Post by Max f'n Daemon on Jan 25, 2023 17:21:13 GMT
Max Daemon enters his glorified mansion at one o'clock in the morning and almost immediately wishes to turn back around to the bar.
He doesn’t though because momma didn’t raise no pussy.
Momma didn’t raise Max at all, so the thought of leaving immediately springs back to mind.
But when he catches the intense green eyes of Wuya he realizes that he’s already caught in her web.
He does have enough agency to let out a sigh and set the half-empty bottle of Jack on a nearby table.
“Yo,” is what he says.
Because he’s a bit of an idiot, you see. Especially when he’s drunk.
“You need to stop this,” is her response.
Which…seemed like an order as much as it was merely a statement.
Orders, Max can do.
“Nah,” he says.
…insofar as he doesn’t follow them.
He tries to make his way towards the nearby stairs, but an errantly thrown green ball of flame stops in his tracks.
“You singed the floor,” he says.
She doesn’t deign his obvious apathy a response.
Clever girl…
“This…needs to stop. This…whole…drinking yourself into a stupor thing until you come home every night trying to forget. Forget what, I don’t know. Or maybe just to help cope with the losses. Whatever it is, it needs to end. Now.”
Max sniffs his nose, attempting to wrap his mind around her words. Unfortunately, a lot of it just kind of sounds like echoed words, like he’s underwater or something.
“Max.”
Oh, wait, she’s serious.
“Losing is inevitable. I’ve been losing for over a millennium. You’re going to get used to it,” she says.
“Apologies, but I don’t think your situation compares ta’ mine,” he says.
“You’re right. Losing battles for ancient artifacts that allow its user power they never knew beforehand and battles over the fate of the world itself for over a millennium is much more important and dire than just losing a few wrestling matches.”
Max opens his mouth and raises his finger as if to protest.
All he says is, “wait, I thought I had point there, hold on.”
“You did,” she says. “The point is that you put too much stock in this. All of you people do. Wrestling is fun, I get it. It’s a good outlet for violence and it can be rewarding, but all of your people, the ones in your group, treat it like it’s life or death. I have some news, Max: it’s fucking not. It’s really fucking not.”
“Uh huh,” he says.
He attempts to move past her into the kitchen, but she grabs him by his jacket’s collar. She lifts him off the ground and suddenly they are the same height.
Why is he so small…?
“Listen here you little shit,” she says.
When he doesn’t, she sends a harsh slap across his cheek. It doesn’t do much to get him out of his drunken stupor, but it certainly does open his focus.
“I don’t have to deal with you. You’re a drunken piece of shit who’d rather spend more time in the bar than you would dealing with anything else. But if things go your way, suddenly everything is happy and fine. Tell me, how often does that actually happen, Max? Not rarely, but certainly not as often as your arrogance might indicate.
You won a tag team match a couple weeks ago and have been absent ever since. What a great impression you’re making on that kid who came to you. I’m sure he’s really proud he chose to ally himself with an asshole who falls on the ground because he can’t stand straight every time he loses something.
You lost that MMA fight pretty handedly though, huh?”
He narrows his eyes at the slight as his mind only replays the ‘left jab, right hook’ that keeps knocking him out.
“Yeah, that got your focus, huh? Is that what this is about? That Irish piece of shit? Still can’t get him out of your mind even if you put him through hell and sent him packing from MMA?”
He attempts to grip her hand to get free, but she merely tightens her grip.
“I don’t have to deal with you, Max, but I do, because despite my over 1000 years of knowledge, despite me knowing how things often go with assholes like you, despite having 1000 years of experience with pieces of shit exactly like you, despite all of that…? Guess what, you dipshit, I’m still here. So take a second and ask yourself why someone like me would bother sticking around to deal with you? And trust me, dealing with you is getting tiresome, so then when you figure that out, ask why she hasn’t just left?”
Despite the anger growing within his skull, he does listen to her.
Question number one was why is she here.
Answer number one is because…she likes him? In some capacity? Probably.
Question number two was why she hasn’t left.
Answer number two is because…wait…no, hold on, he’s got this…
“Ease up on the work floor, Max, I can hear the cogs from here.”
“Fuck you,” he says.
That was on impulse.
“Wait, hold on…”
Things got a lot hotter and not because of the tightening grip she has on him.
And things are suddenly a lot greener oh that’s fire, neat.
“I get it. I’m sorry.”
“Not good enough.”
“What do ya’ want me ta’ do? Apostate myself?”
