Post by Max f'n Daemon on May 19, 2023 12:35:36 GMT -5
Nathan Miles looks at Max Daemon with a look of annoyance. It isn’t dissimilar to a father looking at their child like they’re an idiot, or at least something resembling a moron.
Actually that’s a pretty accurate description of their current situation.
Max drinks his fifth glass of whiskey within the last half an hour. If it wasn’t for Nathan giving Bao the bartender a threatening look if he goes through with serving Max another drink, he wouldn’t be surprised if he drinks him out of house and home.
And given Max is acting without any official place of residence and his bank account is still within the 10 digits, that’s a lot of drinks.
Nathan isn’t willing to test that.
He grabs the hood on Max’s jacket, forcing him away from the counter towards the exit.
“Come on Max. We have a match to talk about,” Nathan says.
“We?” is Max’s incredulously asked question.
“You are at ringside. It qualifies as a ‘we’.”
Max just grumbles in response as the father and son duo make their way down the streets of the usually war-torn and riot-filled streets of the island city.
“What’s there ta’ talk about? You’re Nathan fuckin Miles. I’m Max fuckin Daemon. We’re remarkable talent takin on the unremarkable.”
Nathan rolls his eyes at Max’s usual apathy.
“Just because our opponents are not any names worthy of value does not mean we can walk in with a cavalier disposition.”
Max scowls.
“You’re usin the bigger words. You’re mad.”
Nathan doesn’t respond even as they make their way towards the docks.
“Of course I am mad. You are reducing yourself to drowning away your misery. Again. I was under the impression we were past this after the Trudy fiasco.”
Max’s eyebrows pinch and his mouth deepens its scowl.
“What would have possibly driven you to further your descent into this debauchery is something I would like to know, provided you are willing to share.”
Max doesn’t.
At the silence, Nathan nods.
Nathan sits in a dingy recliner in a cheap motel. Max sits on the crusty bed with a grimace.
The older of the two folds his arms across his chest as he stares idly at his son.
"Why are ya' doing this?"
It’s actually Max that asks.
“Hm?” Nathan asks in return.
“Helpin me. It’s been months since we last spoke, and up until recently, I was content just livin my life in this dimension, but the moment I went back, and only cause I needed somethin, the two of ya’ decided that it was time ta’ be a family again.”
“We never stopped being a family.”
Max snorts.
Nathan narrows his eyes.
“I am helping you because you’re my son. Despite how irritating, egregious, condescending, and vile you can be, you’re still my son. Trust me, if I had known what kind of relationship we would have when I first picked up that lost half breed a decade or so ago, I probably would have left him suffer in that small town dictatorship in Nebraska. But I did not. And here we are, a decade or so later, and we both consider ourselves as parent and child. And as said parent to said child, it is well within my right to worry about said child.”
“But why follow me back inta’ WGWF? Ya’ know why I’m here. I don’t care about the title. I don’t care about success. We’ve already gotten the guaranteed money and fleeced Page for more than he’d ever want ta’. What reason do ya’ have for possibly wantin back ta’ the one place that wouldn’t want ya’ back?”
Nathan massages his nose. He probably comes across as condescending, but at this point, he just doesn’t care.
“Do you really believe I want that to be my legacy? I am a fan of ‘fuck you, bye’ as anyone, but what makes you think I was proud of what I did?”
Max starts to ponder this.
“I’m not ashamed of what I did to the WGWF Title or how I left. I do not regret it and would not change it again if I ever had the dumb idea to go back and do so. But for years I have had that on my back, and I would like to do so by pinning somebody I can be proud to defeat, not some luck-out like Mic Ferrari or unremarkable talent like either of the Ramseys. And upon my victory, I will fulfill my obligation to said championship. And should I be defeated, I will only then fulfill my contract.”
“Not here for a long time…”
“Not here for a good time either.”
“So ya’ really took a page outta my own playbook?”
