Past Meets Present VI: An Offer They Can't Refuse Jun 3, 2023 22:54:03 GMT -5 via mobile Lycana likes this
Post by Jim Caedus on Jun 3, 2023 22:54:03 GMT -5
(OOC: Jim Caedus, Robert Main, Spencer Adams, Dolly Waters, Lycana)
"Why don' we jus' kill 'em?"
The team erupts. Protestations include such words as "murder", "prison" and "fucking idiot".
"Now hol' on... Ain murder. Izz _self-defenzz_."
"Na whens premeditated!"
"Who gon' know?"
The other four look to the camera in unison, Jim following their line of sight.
"Oh yah... Gawdam promoshun drones... Tav', yer all magicy, yoo hav'a sober spell? Can' think straigh.."
Lycana chants under her breath, weaving her hands through the air trailing blue illumination...
"Magic? Deus ex machina like a motherfucker."
"I know, right?"
"Guys, we need to come to a decision or go our separate ways."
"......This is tough. I need a drink t' help me think."
"Seriously!? We're in deep shit! No more jokes!"
"No more pussyfootin'!"
"No more distractions!"
"They're right. What're we going to do about the mob situation, Jimmy?"
"We!? No, what are YOU going to do to get us out of this, Jim!? My wife just had a BABY!"
"I GAVE y'all a perfectly good option; it's them 'r US!"
"NO," they scream in unison!!
"FUCK!! ......Fine." Jim casts his gaze to the floor as if searching for the answer. ".........I'm sorry guys. I didn't ask fer this, y'know... Ly, jus' teleport me t' their sit-down, I'll deal wit' it myself."
"......Will they kill you, Jimmy?"
Jim shrugs. "Maybe I can talk my way out. Buy some time. ...But prob'ly."
"I'm going with you."
"No Tavvy. Stay wit' them. It's my problem."
"Fuck you Jim." Main stands and paces to the window, gazing out angrily. "....No choice I guess."
"Apex for life. You know I can't leave a brother behind. Even if he IS an asshole."
"...Y'all ain't goin without me. I-...I made you a promise big bro."
"Doomed to failure without me. I'm in. Nothing better to do anyway."
Lycana walks over to Jim, taking his hand. "I'm in too."
"Well _that_ was easy. Shoulda gone the pity route sooner."
"Don't push it, dickhead."
"So what's the plan, Jim?"
"......Follow my lead. Trust me. Tavs, teleport us over."
"I don't think I can handle this many at once."
"Well whaddya suggest?"
Ly nods to the immaculate floor to ceiling looking glass on the wall.
"Deus ex machina like a MOTHERfucker."
"Heh, she's pretty amazing. Okay girl, the address is-"
"Not how it works, Jimmy. Just picture it in your mind, the spell will do the rest."
Jim removes the mysterious toothbrush from his mouth and pockets it. "...K, go fer it."
Lycana again starts chanting, waving her hands this time with golden tracers in the air. Bolts of amber illumination begin to course along the surface of the glass, drawing looks of awe from the team. It begins to glow-
-Jim heroically dashes full speed towards it.
The team stares slack-jawed at Jim, lying on his back surrounded and covered in broken glass. He slowly stirs.
"Oooooooooooooooh god I'm in so much pain..."
"For Christsake Jim."
"I just- I can't right now."
"Tavora what the FUCK!?"
"The spell wasn't COMPLETE, Jimmy! And I didn't tell you to run into the mirror!"
"Ya didn't tell me NOT to either!" Jim rises, dusting himself off, blood running down his face from a forehead wound. "Well so much fer _that_. How 'boutcha jus' try an' teleport us 'fore the staff comes in, sees this an' makes me a eunuch?"
"I'll...I'll try. Just don't blame me if it fails."
"I believe in you. Seriously hurry, I wanna keep my nuts. Location's in m'head."
Waving of hands.
---GIUSEPPE'S MEATS & RISTORANTE---
We find Don "Piccolo" Pietro Violenza and crew awaiting the arrival of Jim and his team with targets the Pages and James Raven. Marco and Macaroni are currently enjoying a game of pool in the back. "Wop" Johnny and "il Emarginata" are set at the Don's table playing cards while the Don himself watches atop his stack of phone books, imbibing wine from his sippy cup.
