Post by TheLostBoys on Mar 6, 2017 2:20:04 GMT
Dean Coulter sat on the couch with his arm draped over the shoulders of his partner, Lisa. He was only a couple of days into his return and respite back home in the heart of Sydney, Australia. Needless to say he was quite content enjoying the quiet and closeness of his significant other as they unashamedly watched the Notebook. He was not afraid to admit how much he enjoyed the Ryan Gosling flick and was not reserved in shedding some true man-tears.
It felt comfortable.
It felt normal.
It felt like home.
But despite all that there was still the smallest twinge in the back of Dean’s mind, and true to female form Lisa looked up from resting on his shoulder and put a voice to his concern.
“How much trouble do you think Sam is getting into without you there to keep him in check?”
“I hate it when you do that.”
“What? You aren’t exactly hard to read. But go ahead, shoot him a message. I don’t mind.”
“This feels like a trap to me…”
Lisa flicked his ear.
“Just text him you dag.”
“You’re the best.”
“Uh-huh…”
Lisa returned her head to rest upon Dean’s shoulder whilst he retrieved his phone and sent of a quick message.
No point in being subtle with Sam.
There are times when you can know someone TOO well. This was one of those moments for Dean who couldn’t shake the feeling of ill omen at that final response. If he didn’t sate his grim curiosity it would have done his head in.
“Hey Lisa…I’m going to need to interrupt the movie for a moment.”
“Oh? What’s wrong?”
“I’m about to find out.”
Dean went to the one place he was certain he’d find a recap of the most recent Monday Night Sacrifice…Youtube! Sure enough a quick search revealed a link that made Dean’s misgivings grow exponentially. He clicked on it in the blind hope it was click-bait or a Rick-Roll. But alas it was not to be. He watched the footage of the end to the Dorian Hawkhurst vs Will Peterson match and the events that transpired afterwards. It paused at the sight of Sam Braxton standing proudly over the fallen form of Will Peterson.
“…That kid is going to be the death of me”
--
Sam Braxton leant against the hood of his shining Chevrolet Impala in the passenger pick-up area of the Missouri Airport. Wearing a leather jacket and sunglasses he felt pretty slick and confident about himself. More so because he piqued alot of interest from the young ladies who passed him by. Even some young men stopped for a double-take. Believe me it did wonders for his ego. It all came to a very sudden end though the second Sam noticed the grim and stone-faced expression of Dean Coulter as he exited the airport.
“Get in.”
Sam complied with no resistance or comment.
The drive was one of tense and awkward silence. On one hand Dean strongly felt the onus was on Sam to explain himself and apologise, while Sam didn’t fully understand what was wrong, let alone that he had done anything wrong. But he wasn’t as practiced in stoicism as his close friend and inevitably Sam broke first.
“C’mon Dean, you’re killing me. You know I hate talking about feelings and shit. What’s wrong?”
Dean looked over at his friend and partner driving and his expression softened a little.
“Why did you do it? Why did you attack Peterson?”
“THAT’s what this is about? I wanted to send a message, get our point across. Make sure we remained the hot topic. I mean we won a match, we were building traction and then we don’t get booked for the pay-per-view event? Just not on.”
“But why Peterson? There is a host of more suitable targets in the IWF, some who are much more representative of the system, the paradigms, the culture that we wish to depose. Peterson…well in some ways he is a bit like us. May have even seen value in what we hope to achieve. But regardless, do you even realise that your post-match attack actually works against us and our cause? We’ve proven our determination, gained gravity by the fact we persist in this endeavour despite our lack of successes. Then we emphasised our threat to the company and its roster by picking up a hard-fought win. We put everyone on notice. But now…now any following, any credence that we may have had is jeopardised by that brainless.”
“Hey! It wasn’t brainless!”
“Well it was certainly stupid.”
Silence reigned once more and for the duration of the drive to the Lost Boys’ hotel.
--
This tension persisted, as the Lost Boys went about their own business in and around their hotel. A day passed and Dean returned from his outing to see Sam Braxton watching footage of their IWF matches and promos, an uncharacteristic look of concern was upon his face.
“Everything alright Sam?”
Sam Braxton almost jumped in shock, so engrossed was he, and looked to his dear friend.
“Dean I just…I mean I’m…I wanted to say…ugh damnit I’m no good at this!”
He fell back onto the bed in frustration.
“It’s alright, I know how hard apologising is for you. I get it and don’t want you to embarrass yourself. The stupid thing is, in your own way you were right. We do have to start upping the ante and pulling out all the stops if we want to take things further. But, we need to be smart and strategic about it. From now on just follow my lead yeah?”
