Post by Max f'n Daemon on Jun 3, 2023 21:12:26 GMT -5
Nathan Miles stands across from Max Daemon, who grips the glass of whiskey in his hand with a scowl on his face.
Behind Max looms the always neutrally face, but oftentimes omnipresent Holo Make.
Nathan forms his own scowl.
“So you think bringing in someone else will be the key to your success?” he asks.
Max rolls his eyes, finishing his whiskey before standing up. He walks over to the nearby bar in their Charlotte hotel room to refill the glass.
“No, Dad, I think utilizin whatever chances I need ta’ succeed is the key ta' success,” he says.
Holo merely folds his arms tighter, his expression remaining neutral.
Nathan notices the gesture, but opts to ignore it momentarily
“I think you have the right idea in mind—”
The bottle of whiskey in Max’s hand breaks from the pressure of his grip. The remainder of the liquor fall to the carpeted floor while the half-filled glass in his other hand is quickly emptied past his lips.
With an unwilling sigh of content from the alcohol down his throat, and a motivated bout of anger, he interrupts his dad.
“But?”
“But…you have tried nearly every option down that avenue. I think it’s time—”
Max idly tosses the glass onto the bar. When it lands on its bottom, it rolls towards the opposite side, shattering when it slides off and hits the floor.
“But not every option.”
“Max, you are being pedantic.”
“No, I’m bein smart.”
“You are being a fucking child!”
Max sneers.
“Holo, settle this.”
Holo nods.
“Okay.”
Nathan groans.
Max smirks.
“Max, you’re being a fucking child.”
Nathan gasps.
Max growls.
“The fuck?!” he exclaims.
“We have been through the same strategy over and over again. The options have continued to limit themselves. I will support you in whichever way you wish to proceed, but looking at what’s ahead of us…the best course of action might be to switch our current trajectory towards a different route. At the very least, we'll know if it's successful or not.”
Nathan nods once, gesturing his arms towards the big Hawaiian as if to prove his point.
Max grips the two pistols in his pants pockets.
Even if Holo makes an obvious move towards a defense and Nathan makes an obvious move in not moving at all, the pistols never come out of their makeshift holsters.
With a louder, second set of growls, Max turns around and grabs another bottle of whiskey.
He rips the cork off and makes his way out of the room.
“Fuck both of ya’ then. I’ll be on the roof ta' decompress. If ya’ come up with a better idea, don’t bother tellin me. If I don’t come back by sunrise, assume I’m fuckin gone.”
“Max—” Nathan tries to stop him.
Holo puts a hand on his shoulder.
“Fuck off!” Max calls out.
Max doesn’t hear the conversation that occurs after he left the room, no matter how important it might’ve been related to him or not.
Max uses one of his pistols to shoot the lock off the rooftop. Once he’s sure nobody’s heard it, he enters the area illuminated only by the moon above.
That’s quickly eradicated with the first sip of whiskey as thunder rolls.
With a scowl on his face, he continues gulping down the alcohol even as rain pours down on him.
Once half the bottle has been emptied into his stomach, Max lets himself breathe. He pants into the rainy midnight hour, steadily approaching the edge of the hotel rooftop. When he arrives, he stares down into the traffic in the distance, passing idly by on the nearby interstate, barely covered by the water falling from the darkened sky.
When he notices his lack of sway, Max finishes the remainder of the alcohol. Upon the last drop of whiskey hitting his tongue, he tosses the bottle out off the edge. Two shots from two pistols rain out just as the thunder rolls once again. Both of them shatter the bottle moments before lighting strikes.
Max spins his pistols around his fingers before replacing them in his pockets.
“I’m out of fuckin options here. I’ve called out the world and the world spat me out tenfold. I’ve tried my way in clusterfuck matches and all I’ve got ta’ show for it are second degree burns and knowin that I’m not any better than Johnny fuckin Bacchus, the same piece of shit I joined WGWF ta’ beat.
Yeah, no fuckin shocker there.
Piece of shit is still an arrogant asshole, even when he’s possibly the lowest he’s ever been, and he's been lower than goddamn Tartarus.