A globe of amber light manifests out of thin air before the pool table, commanding the attention of a perplexed Violenza Crime Family, Marco and Macaroni abandoning their game to back up to the table with the others while Johnny turns the Don's chair around to face it. And with a
out steps Team Caedus, ready to-
Lycana, Dolly, Spencer and Main glance around...but Jim is nowhere in sight.
"Damnit. I warned him..."
"What duh hell is dis? Where's yuh fearless leader wit' my prize?"
Robert Main extends his arms forward with the universal "idk what to say" mime, shrugging.
Jim crashes down through the ceiling, landing conveniently in Main's outstretched arms like he intends to carry Caedus over the threshold.
"Bob-O," Jim softly caresses Main's cheek with a finger, "yer my hero."
Robert rolls his eyes and drops Jim in a heap. Jim kips up like a pimp, spinning to the face the mob.
"Don Violenza, we're here t' make y'an offer ya can't refuse. Well, plead our case actually."
"Yeah. We ain't kidnappin' anyone an' we'd appreciate if y'jus' let us off the hook... Please?"
Snickers from the underlings.
"You wuz told. It's do...or die."
"......Well...we ain't doin' it. Sorry."
"Why yuh bleedin' tuff guy? Gettin' inta character to be a corpse?"
Jim narrows his eyes...and in his best menacing action hero voice, firmly replies...
"It's my time 'a the month."
Team Caedus face palms. The Don shakes his head.
"Boys... Whack 'em."
The underlings pull their pieces as Jim and Team Caedus scramble behind the pool table, pushing it over onto its side. The mob unleashes a furious salvo.
"THIS is your plan, Jim!?"
"I tried my best! We 'ave no choice but t' fight back!"
"With what- WE HAVE NO WEAPONS!"[/fon
"We 'ave ONE! Lycana!"
The team looks to Ly, currently metamorphosing into her bestial form.
"She's a werewolf TOO!? Deus ex machina like a-"
A chorus of CLICKS sound.
"They're outta ammo! Now's our chance!"
Jim stands, vaulting the pool table to see the underlings fishing for clips, Macaroni pulling shotgun shells from his pocket.
"Come on team!" He charges the Don, tackling him onto the table as the underlings step back intending to unwisely unload on Jim once reloaded, not comprehending they'd be ventilating the boss as well.
Their foolproof plan is ironically foiled however once Jim's war cry emitting backup charges in distracting them.
Wolf form Lycana leaps at "Comico" Marco Nondivertente, clamping her jaws onto his throat just before ripping it out in a shower of arterial spray. Marco gurgles something we can't quite make out but whatever it is, it's definitely not funny.
"Aw SHIT," "Wop" Johnny Salvadoregno blurts as Spencer rushes in! He pops the clip in and points the pistol grip at Spence', pulling the trigger and blowing the back of his own head off, peppering Badmon in brain matter.
Meanwhile, Main snatches Macaroni's freshly reloaded shotgun by the barrel as the latter raises it, and yanks, pulling the hick in close.
"I can't begin tuh tell yuh how much I respect yuh. Also fuck you."
Main frowns in confusion then heaves the northern Sicilian hick up onto his shoulders in position for the "Dead Man's Hand" death valley driver and drops him, snapping Macaroni's neck on the hard floor.
Dolly dashes at "il Emarginata"--
"I reload my weapon, ready tuh gun down duh little girl chargin' in. She has no idea what's about tuh occur once I finish first person narration and pull duh trig-"
--and hops into the air, slamming into the hitman with a "Running Waters" knee strike that caves in his face, killing him.
............Silence reigns amidst the death. Team Caedus gather themselves, grateful to be alive. Still, the ramifications of what they'd all just endured begins to set in. Yes, they'd merely defended themselves, yes these men deserved to die...but they'd still taken lives and that in itself is a hard pill to swallow. They'd surely all have nightmares about these events for years to com-
"Hey look everyone!"
Jim, at some point having killed and decapitated the Don, is jamming his hand up the severed neck to puppet Pietro's mouth while mocking his voice.
"Dis time...it's different!" He explodes with laughter.
