Post by alycestarchylde on Jun 10, 2018 21:31:09 GMT -5
I stand outside the Lake Breeze Club, on the corner of Lake Shore Drive and Wacker just off of Lake Michigan. The breeze off the lake is cold and blustery and it digs at your exposed skin like the blade of a dull knife.
Rumor has it, Al Capone himself used to own the Lake Breeze at some point, that it was one of his many speakeasies. But like a lot of things about Capone, the rumors of what he once owned have been greatly exaggerated. Still though, this was at one point a front for the mob and while the mob may be quiet in Chicago these days, if you think they’re gone, then you know nothing about the way of the world.
I take a deep breath, as if trying to steady myself for the encounter that is to come, and pull open the door and walk in. A busboy in a blue apron and a waitress heading towards the kitchen greet me immediately. The rest of the place doesn’t seem to notice me.
The place is crowded. Wall to wall with the well to do, getting out of the house for an easy dinner and a night of drinking. I look around and see my contact sitting up at the bar, an empty bar stool sitting next to her.
Her name is Nikki Roman and whileer name sounds like it came from a comic book sheis dangerous. A former killer he had a close call with the other world and now he devotes herself to making the world a better place. She always works quietly, off the radar, because even at 50 years of age, she hasn’t begun to tire of life.
I take a seat next to her at the bar. She doesn’t even look at me.
‘That seat’s taken,’ Nikki says.
I pull the hood off my head revealing my bicolored pigtails.
‘Oh, it’s you,’ she says, her voice seeming bored.
‘You called me,’ I reply, ‘I have a match tomorrow I am sure there is something else I can find to do with my time.’
I get up to leave, but she puts a hand on my arm to restrain me. There’s no force in it, but the attitude commands attention. She’s used to dealing with hardcases…and getting her way in the process.
‘I DID call you, however, I forgot you looked,’ she pauses for a moment, unsure how to continue, finally she decides to be blunt, ‘like that.’
I smile in response. The woman decided on bluntness and I have a certain respect for that.
‘Well now that you remember what I look like,’ I ask, ‘what is it that you wanted to talk to me about?’
She opens her mouth to speak but the bartender drops by to ask what we want. She orders a vodka rocks for herself, I do the same. Once the bartender disappears she asks me a question.
‘What do you know about your parents?’
“They're dead,” I respond, “What else is there to know?”
I get up and start to leave. She grabs my wrist once more.
“They were targeted,” she says.
“By a drunk driver,” I reply, “this is ancient history and I'm not a fan.”
“No,” she says, she tosses an ancient journal on the table in front of me, “look, your parents made their way to Malaysia once upon a time.”
I pick up the journal and begin leafing through it.
“So what,” I ask.
But I can already see 'so what?' the journal is in my mother's handwriting and just skimming it, I'm not liking the bits and pieces I am seeing.
'...the lowlands of Malaysia are amazing, the people are so genuine...'
'...they have warned us not to go into the highlands. They say the chauchaus live there...'
'...apparently the 'chauchaus' are not just a snail, one of our guides was attacked and killed my a horrid little man with red skin and no hair...'
'...it's pronounced 'Tcho-Tcho' and according to Professor Mortenson, they practice cannibalism and other less savory rites...'
'...I don't know how, we ran all night in darkness but we escaped the highlands...we found the hotel we stayed in before we left...we stayed in the cafe there til late but Mortenson didn't show...'
I close the book.
“So my parents were attacked by cannibals. What's that have to do with their accident,” I ask.
Nikki smiled.
'Because the Tcho Tcho aren't a tribe of cannibals...they have access to magic, the dark and dangerous kind,” she answered.
My stomach turned. As a guardian of the border between realities, I knew that dark magic was real...even though Mr. and Mrs. John Q. Public don't believe in it.
“Okay,” I responded, “My parents were killed by little red mages and cannibals. They haven't bothered me.
“Because until recently,” she said, “they didn't know you existed. Me and a friend found... and killed...this just outside the ranch you own near LA.”
She tosses a picture in front of me. It depicts a horrid creature, all black skin, not like African-American black, but like, night sky black. It looks human...ish. It has no hair, on it's head, no eyebrows...no hair and it's skin is a mass of wrinkles. Instead of a nose, it has a long trunk like thing...resembling a horn of some kind.
“What is it,” I ask.
“They call it a shugoran...but what it USED to be is Professor Eric Mortenson, the very one that saved your parents!”
“Hawaiian Hardhead? Hawaiian Hardhead? I don't know HOW I managed to lose to you last week. You are barely qualified to hold Dark Shadow's jock strap and yet somehow, I managed to lose? To you and some fat retarded kid?