“You are attempting to facilitate your own change in AW by calling out your current contractual status. In 5 months, you will be out of a job in two companies unless things change. This was your own challenge. Mine was more much noble and prideful: I am here for the limited time merely to requisition what I was never defeated for and prove that I am just as good now as I was then.”
“And if that means ya’ can help out your son…?” he lets the question go unasked.
“Then that is my prerogative as your father.”
Max sighs, his fingers twitching in desire for another drink.
“You have your target just as much as I have mine. But until either of those options are available to us, we have to defeat what Page has put in front of us.”
“The Ramseys.”
“The Show Stealerz, actually.”
Max grimaces at the name.
“I can hear the z. Ugh…”
“What they lack in originality I am told they make up for in ability.”
“Ya’ could be the greatest wrestler ever, but if ya’ suck ya’ suck.”
“Beautifully put,” Nathan says, legitimately, without any sense of of sarcasm.
Max can only shrug in response.
“I am treating this as seriously as any other match. As should you as my cornerman.”
Nathan takes out his phone and tosses it to Max. He looks at the assembled briefing on The Show Stealerz, with particular focus placed on Austin.
“Austin’s definitely easy on the eyes.”
“And hopefully as easy to beat in the ring. I am not expecting a simple victory, obviously. He is in a company of WGWF’s size and earned his contract as much as we have earned ours, clearly he has some level of talent.”
“Buuut…” Max says, idly focusing on the briefing.
“He is simply not Nathan Miles. I do not say that with arrogance even if I could. I say that with fact. Nathan Miles is a name that carries weight in WGWF, for good or for bed, and there is a reason for any associated fame or infamy. I take any fight seriously, because that is what this is: a fight. A match, yes, but a fight first and foremost. I am competing like I am back on the battlefield and those filthy Rotulgans are my opponents, like my life is in my comrade’s eyes and I am facing death in every battle.
I do not expect Austin Ramsey to put the same kind of fight like I would a soldier. What I am expecting is a professional wrestler providing me with a good enough contest to warm me up for what is to come. That is not to say any negative marks on him as a performer or a talent. That is merely how things will be. Austin is not aware of how I wrestle, and any matches he might have watched from years ago or both out-of-date and irrelevant given your presence.
I will have my son at ringside, a man who knows me like the back of his hand and will do anything to ensure I win, just as I would him.
Austin is accompanied by his girlfriend, and with all due respect to their no doubt flourishing relationship, that alliance is merely one of circumstance and can end at any moment.”
“Say the word and I’ll steal either of ‘em away from the other, if ya’ want. Really fuck up the flow of everythin.”
“I appreciate it, but unnecessary. I can handle Austin by myself. Your job will be merely to aid as needed, or at least even the odds against Todrick.
My goal is someone like Peter Gilmour, or if necessary to reach that goal, possibly the tag titles the Show Stealerz are temporarily holding for us. My goal is not to wrestle the Austin Ramseys of the world every week. This will be a nice match back, and if it becomes anything more, than I will give my just credit and respect to them.”
“But the expectations aren’t there.”
Max tosses the phone back to Nathan.
“Of course not. I might talk big and provide a grandiose vision of my future and wrestling as a whole, but it is all for a reason. I place this on a level most do not, and certainly not someone like Austin does. I have no doubt he has goals and aspirations that are noble enough, but I do not care. I do not care if he wants to hold the tag titles for as long as he can with his partner. I do not care if he wishes to one go on to win the World Title, as hilarious a notion might seem right now. I do not care if he secretly wishes to be president of the United fucking States.
I am Nathan fucking Miles.”
Max smirks at the stolen phrase.
“I will wrestle Austin to the mat and then wrap my hands around his head with the sole purpose of crushing it, and whether he willingly surrenders or has to be dragged to the back by his girl, it doesn’t matter to me, the result is the same either way: a victory for us.
This is not personal. I do not despise either of the Ramseys. This is merely what we were given. If the destruction of the Show Stealerz is what Page wants?”
Nathan shrugs.
“So be it.”
“Sweet. There’s someone I want ta’ introduce ya’ ta’. I sorta left him at the hotel in Columbia when we took our detour.”
