Post by The Underdog on Jan 29, 2017 19:19:27 GMT
“UUURRNNNGGGHHHHHHH!”
“A bit lower… bit more… ARRRR that’s the spot!”
“That’s it… keep that rhythm going…”
“Harder… ALL the way in!”
“Hehe… hey Will - can you imagine what this sounds like for people who can’t see us. Or, y’know, for people reading it with no context whatsoever…”
The scene opens up to our favourite pairing, not embraced in the passions of carnal desire, but rather each spread-eagled on a massage bed, their modesty covered only by short, cream-coloured towels wrapped loosely around their waists. Both Will Peterson and Jayson Jacques are flanked by petite yet attractive females, whose hands work expertly on their bare, oiled-up torsos.
Will turned his head slightly towards his manager, eyes still closed as the masseuse continued to work away.
“Bah. Let ‘em think what they want. It’s about time I enjoyed some “me time”. Besides, we worked hard for this - we earned this, now we’re gonna enjoy it.”
“You’re not wrong.” Jayson replied, wincing slightly as he lady apparently worked on a particularly stubborn knot in his lower back. “I’m glad we had our little pep talk before last week’s show. I was right to not underestimate Leon Black – that psycho nearly pulled off a major upset on Sacrifice Monday night!”
Will nodded slightly, fidgeting to get comfortable on the plastic padding of his bed.
“Everyone’s favourite Brandon Lee rip-off certainly did bring his A-game last week. He’d prepared, he’d trained, he was ready. But I was better prepared. I’d trained harder, faster, stronger. And I wasn’t about to let that advantage go.”
Peterson let out a guttural grunt, stopped in his tracks by a particularly forceful stroke from his masseuse. He glanced backwards at her, looking irritated, but said nothing as he silently turned to face forwards once again.
“We’ve got a good thing going here Jay, you and I both know that. This little unbeaten run that is slowly, quietly building up could be the stepping stone to greatness, to the Nirvana that we are destined for. And I’m determined to reach that goal, to claim the ultimate prize, to finally receive the recognition as one of the greatest ever undiscovered superstars that the wrestling industry has ever seen.”
“Very poetic…” Jay retorted, tongue firmly in cheek.
The two lapsed into a thoughtful silence, the only sounds that of the calming yet generic pan pipe instrumental in the background, and the rustling of the two massage parlour employees as they softly went about their work. Before too long, Jay turned his head back towards his charge, his expression serious, pensive.
“Speaking of stepping stones… we’ve got your first IWF pay-per-view coming up next Monday. ‘Metamorphosis’. Another step up in class, calibre and determination of your opponents, no doubt. The stakes will be higher, Will, but so will the rewards.”
Jay was almost whispering now, speaking in a low, intense tone that was obviously meant to motivate his friend. Will remained stoic, and silent, as Jay continued.
“Certainly seems like an apt title though… ‘Metamorphosis’… don’t you think Will? Metamorphosis… the change of the form or nature of a thing or person into a completely different one. The winds of change certainly do seem to be blowing through the Imperial Wrestling Federation, that much is obvious even in the short time we’ve been here. New challengers rising up from obscurity to oust long-time champions of old. An influx of new blood ready to challenge and test the status quo, ready to etch their names into the history books of a historic and celebrated company. And just that feeling in the air that maybe… just maybe… something huge is coming that nobody will have ever seen before…”
“A happy ending, if you will…” Will growled from his prone position on the bed next to his manager, tongue firmly in cheek.
Jay chuckled, then groaned theatrically, extricating an arm from underneath him to flip a playful middle finger into Will’s face. But Peterson was anything but jovial in his reply:
“Irritating as it is for me to continually admit it, you’re right again. And this is the perfect opportunity for me to make my mark. This is the sort of rare opportunity that doesn’t come around too often. You, and everybody else in the IWF, can be fucking certain that The Underdog is gonna take it with both hands.”