Well I hope you enjoyed it! I hope you wrote it down in your special diary of big things that happened in your life because it's not happening again. I hope you wrote “Dear Diary, today, I and my fat kid buddy beat REAL wrestlers. My mom is wrong, I'm not a failure! Also, I can now find my penis, although I still need a pair of tweezers to hold it.” Actually, that's gross, almost certainly factual, but gross.
That win was what we call a fluke and I am going to prove it when I beat you within an inch of your life this week on Brawl. I am going to kick your teeth right down your throat the way I should have last week!
I mean, back in X-Dubya-Eff did you ever get off of Impact? It was the B show, the training show and so many guys passed you and left you there it wasn't even funny.
Let's face it, you look like a one man Samoan Swat Team...but in real life your more the fat kid who thinks that a bunch of tattoos is gonna make him tough. Not so much. You got lucky. That doesn't make you a threat any more than having sex with a blow up doll means you have a girlfriend. And doesn't THAT just disappoint the hell out of you!
I mean, do you actually have any accomplishments...other than your win last Brawl? I honestly cannot believe I let you and your little fat retarded sidekick put me, MDK and Page out last week...well that won't be happening. I am gunning for that world title but I ain't so focused on it that little semen stains like yourself are gonna get over on me because of it.
Let me make this VERY clear, Hardhead. You have no run afoul of the Royal Family and in particular, the queen. So let me paint a picture of what you have coming. I am going to beat you within an inch of your useless, do nothing life. I am going to hurt you so bad you will cry for the woman who is embarrassed to call herself your Momma. I am going to smack you like a little girl with a big mouth. And finally, when I get tired of hurting you and hearing you cry, I am going to kick your head right off your body.
Now, I am gonna guess you are all puffed up with your own importance, but you are about to run headfirst into a buzz saw! And this particular buzz saw is capable of speaking so when you hear me scream 'Off with Your Head' you just get ready for your nap.
Oh, just to let you know, me kicking your ass up one side of the arena and down the other is NOT sex. I'd tell you what sex is but you are never going to have it so there's no need for me to try and explain it.
So, step up little man, get the ass kicking you should have gotten last Brawl...then I am going on to get that World Title while you and your little fat friend go back to jerking the curtain (not to mention certain other things that require tweezers to manipulate). Welcome to Wonderland, bitch, it's about to get bloody from here!
Rumor has it, Al Capone himself used to own the Lake Breeze at some point, that it was one of his many speakeasies. But like a lot of things about Capone, the rumors of what he once owned have been greatly exaggerated. Still though, this was at one point a front for the mob and while the mob may be quiet in Chicago these days, if you think they’re gone, then you know nothing about the way of the world.
I take a deep breath, as if trying to steady myself for the encounter that is to come, and pull open the door and walk in. A busboy in a blue apron and a waitress heading towards the kitchen greet me immediately. The rest of the place doesn’t seem to notice me.
The place is crowded. Wall to wall with the well to do, getting out of the house for an easy dinner and a night of drinking. I look around and see my contact sitting up at the bar, an empty bar stool sitting next to her.
Her name is Nikki Roman and whileer name sounds like it came from a comic book sheis dangerous. A former killer he had a close call with the other world and now he devotes herself to making the world a better place. She always works quietly, off the radar, because even at 50 years of age, she hasn’t begun to tire of life.
I take a seat next to her at the bar. She doesn’t even look at me.
‘That seat’s taken,’ Nikki says.
I pull the hood off my head revealing my bicolored pigtails.
‘Oh, it’s you,’ she says, her voice seeming bored.
‘You called me,’ I reply, ‘I have a match tomorrow I am sure there is something else I can find to do with my time.’
I get up to leave, but she puts a hand on my arm to restrain me. There’s no force in it, but the attitude commands attention. She’s used to dealing with hardcases…and getting her way in the process.
‘I DID call you, however, I forgot you looked,’ she pauses for a moment, unsure how to continue, finally she decides to be blunt, ‘like that.’
I smile in response. The woman decided on bluntness and I have a certain respect for that.
‘Well now that you remember what I look like,’ I ask, ‘what is it that you wanted to talk to me about?’
She opens her mouth to speak but the bartender drops by to ask what we want. She orders a vodka rocks for herself, I do the same. Once the bartender disappears she asks me a question.
‘What do you know about your parents?’
“They're dead,” I respond, “What else is there to know?”
I get up and start to leave. She grabs my wrist once more.
“They were targeted,” she says.
“By a drunk driver,” I reply, “this is ancient history and I'm not a fan.”
