Post by Deleted on Jan 26, 2014 8:58:19 GMT -5
Waylon Cash sits on a couch in Trent Page's apartment, staring at a painting hung on the wall across from him. The background is an intentionally haphazard American flag, and in the foreground is what seems to be a sea of fists rising into the air. He doesn't have long to ponder the image, before Trent Page comes in with two big coffee mugs. He sets one down in front of Waylon, before taking the seat next to him, and sipping his own drink.
Trent:So run this by me again. You're worried you're gonna relapse, because you think it's the only way you can beat Jonny Fly?
Waylon:I know it. I can't beat him like this. I mean, I'm doin' alright, but I'm at about eighty percent. Ain't nobody ever beat Jonny Fly at eighty percent.
Trent:Waylon, I've seen you fight. The only thing that's at eighty percent is your brain. You're as good physically as you ever were. You just gotta get your head back in the game.
Waylon:That ain't easy to do when I feel like I got a ten ton weight on my heart. I can't get that fucker out of my mind. Every wakin' moment my mind's focused on Fly. I even see the match in my dreams.
Trent sets his coffee down for the first time, and looks over at Waylon.
Trent:What kind of dreams?
Waylon shakes his head, and turns his eyes away to a blank space on the wall.
Waylon:No. Don't go tryin' to play psychologist on me.
Trent:I'm not gonna try to analyze you, jackass. It's good to talk about stuff like this though. Maybe getting it out will help you get a grip on this obsession of yours.
Waylon stays silent for a long while, trying his best not to look over at Trent. His eyes follow a sun beam coming in through the window, then he turns back to the painting from earlier, but he can't avoid Trent's gaze forever. Eventually he looks over and begins to recount what he can remember from the dream.
Waylon:Well me and Fly are in the ring, but the arena's totally empty. No cameras, nothin'. Just us. And we start fightin'. We're havin' a hell of a match, but I can't get the upperhand. About halfway through the match, Jonny turns into Scott, and just starts beatin' the ever lovin' shit outta me. That's usually about the time I wake up.
He is greeted with stunned silence from Trent.
Trent:That's... kinda fucked up.
Waylon:You don't gotta tell me. I just think it's my brain tellin' me I gotta beat Fly at Payback. Like I needed a fuckin' reminder.
Trent:I really think this is more of a job for Sigmund Freud.
Waylon:Those gay magicians with the tigers?
Trent:No, the... Jesus Christ man. Seriously? It's not important. What I know is that we have to do something to get your mind off of it. Dwelling on the whole thing is only gonna make it worse. We could always go nuts on the training, and just get you into crazy beast mode shape.
Waylon considers the proposal, taking a small sip of the hot beverage in front of him.
Waylon:I'm not sure how much more I can do. I was thinkin' somethin' a little different.
Trent:Such as...?
Waylon:I don't know. Somethin' crazy... you know, like back in the day.
Trent:No! No no no.
Waylon:Why not?
Trent:Because I'm thirty four years old! I'm not a stupid kid anymore.
Waylon:Stupid kid? You were a revolutionary. What happened to you?
Trent:Uh uh. Don't even try to go that route with me. I'm secure-
Waylon:So that's how the legacy of the great Trent Page ends. You give up savin' the world so you can be comfortable? What would you from ten years ago say?
Trent looks like he's planning an argument, but before he can speak, his head drops to his chest. He stares at the ground for a moment, before letting out an almost inaudible reply.
Trent:Fine... but you're an asshole.
Waylon's mood immediately picks up. He stands to his feet, and quickly throws his cowboy boots on.
Waylon:You're gonna love this. I already got a target staked out.
__ _ _ _____ _ _ _ ____
The sun is setting in the west, casting a dim glow over the city streets of Macon Georgia. A green Jeep slowly moves across the pavement, trying not to draw any unwanted attention. Inside the car sits Waylon Cash and Trent Page, with a plastic bag full of spray paint cans. Waylon has a giant grin plastered across his face, and Trent can't stop rolling his eyes. Crumbling facades of ancient brick buildings move past them, as both men constantly scan the streets for police cars.