“Is it this apprentice you have told me about?”
“It is!”
“Alright. Let’s meet this…Pale Rider…”
Actually that’s a pretty accurate description of their current situation.
Max drinks his fifth glass of whiskey within the last half an hour. If it wasn’t for Nathan giving Bao the bartender a threatening look if he goes through with serving Max another drink, he wouldn’t be surprised if he drinks him out of house and home.
And given Max is acting without any official place of residence and his bank account is still within the 10 digits, that’s a lot of drinks.
Nathan isn’t willing to test that.
He grabs the hood on Max’s jacket, forcing him away from the counter towards the exit.
“Come on Max. We have a match to talk about,” Nathan says.
“We?” is Max’s incredulously asked question.
“You are at ringside. It qualifies as a ‘we’.”
Max just grumbles in response as the father and son duo make their way down the streets of the usually war-torn and riot-filled streets of the island city.
“What’s there ta’ talk about? You’re Nathan fuckin Miles. I’m Max fuckin Daemon. We’re remarkable talent takin on the unremarkable.”
Nathan rolls his eyes at Max’s usual apathy.
“Just because our opponents are not any names worthy of value does not mean we can walk in with a cavalier disposition.”
Max scowls.
“You’re usin the bigger words. You’re mad.”
Nathan doesn’t respond even as they make their way towards the docks.
“Of course I am mad. You are reducing yourself to drowning away your misery. Again. I was under the impression we were past this after the Trudy fiasco.”
Max’s eyebrows pinch and his mouth deepens its scowl.
“What would have possibly driven you to further your descent into this debauchery is something I would like to know, provided you are willing to share.”
Max doesn’t.
At the silence, Nathan nods.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
The older of the two folds his arms across his chest as he stares idly at his son.
"Why are ya' doing this?"
It’s actually Max that asks.
“Hm?” Nathan asks in return.
“Helpin me. It’s been months since we last spoke, and up until recently, I was content just livin my life in this dimension, but the moment I went back, and only cause I needed somethin, the two of ya’ decided that it was time ta’ be a family again.”
“We never stopped being a family.”
Max snorts.
Nathan narrows his eyes.
“I am helping you because you’re my son. Despite how irritating, egregious, condescending, and vile you can be, you’re still my son. Trust me, if I had known what kind of relationship we would have when I first picked up that lost half breed a decade or so ago, I probably would have left him suffer in that small town dictatorship in Nebraska. But I did not. And here we are, a decade or so later, and we both consider ourselves as parent and child. And as said parent to said child, it is well within my right to worry about said child.”
“But why follow me back inta’ WGWF? Ya’ know why I’m here. I don’t care about the title. I don’t care about success. We’ve already gotten the guaranteed money and fleeced Page for more than he’d ever want ta’. What reason do ya’ have for possibly wantin back ta’ the one place that wouldn’t want ya’ back?”
Nathan massages his nose. He probably comes across as condescending, but at this point, he just doesn’t care.
“Do you really believe I want that to be my legacy? I am a fan of ‘fuck you, bye’ as anyone, but what makes you think I was proud of what I did?”
Max starts to ponder this.
“I’m not ashamed of what I did to the WGWF Title or how I left. I do not regret it and would not change it again if I ever had the dumb idea to go back and do so. But for years I have had that on my back, and I would like to do so by pinning somebody I can be proud to defeat, not some luck-out like Mic Ferrari or unremarkable talent like either of the Ramseys. And upon my victory, I will fulfill my obligation to said championship. And should I be defeated, I will only then fulfill my contract.”
“Not here for a long time…”
“Not here for a good time either.”
“So ya’ really took a page outta my own playbook?”
“You are attempting to facilitate your own change in AW by calling out your current contractual status. In 5 months, you will be out of a job in two companies unless things change. This was your own challenge. Mine was more much noble and prideful: I am here for the limited time merely to requisition what I was never defeated for and prove that I am just as good now as I was then.”
