Post by TheNewBreed on May 14, 2018 0:41:50 GMT -5
“John! Johnathan Cable! What are you're thoughts on this week's Strange Bedfellows Match In Moscow?” a scrawny, straw-haired man shouts at the Beast over the milling voices all shouting questions about recent events swirling around the charity mogul.
“I only have one to be honest. Tristan Slater is a dead man.” John shouts over his shoulder as he steps into the waiting limo and the driver closes the door behind him completely ignoring the rest of the fans and reporters alike in the sea of faces screaming at him.
“Why don't you just call a press conference, and answer the media, John? It would solve all of this pressure to find out what is going on with you finally, and it would clear the air around all the rumors about... well about everything!” Dawn Astor says with an air of exasperation, truly wanting things to just go back to normal... or as normal as her life had been since the storm changed her life forever.
“Because I don't have to answer them. I don't have to tell them anything. I don't have to be grilled about what happened in that room... or to Wilson... or to who the hell that was in the Studio. If the authorities want to call a press conference, and clear the air officially on all of those damned questions... then let them. I don't have to tell anyone shit about anything.” John says matter of factually as he stares out the window of the limo at the buildings reaching into the sky passing by as they drive through Downtown Jacksonville. His teeth grind as the muscles in his jaw flex and churn... his fist clenches as the fingers go white at the pressure... he shifts his weight uncomfortably trying to adjust himself, and then she touches his hand.
His fingers caress his skin softly, her fingers tracing the veins standing taunt against his skin, pale blue contrasting the tan.
“John... please? Talk to me. Tell me whatever it is... and I don't mean talk to me about being a prisoner, either. I mean, whatever it is... just tell me.” she says softly to him as she rests the palms of her hand on his thigh.
John closes his eyes slowly, and his hand unclenches a bit as his jaw loosens and a frown spreads across his face.
“I thought for a minute that I had finally made it out of a life of fear. I thought those days were finally done... and the people I cared about were going to be safe from maniacs and murderers for a change. I was wrong. I was wrong to think that there wouldn't be some deranged lunatic trying to maim anyone and everyone they could just to prove a point. I shouldn't have let me guard down and allowed Tristan and Baldwin to get as close as they did... and I definitely shouldn't have gotten you involved in all of this.” John says softly.
“Well for one, Mr. Cable... I got myself involved in this. Maybe you don't remember who the aggressor was in this relationship... but allow me to remind you... it was me...” she says as she slides into his lap and kisses him passionately.
“For two... you can't control what other people do, or how far they are willing to go to get what they want. The only thin you can control is you, and...” she starts as they separate from the embrace, but John mumbles something under his breath and she stops mid-sentence.
“What?” she asks.
“What if you don't control yourself? What if someone else takes that away from you? What if they take away your ability to control yourself... to be yourself... to be you? What if they throw you in a room and seal you away from the world to rot to death? What then... huh?” he says coldly as his eyes stare off far away.
“Then you do what you have to do, John. And you did... you did do what you had to do to get free again and come make sure that we were safe. You did.” she says to him softly as she grabs his disfigured face in her hands and makes him look up at her perched in his lap.
“But what if I don't next time? What if it isn't me next time? What if you or Aaron are the one's who...” he starts to extrapolate the idea of it, but she covers his mouth with her own and his fears melt away into the kiss.
Last BRAWL, after the show...
The cameras have long since been packed up and loaded into the trucks, and the ring has been stowed and prepped to transport to the airport for the trip to Moscow. The crew has mostly finished unloading the arena into long lines of semi trailers parked just outside, and nearly all of the talent has left for the night to find whatever hole they are crawling into for the night before moving on in the morning to wherever their lives take them until the next edition of BRAWL Abroad on the WGWF International Tour.
The door opens on the New Breed locker room backstage, and Johnathan Cable steps into the room from the hallway where he finds himself face to face with none other than Terry Borden.
“I waited... because I have some shit to say to you, Dude... and I wanted to make sure I said it right to your face, Brother. I know you got a lot of stuff going on with being locked up and trying to get to Tristan and dealing with the Royal Family, Jack... I do. But... Brother... and this is the biggest but of them all... when you put your hands on me, after everything I have been through with you and Sebastian, that's the last straw, Dude! I know when I'm not wanted, and I ain't about to hang around no where I can't be respected for the friend that I am, you get it?” Terry barks at him, pissed about the kendo shot earlier in the night, and understandably so.
“Terry... you're right. Not about the not being wanted around here, or respected... but all of the rest... you're right. You didn't deserve that, and I shouldn't have done it... but I can't change it now. If you want to go, do your own thing... good luck, Brother. I'll be here if you need me... but you ARE family... New Breed... Dream-A-Maniac... Americamaniac... whatever it is... you belong here, in the family. I do get it. I'm sorry.” John says as he puts his hand on Terry's shoulder.