"I'm gonna be sick..."
"Not cool man."
"Jimmy...inappropriate," Lycana adds, standing naked among the stiffs as her transformation had cost her her clothing.
"Really? I'm sure OUTCAST is jackin'-off t' this."
Jim receives looks of disdain before the team turns to leave.
Jim spins, angrily hurling Pietro's head through the nearest open window. We hear a squeal of wheels and a horrified shriek in response outside.
"_Now_ I feel better."
He pulls his now perceived lucky toothbrush from his pocket and pops it into his mouth before running to rejoin the gang.
"Onward t' War Games, team! Let's give 'em HEAD!! I mean HELL!!"
"You're an idiot, Jim."
"Mac Bane the man who began this journey in the Twitter-verse, the keyboard warrior who has had his mouth mashed in more than a mouthy ole lady in a trailer park. Or should I say the lowest hanging fruit on team Vaughn. The weak link. The verbal linguistics I'm about to put on you will not only shatter that fragile ego you have whined about. You know that 'I'm too old and decrepit' shit. "Failing to deliver in the biggest" moments of your career.
I think I just heard the world's smallest violin playing your song. So, go ahead and pull out that white flag, wave it around then use that same rag to cry in.
There isn't one ounce of retreat in my DNA and if you think for a millisecond that you can put me in my grave. You're a daisy if you do. Because I'm the very definition of the buzz saw. Bad mother fucker defines Robert Main. You or anyone on this team putting me down is laughable. That'll be a cold day in hell, boys because I'm too strong. I've got boots on for a reason, wanna see the bottom of them, just say something and I'll gladly peel your dome back.
I don't want to compare apples to oranges here hoss but what in the actual fuck have you accomplished besides talking on Twitter then getting your ass kicked up over your ears Mac? In my line of work talking shit on the internet will get you bodied in the ring. For a man who talks so much shit then never shows up to back it up. If I were you I'd keep those loose lips locked and sealed. You so much as look at me wrong inside that cage I'll knock your teeth so far down your throat you won't know if you're shitting or spitting. Better yet tell me what about the current federation you reside in? I'll fill you in: jack shit man. If I wanted I could have any belt I wanted in WGWF but I've been there and done that for years. I mean fuck me running I carried a fed on my shoulder for years not to mention the several pounds of gold and diamonds I carried over my
shoulders. That amount of pressure would break your feeble spine, with a back that weak I wouldn't let you carry my bags through the airport. Here's the brutal thing about it all. Mac your are such a fucking loser you joined a team where two members used to blind side you beating you into a bloody pulp.
Bane you haven't moved a solitary inch in years. You ain't a man you're a bitch. Buddy up and you switch sides because you cannot get anywhere on your own so you dick ride. I've never seen an individual puff the skin flute and talk trash at the same time. But hey you've made a career of it and it's worked great."
"Are you prepared to play the passenger like this, Cholo?
Let’s be real, my man. You are not here for any other reason than your kindness and inevitable willingness to play the role assigned to you by Peter Vaughn. While I see you and recognize that the company you keep is the company you keep in trust and good faith, I also see pride being the death of you in between the ding ding dings. You’re a helper, a healer of sorts who comes into Wargames with a bag full of question marks to leave under seats like a daytime talk show host. Is Cholo going to takeover or is Cholo going to walk in and take blame when this whole thing falls apart for Team Vaughn?
You are their PR pick.
Whether they are or not, these are people who view themselves as capable killers by virtue of this stipulation and you are someone Peter views as level. The four men around you on Team Sausagefest? As bitter as they come. You’re the inevitable counter energy, but you’re still just one person, sunshine. You can’t account for Flynn’s crying wojack vibe or Mac Bane’s underbite stubbornness and rigid navigation of this space the same way you can’t shine a light on the fallen Outcast or help Pete fend off the new wave of talent nipping at his heels like rising tide.
Do ask yourself.
What’s in this for you?
What do you gain by being Pete’s number one draft pick?
Answer: A heads up.