Oh sure he’s sittin pretty high holdin championship gold for now in other companies, but considerin he crucified his fuckin cunt of a girl and is one step away from fulltime fuckin his fulltime agent, I’d hardly call Johnny-boy a beacon of anythin, let alone goodwill, let alone an example of someone ta’ look for as an example anythin.
Of course, he’s not exactly shatterin records or lookin like a winner in these waters either. He might be a constant callout from many a foes and have beef with plenty of other dudes, but he’d be a fuckin liar among many things if he didn’t immediately take notice of my nice ass when I first stepped back in here.
It’s no fuckin secret why I’m here. Page knows. Nathan knew it.
Johnny fuckin Bacchus is well fuckin aware.
I’m his personal fuckin leech.
And I don’t care how nonchalant he pretends ta’ be, the motherfucker could go ta' goddamn Mars, and ya’ can bet my ass would be hidin in the bathroom waitin ta’ strike.
Cause despite whatever ludicrous motives or apathetic reasonins he gives for not needin me, or carin about anythin but wrestlin, Johnny-boy knows that his personal life defines his professional one.
And you’re fuckin welcome for that.
Cause even as the rain drowns my clothes and my eyes get blinded by my own attempts at drunkenness and the drops hittin my eyes, I can tell ya’ the same thing applies ta’ me.
The only difference is I use it ta’ motivate me.
You fuckin use it ta’ try ta’ motivate everyone else.
Well congratulations.
I’m fuckin motivated.
Now fuck off back ta’ the people ya’ keep usin ta’ make yourself better.
Hopefully Ruby gets the fuckin memo and resurrects her fine ass before ya’ have ta’ crucify her too.”
Max purposefully sends a final wad of spit off the ledge.
Max enters the elevator and presses the button to his floor.
He is drenched to the fucking skin from the rain. When he notices he isn’t stumbling or swaying, he narrows his eyes.
“Not enough…”
He groans, using his hand to get some of his hair out of his face.
He looks at the right hand he used, and when he notices it’s still twitching, he clenches it into a tight fist.
The elevator dings and it opens a floor early.
The person enters the elevator and stands next to him.
Max doesn’t take stock of who the person is.
When the door to his floor opens, Max doesn’t exit.
The person who entered speaks.
“This your floor?” the female voice asks.
“Nope. Couldn’t be,” Max mutters.
The elevator closes.
The two stand in silence, the waterdrops off Max’s clothes hitting the elevator floor with a suppressed set of thuds as loud as the thunder outside.
Eventually, the person starts pressing all of the buttons.
Max scowls and turns to his right.
Oh.
Oh no…
“Hello Max…”
“Shit…”
“Yes, that’s about the reaction I expected.”
Max looks back to his left, but Wuya grips his chin, forcing her back into his line of sight.
His face is dried quickly by the hand heating up.
“You’ve been avoiding me…” she says.
“Technically, you left the house—”
The grip tightens.
His bones start to grind.
“To look for you, you impudent little—”
He grabs the hand keeping him in place.
“Let me the fuck go, Wuya.”
“No. You knew precisely what you were getting into when we started fucking, and the last thing you’ll be doing is exercising anymore freedom now that I have you back in my clutches.”
“Oh neat, I’m sure if I tell Holo that his nephew’s molester is here he’ll suddenly feel very protective of the family he barely knows about.”
“Oh please…we both know that was your floor you missed back there. If you were really ready to face them again, you would’ve gotten off.”
Max growls, leaving his mouth open for her to claim in a monstrous resemblance of a kiss.
With unnatural speed, Max releases his two pistols, cocking them and placing them in her abdomens.
She chuckles a bit, but when he bites her tongue, she backs up in pain accompanied by a throaty grunt.
“Oh what, you’re going to shoot me with those puny bullets?”
“Bitch, we both know I’m a fuckin god with these pistols in my hand. One hell for you, and the other—”
“—is your heaven, yeah yeah, you’ve told me the fucking pitch before.”