“Well... good... I...” Terry kind of stutters, shocked that he didn't get a different response from the Beast.
“Here. Take this, and I'll see you in Moscow. Be safe, and call me if you need me, OK?” John says as he hands Terry a small white envelope, and turns to walk right back out the door.
Tristan... Tristan... Tristan...
Of all of the people one could say has a fractured idea of reality, I guess I could be one of them... but you... you, sir, have got to take the cake in the delusion of your own grandeur. Seriously, I thought that Seabass had a complex.
Man.. you have taken the 'Simply Stunning' gimmick and launched it into the stratosphere... but to hear Kyle Shane tell it, you ripped his model off to get where you are, and then there are the rumors about how you emulated James Raven instead... so really... which one is it then?
Hell... for a guy with as many inner demons as I have, you make me look like a pretty fucking normal guy comparatively... what with your confused state of existence, your hypocritical judgmental-ism, and your displaced self importance on a scale only rivaled by Paul Frost himself, you're a textbook megalomaniac with a severe narcissistic streak the likes no one has ever seen.. and why?
Because you have remained undef...
oh... wait... no.
People have beaten you, Tristan.
Matter of fact... I have... twice now.
But, Tristan, you want to talk about matches where someone actually beat you by pinning you, and not by DQ or some form of fuckery?
Really? You want to go there? Well sure thing, Brother.
How many of the matches you claimed victory in and lord over us with your endless expounding at on how great you are actually ended in pin falls?
And how many of them ended in DQ's and fuckery in one form or another?
Guess how much any of that bullshit matters?
Guess how much it matters that you have beaten everyone in every place everywhere? Guess how much it matter sot me how many titles yo have held all around the world? Take a wild guess at him much I give a damn if you're the prettiest pile of shit at the turd circus?
Not a bit, Slater.
Talk all the shit you want to... come Monday in Moscow... it won't matter.
I already know you're going to spend your entire night staying out of the ring when I'm in there, because you know how dangerous I am, and you know that when its me and you inside that steel cage... your World Title is over.
End of story.
I am coming to Moscow to tear you apart, and then I am going to finish the job when I take your WGWF Title for myself, finally... and there's nothing you can do about it... so you save all the little nuggets you can and squirrel them away for a spectacular defense... go right ahead...
Your afraid of me... and I know it.
Monday... I prove it... and then I tear your whole world apart you son of a bitch.
“I only have one to be honest. Tristan Slater is a dead man.” John shouts over his shoulder as he steps into the waiting limo and the driver closes the door behind him completely ignoring the rest of the fans and reporters alike in the sea of faces screaming at him.
* * *
“Why don't you just call a press conference, and answer the media, John? It would solve all of this pressure to find out what is going on with you finally, and it would clear the air around all the rumors about... well about everything!” Dawn Astor says with an air of exasperation, truly wanting things to just go back to normal... or as normal as her life had been since the storm changed her life forever.
“Because I don't have to answer them. I don't have to tell them anything. I don't have to be grilled about what happened in that room... or to Wilson... or to who the hell that was in the Studio. If the authorities want to call a press conference, and clear the air officially on all of those damned questions... then let them. I don't have to tell anyone shit about anything.” John says matter of factually as he stares out the window of the limo at the buildings reaching into the sky passing by as they drive through Downtown Jacksonville. His teeth grind as the muscles in his jaw flex and churn... his fist clenches as the fingers go white at the pressure... he shifts his weight uncomfortably trying to adjust himself, and then she touches his hand.
His fingers caress his skin softly, her fingers tracing the veins standing taunt against his skin, pale blue contrasting the tan.
“John... please? Talk to me. Tell me whatever it is... and I don't mean talk to me about being a prisoner, either. I mean, whatever it is... just tell me.” she says softly to him as she rests the palms of her hand on his thigh.
John closes his eyes slowly, and his hand unclenches a bit as his jaw loosens and a frown spreads across his face.
“I thought for a minute that I had finally made it out of a life of fear. I thought those days were finally done... and the people I cared about were going to be safe from maniacs and murderers for a change. I was wrong. I was wrong to think that there wouldn't be some deranged lunatic trying to maim anyone and everyone they could just to prove a point. I shouldn't have let me guard down and allowed Tristan and Baldwin to get as close as they did... and I definitely shouldn't have gotten you involved in all of this.” John says softly.
“Well for one, Mr. Cable... I got myself involved in this. Maybe you don't remember who the aggressor was in this relationship... but allow me to remind you... it was me...” she says as she slides into his lap and kisses him passionately.