“Well…I am a goddess in some cultures…”
“Sure, whatever, if that’s what ya’ want, babe…”
“I’ve already solved what you need to do, so you can calm your beating heart.”
“My heart usually beats faster the closer I am ta’ fire.”
She doesn’t respond beyond shutting off the green flame from her hand. He lets out an audible sigh of relief, immediately followed by a grunt as he is let go.
He hits the ground on his knees, apparently ready to immediately beg for forgiveness.
“Have you been able to figure out the answers to the questions?”
“Many of ‘em, ta’ be honest,” he lies.
She raises a well-plucked eyebrow at his obvious fib.
“Okay, most of ‘em. Ya’ know who you’re dealin with on a good day.”
“Yes, you’re pretty fucking dense when you want to be, I am aware. So…begin the apologizing…”
“I’m sorry. I’m…not used ta’ this. And the last time I was it didn’t end right…for either of us. I know I’m an asshole. I know I can’t change that, but…alcohol…cigarettes…it’s a crutch. A good one. Especially when it seems like no matter what I do, it’s not good enough ta’ win. And I’m sure ya’ had your own vices, but ya’ never let that control ya’…or at least, not enough so that ya’ never had the chances to fulfill your own goals. I need ta’ get better. Not only for me, but…yes…for Holo too.”
“Good start.”
She flicks Max in his forehead.
“Where is the Hawaiian bastard anyway?” she asks.
They are interrupted by the kitchen door behind them opening. The person in question—Holo Make—exits. He ignores the two of them, walking up the stairs with a glass of milk and bowl of cereal.
Three steps up the stairs he pauses and turns around. Seeing the sight of Max on his knees in front of Wuya cause him to grumble.
“Perform your salacious acts in private, please. You’re no longer the only tenants of this house,” he says.
At that, he returns up the stairs to his room.
Wuya lets out a sigh as Max gets to his feet.
“I finally called Casanova back,” she says.
Max pauses.
“I told him you were available for the show next week,” she continues.
He looks over at her.
“Consider it the first step of your apology if you show up. The next step would be showing up for Gold Rush.”
He doesn’t respond beyond shaking his head.
“You’re facing Lexi Rasputin in a Last Man Standing match,” she says.
Both of them suddenly hear the stairs creak. They look over and see Holo Make leaning against the railing. He takes a sip of his glass of milk followed by a pouring a bit of the cereal into his mouth.
Both Wuya and Max wince as he chews the cereal and swallows.
“Right…” Wuya says.
“Wait, Last Man Standing? I guess inclusivity is truly dead.”
“You have more things to worry about than gender neutrality.”
“Right. Who’s the chick?”
“A newcomer. Clearly. Apparently, she’s Russian and making her debut.”
“More like Russian inta’ her destruction, am I right?”
Neither Wuya nor Holo dictate that a response beyond narrowing their eyes and continuing to eat their cereal in an abominable way, respectively.
“Sorry,” Max says.
“There’s not much on her beyond her beyond a gymnast and gifted at a lot of the sports she did in school.”
“That’s it? Ooh, she shot hoops and kicked balls. So what? I kick balls all the time, doesn’t mean she has any actual experience in the ring. Why anybody thinks turning ‘pro’ as a wrestler means a goddamn thing is beyond me. Especially since this isn’t a wrestlin match. I wonder if she knows what glass on the forehead feels like? Or a chair to the back? Or the blood pourin out of your skin inta’ a bucket?”
“She probably doesn’t,” Holo says.
“Yes, that’s the point, thank ya' Holo.”
“Apparently she has some strength to her.”
“Neat.”
Yeah that’s…that’s about the only input any of them bring to the table.
“Do not underestimate one’s strength,” Holo pipes up.
“Neat.”
Apparently, that’s the only input any of them will be bringing to the table.
“She’s a little girl makin her first forays into wrestlin and she made the absolute batshit decision ta' join a hardcore company like CU:LT. I’m not only gonna make sure she realizes what a mistake that was, but also give Casanova and CU:LT a reason not ta’ doubt me anymore.”
“Good.”
“Violence begets violence, as I always say. And given that’s my nature and why I joined CU:LT in the first place? Yeah. Let’s beget some violence.”
“Excellent.”
“Is the basement open?”
“No.”
“Is…is my bed open?”
“You mean the couch in your office? Yes. Yes it is.”
They hear a snort, but by the time both of them look back up to Holo, he is already making his way back upstairs.