“So do yourself a favor and let me the fuck go before this place gets pissed that there’s a bleeding witch in its elevator.”
With a scowl, she complies, letting Max’s pained jaw free. He stretches it a few times, and when the elevator dings free on the lobby, Max backs out. Only when the door is ready to close does he return the pistols to his pockets.
He starts booking it the second they do.
He’s not naïve enough to know he actually got away from her by the time he’s driving down the road in the thunderstorm around him.
Max empties the third bottle of the six-pack beer he got from the last 7/11 he passed.
He idly notices the sign to Virgnia as he tosses the bottle away, having posted himself on the side of the interstate near said sign.
“I’ve been runnin from a lotta things lately.”
He finally notices he is swaying.
Despite that, he cracks open the fourth.
“But I haven’t been runnin from wrestlin.
I won’t pretend ta’ be a wealth of knowledge on Brooke and Lexi like I am for Johnny.
I’m sure they’re two exceptional ladies who will have a great career in WGWF.
I’m sure that they’re lookin ta’ stand out and claim that ladder ta’ earn a shot at the Intercontinental Title.
And ya’ know what?
Good for ‘em.
I hope they have that same level of aspiration and potential after I’ve ripped the contract from the hook and claimed victory for myself.
It’s been a long fuckin time since I’ve held any gold in my hands, and I’m long overdue.
I realize I’ve still got another fight in front of me if I want ta’ get there, but even if it means I can destroy the desires of Lexi, the façade of whatever visage Brooke puts together, and simultaneously fuck over Johnny-boy, I consider that a night well earned.
And even if I have ta’ walk out there with alcohol on my breath, soaked to the bone from the rain, I’ll still be able ta’ fuck over all of ya’ on my way ta' victory.
Lexi’s got the respect of her peers.
And I’m sure, in some capacity, I also respect her.
But I’m long past given a fuck about respect.
I’ve done damage recently ta’ my family, ta’ people I care deeply about.
So if ya’ think I’m givin mercy or carin about rippin people apart because of respect?
Well I guess you’ll have ta’ settle for silver, ey, Lex?
I think you're long since used ta' it…
But no matter how much any of ya’ might want that IC Title, I’m not hear ta’ play spoiler or be the guy ta’ fuck up your plans.
I’m here ta’ climb the fuckin ladder and win an opportunity at a championship.
Boom.
End of story.
My story.
Cause yours doesn’t fuckin matter.
Not Lexi’s.
Never Johnny-boy’s.
And especially whatever level of godhood Brooke and her maiden of honor she calls a fiancée claim she is.
I’ve dealt with gods before.
I’ve beaten them just like any other human.
You’re not a fuckin goddess.
You’re barely a fuckin human.
You’re a pathetic excuse of a wrestler who hides behind arrogance ta’ shade their own weaknesses.
A part of me respects ya’ for the trade. Game respect game and all that.
But know your fuckin limits.
And ya’ve long since hit yours.”
Max finishes the fourth bottle, immediately opening up the fifth.
“I can appreciate havin pride in who ya’ are as a person and gettin a big head for who ya’ think ya’ are as a wrestler, but never forget that what ya’ think…isn’t always reality.
And your reality is that you’re just a woman who has ta’ overhype herself just ta’ believe she has a chance.
Not just for any onlooker curious why this woman thinks she’s a god.
But for yourself.
So if ya’ can manage to scrape together enough of a reason ta’ drum-up an ounce of sympathy ta’ finally be ‘That Girl’, than congratulations, ya’ve earned a spot in this match!
But until ya’ can prove ta’ me that you’re nothin more than a demon playin Satan, than do us all a favor and sit the fuck down.
And trust me, I’ve dealt with demons before.
I’m not impressed by some fake redhead with an inflated ego.
That's been done before by better. Don't come back until your Maiden crucifies ya' in the main event of a pay-per-view.”
Max tosses the fifth bottle away. He doesn’t even go for the sixth, instead opting to let it shatter on the road. He checks his phone, but doesn’t get the time before spotting the first rays of sun hitting the horizon like a fucked up version of the intro to Lion King.