You become privy to the same information that Pete is right now and that’s that people like Spencer Adams and Jim Caedus in WGWF? That’s a wave you want to avoid. You should want to stay dry and quite frankly, you NEED to. The intercontinental title around your waist that you’ve worked so hard to pull off is in jeopardy, because now the market is being flooded with DOGS. Hell, it’s not even just the two of us. There’s a current double world champ in Jonathan Bacchus chomping at the bit as we speak. Shit, this event is bookended with warning shots towards yourself, isn’t it?
Ain’t that about a bitch?
You do everything the right way and while that IC title is surely one Hell of a payoff for honest work, your honesty is a death wish. Now, I consider myself to be a decent man and truth be told, I care about “the right way” too. I also know that this industry is inherently fucked up. Pro wrestling is sport in one of its rawest forms, but it houses the absolute worst of humanity at the same time. You are gentle and all of this is very, very fucking rough and real talk? I don’t know that you have the grit needed to not collapse under the weight of it all. Don’t worry, it’s not mission to cheat or fuck you the same way that others have tried with me, but let’s see how you manage against the survivors of the world."
"Mr. Christian Cain. Outcast. Bet you thought my light shellacking on you previously was the worst you'd face from little ol' Dolly.
Much like how anyone with half a brain would reply when told, "Outcast is finally turning over a new leaf and will prove it by not only seeing Team Vaughn succeed at War Games, but will also never turn back to the sauce and slamming 150cc of meth inexplicably into his 10cc dick again", the response is a solid: wrong. I reserved the meat and potatoes for this special little one on one and I mean to serve it piping hot in the same manner to which you're most accustomed, being so used to stuffing powdered narcotics on a wet paper towel into rank orifices and all......right up yer' swollen asshole.
Ah that ever desired head change, right? So much more fulfilling. So much more gratifying than having to deal with a wife and those insufferable children. Who wants the love of a spouse, anniversaries, family vacations, little league games, birthdays...when that next hit and next shot contain all the feel good you need?
You disgust me. Destroying your marriage through the itch of infidelity. Causing the death of yer' son. I've seen every last pathetic detail of yer' wasted life available on the OCW video archives. You earned death at the hands of yer' boy Solomon Cain a thousand times over and I'd there were any true justice in the world, he would've spent years killing you by inches. You deserve it. What you don't deserve is being dug up. There is no redemption for the sins you've committed. Fuck all that reborn Christian hogwash, no God could ever forgive you for what you've done. Especially not given yer' kneeling at the false idol of personal pleasure.
The man who raised me, Muddy, was a deadbeat as well, drunkenly putting me through "where's father" so I know what it's like to be snubbed by a parent as a child. I despise him. Imagine how I feel about you, drudging up these memories within me.
I look forward to meeting you in War Games.
You should pull out like yer' father should've, splashing his rancid seed across yer' mother's face instead of condemning the future Mrs. Cain and yer' boys to the true hell you'd eventually put them through. I won't risk making the mistake of allowing anger or vendetta to cloud my judgment in that cage but believe this......it'll strengthen me as nothing before. There's no amount of punishment I won't absorb from you or yer' team, no depths of determination within me I won't mine to see Team Caedus emerge victorious. Yer' proven weaknesses sabotaging yer' performance and ability will pale in comparison to the hellish maelstrom I'll unleash upon you all.
But when the dust has settled, keep a weather eye forevermore. I'll be coming for you. I'll not rest until I send you back to the grave, Mr. Cain.
I swear it."
“Hey Flynn, you ever think that Daddy Peter had ulterior motives for casting you among his crew for this?
You have the XWF Xtreme Championship. That means you need to defend it, anytime and anyplace.
Even in the WGWF.
That has to be always in the back of your mind. The paranoia that somebody is lurking just around the corner looking to get the three count on you. Any XWFer who slows up and takes it upon themself to pin you, just because they want it.
I mean shit, that would certainly tickle his taint... to suddenly be back in the spotlight over there after being dormant a few months, huh?
Another feather in his cap.
Let’s face it Flynn... You’re not much more to him than something he can use. Either has his little fetch this for me fuckboy, or as a stepping stone to get where he wants to be. It’s certainly not for anything else. You show up so rarely to the WGWF that you make your moniker “King of the Midcarders” seem lofty. You’ve proven that you don’t have what it takes here, so off you scooted, to focus your attention elsewhere.