The two men looked at each other across the candlelit room, seemingly oblivious to this bizarre setting for intense wrestling discussion, both affording themselves a determined little nod. Will followed up with a weary sigh, stretching his arms out in front of him as the two masseuses looked to be completing their session.
“And I suppose what all of this means is that you’ve planned some ingenious yet painful training regime to get me ready for my pay-per-view bow…?”
Jay allowed himself a small, wry smile.
“Actually…” he began. “I had a better plan…”
Suddenly, Jayson sprang up from his bed, sending the towel that had previously been hanging precariously around his waist tumbling to the floor. He stood there in all his naked glory, apparently completely oblivious of the groans of disgust and screams of terror coming from the three people he was sharing the room with.
“Because all this Florida sunshine has left me with some serious white bits…”
He took a step towards his horrified client, unnecessarily pointing out the aforementioned white bits, which Peterson was doing his best to block out with an outstretched hand. Jacques, however, was unruffled.
“… and it’d be criminal not to take in Florida’s famous sands. Time to soak in some s-…”
“OUT!!!”
Jayson’s cheerful monologue had been interrupted by a scream from one of the massage parlour employees, whose tone had turned from horror to anger at Jayson’s bare-faced brazenness. Jay looked down, surprised, as he had his towel thrust roughly toward his groin in a vain attempt to retain some sort of decentness to the scene. The big man, along with his rather sheepish-looking partner, was then hurriedly ushered out of the room by the two masseuses, who shared a look which screamed “We don’t get paid enough for this shit…”
*****************************************************************************
The tranquil close-quarters of the massage parlour have been replaced by the bustling brightness of West Palm Beach, Florida. Despite the relatively brisk, hazy January climate, the famous stretch of sand still had plenty of scantily-clad visitors of all persuasions spread out across its length, desperately seeking enough warmth and sunlight to make their visit worthwhile.
Amongst the crowd lay Will Peterson and Jayson Jacques, looking every inch the British tourists; both men were spread-eagled on brightly-coloured beach towels, a similarly extravagant wind-breaker erected nearby. Various beach-based paraphernalia, including factor fifty Soltan sun lotion, a discarded pair of shades and bright lime green Frisbee, were scattered randomly around the sunbathing pair.
The two Brits were a picture in contrast – Peterson wearing plain red beach shorts which rested to the bottom of his thighs, his chiselled physique already a darker shade of tan than when he’d first arrived in the country, glistening under the glare of the early afternoon sun. Jayson, meanwhile, had somehow crammed his enormous frame into a pair of impossibly tight neon yellow Speedos, a mass of dark chest hair looking even thicker and more pronounced on pasty white skin. Despite their very different appearances, the pair looked equally pleased with life as they once again lay side-by-side on the sand.
Jayson sighed contentedly, not opening his eyes as he mumbled from his position on the sand.
“This is the life…”
“And to think, I was preparing for another onslaught on my body from you today.” Will said lazily.
“R and R is just as important as hard work in the gym Will, I’m not so dense that I don’t realise that.” Jay said, in an attempt at an authoritative tone.
“Could’ve fooled me…” Will mumbled through a smile.
“What?”
Jay lifted himself onto his side, facing Will with a quizzical look. Will blithely did the same, staring back at his buddy with a look of pure innocence on his face.
“So, Metamorphosis.” Will said briskly, swiftly changing the subject. “Obviously an exciting time for me, and for the company as a whole. But you’ll excuse me if I don’t get myself worked up into a lather at the thought of teaming with The Confused Cadaver against yet more newbies…!”
“A different prospect than singles matches, certainly.” Jay said with a knowing nod. “But it’s a chance to add ‘versatility’ to the strengths column.”
Will didn’t look convinced.
“I don’t work well with others.” he said bluntly.
“I thought you liked tag team matches? Thought they were your forte?”