He growls.
Then his phone rings.
He doesn’t see who it is before answering.
“What.”
It's Nathan.
“No, shut-up. I’ll be back in a bit. Just…don’t leave the hotel. And don’t call me again.”
He hangs up and gets in the car. He drives off, leaving the sign to Virginia behind him.
Unnoticing of the green eyes that linger in the fading darkness.
He pulls his car into the hotel, the sun long since ready to rise by the time he slams his car door shut.
“Lexi and I have a surprisin amount in common.
Not ta’ say the list is very long, don’t get me wrong, but I know what it’s like ta’ be the perennial contender, but never the eternal champion.
It’s not a mark against ya’ as a person or as a wrestler, but it sure as fuck is a mark against ya’ when ya’ try for so long and all ya’ have ta’ show for it is the motivation ta’ keep going”
Max enters the elevator and presses the button to his floor.
“Fuck that.
Change the gameplan.
Find somethin that works.
I wouldn’t be drownin myself in liquor and any other supplement and narcotic I find along the way if I didn’t think it’s what’s it’ll take ta’ win.
Probably.
Point bein: a change of strategy could be the key ta’ success ya’ need.
Unless you’re happy being the borderline between contender and champion.
If so, enjoy guardin the gates, cause that’s all you’ll ever be doin.”
The elevator dings and Max exits, making his way to his room.
“I’d call ya’ a bridesmaid but never the bride, but that not only is cliché as fuck. but also I’d rather try ta’ ruin the weddin by fuckin the bride.
That bein said, I’m apparently single now, and I for one am down ta’ fuck the bridesmaid.
At the end of the day, the weddins still ruined.
And I’m still the guy in the spotlight.
And if I can bag myself someone like Lexi, I'm still the winner at the end of the day.
So babe, don't be too quick ta' leave the ring, I just wanna take with ya' about our match…”
He eventually kicks open his hotel door, waking up Nathan and Holo who both dozed off waiting for him.
“We’re goin with my plan. Pack your bags. I’m gonna take a shower, then we head ta’ the arena.”
If hypocrisy was a crown, Max would be king.
Max narrows his eyes at what he feels is a crack in his being.
Oh that’s new.
Behind Max looms the always neutrally face, but oftentimes omnipresent Holo Make.
Nathan forms his own scowl.
“So you think bringing in someone else will be the key to your success?” he asks.
Max rolls his eyes, finishing his whiskey before standing up. He walks over to the nearby bar in their Charlotte hotel room to refill the glass.
“No, Dad, I think utilizin whatever chances I need ta’ succeed is the key ta' success,” he says.
Holo merely folds his arms tighter, his expression remaining neutral.
Nathan notices the gesture, but opts to ignore it momentarily
“I think you have the right idea in mind—”
The bottle of whiskey in Max’s hand breaks from the pressure of his grip. The remainder of the liquor fall to the carpeted floor while the half-filled glass in his other hand is quickly emptied past his lips.
With an unwilling sigh of content from the alcohol down his throat, and a motivated bout of anger, he interrupts his dad.
“But?”
“But…you have tried nearly every option down that avenue. I think it’s time—”
Max idly tosses the glass onto the bar. When it lands on its bottom, it rolls towards the opposite side, shattering when it slides off and hits the floor.
“But not every option.”
“Max, you are being pedantic.”
“No, I’m bein smart.”
“You are being a fucking child!”
Max sneers.
“Holo, settle this.”
Holo nods.
“Okay.”
Nathan groans.
Max smirks.
“Max, you’re being a fucking child.”
Nathan gasps.
Max growls.
“The fuck?!” he exclaims.
“We have been through the same strategy over and over again. The options have continued to limit themselves. I will support you in whichever way you wish to proceed, but looking at what’s ahead of us…the best course of action might be to switch our current trajectory towards a different route. At the very least, we'll know if it's successful or not.”
Nathan nods once, gesturing his arms towards the big Hawaiian as if to prove his point.