Sam grunted his acknowledgement and acceptance
.
“Anyway get yourself ready, we got to sort out our promo for Monday’s match. I think this week we’re being punished for your attack against Peterson. It’s going to be quite the challenge. But I’ve organised something a bit more grandiose. And if it all goes well we should be taken a little more seriously. So, let’s go.”
--
The camera came up to yet another example of the generic, cliché dim-light room. This one differs however in that it is filled with what appeared to be cardboard cut outs of all the current members of the IWF roster, Superstars and Diamonds alike. Two cut-outs were missing, in their place were the living and breathing forms of Sam Braxton and Dean Coulter, also known as the Lost Boys. Sam leant against the cut-outs of the Renegades, his arms draped around their shoulders and with a customary mischievous smile on his face. Dean stood tall and proud with his arms crossed and a stoic look of determination. Dean was the first to speak.
“It is amazing how swiftly and how comprehensively perception can change. Originally you thought of us as nothing more than a minor nuisance, an inconvenience and worse still a joke. But who is laughing now? Because now you fear us and everything we represent. This is evident by the challenge we are now presented with, the challenge of having to best two tag-teams instead of one.”
“And here’s the fairdinkum truth. Our opposing teams may be tough; this may be perhaps our toughest match yet, we acknowledge that. But think about where we come from. Australia. A land where practically everything can, and will, kill you given half the chance. When it boils down to it, none you really know what tough is.”
“This week we step into the ring with not one, but two teams. The first of which is the team of Will and Chris Fennell. Formerly known as the Redneck Renegades and now simply as the Renegades.”
Dean motioned to the cut-outs of the Renegades, Sam had been busy marking the figures of Chris and Will Fennell with a black permanent marker. The words ‘YEE-HAW’ within a speech bubble were emblazoned upon the face of Chris, whilst both had some of their teeth completely drawn in.
“We’ve tangled with these brothers before and obviously, things didn’t go our way. But we live, and we learn. We now have a better understanding of these two; their styles, their tactics and their connection. It will be a different outcome this time around. We can assure you of that.”
“You may change your name Renegades, but that doesn’t change who you are, lacking the capacity to barely string together a coherent thought. Let alone learn anything new. Just because you beat us once, doesn’t mean a thing! But please, cherish our past glory, hold onto the memories of that moment because it will be the only high point remaining for you. Come Monday it will become a thing of the past, forgotten and redundant. Just. Like. You.”
Sam knocked over the two cut-outs.
“The next team is worth some attention. Now where are they…”
Sam and Dean walked amongst the cut-outs until they located the two that represented El Grande Malo and Zasshu.
“Ah here they are.”
“At first I thought this was yet again just another quick mash-up, two individual guys just thrown together because the IWF has little else to offer us it seems. But Dean…Dean knew better.”
“In some regards they are another mash-up team, but by choice, with grand aspirations for tag-team success. Where Malo and Zasshu differ to, say Hawkhurst and Peterson, is that it’s clear these two are not just in it for one night only. They are determined to forge for themselves a legitimate team and already foster the connection that is vital for a tag-team to achieve. They complement each other both in and out of the ring. Their style is actually very similar to yours Sam, very fast-paced and high-risk.”
“Only way to live mate.”
“Well I’d be inclined to say they may out-class you in that regard.”
“I should slap you for such blasphemy! But in all honesty, I’m very excited to get into the ring with these two.”
“And so you should be. However, if we’re not careful these two could easily take us off guard and sneak victory from us. Yet, for some reason, they rank themselves as beneath the Renegades. I can respect such a display of humility, even if its misplaced.”
“You know what sucks?”
“What?”
“I don’t know enough about these two to write up some grievously stereotypical or racially offensive remark on their cut-outs. So, I guess this must do.”
Sam knocked over the Malo and Zasshu cut-outs.
“Malo and Zasshu did get one one thing right. Our streak of losses is at its end and we will be the ones standing triumphant with our hands raised high.”
“Ultimately it comes down to one simple question...Renegades, Malo and Zasshu, what are you fighting for? Why come down to the ring Monday night and face off against us?"
"We’ve been pretty clear from day dot about why we are here and what we hope to achieve. That hasn’t changed despite the bumps in the road. And we are going to stop at NOTHING until we reach that pinnacle, as I proved last week and will gladly prove again, and again, and again.”
“It was nothing personal Peterson. It was merely business, in a rather round-about way. Sam just had a point to prove, a point we will further extenuate when we stand victorious over our opponents.”
"Let this be our message to ALL of the IWF."
