifications on Mr. Nakamura’s career. Speaking of, where is your client?”
Laura looked up to the man across from her, a slight hint of sadness in her deep blue eyes before she straightened up and pushed all emotional attachment from her mind.
”I texted him about our meeting this morning.”
”And when should we be expecting him?”
Truth was that he didn’t answer the text, he was still giving her the silent treatment unless it was absolutely necessary to communicate with her. Laura shot her lawyer a confident smile.
”We shouldn’t be. I’m his representative in this matter as well as a key witness so can we just get on with this?”
Her lawyer let out a strained sigh as he rubbed the bridge of his nose, clearly annoyed by the whole nature of this meeting. Laura checked her phone again hoping to see a message from her client but as has been the case lately, there was nothing…
”I’m sorry this isn’t moving along at a pace to your liking but this is a serious matter.”
”Serious matter? That pretty boy little shit is suing my client for emotional distress over a lost tooth!”
Laura’s outburst doesn’t catch the man by surprise, he’s clearly worked with her before.
”Yes he is which is a form of aggravated assault.”
”They’re professional wrestlers!”
”At the time Mr. Field was not inside of a wrestling ring during a sanctioned match, he was allegedly attacked backstage, unprovoked.”
Laura groaned as she dropped her head into her hands and mumbled out loud.
”This is bullshit…”
”That is your opinion but this is still a matter we need to handle before it has serious ramifications on Mr. Nakamura’s career. Speaking of, where is your client?”
Laura looked up to the man across from her, a slight hint of sadness in her deep blue eyes before she straightened up and pushed all emotional attachment from her mind.
”I texted him about our meeting this morning.”
”And when should we be expecting him?”
Truth was that he didn’t answer the text, he was still giving her the silent treatment unless it was absolutely necessary to communicate with her. Laura shot her lawyer a confident smile.
”We shouldn’t be. I’m his representative in this matter as well as a key witness so can we just get on with this?”
Her lawyer let out a strained sigh as he rubbed the bridge of his nose, clearly annoyed by the whole nature of this meeting. Laura checked her phone again hoping to see a message from her client but as has been the case lately, there was nothing…
A lawsuit?
Seriously?
Noah I may be about to tell you something truly shocking so you may want to sit down before I say this but…
YOU WORK FOR A PROFESSIONAL WRESTLING COMPANY!
Bloodshed and broken bones is a part of the damn job description and if you’re going to run off and file a law suit everytime you chip a tooth, well you may want to look into a different kind of work because I can sure as hell promise you that my client will be doing so much worse than that to get OUR championship back.
Oh, wait! I’m sorry, my client attacked you backstage, right? Unprovoked, right? Well it’s quite possible you never actually watched a professional wrestling program before but backstage attacks happen. Especially when you piss off men who are of the “heel” variety, I mean, honestly, what did you think was going to happen when you got in the face of my client?
He’d kiss you?
Well as mysterious as the mask may make him, that isn’t exactly the M.O. of the Future Legend. You see Noah, my client is here for one thing and it’s not to look pretty or run from fights, he’s here to become a legend, a staple of the business, he’s here to surpass every name on the roster, every name in the record books and establish himself as one of if not the greatest professional wrestler to ever live.
Shocking, right?
A professional wrestler who actually wants to do what he’s paid for instead of hiding behind an entourage and picking fights he cannot win. And this fight? You can’t win it. But my client will sure as hell be happy to finish it, Noah because you stole something from US. Something that does not belong to you. Something so very important to my client and myself.
The Invictus Championship.
A title that personifies perseverance.
A title you aren’t worthy to fight for let alone hold.
A problem my client will be more than happy to rectify for you in just a few short days.
Poor little Christopher King is having an Identity Crisis one short month into his Imperial Wrestling career. Well King, much like Noah earlier, I have extremely bad news for you.
It only gets worse from here.
You haven’t even scratched the surface of the hell that Imperial Wrestling can be. This is company where men are allowed to crucify their opponents, to indiscriminately lop their fingers off at the nearest joint, to throw them from the highest most dangerous point in any given arena, wrestle in unsanctioned matches, barbed wire matches, cages filled to the brim with weapons. Imperial Wrestling is a company where you either become a monster or are fed to a monster.