Max grips the two pistols in his pants pockets.
Even if Holo makes an obvious move towards a defense and Nathan makes an obvious move in not moving at all, the pistols never come out of their makeshift holsters.
With a louder, second set of growls, Max turns around and grabs another bottle of whiskey.
He rips the cork off and makes his way out of the room.
“Fuck both of ya’ then. I’ll be on the roof ta' decompress. If ya’ come up with a better idea, don’t bother tellin me. If I don’t come back by sunrise, assume I’m fuckin gone.”
“Max—” Nathan tries to stop him.
Holo puts a hand on his shoulder.
“Fuck off!” Max calls out.
Max doesn’t hear the conversation that occurs after he left the room, no matter how important it might’ve been related to him or not.
---------------------------------------------------------
That’s quickly eradicated with the first sip of whiskey as thunder rolls.
With a scowl on his face, he continues gulping down the alcohol even as rain pours down on him.
Once half the bottle has been emptied into his stomach, Max lets himself breathe. He pants into the rainy midnight hour, steadily approaching the edge of the hotel rooftop. When he arrives, he stares down into the traffic in the distance, passing idly by on the nearby interstate, barely covered by the water falling from the darkened sky.
When he notices his lack of sway, Max finishes the remainder of the alcohol. Upon the last drop of whiskey hitting his tongue, he tosses the bottle out off the edge. Two shots from two pistols rain out just as the thunder rolls once again. Both of them shatter the bottle moments before lighting strikes.
Max spins his pistols around his fingers before replacing them in his pockets.
“I’m out of fuckin options here. I’ve called out the world and the world spat me out tenfold. I’ve tried my way in clusterfuck matches and all I’ve got ta’ show for it are second degree burns and knowin that I’m not any better than Johnny fuckin Bacchus, the same piece of shit I joined WGWF ta’ beat.
Yeah, no fuckin shocker there.
Piece of shit is still an arrogant asshole, even when he’s possibly the lowest he’s ever been, and he's been lower than goddamn Tartarus.
Oh sure he’s sittin pretty high holdin championship gold for now in other companies, but considerin he crucified his fuckin cunt of a girl and is one step away from fulltime fuckin his fulltime agent, I’d hardly call Johnny-boy a beacon of anythin, let alone goodwill, let alone an example of someone ta’ look for as an example anythin.
Of course, he’s not exactly shatterin records or lookin like a winner in these waters either. He might be a constant callout from many a foes and have beef with plenty of other dudes, but he’d be a fuckin liar among many things if he didn’t immediately take notice of my nice ass when I first stepped back in here.
It’s no fuckin secret why I’m here. Page knows. Nathan knew it.
Johnny fuckin Bacchus is well fuckin aware.
I’m his personal fuckin leech.
And I don’t care how nonchalant he pretends ta’ be, the motherfucker could go ta' goddamn Mars, and ya’ can bet my ass would be hidin in the bathroom waitin ta’ strike.
Cause despite whatever ludicrous motives or apathetic reasonins he gives for not needin me, or carin about anythin but wrestlin, Johnny-boy knows that his personal life defines his professional one.
And you’re fuckin welcome for that.
Cause even as the rain drowns my clothes and my eyes get blinded by my own attempts at drunkenness and the drops hittin my eyes, I can tell ya’ the same thing applies ta’ me.
The only difference is I use it ta’ motivate me.
You fuckin use it ta’ try ta’ motivate everyone else.
Well congratulations.
I’m fuckin motivated.
Now fuck off back ta’ the people ya’ keep usin ta’ make yourself better.
Hopefully Ruby gets the fuckin memo and resurrects her fine ass before ya’ have ta’ crucify her too.”
Max purposefully sends a final wad of spit off the ledge.
---------------------------------------------------------
He is drenched to the fucking skin from the rain. When he notices he isn’t stumbling or swaying, he narrows his eyes.
“Not enough…”
He groans, using his hand to get some of his hair out of his face.
He looks at the right hand he used, and when he notices it’s still twitching, he clenches it into a tight fist.