But Vaughn said come, and you did... both in your pants at the idea of being by your precious papa’s side, and back... back to the promotion who barely knows your name.
And you’ll leave again right after, and nobody will give a shit.
Be real Flynn. How much of an asset do you really expect to be with your mind so many places at once? You got the X, that you can lose at any time, plus the War Games over there, where it is definitely up for grabs every single second you're in the ring.
Where is your head at Flynn?
Besides firmly lodged up Peter’s ass since becoming his personal bitch, and deciding you liked the position so much.
You’re going to be too distracted to be at one hundred percent, and it’s going to cost you, and your team.
You’re not what you used to be Flynn. What goes up, must come down, and you? Well... you never even got above basement level here, and you’re damn sure not gonna while Vaughn’s holding your reins and the top slot.
Know what you are to Team Vaughn?
The fall boy.
Just like the rest of them, all with convenient reasons built in for Peter to lay his excuses on, instead of admitting to his inflated ego and poor judgment.
Too over the hill.
Too inexperienced in multi-person matches.
And too long out of the game.
A band of reasons that Vaughn can use to cover his own ass.
Do you really think that being in the cage with any of you scares me? Have you seen what happens when I’m put into a cage?
People get hurt.
I do whatever it takes, and now, in my return match? I have even more of a reason to.”
"Hey Pete, y'sure y'know what'cher doin' wit' this? Confident wit'cher draft picks? My team an' I 'ave done a bang-up job illustratin' how untrustworthy, incapable an' undependable they are. What's more, most people don't change fer the better, they only get worse an' further set in bad habits. Ask yerself, wit' how teammates like Cholo keep actin'- layin' on a beach dreamin' of 'is clown-head up Todrick's slit -if I'm wrong 'bout that. Dizzy dumbass can't even keep 'is attention on the battle loomin'.
Yer picks look imposin' on paper but make no sense in context wit' cohesion. In FACT, you've all more reason T' HATE th'fuck outta eachother an' FAIL t' cooperate...
I drafted an army- fer the most part -with whom I've experience teamin' t' victory and share a strong connection with. All of us save fer Ly boast multiple tag title histories.
We. DEFINE. Team.
Cholo drops the ball in multi-opponent matches an' both he an' Mac have no tag titles on their tallies. From what I've researched neither does Outcast an' 'e also lacks a promising record 'a victory in multi-person matches, as does Bane. Flynn's won tag straps, sure, but he also lost 'em t' me an' Main in APEX an' lost t' Lycana an' Betsy Granger.
Y'can't count on yer pawns.
As fer YOU? I've proven y'ain't elite; yer just a two-pump chump wit' top titles. Lesser than not only me but most.
Yer also a user; of yer own accord utilizin': Mac after you an' Flynn punked 'im, Outcast after a rivalry exchangin' the OCW title back 'n forth like genital warts, Flynn after hookerfyin' 'im an' Cholo after (justifiably) discrediting 'im. Ain't none 'a you connected. Ain't no reason fer any 'a you t' come through fer the others. Shit, y'even gonna do the right thing- like a REAL man an' COURAGEOUS captain -an' lead by example, enterin' the fray first t' spare the weaker involved from potentially havin' t' face a handicap beatdown? Not that doin' so would invalidate all the ways y'ain't built fer this scenario but it'd be a inch Cholo's dick in the right direction.
Psh. I doubt y'got the scrote.
Further damning...you've never snatched tag gold. Yer a selfish douchebag. Can't professionally handle or maintain team ANYTHING. I'm doin' this not only fer personal redemption but fer my gang. T' give 'em a chance at glory, t' return t' the business AND bolster the WGWF wit' new talent. Yer doin' this fer YOU. Pride. That don't trump inability an' what y'lack in experience.
Yer team can't count on you an' vice versa.
As fer mine, we're the perfect counter t'yers. Y'all outmatched. Inarguably.
Badmon ain't linked t'my past, but he's every bit a champion. Ly, Dolly, both harder than every shriveled cock among ya. Main...he an' I been legitimate legends long before anyone heard of "Peter Vaughn".
Y'AIN'T a legend...you're a myth we gon' bust like nut.
No more acclaim, "Mechanic"...because