Trent:I can't believe I let you talk me into this.
Waylon:Well believe it. Pull over here, this is the spot.
Trent slows the car to a stop, and then kills the engine, plunging the baron street into a deafening silence. They sit in their seats for a moment, checking back and forth for anyone that might spot them. Waylon looks down at his arm, and can just barely make out his own goosebumps in the waning light. At the same time, they both open their doors, and climb out of the vehicle, Cash with the bag of spray paint in his hand. They stand on the cracked, uneven sidewalk, staring up at Waylon's chosen target. A two story, red brick building. There is a single glass door, but a large window allowing you to see inside the lobby. Above the storefront read the words “Macon Medspa and Plastic Surgery”. Trent looks over at Waylon, and smiles for the first time since they left the apartment.
Trent:Okay, fine. This is a good one. I'll keep a look out. You can do the job. Make it quick. I don't feel like spending the night in jail.
With a chuckle, Waylon replies.
Waylon:Trent, we're adults now. If we get caught it's gonna be more than a night in jail. Blake ain't gonna bail us out this time.
Page tries to push that thought tot he back of his mind, as he turns toward the street. His eyes travels back and forth down the street, as Waylon sets his bag down, grabbing one of the spray cans. He goes to work, his arm moving feverishly as he tags the giant front window of the complex. The sun has completely set now. The only light comes from the moon above, as most of the streetlights have ceased to function. It makes it tricky to work, but the wrestler eventually gets the job done. To Trent's relief, not a single car passes before Waylon begins packing up the empty cans.
Waylon:Check it out brother!
Trent turns a4round, and the smile returns to his face. In big black letters across thew window, it now reads “We can't make you beautiful on the inside.” and then in small letters in the corner it says “And Jonny Fly sucks.” Reading the second part causes Trent to burst out in laughter.
Trent:God dammit Tex. Are you serious?
Waylon:Well I'm sorry. I thought the purpose of revolution was to bring out the truth.
Trent can only shake his head, as the two men pile back into the jeep, and speed away from the scene of the crime. The goofy smile stays on Waylon's face during the entire ride, as the cool night air whips past his head. After a few minutes of silence, Trent turns and speaks.
Trent:Feel better now?
Waylon:I actually do. In fact... lemme capture this on film.
Waylon pulls his phone from his pocket, and pulls up the camera function, before turning the lens on himself and hitting record.
Waylon:Hey, hey Fly buddy. I know last time I said that was all I had to say, but I realized somethin' today. I realized, deep down, why I gotta beat you so bad. It was buggin' me, because there have been plenty of guys in this sport I ain't been able to beat, and none of them got me as shook up as you. It got me thinkin' there's gotta be somethin' more to this. It can't just be about what I need to do. Then it hit me. This is about somethin' bigger. This is about a class war. See Jonny, you're one of them, one of the pretty people. Don't get excited, I ain't hittin' on you. It ain't even about your looks. It's about the fact that everything comes easy to you. You're one of those people who has everything, and has no idea how lucky he is. On the other side you got guys like me, like the members of S-PAC.
City lights whiz by as they move through the almost empty streets. A few cars pass them, the tail lights slowly shrinking away from the view of the camera.
Waylon:Benjy, Gable, Chelsea, we all had to fight and scrape for every damn thing we got. Nothin' came easy to us. We're the other type of people. We ain't like you, and to be honest, the pretty people have had it easy for way too long now. It's time we knocked you off your pedestal. We're the ugly. We're the beaten down. We're the new kings, and me bustin' up that precious face of yours is gonna serve as the symbol, the first shot heard in a war that's gonna span decades. We're tired of hidin' under ground, livin' off whatever scraps you asshole son top decide to leave. We had to take everything we ever got, and now it's time to take back our title. You're not long for the throne Jon boy. Better enjoy it while it lasts.
Cash leans back, letting the wind cool his face. He stares up at what few stars he can see through the light pollution of the city, watching them twinkle faintly from billions of miles away.