One by one, what little light there was in this room gradually faded out and the cardboard cut-outs disappeared into the darkness, until only Sam and Dean remained in the light.
"Witness us now and be prepared for what is to come, because this is only the beginning, and you cannot stop us..."
It felt comfortable.
It felt normal.
It felt like home.
But despite all that there was still the smallest twinge in the back of Dean’s mind, and true to female form Lisa looked up from resting on his shoulder and put a voice to his concern.
“How much trouble do you think Sam is getting into without you there to keep him in check?”
“I hate it when you do that.”
“What? You aren’t exactly hard to read. But go ahead, shoot him a message. I don’t mind.”
“This feels like a trap to me…”
Lisa flicked his ear.
“Just text him you dag.”
“You’re the best.”
“Uh-huh…”
Lisa returned her head to rest upon Dean’s shoulder whilst he retrieved his phone and sent of a quick message.
No point in being subtle with Sam.
There are times when you can know someone TOO well. This was one of those moments for Dean who couldn’t shake the feeling of ill omen at that final response. If he didn’t sate his grim curiosity it would have done his head in.
“Hey Lisa…I’m going to need to interrupt the movie for a moment.”
“Oh? What’s wrong?”
“I’m about to find out.”
Dean went to the one place he was certain he’d find a recap of the most recent Monday Night Sacrifice…Youtube! Sure enough a quick search revealed a link that made Dean’s misgivings grow exponentially. He clicked on it in the blind hope it was click-bait or a Rick-Roll. But alas it was not to be. He watched the footage of the end to the Dorian Hawkhurst vs Will Peterson match and the events that transpired afterwards. It paused at the sight of Sam Braxton standing proudly over the fallen form of Will Peterson.
“…That kid is going to be the death of me”
--
Sam Braxton leant against the hood of his shining Chevrolet Impala in the passenger pick-up area of the Missouri Airport. Wearing a leather jacket and sunglasses he felt pretty slick and confident about himself. More so because he piqued alot of interest from the young ladies who passed him by. Even some young men stopped for a double-take. Believe me it did wonders for his ego. It all came to a very sudden end though the second Sam noticed the grim and stone-faced expression of Dean Coulter as he exited the airport.
“Get in.”
Sam complied with no resistance or comment.
The drive was one of tense and awkward silence. On one hand Dean strongly felt the onus was on Sam to explain himself and apologise, while Sam didn’t fully understand what was wrong, let alone that he had done anything wrong. But he wasn’t as practiced in stoicism as his close friend and inevitably Sam broke first.
“C’mon Dean, you’re killing me. You know I hate talking about feelings and shit. What’s wrong?”
Dean looked over at his friend and partner driving and his expression softened a little.
“Why did you do it? Why did you attack Peterson?”
“THAT’s what this is about? I wanted to send a message, get our point across. Make sure we remained the hot topic. I mean we won a match, we were building traction and then we don’t get booked for the pay-per-view event? Just not on.”
“But why Peterson? There is a host of more suitable targets in the IWF, some who are much more representative of the system, the paradigms, the culture that we wish to depose. Peterson…well in some ways he is a bit like us. May have even seen value in what we hope to achieve. But regardless, do you even realise that your post-match attack actually works against us and our cause? We’ve proven our determination, gained gravity by the fact we persist in this endeavour despite our lack of successes. Then we emphasised our threat to the company and its roster by picking up a hard-fought win. We put everyone on notice. But now…now any following, any credence that we may have had is jeopardised by that brainless.”
“Hey! It wasn’t brainless!”
“Well it was certainly stupid.”
Silence reigned once more and for the duration of the drive to the Lost Boys’ hotel.
--
This tension persisted, as the Lost Boys went about their own business in and around their hotel. A day passed and Dean returned from his outing to see Sam Braxton watching footage of their IWF matches and promos, an uncharacteristic look of concern was upon his face.
“Everything alright Sam?”
Sam Braxton almost jumped in shock, so engrossed was he, and looked to his dear friend.
“Dean I just…I mean I’m…I wanted to say…ugh damnit I’m no good at this!”
He fell back onto the bed in frustration.
“It’s alright, I know how hard apologising is for you. I get it and don’t want you to embarrass yourself. The stupid thing is, in your own way you were right. We do have to start upping the ante and pulling out all the stops if we want to take things further. But, we need to be smart and strategic about it. From now on just follow my lead yeah?”
Sam grunted his acknowledgement and acceptance
.
“Anyway get yourself ready, we got to sort out our promo for Monday’s match. I think this week we’re being punished for your attack against Peterson. It’s going to be quite the challenge. But I’ve organised something a bit more grandiose. And if it all goes well we should be taken a little more seriously. So, let’s go.”
