Post by Max f'n Daemon on Feb 22, 2023 18:38:45 GMT
After Max exited the plane, the first thing he did was head to the bar.
When he sat down and ordered a drink, he immediately realized what he had done.
So after that fiasco of a near unfortunate relapse, Max left while the bartender was fixing the glass and headed for a nearby McDonald’s.
So now he’s sitting there and eating his five McDoubles, two large fries, and large Coke while trying to keep himself composed.
Of course, the dried blood on the hand still in his hoodie jacket is a good wake-up call, even if the regret from punching the screen with her smug face was regretted almost immediately after he sat down in his plane seat and realized he’d have to fly on a fucking plane with a bleeding hand.
From DC to London of all places.
So, he refrains from doing multiple things.
1. Not drinking. Harder than it seems, but otherwise fine.
2. Having people see his fucked-up hand. That’ll definitely get the kind of attention he does not want.
And 3. Getting on the next plane out of London back to his house where he can safely rest and make sweet unromantic love to his girlfriend while avoiding his problems entirely.
Because that most definitely won’t happen…
Ugh…
He grips the burger with his left hand and forces half of it down his gullet.
Oh right, 4. He has to eat his food with one hand due to number 2.
“Things used ta' be so much easier. Back when I was startin and gettin back into wrestlin. Back when titles came easier ta' me.
Now the risk is nowhere near the reward…”
He idly scratches the CU:LT logo on his chest, still branded there from all those months ago.
“Loyalty is a fickle thing and not even I’m immune ta' it. But goddamn does it feel fucked up that I’m almost forcin myself just ta' be there, and all because I was one of its first champs, one of its first signings…one of its first victims.”
Max finishes the first burger, forcing down a few fries along the way just to keep from talking.
Once he swallows it down with help from the Coke, he continues.
“And it’s not like I’m any better than anybody here. I’m a violent fuck who loves ta' inflict damage. The feeling of bones grindin, the taste of blood on my face, the sound of chairs and weapons crackin off people’s flesh…shit man, that gets me. And I love doin it, don’t get me wrong. So when I held that SNUFF Title by bein smarter than everyone else in the match—even if the competition was admittedly pretty bare—it felt like I was holdin my first title again, or holdin my Pure Title again. Shit was poetic…”
He sighs, forcing a handful of fries down.
“And ever since, I’ve been tryin ta’ get back there, but there’s always an obstacle. JD Driftwood, Addy A, fuckin…this stupid brand. I’ve beaten Vincent and Lexi, but meanwhile people like Hopeless get ta’ beat up Casanova himself. Pieces of shit like Serenity get ta’ walk around with a title and think that means they’re hot shit. It’s fuckin cold man. Keepin that title is hard, but winnin it is fuckin harder. And yet here I am. A stalwart of this fuckin place, too scared ta' show up.”
He throws down half of another burger.
“It’s not Serenity. It’s not JD. It’s not Hopeless, and it sure as shit isn’t Johnny-boy. It’s not even me. I just have more shit ta' worry about right now that CU:LT just feels like an afterthought, a second place.”
He sighs, throwing the rest of the food in a bag before getting up.
“Well fine then. If this is how I’m treated…than I guess we’ll show 'em what for.”
He exits the McDonald’s, a new lease on life suddenly obtained.
----------------------------------------------------------
“So you’re sayin there’s no flights available for the next week?” Max asks.
The person at the counter nods once.
“Yes sir. Between the weather and other unforeseen circumstances, unfortunately, the next flight to DC isn’t until Saturday,” she says.
With a sigh, Max walks away and finds the nearest unoccupied seat. He sits down and looks down at his phone.
Still four hours until the show.
God he should’ve flown Kayfabe…
He tosses another couple handful of fries in before leaning back.
“Okay. So we’re here. And we’re stuck here. I’d be remiss if I didn’t skip this payday. So that just means we’re gonna have ta’ focus.”
He eats the rest of that second burger while he formulates a plan.
It takes the third burger and the rest of his fries to come up with a conclusion.
“I don’t have a plan.”
The fourth burger goes by and a quarter of the other fries passes with it.
“When have I ever had a plan though…?”
Oh.
Now that’s a thought process.
“I’ve never looked at anythin and walked in with a plan. Even in the stupid Matilda match I expected a level of improvisation. Shit, that was what the entirety of the blood bucket match was. The plan wasn’t there until I saw the opportunity. Which begs the question…what can I not plan with Serenity? Yeah! That’s it! I just have ta' not plan!”