“Maybe in a past life…” Will said with a frown. “But I’ve met too many ‘partners’ who I couldn’t trust as far as I can throw. And as a bloke who can bench-press four hundred pounds, I could throw them pretty fucking far. But yeah… I’ve been double-crossed and let down by enough people in my life, both in and out of the ring, that I’m much happier looking after number one these days. And that ain’t gonna change whether I’m teaming with Leon Black or Cilla Black this Monday…”
Jayson didn’t look overly enamoured with his client’s attitude.
“So, what, you’re gonna stack the odds against yourself and effectively make it a handicap match at Metamorphosis…?!”
“I’m not a complete bozo” Will replied, smiling. “I’ll go through the motions, I’ll let him carry the load if I have to. But when the time comes, I’ll take control of my own destiny and make sure there’ll be no need for excuses once that final bell is rung.”
“And your opponents? Did you manage to catch any of what they’ve had to say on the lead up to their debut?”
Will snorted with derision.
“Yeah I saw their little promo. Looked like a found-footage tribute to ‘Thelma & Louise’. They profess they have all of these grand ambitions, these big plans. But in reality, they’re a team with no direction, and no ideas. They’re quick to recognise that they’re a pair of no-name, no-face losers from halfway across the world, yet here they are harping on about how they’re gonna change the face of wrestling itself with their work in IWF…! Pssshh – gimme a break! The only thing they need to change is the record, otherwise they’ll be in danger of sounding as unoriginal as Ol’ Dimmer Switch from last week.
This is, of course, presuming this pair of convicts manages to even make it to Metamorphosis. Cliché though it may be, our dear Australian cousins do have a habit of getting a bit… rowdy. God forbid they get themselves into a bit of a fracas with some inbred hick arguing over what the best food to cook on the barbeque is. Disappointing as a pay-per-view win by forfeit would be, it’d nonetheless be a welcome collection to this little streak I’m building.”
Jayson couldn’t help but roll his eyes.
“You know that isn’t going to happen. You also know that, whatever these guys might be saying, they’ll be out to impress at Meta. They’re athletic young guys with a point to prove; a potentially dangerous combination. And, they’re gonna be able to rely on something that you definitely won’t be able to on Monday night – continuity.”
Will raised an eyebrow in disbelief.
“Are they?” he exclaimed. “Seems to me that they’re polar opposite characters coming from two very different places.”
Jayson opened his mouth to speak, but Will cut him off with a wave of the hand.
“And before you start with some bullshit about how opposites attract or how some of the best teams are made up with different but complimentary personalities – I get it, OK, seriously I do. I’m ready and waiting to face a slick, well-oiled wrestling tag team machine who won’t think twice to step all over me or my… ahem… partner in order to make their mark in what will be a massive debut for them.”
Will hoisted himself up into a sitting position, looking out toward the Florida skyline with a faraway look in his eyes.
“But I just get the feeling… deep down… that there’s something not quite right with this team. There’s something… else, there, something underneath the surface, ready to spring forth and ruin their perfect little plan. And if my opening gambits in IWF have taught us anything, it’s that I have an uncanny knack of seizing onto even the tiniest flicker of weakness and doing whatever it takes in order to exploit it to my advantage, and ultimately walk away with my head, and hand, held high in victory.”
Silence fell between the two, penetrated only by the distant sounds of cawing seagulls and crashing waves. Jay stared at Will for a few seconds, nodding once, before turning and lying back down on his loud beach towel.
Will merely continued staring silently out to sea, wearing an intense but satisfied expression. He dropped his gaze slightly, and stared around at his surroundings, immediate and otherwise. He smiled sardonically at a group of macho men trying desperately to impress another, larger group of giggling girls, whether through their not-so-subtle posing or their beach volleyball ‘prowess’. He couldn’t help but laugh as an ambitious surfer, clad complete in full-body wetsuit, was completely wiped out by a mammoth Atlantic wave. And he was powerless to ignore the allure of the many skimpy two-pieces on show… or rather, the bodies of work housed within them.