“That kid’s going to learn so much,” Wuya says.
“Yeah. Poor bastard…”
He doesn’t though because momma didn’t raise no pussy.
Momma didn’t raise Max at all, so the thought of leaving immediately springs back to mind.
But when he catches the intense green eyes of Wuya he realizes that he’s already caught in her web.
He does have enough agency to let out a sigh and set the half-empty bottle of Jack on a nearby table.
“Yo,” is what he says.
Because he’s a bit of an idiot, you see. Especially when he’s drunk.
“You need to stop this,” is her response.
Which…seemed like an order as much as it was merely a statement.
Orders, Max can do.
“Nah,” he says.
…insofar as he doesn’t follow them.
He tries to make his way towards the nearby stairs, but an errantly thrown green ball of flame stops in his tracks.
“You singed the floor,” he says.
She doesn’t deign his obvious apathy a response.
Clever girl…
“This…needs to stop. This…whole…drinking yourself into a stupor thing until you come home every night trying to forget. Forget what, I don’t know. Or maybe just to help cope with the losses. Whatever it is, it needs to end. Now.”
Max sniffs his nose, attempting to wrap his mind around her words. Unfortunately, a lot of it just kind of sounds like echoed words, like he’s underwater or something.
“Max.”
Oh, wait, she’s serious.
“Losing is inevitable. I’ve been losing for over a millennium. You’re going to get used to it,” she says.
“Apologies, but I don’t think your situation compares ta’ mine,” he says.
“You’re right. Losing battles for ancient artifacts that allow its user power they never knew beforehand and battles over the fate of the world itself for over a millennium is much more important and dire than just losing a few wrestling matches.”
Max opens his mouth and raises his finger as if to protest.
All he says is, “wait, I thought I had point there, hold on.”
“You did,” she says. “The point is that you put too much stock in this. All of you people do. Wrestling is fun, I get it. It’s a good outlet for violence and it can be rewarding, but all of your people, the ones in your group, treat it like it’s life or death. I have some news, Max: it’s fucking not. It’s really fucking not.”
“Uh huh,” he says.
He attempts to move past her into the kitchen, but she grabs him by his jacket’s collar. She lifts him off the ground and suddenly they are the same height.
Why is he so small…?
“Listen here you little shit,” she says.
When he doesn’t, she sends a harsh slap across his cheek. It doesn’t do much to get him out of his drunken stupor, but it certainly does open his focus.
“I don’t have to deal with you. You’re a drunken piece of shit who’d rather spend more time in the bar than you would dealing with anything else. But if things go your way, suddenly everything is happy and fine. Tell me, how often does that actually happen, Max? Not rarely, but certainly not as often as your arrogance might indicate.
You won a tag team match a couple weeks ago and have been absent ever since. What a great impression you’re making on that kid who came to you. I’m sure he’s really proud he chose to ally himself with an asshole who falls on the ground because he can’t stand straight every time he loses something.
You lost that MMA fight pretty handedly though, huh?”
He narrows his eyes at the slight as his mind only replays the ‘left jab, right hook’ that keeps knocking him out.
“Yeah, that got your focus, huh? Is that what this is about? That Irish piece of shit? Still can’t get him out of your mind even if you put him through hell and sent him packing from MMA?”
He attempts to grip her hand to get free, but she merely tightens her grip.
“I don’t have to deal with you, Max, but I do, because despite my over 1000 years of knowledge, despite me knowing how things often go with assholes like you, despite having 1000 years of experience with pieces of shit exactly like you, despite all of that…? Guess what, you dipshit, I’m still here. So take a second and ask yourself why someone like me would bother sticking around to deal with you? And trust me, dealing with you is getting tiresome, so then when you figure that out, ask why she hasn’t just left?”
Despite the anger growing within his skull, he does listen to her.
Question number one was why is she here.
Answer number one is because…she likes him? In some capacity? Probably.
Question number two was why she hasn’t left.
Answer number two is because…wait…no, hold on, he’s got this…
“Ease up on the work floor, Max, I can hear the cogs from here.”
“Fuck you,” he says.
That was on impulse.
“Wait, hold on…”
Things got a lot hotter and not because of the tightening grip she has on him.
And things are suddenly a lot greener oh that’s fire, neat.
“I get it. I’m sorry.”
“Not good enough.”
“What do ya’ want me ta’ do? Apostate myself?”