----------------------------------------------------------
“Unfortunately, sir, a flight to Baltimore is also going to take another week.”
Alright, back to his seat he goes and the rest of whatever pitiful meal from McDonald’s he had.
He tosses the bag in the trash, uncaring that it misses, as he starts to massage his face.
“Okay, new plan, same as the old plan. Not…plannin…? This is stupid…”
He knocks the armrest of the cheap airport chair a few times before pulling out his phone.
He gets halfway through Holmes vs. Gemini from Super Saiyan—wait, Super Saiyan?
“Serenity hasn’t had a match here since fuckin November? Fuckin, what? And they haven’t stripped her of the belt? What kind of half-ass, protective bullshit is that? What, is English pickin favorites now or does he just have a thing for chicks way too young for him? Didn’t work for Holden, probably won’t work for English.”
Anyway, he gets halfway through Holmes vs. Gemini before turning it off.
“Right, I don’t need ta’ watch anymore of that shit. Holmes pulls the usual shit outta her snatch before winnin and actin like it was a celebration worth harpin on constantly. Nothin new there. Not like she’s been a paragon of perfection herself. At least I’m known for somethin here, even if it means I get my ass kicked along with it. JD wouldn’t be where he is without havin kicked my ass and made my blood soak the canvas. Johnny-boy wouldn’t be as highly regarded as he is without humblin me. Hell, even Addy A…”
He pulls up another match from Holmes, her vs. Mack and Deluna from Deathmatch Does Dallas.
Once again, he gets halfway through before putting the phone away.
“Jesus fuck…what am I doin? I’m sweatin someone like fuckin Serenity. I’ve fought bigger and better and proved I can hold my own. And that wasn’t even for a title. God, this was so much easier when I was on so much shit. Now it just feels like I’m bound ta' this MMA gig. And of course, Serenity had ta' follow me inta’ that too…”
He shakes his head and starts to think some more, distracting himself by stomping his feet.
He checks his phone.
Three and a half hours until the show.
“Ya’ think they’d know if I just stayed at the airport…? Or would they notice my hand by then?”
He pulls it out briefly to investigate the still dried blood on it.
When he notices some odd stares, he puts it back in the pocket and heads to the restroom.
After removing all remnants of red, distracting himself with a long shit, and then washing his hands again, he returns to his seat.
He checks his phone.
Three hours and fifteen minutes.
“Oh that’s just bullshit.”
He sighs.
“Fuckin fine. I don’t need this shit.”
----------------------------------------------------------
The car reaches the edge of London proper before he turns into a nearby parking lot…of McDonald’s apparently.
He gets out of the rental car before leaning against the side of it.
“I don’t need this. I don’t need ta’ sacrifice myself anymore.”
He repeats the sentence a few times, trying to convince himself.
He looks to his left and sees a billboard for CU:LT. The same damn image…
He narrows his eyes and flips it off.
“Yeah alright ya’ smug cunt. Ya’ got my attention.
So ya’ think you’re the shit cause you’re young and ya’ve done so much? Congratulations. Been there, done that, fucked around with it a few times, and then grew the fuck up. Give it a few years and I’m sure you’ll stagnate too. Or what, ya’ too confident for that too? Too damn arrogant ta’ realize you’re still human? Yeah, not all of us have the luxury of full mortality.
But hey, you’re Serenity Holmes! Daughter of the overbearing and undercaring Andre Holmes! The same fucker who tried to warn ya' off from Holden for not entirely selfish reasons! You’re a prodigy!
A good wrestler, a mixed-martial-artist, and apparently also a deathmatch wrestler! What a unique pile of traits not at all shared by yours truly!
What, were ya’ thinkin of buyin’ in ta’ that Roller Derby too or are ya’ still too poor for that? Did daddy finally cut ya’ off?
And I don’t mean Holden either cause that bastard ain’t got shit, yet ya’ still found a part of your soul that saw some kinda good in him.
Yet when ya’ look at me, ya’ can’t help but cringe and feel sickened?
Me?!
I finally got Hopeless ta’ say I’m cute, but Serenity is apparently too immune.
Or just unbearably naïve…
Honestly, it’s probably a problem with your experience in such a short span of time. Ya’ve been through a lot, don’t get me wrong, but that ain’t shit compared ta’ what I’ve been through.