Waylon:The universe has a balance. It shifts and changes, but eventually the balance is always restored. That's what happens this Sunday. People like you, the beautiful, the rich, the lucky, you have all had it your way for a long time. At Payback, we take back the power. The ugly, the angry, the poor, we strike back against your pretty boy bullshit. We tear down your ivory tower, and take back the throne. That's why I gotta win. This ain't about us, this is about the balance of the universe. This is about savin' my people from the tyrant, Jonny Fly.
They slow to a stop in the parking garage of Trent's apartment. Page stops the car, but stays still, allowing Waylon to finish filming.
Waylon:Long story short, this is the beginnin' of a war, and I'll be damned if I'm gonna let you fire the first shot. I'm gonna make sure the whole word sees me take you down. By the end of Payback, everyone's gonna know the war is on, and Jonny Fly will be the first casualty. There ain't gonna be no monument of you. Ain't no one gonna remember you as a hero. In the end, you're gonna be remembered as a pompous, pampered jackass who got exactly what he had comin'. It's gonna be a beautiful day, and at the end of it, I'm gonna take your crown, and my rightful place as the new king of WCF.
It's our turn Jonny. Starting this Sunday, the pretty people don't run shit no more. You don't get to pretend your better than me. When I wrap that belt around my waist, it means once and for all that I'm better than you, and that the revolution is here. It's too late to beg. It's too late to pray. Come Sunday, I destroy my demon, take that belt, and lead my people to the first of many victories over the pretty people. Good luck Fly. With how I'm feelin', you're gonna fuckin' need it.
Waylon stops the recording, and slumps down in the passenger seat. Trent lets him relax for a minute before speaking.
Trent:You alright, Tex?
Waylon:Yeah, I'll be fine. You mind givin' me just a few minutes?
Trent:Yeah brother, not a problem. I'll be up in the apartment. I assume you're staying with me tonight. I'll set up the fold out.
Waylon:Much appreciated brother.
Trent gives him an encouraging smile, before climbing out of the vehicle, and making his way toward the elevators. Once he is gone, Waylon flips through his phone book, and presses a button. He hold the phone to his ear, shaking as he waits for the voice of his fiance to come floating over the line. After three long rings, she answers.
Roxxy:Hey baby! I was just about to call you!
Waylon:Hey baby. How's things?
Roxxy:Oh my god, it is so amazing! I'm learning so much, and the documentary is looking like it's gonna turn out really great. How are you doing back at home? You holding up ok without me?
Waylon:Yeah... yeah I'm doin' good. Scott had to go back to Jersey, and it was getting' lonely, so I'm stayin' with Trent tonight.
Roxxy:Aww baby.
Waylon:No, don't aww baby me. I'm a grown ass man, hangin' out with another grown ass man because he doesn't feel like wanderin' around his house alone all night.
Roxxanne giggles at her fiance.
Roxxy:I got some good news. I think we'll be done quicker than scheduled. I should be home some time next week.
Waylon:That's awesome baby. I can't wait.
Waylon sounds a little too relieved, and Roxxanne notices.
Roxxy:Seriously babe, are you ok?
Waylon:I'm fine hon. I just... I just miss you. That's all.
He briefly considers telling her the truth, but decides that's the last thing she needs right now.
Roxxy:I miss you too. I can't wait to be home. Listen, I gotta get back into editing. You gonna be ok?
Waylon:Yeah hon. I'm gonna be just fine.
Roxxy:Alright. I love you.
Waylon:Love you too.
A silence comes over the line. Waylon holds the phone to his ear, not wanting the conversation to end. He suspects her of doing the same, because he doesn't hear the line go dead for almost a minute. He keeps it to his ear a bit longer, before sliding the device back into his pocket. He lays his head back, and stares up at the concrete ceiling, and the pipes that run in an organized labyrinth all along the length of the garage.
Waylon:I'm gonna be just fine.
The wrestler desperately wants to believe his own words... or to at least believe he believes them. Neither is true.