But even through the various sounds and sights that come with a visit to the beach, Will Peterson’s attention was drawn to a slight disturbance some thirty yards down the beach. His attention was drawn to a man dressed in drab, shabby garments which seemed to not have been washed since they had been purchased… or stolen. A man who staggered with a gait of a drunkard trying desperately not to be seen for what he really was. And a man who held a leather-bound Holy Bible high above his head, as he brazenly shouted the word of the Good Lord into the faces of anyone within earshot.
Will pulled himself into a more upright sitting position, staring intently at the preacher, and in particular, the volume that he was waving erratically about his head. His hand moved instinctively to the back pocket of his shorts, despite the fact it was clearly empty. He grimaced slightly as he watched the preacher stagger ever closer, until his garbled verses met The Underdog’s ears.
“For they cannot sleep… unless they do eeevil…! …hic… And they are robbed of sleep, unless they make someone stumble…!”
Right on cue, the wannabe-cleric tripped on a nearby sand dune, throwing out both of his arms to steady himself, before wobbling on once more.
“For they EAT… hic… the bread of wickedness! Burp… and drink the WINE of violence!”
Peterson managed to drag his eyes away from the oncoming drunk and looked behind him; the vagrant had left quite the path of disruption, nay destruction behind him, as shocked beachgoers and puzzled onlookers scattered in every direction in order to avoid the forceful delivery of the latest sermon.
“But the path of righteousnessnssness… ahem… is like the LIGHT… of dawwwn!”
Will turned back to the drunken man, who was now mere feet away, his free hand pointing fully outstretched to the sky above.
“What the f-…?”
He had drawn the ire of Jayson Jacques, who now also sat upright and regarded their newest arrival with a look of pure bewilderment.
“The light of dawn… that shines BRIGHTER AND BRIGHTER… hic… until the full day.”
Peterson was standing now, an almost automatic reaction to the tramp coming within his persona space. The strong stench of some generic alcoholic spirit hung almost visibly in the air, as the scruffy preacher stopped in front of The Underdog, looking him dead in the eyes, a dangerous expression suddenly befalling his grubby features as he lowered his voice to a mere growl.
“The way of the wicked is like darkness. They do not know over what they stumble.”
Peterson’s mouth dropped open slightly as the two continued to stare at each other, all the while being watched by a puzzled Jayson Jacques. Complete silence befell the three as, after what seemed like an eternity, the drunken preacher turned and continued his erratic journey down the across the sand. It was only as he staggered almost completely out of clear view, that all of the puzzle pieces seemed to come together, Peterson’s left hand once again falling sadly toward his back pocket as Jayson mumbled a single word from his seated position in the sand.
“Proverbs…”
“Four. Nineteen.” Peterson replied grimly, mirroring their conversation from a week previous.
Peterson looked alarmed, troubled, maybe even slightly frightened as he turned towards a blank-faced Jayson Jacques.
“Jay. It’s that thing… that passage again! The same one as last week!”
“Yeah… and…?” Jayson said slowly, clearly not as concerned as his compatriot.
“Jay, this means something…!” Will pleaded.
“Means what though?”
“I just remembered, just as I was watching him… listening to him. Proverbs. My Mum…!”
“Your Mum?!” Jayson was now completely lost.
“It was her favourite passage, her favourite thing to quote, to force down our throats at every hour of every day! You don’t think…?”
“No, Will, you’re right, I don’t.” Jayson replied dismissively, turning away from The Underdog and resuming his sun-seeking. “What I suspect, though, is that you might be suffering from a touch of sun stroke.” He jerked his head towards the rather sad-looking wind-breaker which was now sitting slightly askew in the sand. “I suggest that you get yourself under the windbreaker, start getting yourself mentally prepared for Metamorphosis, and stop puzzling over a religion you’ve long since denounced.”
Peterson didn’t have a reply, only staring intently at the back of Jacques’ head. He turned his head back in the direction in which the preacher had long since disappeared from view, still frowning, still trying to work out exactly what these strange set of ‘coincidences’ actually meant…
“A bit lower… bit more… ARRRR that’s the spot!”