When ya’ve got the company branded on your chest, come back ta’ me.
When ya’ve gotten glass punched inta' your skull, come back ta’ me.
When ya’ve felt bullets whizz by ya’ and thought a few inches to the left, I’d be dead, get back ta’ me.
This bitch thinks she knows pain, thinks she’s experienced a lot.
She has.
And that’s the fuckin problem.
Cause it’s not enough…”
He cringes, suddenly popping out of his monologue.
.
“It’s…never enough…not for CU:LT, not for AW, not for WGWF or FWE or any PWE or any other place I stumble inta’ with a drink in my hand and an arrogance I pull outta my ass half the time.”
He pulls his hands through his hair.
“But…I still showed up. Despite all the hate against me, despite bein one of the most despised people anywhere I’ve gone, by peers and fans alike, I still go out there and give ‘em one of the best matches of the nights, and in one case, the year.”
He glances back up at Serenity, whose smile still shines next to the gleam of her belt.
“I’ve held gold here before. The SNUFF Title was more well-earned, admittedly, than this match will probably be, but somethin tells me Serenity is the kinda cunt ta' take advantage of anything she can.
Like me, actually…
Shit, I am lookin at myself in her, aren’t I?
Well…as good a plan as any…
And don’t pump yourself up any higher Serenity, ya’ can’t grow any height by ego.
Trust me, I tried…
You’re still human, no matter how diminutive ya’ are. And all humans bleed, and break, and scar.
This is your first defense with that title, and while I normally love ta' play spoiler, it’s especially gratifying this time.
Not sure what part of ya’ pushed ya’ up ta’ hate from me, but I guess ya’ve earned it, so add that ta' your resume. Which will probably be the first thing ya’ve properly earned since ya’ started in CU:LT.
Don’t worry. Ya’ won’t have ta’ worry about that 5 defenses stipulation.
Ya’ won’t even make it ta’ one.”
Max sighs and gets back in his car.
With another inhale and exhale, he starts the GPS.
Two and a half hours until the show.
“Okay, it’s a right to the arena…”
He exits the parking lot and takes a left.
He finds that a car almost immediately veers off course and crashes into a mailbox, taking out the box in question and ending up directly in front of Max.
“Alright, fine!”
When he sat down and ordered a drink, he immediately realized what he had done.
So after that fiasco of a near unfortunate relapse, Max left while the bartender was fixing the glass and headed for a nearby McDonald’s.
So now he’s sitting there and eating his five McDoubles, two large fries, and large Coke while trying to keep himself composed.
Of course, the dried blood on the hand still in his hoodie jacket is a good wake-up call, even if the regret from punching the screen with her smug face was regretted almost immediately after he sat down in his plane seat and realized he’d have to fly on a fucking plane with a bleeding hand.
From DC to London of all places.
So, he refrains from doing multiple things.
1. Not drinking. Harder than it seems, but otherwise fine.
2. Having people see his fucked-up hand. That’ll definitely get the kind of attention he does not want.
And 3. Getting on the next plane out of London back to his house where he can safely rest and make sweet unromantic love to his girlfriend while avoiding his problems entirely.
Because that most definitely won’t happen…
Ugh…
He grips the burger with his left hand and forces half of it down his gullet.
Oh right, 4. He has to eat his food with one hand due to number 2.
“Things used ta' be so much easier. Back when I was startin and gettin back into wrestlin. Back when titles came easier ta' me.
Now the risk is nowhere near the reward…”
He idly scratches the CU:LT logo on his chest, still branded there from all those months ago.
“Loyalty is a fickle thing and not even I’m immune ta' it. But goddamn does it feel fucked up that I’m almost forcin myself just ta' be there, and all because I was one of its first champs, one of its first signings…one of its first victims.”
Max finishes the first burger, forcing down a few fries along the way just to keep from talking.
Once he swallows it down with help from the Coke, he continues.
“And it’s not like I’m any better than anybody here. I’m a violent fuck who loves ta' inflict damage. The feeling of bones grindin, the taste of blood on my face, the sound of chairs and weapons crackin off people’s flesh…shit man, that gets me. And I love doin it, don’t get me wrong. So when I held that SNUFF Title by bein smarter than everyone else in the match—even if the competition was admittedly pretty bare—it felt like I was holdin my first title again, or holdin my Pure Title again. Shit was poetic…”
He sighs, forcing a handful of fries down.