Trent:So run this by me again. You're worried you're gonna relapse, because you think it's the only way you can beat Jonny Fly?
Waylon:I know it. I can't beat him like this. I mean, I'm doin' alright, but I'm at about eighty percent. Ain't nobody ever beat Jonny Fly at eighty percent.
Trent:Waylon, I've seen you fight. The only thing that's at eighty percent is your brain. You're as good physically as you ever were. You just gotta get your head back in the game.
Waylon:That ain't easy to do when I feel like I got a ten ton weight on my heart. I can't get that fucker out of my mind. Every wakin' moment my mind's focused on Fly. I even see the match in my dreams.
Trent sets his coffee down for the first time, and looks over at Waylon.
Trent:What kind of dreams?
Waylon shakes his head, and turns his eyes away to a blank space on the wall.
Waylon:No. Don't go tryin' to play psychologist on me.
Trent:I'm not gonna try to analyze you, jackass. It's good to talk about stuff like this though. Maybe getting it out will help you get a grip on this obsession of yours.
Waylon stays silent for a long while, trying his best not to look over at Trent. His eyes follow a sun beam coming in through the window, then he turns back to the painting from earlier, but he can't avoid Trent's gaze forever. Eventually he looks over and begins to recount what he can remember from the dream.
Waylon:Well me and Fly are in the ring, but the arena's totally empty. No cameras, nothin'. Just us. And we start fightin'. We're havin' a hell of a match, but I can't get the upperhand. About halfway through the match, Jonny turns into Scott, and just starts beatin' the ever lovin' shit outta me. That's usually about the time I wake up.
He is greeted with stunned silence from Trent.
Trent:That's... kinda fucked up.
Waylon:You don't gotta tell me. I just think it's my brain tellin' me I gotta beat Fly at Payback. Like I needed a fuckin' reminder.
Trent:I really think this is more of a job for Sigmund Freud.
Waylon:Those gay magicians with the tigers?
Trent:No, the... Jesus Christ man. Seriously? It's not important. What I know is that we have to do something to get your mind off of it. Dwelling on the whole thing is only gonna make it worse. We could always go nuts on the training, and just get you into crazy beast mode shape.
Waylon considers the proposal, taking a small sip of the hot beverage in front of him.
Waylon:I'm not sure how much more I can do. I was thinkin' somethin' a little different.
Trent:Such as...?
Waylon:I don't know. Somethin' crazy... you know, like back in the day.
Trent:No! No no no.
Waylon:Why not?
Trent:Because I'm thirty four years old! I'm not a stupid kid anymore.
Waylon:Stupid kid? You were a revolutionary. What happened to you?
Trent:Uh uh. Don't even try to go that route with me. I'm secure-
Waylon:So that's how the legacy of the great Trent Page ends. You give up savin' the world so you can be comfortable? What would you from ten years ago say?
Trent looks like he's planning an argument, but before he can speak, his head drops to his chest. He stares at the ground for a moment, before letting out an almost inaudible reply.
Trent:Fine... but you're an asshole.
Waylon's mood immediately picks up. He stands to his feet, and quickly throws his cowboy boots on.
Waylon:You're gonna love this. I already got a target staked out.
__ _ _ _____ _ _ _ ____
The sun is setting in the west, casting a dim glow over the city streets of Macon Georgia. A green Jeep slowly moves across the pavement, trying not to draw any unwanted attention. Inside the car sits Waylon Cash and Trent Page, with a plastic bag full of spray paint cans. Waylon has a giant grin plastered across his face, and Trent can't stop rolling his eyes. Crumbling facades of ancient brick buildings move past them, as both men constantly scan the streets for police cars.
Trent:I can't believe I let you talk me into this.
Waylon:Well believe it. Pull over here, this is the spot.