“That’s it… keep that rhythm going…”
“Harder… ALL the way in!”
“Hehe… hey Will - can you imagine what this sounds like for people who can’t see us. Or, y’know, for people reading it with no context whatsoever…”
The scene opens up to our favourite pairing, not embraced in the passions of carnal desire, but rather each spread-eagled on a massage bed, their modesty covered only by short, cream-coloured towels wrapped loosely around their waists. Both Will Peterson and Jayson Jacques are flanked by petite yet attractive females, whose hands work expertly on their bare, oiled-up torsos.
Will turned his head slightly towards his manager, eyes still closed as the masseuse continued to work away.
“Bah. Let ‘em think what they want. It’s about time I enjoyed some “me time”. Besides, we worked hard for this - we earned this, now we’re gonna enjoy it.”
“You’re not wrong.” Jayson replied, wincing slightly as he lady apparently worked on a particularly stubborn knot in his lower back. “I’m glad we had our little pep talk before last week’s show. I was right to not underestimate Leon Black – that psycho nearly pulled off a major upset on Sacrifice Monday night!”
Will nodded slightly, fidgeting to get comfortable on the plastic padding of his bed.
“Everyone’s favourite Brandon Lee rip-off certainly did bring his A-game last week. He’d prepared, he’d trained, he was ready. But I was better prepared. I’d trained harder, faster, stronger. And I wasn’t about to let that advantage go.”
Peterson let out a guttural grunt, stopped in his tracks by a particularly forceful stroke from his masseuse. He glanced backwards at her, looking irritated, but said nothing as he silently turned to face forwards once again.
“We’ve got a good thing going here Jay, you and I both know that. This little unbeaten run that is slowly, quietly building up could be the stepping stone to greatness, to the Nirvana that we are destined for. And I’m determined to reach that goal, to claim the ultimate prize, to finally receive the recognition as one of the greatest ever undiscovered superstars that the wrestling industry has ever seen.”
“Very poetic…” Jay retorted, tongue firmly in cheek.
The two lapsed into a thoughtful silence, the only sounds that of the calming yet generic pan pipe instrumental in the background, and the rustling of the two massage parlour employees as they softly went about their work. Before too long, Jay turned his head back towards his charge, his expression serious, pensive.
“Speaking of stepping stones… we’ve got your first IWF pay-per-view coming up next Monday. ‘Metamorphosis’. Another step up in class, calibre and determination of your opponents, no doubt. The stakes will be higher, Will, but so will the rewards.”
Jay was almost whispering now, speaking in a low, intense tone that was obviously meant to motivate his friend. Will remained stoic, and silent, as Jay continued.
“Certainly seems like an apt title though… ‘Metamorphosis’… don’t you think Will? Metamorphosis… the change of the form or nature of a thing or person into a completely different one. The winds of change certainly do seem to be blowing through the Imperial Wrestling Federation, that much is obvious even in the short time we’ve been here. New challengers rising up from obscurity to oust long-time champions of old. An influx of new blood ready to challenge and test the status quo, ready to etch their names into the history books of a historic and celebrated company. And just that feeling in the air that maybe… just maybe… something huge is coming that nobody will have ever seen before…”
“A happy ending, if you will…” Will growled from his prone position on the bed next to his manager, tongue firmly in cheek.
Jay chuckled, then groaned theatrically, extricating an arm from underneath him to flip a playful middle finger into Will’s face. But Peterson was anything but jovial in his reply:
“Irritating as it is for me to continually admit it, you’re right again. And this is the perfect opportunity for me to make my mark. This is the sort of rare opportunity that doesn’t come around too often. You, and everybody else in the IWF, can be fucking certain that The Underdog is gonna take it with both hands.”