“And if that means ya’ can help out your son…?” he lets the question go unasked.
“Then that is my prerogative as your father.”
Max sighs, his fingers twitching in desire for another drink.
“You have your target just as much as I have mine. But until either of those options are available to us, we have to defeat what Page has put in front of us.”
“The Ramseys.”
“The Show Stealerz, actually.”
Max grimaces at the name.
“I can hear the z. Ugh…”
“What they lack in originality I am told they make up for in ability.”
“Ya’ could be the greatest wrestler ever, but if ya’ suck ya’ suck.”
“Beautifully put,” Nathan says, legitimately, without any sense of of sarcasm.
Max can only shrug in response.
“I am treating this as seriously as any other match. As should you as my cornerman.”
Nathan takes out his phone and tosses it to Max. He looks at the assembled briefing on The Show Stealerz, with particular focus placed on Austin.
“Austin’s definitely easy on the eyes.”
“And hopefully as easy to beat in the ring. I am not expecting a simple victory, obviously. He is in a company of WGWF’s size and earned his contract as much as we have earned ours, clearly he has some level of talent.”
“Buuut…” Max says, idly focusing on the briefing.
“He is simply not Nathan Miles. I do not say that with arrogance even if I could. I say that with fact. Nathan Miles is a name that carries weight in WGWF, for good or for bed, and there is a reason for any associated fame or infamy. I take any fight seriously, because that is what this is: a fight. A match, yes, but a fight first and foremost. I am competing like I am back on the battlefield and those filthy Rotulgans are my opponents, like my life is in my comrade’s eyes and I am facing death in every battle.
I do not expect Austin Ramsey to put the same kind of fight like I would a soldier. What I am expecting is a professional wrestler providing me with a good enough contest to warm me up for what is to come. That is not to say any negative marks on him as a performer or a talent. That is merely how things will be. Austin is not aware of how I wrestle, and any matches he might have watched from years ago or both out-of-date and irrelevant given your presence.
I will have my son at ringside, a man who knows me like the back of his hand and will do anything to ensure I win, just as I would him.
Austin is accompanied by his girlfriend, and with all due respect to their no doubt flourishing relationship, that alliance is merely one of circumstance and can end at any moment.”
“Say the word and I’ll steal either of ‘em away from the other, if ya’ want. Really fuck up the flow of everythin.”
“I appreciate it, but unnecessary. I can handle Austin by myself. Your job will be merely to aid as needed, or at least even the odds against Todrick.
My goal is someone like Peter Gilmour, or if necessary to reach that goal, possibly the tag titles the Show Stealerz are temporarily holding for us. My goal is not to wrestle the Austin Ramseys of the world every week. This will be a nice match back, and if it becomes anything more, than I will give my just credit and respect to them.”
“But the expectations aren’t there.”
Max tosses the phone back to Nathan.
“Of course not. I might talk big and provide a grandiose vision of my future and wrestling as a whole, but it is all for a reason. I place this on a level most do not, and certainly not someone like Austin does. I have no doubt he has goals and aspirations that are noble enough, but I do not care. I do not care if he wants to hold the tag titles for as long as he can with his partner. I do not care if he wishes to one go on to win the World Title, as hilarious a notion might seem right now. I do not care if he secretly wishes to be president of the United fucking States.
I am Nathan fucking Miles.”
Max smirks at the stolen phrase.
“I will wrestle Austin to the mat and then wrap my hands around his head with the sole purpose of crushing it, and whether he willingly surrenders or has to be dragged to the back by his girl, it doesn’t matter to me, the result is the same either way: a victory for us.
This is not personal. I do not despise either of the Ramseys. This is merely what we were given. If the destruction of the Show Stealerz is what Page wants?”
Nathan shrugs.
“So be it.”
“Sweet. There’s someone I want ta’ introduce ya’ ta’. I sorta left him at the hotel in Columbia when we took our detour.”
“Is it this apprentice you have told me about?”
“It is!”
“Alright. Let’s meet this…Pale Rider…”