“No,” she says, she tosses an ancient journal on the table in front of me, “look, your parents made their way to Malaysia once upon a time.”
I pick up the journal and begin leafing through it.
“So what,” I ask.
But I can already see 'so what?' the journal is in my mother's handwriting and just skimming it, I'm not liking the bits and pieces I am seeing.
'...the lowlands of Malaysia are amazing, the people are so genuine...'
'...they have warned us not to go into the highlands. They say the chauchaus live there...'
'...apparently the 'chauchaus' are not just a snail, one of our guides was attacked and killed my a horrid little man with red skin and no hair...'
'...it's pronounced 'Tcho-Tcho' and according to Professor Mortenson, they practice cannibalism and other less savory rites...'
'...I don't know how, we ran all night in darkness but we escaped the highlands...we found the hotel we stayed in before we left...we stayed in the cafe there til late but Mortenson didn't show...'
I close the book.
“So my parents were attacked by cannibals. What's that have to do with their accident,” I ask.
Nikki smiled.
'Because the Tcho Tcho aren't a tribe of cannibals...they have access to magic, the dark and dangerous kind,” she answered.
My stomach turned. As a guardian of the border between realities, I knew that dark magic was real...even though Mr. and Mrs. John Q. Public don't believe in it.
“Okay,” I responded, “My parents were killed by little red mages and cannibals. They haven't bothered me.
“Because until recently,” she said, “they didn't know you existed. Me and a friend found... and killed...this just outside the ranch you own near LA.”
She tosses a picture in front of me. It depicts a horrid creature, all black skin, not like African-American black, but like, night sky black. It looks human...ish. It has no hair, on it's head, no eyebrows...no hair and it's skin is a mass of wrinkles. Instead of a nose, it has a long trunk like thing...resembling a horn of some kind.
“What is it,” I ask.
“They call it a shugoran...but what it USED to be is Professor Eric Mortenson, the very one that saved your parents!”
Welcome to Wonderland
Alyce sits on a throne, hand on the pommel of a sword...which she picks up and throws at the camera.“Hawaiian Hardhead? Hawaiian Hardhead? I don't know HOW I managed to lose to you last week. You are barely qualified to hold Dark Shadow's jock strap and yet somehow, I managed to lose? To you and some fat retarded kid?
Well I hope you enjoyed it! I hope you wrote it down in your special diary of big things that happened in your life because it's not happening again. I hope you wrote “Dear Diary, today, I and my fat kid buddy beat REAL wrestlers. My mom is wrong, I'm not a failure! Also, I can now find my penis, although I still need a pair of tweezers to hold it.” Actually, that's gross, almost certainly factual, but gross.
That win was what we call a fluke and I am going to prove it when I beat you within an inch of your life this week on Brawl. I am going to kick your teeth right down your throat the way I should have last week!
I mean, back in X-Dubya-Eff did you ever get off of Impact? It was the B show, the training show and so many guys passed you and left you there it wasn't even funny.
Let's face it, you look like a one man Samoan Swat Team...but in real life your more the fat kid who thinks that a bunch of tattoos is gonna make him tough. Not so much. You got lucky. That doesn't make you a threat any more than having sex with a blow up doll means you have a girlfriend. And doesn't THAT just disappoint the hell out of you!
I mean, do you actually have any accomplishments...other than your win last Brawl? I honestly cannot believe I let you and your little fat retarded sidekick put me, MDK and Page out last week...well that won't be happening. I am gunning for that world title but I ain't so focused on it that little semen stains like yourself are gonna get over on me because of it.
Let me make this VERY clear, Hardhead. You have no run afoul of the Royal Family and in particular, the queen. So let me paint a picture of what you have coming. I am going to beat you within an inch of your useless, do nothing life. I am going to hurt you so bad you will cry for the woman who is embarrassed to call herself your Momma. I am going to smack you like a little girl with a big mouth. And finally, when I get tired of hurting you and hearing you cry, I am going to kick your head right off your body.
Now, I am gonna guess you are all puffed up with your own importance, but you are about to run headfirst into a buzz saw! And this particular buzz saw is capable of speaking so when you hear me scream 'Off with Your Head' you just get ready for your nap.
Oh, just to let you know, me kicking your ass up one side of the arena and down the other is NOT sex. I'd tell you what sex is but you are never going to have it so there's no need for me to try and explain it.
So, step up little man, get the ass kicking you should have gotten last Brawl...then I am going on to get that World Title while you and your little fat friend go back to jerking the curtain (not to mention certain other things that require tweezers to manipulate). Welcome to Wonderland, bitch, it's about to get bloody from here!