So nut up or shut up, King, because you haven’t seen anything yet.
If you think little old Noah Field and being booked bi-weekly is as bad as it gets then you’re in for a very rude awakening because that championship YOU STOLE from my client, it has a very specific set of rules attached to it…
Specifically… NONE!
My client can do whatever he wants once he gets you inside of that ring, I do hope you understand that, you aren’t walking into a professional wrestling match, this isn’t just going to be some stereotypical title defense. This is quite literally going to be a WAR for you King because my client, he’s going to come at you with everything he has and ANYTHING he has to do to take back OUR championship he will do it!
You’re quite literally walking into a buzzsaw.
Forget an identity crisis you’re going to be suffering from a paralysis crisis when my client is done with you.
That is of course unless you do the only reasonable thing and just hand my client OUR championship back, a belt you KNOW damn well you didn’t earn in any way, shape or form. A championship you are not equipped to defend. A championship that is, if I’m being honest, above your station in OUR company.
Just hand it back and walk away.
Our fight isn’t really with you anyways, you’re just a pawn in Noah’s little game to get the belt on someone he can beat. Problem with that little plan is the House of Howlett runs this damn company. My client’s comprise the best Imperial Wrestling has to offer so when we want something, WE GET IT!
That includes our Invictus Championship, which we will be taking one way or the other.
Don’t be a hero, Chris, they never win.
Zasshu sat impatiently awaiting Jimmy Snart in some dive bar, the supposed professional wrestling manager chose a place where he felt “comfortable”. He still wore his mask which garnered him some odd looks from the regulars but a $100 tip for a glass of water kept the bar tender from asking him to leave.
”Kinda surprised ya showed up, kid.”
Jimmy Snart suddenly appeared beside him with a slap on the back and breath smelling of whiskey and stale cigars. The short bulbous man took a seat beside Zasshu who only kept looking forward, seeing the disgusting waste of human flesh next to him in the mirror behind the bar. He smiled at Zasshu with golden stained teeth.
”Figured ya woulda went right tah Laura but I guess the “balls” are in your court now, heh.”
The parasite of a man laughed at his own joke as Zasshu choked back the rage welling up inside of him, the man next to him orchestrated the death of his beloved Alejandra back in Mexico City almost three years ago, he put him on a path to meet Laura Howlett, he may not have pulled the trigger but Jimmy Snart killed Zasshu’s humanity.
”What is it you wished to discuss?”
”Right tah business, eh?”
Jimmy signaled the bartender who already knew the man’s drink, he probably lived out of a dumpster in the back alley, Zasshu assumed.
”First of all I just wanted tah say I’m sorry bout what happened back in Mexico-“
The bar tender dropped a shot of whiskey before him which he immediately threw back in a single gulp. He patted Zasshu hard on the back again as he beat his own chest with his other fist choking down the shot. Zasshu’s hands balled up tighter than a slipknot.
”Yah gotta understand that I was tryin’ tah help yah.”
Zasshu took slow and measured breaths as he imagined wrestling his anger to the ground as if it were a crazed lion.
”That pretty piece a ass was only gonna hold yah back. Heh, I shouldn’t even really be apologizin’, yah should be thankin’ me for the succss ya had.”
Jimmy signaled for another shot as Zasshu began to shake, he was losing that internal struggle to keep his anger at bay as the memory flashed fresh before his eyes of he and Alejandra on their knees, surrounded by members of the Mexican cartel, each holding fully automatic assault rifles.
”Hell, if it wasn’t for me ya’d probably still be rotten down there in that dump, married to that piece wit a couple a kids livin’ in some hole in the wall.”
Jimmy threw back another shot of whiskey before swiveling on his stool to look at Zasshu who still refused to make eye contact.
”So ya’ welcome.”
Something snapped inside of the masked man’s head and before anyone knew what was happening Zasshu had Jimmy up in the air by the throat with both hands before slamming him down on the dirty tile floor, shattering one of the tiles in the process with the back of Jimmy’s head. His fists rained down like hale in a storm, each one instantly bruising and breaking the face of Jimmy.