“And ever since, I’ve been tryin ta’ get back there, but there’s always an obstacle. JD Driftwood, Addy A, fuckin…this stupid brand. I’ve beaten Vincent and Lexi, but meanwhile people like Hopeless get ta’ beat up Casanova himself. Pieces of shit like Serenity get ta’ walk around with a title and think that means they’re hot shit. It’s fuckin cold man. Keepin that title is hard, but winnin it is fuckin harder. And yet here I am. A stalwart of this fuckin place, too scared ta' show up.”
He throws down half of another burger.
“It’s not Serenity. It’s not JD. It’s not Hopeless, and it sure as shit isn’t Johnny-boy. It’s not even me. I just have more shit ta' worry about right now that CU:LT just feels like an afterthought, a second place.”
He sighs, throwing the rest of the food in a bag before getting up.
“Well fine then. If this is how I’m treated…than I guess we’ll show 'em what for.”
He exits the McDonald’s, a new lease on life suddenly obtained.
----------------------------------------------------------
“So you’re sayin there’s no flights available for the next week?” Max asks.
The person at the counter nods once.
“Yes sir. Between the weather and other unforeseen circumstances, unfortunately, the next flight to DC isn’t until Saturday,” she says.
With a sigh, Max walks away and finds the nearest unoccupied seat. He sits down and looks down at his phone.
Still four hours until the show.
God he should’ve flown Kayfabe…
He tosses another couple handful of fries in before leaning back.
“Okay. So we’re here. And we’re stuck here. I’d be remiss if I didn’t skip this payday. So that just means we’re gonna have ta’ focus.”
He eats the rest of that second burger while he formulates a plan.
It takes the third burger and the rest of his fries to come up with a conclusion.
“I don’t have a plan.”
The fourth burger goes by and a quarter of the other fries passes with it.
“When have I ever had a plan though…?”
Oh.
Now that’s a thought process.
“I’ve never looked at anythin and walked in with a plan. Even in the stupid Matilda match I expected a level of improvisation. Shit, that was what the entirety of the blood bucket match was. The plan wasn’t there until I saw the opportunity. Which begs the question…what can I not plan with Serenity? Yeah! That’s it! I just have ta' not plan!”
----------------------------------------------------------
“Unfortunately, sir, a flight to Baltimore is also going to take another week.”
Alright, back to his seat he goes and the rest of whatever pitiful meal from McDonald’s he had.
He tosses the bag in the trash, uncaring that it misses, as he starts to massage his face.
“Okay, new plan, same as the old plan. Not…plannin…? This is stupid…”
He knocks the armrest of the cheap airport chair a few times before pulling out his phone.
He gets halfway through Holmes vs. Gemini from Super Saiyan—wait, Super Saiyan?
“Serenity hasn’t had a match here since fuckin November? Fuckin, what? And they haven’t stripped her of the belt? What kind of half-ass, protective bullshit is that? What, is English pickin favorites now or does he just have a thing for chicks way too young for him? Didn’t work for Holden, probably won’t work for English.”
Anyway, he gets halfway through Holmes vs. Gemini before turning it off.
“Right, I don’t need ta’ watch anymore of that shit. Holmes pulls the usual shit outta her snatch before winnin and actin like it was a celebration worth harpin on constantly. Nothin new there. Not like she’s been a paragon of perfection herself. At least I’m known for somethin here, even if it means I get my ass kicked along with it. JD wouldn’t be where he is without havin kicked my ass and made my blood soak the canvas. Johnny-boy wouldn’t be as highly regarded as he is without humblin me. Hell, even Addy A…”
He pulls up another match from Holmes, her vs. Mack and Deluna from Deathmatch Does Dallas.
Once again, he gets halfway through before putting the phone away.
“Jesus fuck…what am I doin? I’m sweatin someone like fuckin Serenity. I’ve fought bigger and better and proved I can hold my own. And that wasn’t even for a title. God, this was so much easier when I was on so much shit. Now it just feels like I’m bound ta' this MMA gig. And of course, Serenity had ta' follow me inta’ that too…”
He shakes his head and starts to think some more, distracting himself by stomping his feet.
He checks his phone.
Three and a half hours until the show.
“Ya’ think they’d know if I just stayed at the airport…? Or would they notice my hand by then?”
He pulls it out briefly to investigate the still dried blood on it.