“For two... you can't control what other people do, or how far they are willing to go to get what they want. The only thin you can control is you, and...” she starts as they separate from the embrace, but John mumbles something under his breath and she stops mid-sentence.
“What?” she asks.
“What if you don't control yourself? What if someone else takes that away from you? What if they take away your ability to control yourself... to be yourself... to be you? What if they throw you in a room and seal you away from the world to rot to death? What then... huh?” he says coldly as his eyes stare off far away.
“Then you do what you have to do, John. And you did... you did do what you had to do to get free again and come make sure that we were safe. You did.” she says to him softly as she grabs his disfigured face in her hands and makes him look up at her perched in his lap.
“But what if I don't next time? What if it isn't me next time? What if you or Aaron are the one's who...” he starts to extrapolate the idea of it, but she covers his mouth with her own and his fears melt away into the kiss.
* * *
Last BRAWL, after the show...
The cameras have long since been packed up and loaded into the trucks, and the ring has been stowed and prepped to transport to the airport for the trip to Moscow. The crew has mostly finished unloading the arena into long lines of semi trailers parked just outside, and nearly all of the talent has left for the night to find whatever hole they are crawling into for the night before moving on in the morning to wherever their lives take them until the next edition of BRAWL Abroad on the WGWF International Tour.
The door opens on the New Breed locker room backstage, and Johnathan Cable steps into the room from the hallway where he finds himself face to face with none other than Terry Borden.
“I waited... because I have some shit to say to you, Dude... and I wanted to make sure I said it right to your face, Brother. I know you got a lot of stuff going on with being locked up and trying to get to Tristan and dealing with the Royal Family, Jack... I do. But... Brother... and this is the biggest but of them all... when you put your hands on me, after everything I have been through with you and Sebastian, that's the last straw, Dude! I know when I'm not wanted, and I ain't about to hang around no where I can't be respected for the friend that I am, you get it?” Terry barks at him, pissed about the kendo shot earlier in the night, and understandably so.
“Terry... you're right. Not about the not being wanted around here, or respected... but all of the rest... you're right. You didn't deserve that, and I shouldn't have done it... but I can't change it now. If you want to go, do your own thing... good luck, Brother. I'll be here if you need me... but you ARE family... New Breed... Dream-A-Maniac... Americamaniac... whatever it is... you belong here, in the family. I do get it. I'm sorry.” John says as he puts his hand on Terry's shoulder.
“Well... good... I...” Terry kind of stutters, shocked that he didn't get a different response from the Beast.
“Here. Take this, and I'll see you in Moscow. Be safe, and call me if you need me, OK?” John says as he hands Terry a small white envelope, and turns to walk right back out the door.
* * *
Tristan... Tristan... Tristan...
Of all of the people one could say has a fractured idea of reality, I guess I could be one of them... but you... you, sir, have got to take the cake in the delusion of your own grandeur. Seriously, I thought that Seabass had a complex.
Man.. you have taken the 'Simply Stunning' gimmick and launched it into the stratosphere... but to hear Kyle Shane tell it, you ripped his model off to get where you are, and then there are the rumors about how you emulated James Raven instead... so really... which one is it then?
Hell... for a guy with as many inner demons as I have, you make me look like a pretty fucking normal guy comparatively... what with your confused state of existence, your hypocritical judgmental-ism, and your displaced self importance on a scale only rivaled by Paul Frost himself, you're a textbook megalomaniac with a severe narcissistic streak the likes no one has ever seen.. and why?
Because you have remained undef...
oh... wait... no.
People have beaten you, Tristan.
Matter of fact... I have... twice now.
But, Tristan, you want to talk about matches where someone actually beat you by pinning you, and not by DQ or some form of fuckery?
Really? You want to go there? Well sure thing, Brother.
How many of the matches you claimed victory in and lord over us with your endless expounding at on how great you are actually ended in pin falls?
And how many of them ended in DQ's and fuckery in one form or another?
Guess how much any of that bullshit matters?
Guess how much it matters that you have beaten everyone in every place everywhere? Guess how much it matter sot me how many titles yo have held all around the world? Take a wild guess at him much I give a damn if you're the prettiest pile of shit at the turd circus?
Not a bit, Slater.
Talk all the shit you want to... come Monday in Moscow... it won't matter.
I already know you're going to spend your entire night staying out of the ring when I'm in there, because you know how dangerous I am, and you know that when its me and you inside that steel cage... your World Title is over.
End of story.
I am coming to Moscow to tear you apart, and then I am going to finish the job when I take your WGWF Title for myself, finally... and there's nothing you can do about it... so you save all the little nuggets you can and squirrel them away for a spectacular defense... go right ahead...
Your afraid of me... and I know it.
Monday... I prove it... and then I tear your whole world apart you son of a bitch.