The two men looked at each other across the candlelit room, seemingly oblivious to this bizarre setting for intense wrestling discussion, both affording themselves a determined little nod. Will followed up with a weary sigh, stretching his arms out in front of him as the two masseuses looked to be completing their session.
“And I suppose what all of this means is that you’ve planned some ingenious yet painful training regime to get me ready for my pay-per-view bow…?”
Jay allowed himself a small, wry smile.
“Actually…” he began. “I had a better plan…”
Suddenly, Jayson sprang up from his bed, sending the towel that had previously been hanging precariously around his waist tumbling to the floor. He stood there in all his naked glory, apparently completely oblivious of the groans of disgust and screams of terror coming from the three people he was sharing the room with.
“Because all this Florida sunshine has left me with some serious white bits…”
He took a step towards his horrified client, unnecessarily pointing out the aforementioned white bits, which Peterson was doing his best to block out with an outstretched hand. Jacques, however, was unruffled.
“… and it’d be criminal not to take in Florida’s famous sands. Time to soak in some s-…”
“OUT!!!”
Jayson’s cheerful monologue had been interrupted by a scream from one of the massage parlour employees, whose tone had turned from horror to anger at Jayson’s bare-faced brazenness. Jay looked down, surprised, as he had his towel thrust roughly toward his groin in a vain attempt to retain some sort of decentness to the scene. The big man, along with his rather sheepish-looking partner, was then hurriedly ushered out of the room by the two masseuses, who shared a look which screamed “We don’t get paid enough for this shit…”
*****************************************************************************
The tranquil close-quarters of the massage parlour have been replaced by the bustling brightness of West Palm Beach, Florida. Despite the relatively brisk, hazy January climate, the famous stretch of sand still had plenty of scantily-clad visitors of all persuasions spread out across its length, desperately seeking enough warmth and sunlight to make their visit worthwhile.
Amongst the crowd lay Will Peterson and Jayson Jacques, looking every inch the British tourists; both men were spread-eagled on brightly-coloured beach towels, a similarly extravagant wind-breaker erected nearby. Various beach-based paraphernalia, including factor fifty Soltan sun lotion, a discarded pair of shades and bright lime green Frisbee, were scattered randomly around the sunbathing pair.
The two Brits were a picture in contrast – Peterson wearing plain red beach shorts which rested to the bottom of his thighs, his chiselled physique already a darker shade of tan than when he’d first arrived in the country, glistening under the glare of the early afternoon sun. Jayson, meanwhile, had somehow crammed his enormous frame into a pair of impossibly tight neon yellow Speedos, a mass of dark chest hair looking even thicker and more pronounced on pasty white skin. Despite their very different appearances, the pair looked equally pleased with life as they once again lay side-by-side on the sand.
Jayson sighed contentedly, not opening his eyes as he mumbled from his position on the sand.
“This is the life…”
“And to think, I was preparing for another onslaught on my body from you today.” Will said lazily.
“R and R is just as important as hard work in the gym Will, I’m not so dense that I don’t realise that.” Jay said, in an attempt at an authoritative tone.
“Could’ve fooled me…” Will mumbled through a smile.
“What?”
Jay lifted himself onto his side, facing Will with a quizzical look. Will blithely did the same, staring back at his buddy with a look of pure innocence on his face.
“So, Metamorphosis.” Will said briskly, swiftly changing the subject. “Obviously an exciting time for me, and for the company as a whole. But you’ll excuse me if I don’t get myself worked up into a lather at the thought of teaming with The Confused Cadaver against yet more newbies…!”
“A different prospect than singles matches, certainly.” Jay said with a knowing nod. “But it’s a chance to add ‘versatility’ to the strengths column.”
Will didn’t look convinced.
“I don’t work well with others.” he said bluntly.
“I thought you liked tag team matches? Thought they were your forte?”