When he notices some odd stares, he puts it back in the pocket and heads to the restroom.
After removing all remnants of red, distracting himself with a long shit, and then washing his hands again, he returns to his seat.
He checks his phone.
Three hours and fifteen minutes.
“Oh that’s just bullshit.”
He sighs.
“Fuckin fine. I don’t need this shit.”
----------------------------------------------------------
The car reaches the edge of London proper before he turns into a nearby parking lot…of McDonald’s apparently.
He gets out of the rental car before leaning against the side of it.
“I don’t need this. I don’t need ta’ sacrifice myself anymore.”
He repeats the sentence a few times, trying to convince himself.
He looks to his left and sees a billboard for CU:LT. The same damn image…
He narrows his eyes and flips it off.
“Yeah alright ya’ smug cunt. Ya’ got my attention.
So ya’ think you’re the shit cause you’re young and ya’ve done so much? Congratulations. Been there, done that, fucked around with it a few times, and then grew the fuck up. Give it a few years and I’m sure you’ll stagnate too. Or what, ya’ too confident for that too? Too damn arrogant ta’ realize you’re still human? Yeah, not all of us have the luxury of full mortality.
But hey, you’re Serenity Holmes! Daughter of the overbearing and undercaring Andre Holmes! The same fucker who tried to warn ya' off from Holden for not entirely selfish reasons! You’re a prodigy!
A good wrestler, a mixed-martial-artist, and apparently also a deathmatch wrestler! What a unique pile of traits not at all shared by yours truly!
What, were ya’ thinkin of buyin’ in ta’ that Roller Derby too or are ya’ still too poor for that? Did daddy finally cut ya’ off?
And I don’t mean Holden either cause that bastard ain’t got shit, yet ya’ still found a part of your soul that saw some kinda good in him.
Yet when ya’ look at me, ya’ can’t help but cringe and feel sickened?
Me?!
I finally got Hopeless ta’ say I’m cute, but Serenity is apparently too immune.
Or just unbearably naïve…
Honestly, it’s probably a problem with your experience in such a short span of time. Ya’ve been through a lot, don’t get me wrong, but that ain’t shit compared ta’ what I’ve been through.
When ya’ve got the company branded on your chest, come back ta’ me.
When ya’ve gotten glass punched inta' your skull, come back ta’ me.
When ya’ve felt bullets whizz by ya’ and thought a few inches to the left, I’d be dead, get back ta’ me.
This bitch thinks she knows pain, thinks she’s experienced a lot.
She has.
And that’s the fuckin problem.
Cause it’s not enough…”
He cringes, suddenly popping out of his monologue.
.
“It’s…never enough…not for CU:LT, not for AW, not for WGWF or FWE or any PWE or any other place I stumble inta’ with a drink in my hand and an arrogance I pull outta my ass half the time.”
He pulls his hands through his hair.
“But…I still showed up. Despite all the hate against me, despite bein one of the most despised people anywhere I’ve gone, by peers and fans alike, I still go out there and give ‘em one of the best matches of the nights, and in one case, the year.”
He glances back up at Serenity, whose smile still shines next to the gleam of her belt.
“I’ve held gold here before. The SNUFF Title was more well-earned, admittedly, than this match will probably be, but somethin tells me Serenity is the kinda cunt ta' take advantage of anything she can.
Like me, actually…
Shit, I am lookin at myself in her, aren’t I?
Well…as good a plan as any…
And don’t pump yourself up any higher Serenity, ya’ can’t grow any height by ego.
Trust me, I tried…
You’re still human, no matter how diminutive ya’ are. And all humans bleed, and break, and scar.
This is your first defense with that title, and while I normally love ta' play spoiler, it’s especially gratifying this time.
Not sure what part of ya’ pushed ya’ up ta’ hate from me, but I guess ya’ve earned it, so add that ta' your resume. Which will probably be the first thing ya’ve properly earned since ya’ started in CU:LT.
Don’t worry. Ya’ won’t have ta’ worry about that 5 defenses stipulation.
Ya’ won’t even make it ta’ one.”
Max sighs and gets back in his car.
With another inhale and exhale, he starts the GPS.
Two and a half hours until the show.
“Okay, it’s a right to the arena…”
He exits the parking lot and takes a left.
He finds that a car almost immediately veers off course and crashes into a mailbox, taking out the box in question and ending up directly in front of Max.
“Alright, fine!”