The regulars shot up from their seats and moved toward the man in the mask who continued his vicious attack while the bartender just leaned back, knowing full well that Jimmy probably deserves what he’s getting right now. Several bloody teeth lay on the floor or lodged into the fist of Zasshu as five men finally pull him off the now bloody body of the human disease known as Jimmy Snart.
”YOU KILLED HER!!!”
Zasshu broke himself away from the grip of the men holding him to drop one final boot heel into the chest of Jimmy, cracking several ribs.
”If I EVER see you again I WILL kill you.”
The regulars surrounded Jimmy now to protect him from Zasshu as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of $100 bills wrapped up with an elastic band, he nonchalantly tossed it in the direction of the bartender before walking around the men to leave, not even looking back as Jimmy began to cough up blood, rolling to his side to keep from choking, a sinister little smile on his blood soaked face…
”Kinda surprised ya showed up, kid.”
Jimmy Snart suddenly appeared beside him with a slap on the back and breath smelling of whiskey and stale cigars. The short bulbous man took a seat beside Zasshu who only kept looking forward, seeing the disgusting waste of human flesh next to him in the mirror behind the bar. He smiled at Zasshu with golden stained teeth.
”Figured ya woulda went right tah Laura but I guess the “balls” are in your court now, heh.”
The parasite of a man laughed at his own joke as Zasshu choked back the rage welling up inside of him, the man next to him orchestrated the death of his beloved Alejandra back in Mexico City almost three years ago, he put him on a path to meet Laura Howlett, he may not have pulled the trigger but Jimmy Snart killed Zasshu’s humanity.
”What is it you wished to discuss?”
”Right tah business, eh?”
Jimmy signaled the bartender who already knew the man’s drink, he probably lived out of a dumpster in the back alley, Zasshu assumed.
”First of all I just wanted tah say I’m sorry bout what happened back in Mexico-“
The bar tender dropped a shot of whiskey before him which he immediately threw back in a single gulp. He patted Zasshu hard on the back again as he beat his own chest with his other fist choking down the shot. Zasshu’s hands balled up tighter than a slipknot.
”Yah gotta understand that I was tryin’ tah help yah.”
Zasshu took slow and measured breaths as he imagined wrestling his anger to the ground as if it were a crazed lion.
”That pretty piece a ass was only gonna hold yah back. Heh, I shouldn’t even really be apologizin’, yah should be thankin’ me for the succss ya had.”
Jimmy signaled for another shot as Zasshu began to shake, he was losing that internal struggle to keep his anger at bay as the memory flashed fresh before his eyes of he and Alejandra on their knees, surrounded by members of the Mexican cartel, each holding fully automatic assault rifles.
”Hell, if it wasn’t for me ya’d probably still be rotten down there in that dump, married to that piece wit a couple a kids livin’ in some hole in the wall.”
Jimmy threw back another shot of whiskey before swiveling on his stool to look at Zasshu who still refused to make eye contact.
”So ya’ welcome.”
Something snapped inside of the masked man’s head and before anyone knew what was happening Zasshu had Jimmy up in the air by the throat with both hands before slamming him down on the dirty tile floor, shattering one of the tiles in the process with the back of Jimmy’s head. His fists rained down like hale in a storm, each one instantly bruising and breaking the face of Jimmy.
The regulars shot up from their seats and moved toward the man in the mask who continued his vicious attack while the bartender just leaned back, knowing full well that Jimmy probably deserves what he’s getting right now. Several bloody teeth lay on the floor or lodged into the fist of Zasshu as five men finally pull him off the now bloody body of the human disease known as Jimmy Snart.
”YOU KILLED HER!!!”
Zasshu broke himself away from the grip of the men holding him to drop one final boot heel into the chest of Jimmy, cracking several ribs.
”If I EVER see you again I WILL kill you.”