“Maybe in a past life…” Will said with a frown. “But I’ve met too many ‘partners’ who I couldn’t trust as far as I can throw. And as a bloke who can bench-press four hundred pounds, I could throw them pretty fucking far. But yeah… I’ve been double-crossed and let down by enough people in my life, both in and out of the ring, that I’m much happier looking after number one these days. And that ain’t gonna change whether I’m teaming with Leon Black or Cilla Black this Monday…”
Jayson didn’t look overly enamoured with his client’s attitude.
“So, what, you’re gonna stack the odds against yourself and effectively make it a handicap match at Metamorphosis…?!”
“I’m not a complete bozo” Will replied, smiling. “I’ll go through the motions, I’ll let him carry the load if I have to. But when the time comes, I’ll take control of my own destiny and make sure there’ll be no need for excuses once that final bell is rung.”
“And your opponents? Did you manage to catch any of what they’ve had to say on the lead up to their debut?”
Will snorted with derision.
“Yeah I saw their little promo. Looked like a found-footage tribute to ‘Thelma & Louise’. They profess they have all of these grand ambitions, these big plans. But in reality, they’re a team with no direction, and no ideas. They’re quick to recognise that they’re a pair of no-name, no-face losers from halfway across the world, yet here they are harping on about how they’re gonna change the face of wrestling itself with their work in IWF…! Pssshh – gimme a break! The only thing they need to change is the record, otherwise they’ll be in danger of sounding as unoriginal as Ol’ Dimmer Switch from last week.
This is, of course, presuming this pair of convicts manages to even make it to Metamorphosis. Cliché though it may be, our dear Australian cousins do have a habit of getting a bit… rowdy. God forbid they get themselves into a bit of a fracas with some inbred hick arguing over what the best food to cook on the barbeque is. Disappointing as a pay-per-view win by forfeit would be, it’d nonetheless be a welcome collection to this little streak I’m building.”
Jayson couldn’t help but roll his eyes.
“You know that isn’t going to happen. You also know that, whatever these guys might be saying, they’ll be out to impress at Meta. They’re athletic young guys with a point to prove; a potentially dangerous combination. And, they’re gonna be able to rely on something that you definitely won’t be able to on Monday night – continuity.”
Will raised an eyebrow in disbelief.
“Are they?” he exclaimed. “Seems to me that they’re polar opposite characters coming from two very different places.”
Jayson opened his mouth to speak, but Will cut him off with a wave of the hand.
“And before you start with some bullshit about how opposites attract or how some of the best teams are made up with different but complimentary personalities – I get it, OK, seriously I do. I’m ready and waiting to face a slick, well-oiled wrestling tag team machine who won’t think twice to step all over me or my… ahem… partner in order to make their mark in what will be a massive debut for them.”
Will hoisted himself up into a sitting position, looking out toward the Florida skyline with a faraway look in his eyes.
“But I just get the feeling… deep down… that there’s something not quite right with this team. There’s something… else, there, something underneath the surface, ready to spring forth and ruin their perfect little plan. And if my opening gambits in IWF have taught us anything, it’s that I have an uncanny knack of seizing onto even the tiniest flicker of weakness and doing whatever it takes in order to exploit it to my advantage, and ultimately walk away with my head, and hand, held high in victory.”
Silence fell between the two, penetrated only by the distant sounds of cawing seagulls and crashing waves. Jay stared at Will for a few seconds, nodding once, before turning and lying back down on his loud beach towel.
Will merely continued staring silently out to sea, wearing an intense but satisfied expression. He dropped his gaze slightly, and stared around at his surroundings, immediate and otherwise. He smiled sardonically at a group of macho men trying desperately to impress another, larger group of giggling girls, whether through their not-so-subtle posing or their beach volleyball ‘prowess’. He couldn’t help but laugh as an ambitious surfer, clad complete in full-body wetsuit, was completely wiped out by a mammoth Atlantic wave. And he was powerless to ignore the allure of the many skimpy two-pieces on show… or rather, the bodies of work housed within them.