--
The camera came up to yet another example of the generic, cliché dim-light room. This one differs however in that it is filled with what appeared to be cardboard cut outs of all the current members of the IWF roster, Superstars and Diamonds alike. Two cut-outs were missing, in their place were the living and breathing forms of Sam Braxton and Dean Coulter, also known as the Lost Boys. Sam leant against the cut-outs of the Renegades, his arms draped around their shoulders and with a customary mischievous smile on his face. Dean stood tall and proud with his arms crossed and a stoic look of determination. Dean was the first to speak.
“It is amazing how swiftly and how comprehensively perception can change. Originally you thought of us as nothing more than a minor nuisance, an inconvenience and worse still a joke. But who is laughing now? Because now you fear us and everything we represent. This is evident by the challenge we are now presented with, the challenge of having to best two tag-teams instead of one.”
“And here’s the fairdinkum truth. Our opposing teams may be tough; this may be perhaps our toughest match yet, we acknowledge that. But think about where we come from. Australia. A land where practically everything can, and will, kill you given half the chance. When it boils down to it, none you really know what tough is.”
“This week we step into the ring with not one, but two teams. The first of which is the team of Will and Chris Fennell. Formerly known as the Redneck Renegades and now simply as the Renegades.”
Dean motioned to the cut-outs of the Renegades, Sam had been busy marking the figures of Chris and Will Fennell with a black permanent marker. The words ‘YEE-HAW’ within a speech bubble were emblazoned upon the face of Chris, whilst both had some of their teeth completely drawn in.
“We’ve tangled with these brothers before and obviously, things didn’t go our way. But we live, and we learn. We now have a better understanding of these two; their styles, their tactics and their connection. It will be a different outcome this time around. We can assure you of that.”
“You may change your name Renegades, but that doesn’t change who you are, lacking the capacity to barely string together a coherent thought. Let alone learn anything new. Just because you beat us once, doesn’t mean a thing! But please, cherish our past glory, hold onto the memories of that moment because it will be the only high point remaining for you. Come Monday it will become a thing of the past, forgotten and redundant. Just. Like. You.”
Sam knocked over the two cut-outs.
“The next team is worth some attention. Now where are they…”
Sam and Dean walked amongst the cut-outs until they located the two that represented El Grande Malo and Zasshu.
“Ah here they are.”
“At first I thought this was yet again just another quick mash-up, two individual guys just thrown together because the IWF has little else to offer us it seems. But Dean…Dean knew better.”
“In some regards they are another mash-up team, but by choice, with grand aspirations for tag-team success. Where Malo and Zasshu differ to, say Hawkhurst and Peterson, is that it’s clear these two are not just in it for one night only. They are determined to forge for themselves a legitimate team and already foster the connection that is vital for a tag-team to achieve. They complement each other both in and out of the ring. Their style is actually very similar to yours Sam, very fast-paced and high-risk.”
“Only way to live mate.”
“Well I’d be inclined to say they may out-class you in that regard.”
“I should slap you for such blasphemy! But in all honesty, I’m very excited to get into the ring with these two.”
“And so you should be. However, if we’re not careful these two could easily take us off guard and sneak victory from us. Yet, for some reason, they rank themselves as beneath the Renegades. I can respect such a display of humility, even if its misplaced.”
“You know what sucks?”
“What?”
“I don’t know enough about these two to write up some grievously stereotypical or racially offensive remark on their cut-outs. So, I guess this must do.”
Sam knocked over the Malo and Zasshu cut-outs.
“Malo and Zasshu did get one one thing right. Our streak of losses is at its end and we will be the ones standing triumphant with our hands raised high.”
“Ultimately it comes down to one simple question...Renegades, Malo and Zasshu, what are you fighting for? Why come down to the ring Monday night and face off against us?"
"We’ve been pretty clear from day dot about why we are here and what we hope to achieve. That hasn’t changed despite the bumps in the road. And we are going to stop at NOTHING until we reach that pinnacle, as I proved last week and will gladly prove again, and again, and again.”
“It was nothing personal Peterson. It was merely business, in a rather round-about way. Sam just had a point to prove, a point we will further extenuate when we stand victorious over our opponents.”
"Let this be our message to ALL of the IWF."
One by one, what little light there was in this room gradually faded out and the cardboard cut-outs disappeared into the darkness, until only Sam and Dean remained in the light.
"Witness us now and be prepared for what is to come, because this is only the beginning, and you cannot stop us..."
Well howdy there pardner.