The elevator dings and it opens a floor early.
The person enters the elevator and stands next to him.
Max doesn’t take stock of who the person is.
When the door to his floor opens, Max doesn’t exit.
The person who entered speaks.
“This your floor?” the female voice asks.
“Nope. Couldn’t be,” Max mutters.
The elevator closes.
The two stand in silence, the waterdrops off Max’s clothes hitting the elevator floor with a suppressed set of thuds as loud as the thunder outside.
Eventually, the person starts pressing all of the buttons.
Max scowls and turns to his right.
Oh.
Oh no…
“Hello Max…”
“Shit…”
“Yes, that’s about the reaction I expected.”
Max looks back to his left, but Wuya grips his chin, forcing her back into his line of sight.
His face is dried quickly by the hand heating up.
“You’ve been avoiding me…” she says.
“Technically, you left the house—”
The grip tightens.
His bones start to grind.
“To look for you, you impudent little—”
He grabs the hand keeping him in place.
“Let me the fuck go, Wuya.”
“No. You knew precisely what you were getting into when we started fucking, and the last thing you’ll be doing is exercising anymore freedom now that I have you back in my clutches.”
“Oh neat, I’m sure if I tell Holo that his nephew’s molester is here he’ll suddenly feel very protective of the family he barely knows about.”
“Oh please…we both know that was your floor you missed back there. If you were really ready to face them again, you would’ve gotten off.”
Max growls, leaving his mouth open for her to claim in a monstrous resemblance of a kiss.
With unnatural speed, Max releases his two pistols, cocking them and placing them in her abdomens.
She chuckles a bit, but when he bites her tongue, she backs up in pain accompanied by a throaty grunt.
“Oh what, you’re going to shoot me with those puny bullets?”
“Bitch, we both know I’m a fuckin god with these pistols in my hand. One hell for you, and the other—”
“—is your heaven, yeah yeah, you’ve told me the fucking pitch before.”
“So do yourself a favor and let me the fuck go before this place gets pissed that there’s a bleeding witch in its elevator.”
With a scowl, she complies, letting Max’s pained jaw free. He stretches it a few times, and when the elevator dings free on the lobby, Max backs out. Only when the door is ready to close does he return the pistols to his pockets.
He starts booking it the second they do.
He’s not naïve enough to know he actually got away from her by the time he’s driving down the road in the thunderstorm around him.
---------------------------------------------------------
He idly notices the sign to Virgnia as he tosses the bottle away, having posted himself on the side of the interstate near said sign.
“I’ve been runnin from a lotta things lately.”
He finally notices he is swaying.
Despite that, he cracks open the fourth.
“But I haven’t been runnin from wrestlin.
I won’t pretend ta’ be a wealth of knowledge on Brooke and Lexi like I am for Johnny.
I’m sure they’re two exceptional ladies who will have a great career in WGWF.
I’m sure that they’re lookin ta’ stand out and claim that ladder ta’ earn a shot at the Intercontinental Title.
And ya’ know what?
Good for ‘em.
I hope they have that same level of aspiration and potential after I’ve ripped the contract from the hook and claimed victory for myself.
It’s been a long fuckin time since I’ve held any gold in my hands, and I’m long overdue.
I realize I’ve still got another fight in front of me if I want ta’ get there, but even if it means I can destroy the desires of Lexi, the façade of whatever visage Brooke puts together, and simultaneously fuck over Johnny-boy, I consider that a night well earned.
And even if I have ta’ walk out there with alcohol on my breath, soaked to the bone from the rain, I’ll still be able ta’ fuck over all of ya’ on my way ta' victory.
Lexi’s got the respect of her peers.
And I’m sure, in some capacity, I also respect her.
But I’m long past given a fuck about respect.
I’ve done damage recently ta’ my family, ta’ people I care deeply about.
So if ya’ think I’m givin mercy or carin about rippin people apart because of respect?
Well I guess you’ll have ta’ settle for silver, ey, Lex?
I think you're long since used ta' it…
But no matter how much any of ya’ might want that IC Title, I’m not hear ta’ play spoiler or be the guy ta’ fuck up your plans.