But even through the various sounds and sights that come with a visit to the beach, Will Peterson’s attention was drawn to a slight disturbance some thirty yards down the beach. His attention was drawn to a man dressed in drab, shabby garments which seemed to not have been washed since they had been purchased… or stolen. A man who staggered with a gait of a drunkard trying desperately not to be seen for what he really was. And a man who held a leather-bound Holy Bible high above his head, as he brazenly shouted the word of the Good Lord into the faces of anyone within earshot.
Will pulled himself into a more upright sitting position, staring intently at the preacher, and in particular, the volume that he was waving erratically about his head. His hand moved instinctively to the back pocket of his shorts, despite the fact it was clearly empty. He grimaced slightly as he watched the preacher stagger ever closer, until his garbled verses met The Underdog’s ears.
“For they cannot sleep… unless they do eeevil…! …hic… And they are robbed of sleep, unless they make someone stumble…!”
Right on cue, the wannabe-cleric tripped on a nearby sand dune, throwing out both of his arms to steady himself, before wobbling on once more.
“For they EAT… hic… the bread of wickedness! Burp… and drink the WINE of violence!”
Peterson managed to drag his eyes away from the oncoming drunk and looked behind him; the vagrant had left quite the path of disruption, nay destruction behind him, as shocked beachgoers and puzzled onlookers scattered in every direction in order to avoid the forceful delivery of the latest sermon.
“But the path of righteousnessnssness… ahem… is like the LIGHT… of dawwwn!”
Will turned back to the drunken man, who was now mere feet away, his free hand pointing fully outstretched to the sky above.
“What the f-…?”
He had drawn the ire of Jayson Jacques, who now also sat upright and regarded their newest arrival with a look of pure bewilderment.
“The light of dawn… that shines BRIGHTER AND BRIGHTER… hic… until the full day.”
Peterson was standing now, an almost automatic reaction to the tramp coming within his persona space. The strong stench of some generic alcoholic spirit hung almost visibly in the air, as the scruffy preacher stopped in front of The Underdog, looking him dead in the eyes, a dangerous expression suddenly befalling his grubby features as he lowered his voice to a mere growl.
“The way of the wicked is like darkness. They do not know over what they stumble.”
Peterson’s mouth dropped open slightly as the two continued to stare at each other, all the while being watched by a puzzled Jayson Jacques. Complete silence befell the three as, after what seemed like an eternity, the drunken preacher turned and continued his erratic journey down the across the sand. It was only as he staggered almost completely out of clear view, that all of the puzzle pieces seemed to come together, Peterson’s left hand once again falling sadly toward his back pocket as Jayson mumbled a single word from his seated position in the sand.
“Proverbs…”
“Four. Nineteen.” Peterson replied grimly, mirroring their conversation from a week previous.
Peterson looked alarmed, troubled, maybe even slightly frightened as he turned towards a blank-faced Jayson Jacques.
“Jay. It’s that thing… that passage again! The same one as last week!”
“Yeah… and…?” Jayson said slowly, clearly not as concerned as his compatriot.
“Jay, this means something…!” Will pleaded.
“Means what though?”
“I just remembered, just as I was watching him… listening to him. Proverbs. My Mum…!”
“Your Mum?!” Jayson was now completely lost.
“It was her favourite passage, her favourite thing to quote, to force down our throats at every hour of every day! You don’t think…?”
“No, Will, you’re right, I don’t.” Jayson replied dismissively, turning away from The Underdog and resuming his sun-seeking. “What I suspect, though, is that you might be suffering from a touch of sun stroke.” He jerked his head towards the rather sad-looking wind-breaker which was now sitting slightly askew in the sand. “I suggest that you get yourself under the windbreaker, start getting yourself mentally prepared for Metamorphosis, and stop puzzling over a religion you’ve long since denounced.”
Peterson didn’t have a reply, only staring intently at the back of Jacques’ head. He turned his head back in the direction in which the preacher had long since disappeared from view, still frowning, still trying to work out exactly what these strange set of ‘coincidences’ actually meant…
Well howdy there pardner.