“Well…I am a goddess in some cultures…”
“Sure, whatever, if that’s what ya’ want, babe…”
“I’ve already solved what you need to do, so you can calm your beating heart.”
“My heart usually beats faster the closer I am ta’ fire.”
She doesn’t respond beyond shutting off the green flame from her hand. He lets out an audible sigh of relief, immediately followed by a grunt as he is let go.
He hits the ground on his knees, apparently ready to immediately beg for forgiveness.
“Have you been able to figure out the answers to the questions?”
“Many of ‘em, ta’ be honest,” he lies.
She raises a well-plucked eyebrow at his obvious fib.
“Okay, most of ‘em. Ya’ know who you’re dealin with on a good day.”
“Yes, you’re pretty fucking dense when you want to be, I am aware. So…begin the apologizing…”
“I’m sorry. I’m…not used ta’ this. And the last time I was it didn’t end right…for either of us. I know I’m an asshole. I know I can’t change that, but…alcohol…cigarettes…it’s a crutch. A good one. Especially when it seems like no matter what I do, it’s not good enough ta’ win. And I’m sure ya’ had your own vices, but ya’ never let that control ya’…or at least, not enough so that ya’ never had the chances to fulfill your own goals. I need ta’ get better. Not only for me, but…yes…for Holo too.”
“Good start.”
She flicks Max in his forehead.
“Where is the Hawaiian bastard anyway?” she asks.
They are interrupted by the kitchen door behind them opening. The person in question—Holo Make—exits. He ignores the two of them, walking up the stairs with a glass of milk and bowl of cereal.
Three steps up the stairs he pauses and turns around. Seeing the sight of Max on his knees in front of Wuya cause him to grumble.
“Perform your salacious acts in private, please. You’re no longer the only tenants of this house,” he says.
At that, he returns up the stairs to his room.
Wuya lets out a sigh as Max gets to his feet.
“I finally called Casanova back,” she says.
Max pauses.
“I told him you were available for the show next week,” she continues.
He looks over at her.
“Consider it the first step of your apology if you show up. The next step would be showing up for Gold Rush.”
He doesn’t respond beyond shaking his head.
“You’re facing Lexi Rasputin in a Last Man Standing match,” she says.
Both of them suddenly hear the stairs creak. They look over and see Holo Make leaning against the railing. He takes a sip of his glass of milk followed by a pouring a bit of the cereal into his mouth.
Both Wuya and Max wince as he chews the cereal and swallows.
“Right…” Wuya says.
“Wait, Last Man Standing? I guess inclusivity is truly dead.”
“You have more things to worry about than gender neutrality.”
“Right. Who’s the chick?”
“A newcomer. Clearly. Apparently, she’s Russian and making her debut.”
“More like Russian inta’ her destruction, am I right?”
Neither Wuya nor Holo dictate that a response beyond narrowing their eyes and continuing to eat their cereal in an abominable way, respectively.
“Sorry,” Max says.
“There’s not much on her beyond her beyond a gymnast and gifted at a lot of the sports she did in school.”
“That’s it? Ooh, she shot hoops and kicked balls. So what? I kick balls all the time, doesn’t mean she has any actual experience in the ring. Why anybody thinks turning ‘pro’ as a wrestler means a goddamn thing is beyond me. Especially since this isn’t a wrestlin match. I wonder if she knows what glass on the forehead feels like? Or a chair to the back? Or the blood pourin out of your skin inta’ a bucket?”
“She probably doesn’t,” Holo says.
“Yes, that’s the point, thank ya' Holo.”
“Apparently she has some strength to her.”
“Neat.”
Yeah that’s…that’s about the only input any of them bring to the table.
“Do not underestimate one’s strength,” Holo pipes up.
“Neat.”
Apparently, that’s the only input any of them will be bringing to the table.
“She’s a little girl makin her first forays into wrestlin and she made the absolute batshit decision ta' join a hardcore company like CU:LT. I’m not only gonna make sure she realizes what a mistake that was, but also give Casanova and CU:LT a reason not ta’ doubt me anymore.”
“Good.”
“Violence begets violence, as I always say. And given that’s my nature and why I joined CU:LT in the first place? Yeah. Let’s beget some violence.”
“Excellent.”
“Is the basement open?”
“No.”
“Is…is my bed open?”
“You mean the couch in your office? Yes. Yes it is.”
They hear a snort, but by the time both of them look back up to Holo, he is already making his way back upstairs.
“That kid’s going to learn so much,” Wuya says.
“Yeah. Poor bastard…”