I’m here ta’ climb the fuckin ladder and win an opportunity at a championship.
Boom.
End of story.
My story.
Cause yours doesn’t fuckin matter.
Not Lexi’s.
Never Johnny-boy’s.
And especially whatever level of godhood Brooke and her maiden of honor she calls a fiancée claim she is.
I’ve dealt with gods before.
I’ve beaten them just like any other human.
You’re not a fuckin goddess.
You’re barely a fuckin human.
You’re a pathetic excuse of a wrestler who hides behind arrogance ta’ shade their own weaknesses.
A part of me respects ya’ for the trade. Game respect game and all that.
But know your fuckin limits.
And ya’ve long since hit yours.”
Max finishes the fourth bottle, immediately opening up the fifth.
“I can appreciate havin pride in who ya’ are as a person and gettin a big head for who ya’ think ya’ are as a wrestler, but never forget that what ya’ think…isn’t always reality.
And your reality is that you’re just a woman who has ta’ overhype herself just ta’ believe she has a chance.
Not just for any onlooker curious why this woman thinks she’s a god.
But for yourself.
So if ya’ can manage to scrape together enough of a reason ta’ drum-up an ounce of sympathy ta’ finally be ‘That Girl’, than congratulations, ya’ve earned a spot in this match!
But until ya’ can prove ta’ me that you’re nothin more than a demon playin Satan, than do us all a favor and sit the fuck down.
And trust me, I’ve dealt with demons before.
I’m not impressed by some fake redhead with an inflated ego.
That's been done before by better. Don't come back until your Maiden crucifies ya' in the main event of a pay-per-view.”
Max tosses the fifth bottle away. He doesn’t even go for the sixth, instead opting to let it shatter on the road. He checks his phone, but doesn’t get the time before spotting the first rays of sun hitting the horizon like a fucked up version of the intro to Lion King.
He growls.
Then his phone rings.
He doesn’t see who it is before answering.
“What.”
It's Nathan.
“No, shut-up. I’ll be back in a bit. Just…don’t leave the hotel. And don’t call me again.”
He hangs up and gets in the car. He drives off, leaving the sign to Virginia behind him.
Unnoticing of the green eyes that linger in the fading darkness.
---------------------------------------------------------
“Lexi and I have a surprisin amount in common.
Not ta’ say the list is very long, don’t get me wrong, but I know what it’s like ta’ be the perennial contender, but never the eternal champion.
It’s not a mark against ya’ as a person or as a wrestler, but it sure as fuck is a mark against ya’ when ya’ try for so long and all ya’ have ta’ show for it is the motivation ta’ keep going”
Max enters the elevator and presses the button to his floor.
“Fuck that.
Change the gameplan.
Find somethin that works.
I wouldn’t be drownin myself in liquor and any other supplement and narcotic I find along the way if I didn’t think it’s what’s it’ll take ta’ win.
Probably.
Point bein: a change of strategy could be the key ta’ success ya’ need.
Unless you’re happy being the borderline between contender and champion.
If so, enjoy guardin the gates, cause that’s all you’ll ever be doin.”
The elevator dings and Max exits, making his way to his room.
“I’d call ya’ a bridesmaid but never the bride, but that not only is cliché as fuck. but also I’d rather try ta’ ruin the weddin by fuckin the bride.
That bein said, I’m apparently single now, and I for one am down ta’ fuck the bridesmaid.
At the end of the day, the weddins still ruined.
And I’m still the guy in the spotlight.
And if I can bag myself someone like Lexi, I'm still the winner at the end of the day.
So babe, don't be too quick ta' leave the ring, I just wanna take with ya' about our match…”
He eventually kicks open his hotel door, waking up Nathan and Holo who both dozed off waiting for him.
“We’re goin with my plan. Pack your bags. I’m gonna take a shower, then we head ta’ the arena.”
If hypocrisy was a crown, Max would be king.
Max narrows his eyes at what he feels is a crack in his being.
Oh that’s new.