The regulars surrounded Jimmy now to protect him from Zasshu as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of $100 bills wrapped up with an elastic band, he nonchalantly tossed it in the direction of the bartender before walking around the men to leave, not even looking back as Jimmy began to cough up blood, rolling to his side to keep from choking, a sinister little smile on his blood soaked face…
I am sorry that I bore you Mr. King, however it is not in my job description to entertain you. My job within the confines of Imperial Wrestling is quite clear, it is the same as yours in fact, I step into a professional wrestling ring and I wrestle, anything beyond that is quite simply filler in my opinion. Which is why I do not perform the same song and dance act as the rest of you, bending over backward to appease the crowd who will forget you as soon as the next hot fad hits.
Please, do not allow my opinion to stop you from putting on a show.
I am sure the crowd loves your cute little hero act as you stand defiant in the face of insurmountable odds. I am sure they eat it right up as you throw jab after jab at long time enemy, Noah Field. I am sure it brightens up you brooding demeanor to see young Chris King’s in the crowd cheering you on.
All of that, to me, is a waste of time.
I do not put on an act, I do not put on a show, I am not concerned if the people are entertained or if you enjoy listening to me. To be rather honest I do not enjoy listening to you either. Not because your words cut me like a samurai sword but because your words are hollow and non threatening, I liken every sentence that you utter to a toddle screaming for his sippy cup.
An over sized pest.
An annoyance.
You are not someone to be taken seriously, just an over grown child throwing a temper tantrum. Too ignorant to admit he does not deserve the trinket he holds and too arrogant to see how deep he digs his own grave every time he speaks.
But please, do prattle on about my manager, the lovely Ms. Howlett and how she holds my genitalia in her purse, it is not the first time that insult has been hurled at me and it will not be the last time. Unfortunately for you it is not Ms. Howlett you will be facing but instead the Future. So perhaps you should focus less on the woman who supposedly “speaks” for me and more on the man who will be focused on knocking you unconscious as quickly as humanly possible.
Of course, based on what you have demonstrated, you are surely better suited to take part in the Diamonds division.
Domi Natrix is right on your level.
I will be taking my property back Mr. King, with or without your acceptance and most definitely with a great deal of bloodshed.
Perhaps then you will be entertained.
Ah yes, least we forget Mr. Field, the man who orchestrated this whole thing. Trying in vain to secure himself an easy championship run by placing the belt on a man who he knows he can beat with ease. It is a shame really that you actually expected me to just walk away from a championship I earned, as if I would be so inclined to just forfeit my spot in this company simply because you deem it so. I am truly sorry to inform you but the world of Imperial Wrestling does not revolve around the whims of Noah Field.
It revolves around the House of Howlett.
You aided in the theft of my championship, procuring the physical belt for yourself while not actually winning it, declaring yourself champion despite not pinning the champion. I must applaud your effort to do as little work as possible. It is truly an inspiration how hard you work to not work at all.
However you have greatly miscalculated how easy it will be to keep that championship from me, Mr. Field. I will not simply go away because you wish it so, I will not back down because you have a posse, as you have learned I have my own friends who are more than happy to hold you down while I kick your skull in.
Do not mistake me for the simpleton that is Mr. King.
My actions inside that ring are not determined by some misplaced sense of honor or respect. I honor myself by reclaiming what was stolen from me. I respect my ability to handicap the both of you with a single kick to the appropriate vertebrae. I will not relent simply because you whimper on the mat crying for the assistance of your body guard, a Neanderthal I’d happily remove permanently from Imperial Wrestling and the world if he pushes me.
You and Mr. King have mistaken my usual silence for indifference, inability or fear but it will be to your displeasure that you will learn I am a man who lets his actions speak louder than his words. While you take great joy in running your mouth on a near daily basis, gloating about your “win” I have been preparing for this war.
War.
Not a fight. Not a match. Not a battle.
A war.
That is what you unleashed when you decided to inject yourself between me and my property. So if a missing tooth is enough to make you cry then I fear your reaction when I kick your head clean off your shoulder and pin your freshly decapitated body in the center of the ring.
Death is the only reward of war.
A war you courted, goaded and all but invited to the ring. A war that will end with the blood choked cries of my opponents. A war you will not only lose but be decimated by as I methodically cut you down and take you out.
Your fifteen minutes of fame have past.
Now it is time for the Future to reassert itself.
Fear. The. Future.
Well howdy there pardner.