Trent slows the car to a stop, and then kills the engine, plunging the baron street into a deafening silence. They sit in their seats for a moment, checking back and forth for anyone that might spot them. Waylon looks down at his arm, and can just barely make out his own goosebumps in the waning light. At the same time, they both open their doors, and climb out of the vehicle, Cash with the bag of spray paint in his hand. They stand on the cracked, uneven sidewalk, staring up at Waylon's chosen target. A two story, red brick building. There is a single glass door, but a large window allowing you to see inside the lobby. Above the storefront read the words “Macon Medspa and Plastic Surgery”. Trent looks over at Waylon, and smiles for the first time since they left the apartment.
Trent:Okay, fine. This is a good one. I'll keep a look out. You can do the job. Make it quick. I don't feel like spending the night in jail.
With a chuckle, Waylon replies.
Waylon:Trent, we're adults now. If we get caught it's gonna be more than a night in jail. Blake ain't gonna bail us out this time.
Page tries to push that thought tot he back of his mind, as he turns toward the street. His eyes travels back and forth down the street, as Waylon sets his bag down, grabbing one of the spray cans. He goes to work, his arm moving feverishly as he tags the giant front window of the complex. The sun has completely set now. The only light comes from the moon above, as most of the streetlights have ceased to function. It makes it tricky to work, but the wrestler eventually gets the job done. To Trent's relief, not a single car passes before Waylon begins packing up the empty cans.
Waylon:Check it out brother!
Trent turns a4round, and the smile returns to his face. In big black letters across thew window, it now reads “We can't make you beautiful on the inside.” and then in small letters in the corner it says “And Jonny Fly sucks.” Reading the second part causes Trent to burst out in laughter.
Trent:God dammit Tex. Are you serious?
Waylon:Well I'm sorry. I thought the purpose of revolution was to bring out the truth.
Trent can only shake his head, as the two men pile back into the jeep, and speed away from the scene of the crime. The goofy smile stays on Waylon's face during the entire ride, as the cool night air whips past his head. After a few minutes of silence, Trent turns and speaks.
Trent:Feel better now?
Waylon:I actually do. In fact... lemme capture this on film.
Waylon pulls his phone from his pocket, and pulls up the camera function, before turning the lens on himself and hitting record.
Waylon:Hey, hey Fly buddy. I know last time I said that was all I had to say, but I realized somethin' today. I realized, deep down, why I gotta beat you so bad. It was buggin' me, because there have been plenty of guys in this sport I ain't been able to beat, and none of them got me as shook up as you. It got me thinkin' there's gotta be somethin' more to this. It can't just be about what I need to do. Then it hit me. This is about somethin' bigger. This is about a class war. See Jonny, you're one of them, one of the pretty people. Don't get excited, I ain't hittin' on you. It ain't even about your looks. It's about the fact that everything comes easy to you. You're one of those people who has everything, and has no idea how lucky he is. On the other side you got guys like me, like the members of S-PAC.
City lights whiz by as they move through the almost empty streets. A few cars pass them, the tail lights slowly shrinking away from the view of the camera.
Waylon:Benjy, Gable, Chelsea, we all had to fight and scrape for every damn thing we got. Nothin' came easy to us. We're the other type of people. We ain't like you, and to be honest, the pretty people have had it easy for way too long now. It's time we knocked you off your pedestal. We're the ugly. We're the beaten down. We're the new kings, and me bustin' up that precious face of yours is gonna serve as the symbol, the first shot heard in a war that's gonna span decades. We're tired of hidin' under ground, livin' off whatever scraps you asshole son top decide to leave. We had to take everything we ever got, and now it's time to take back our title. You're not long for the throne Jon boy. Better enjoy it while it lasts.
Cash leans back, letting the wind cool his face. He stares up at what few stars he can see through the light pollution of the city, watching them twinkle faintly from billions of miles away.
Waylon:The universe has a balance. It shifts and changes, but eventually the balance is always restored. That's what happens this Sunday. People like you, the beautiful, the rich, the lucky, you have all had it your way for a long time. At Payback, we take back the power. The ugly, the angry, the poor, we strike back against your pretty boy bullshit. We tear down your ivory tower, and take back the throne. That's why I gotta win. This ain't about us, this is about the balance of the universe. This is about savin' my people from the tyrant, Jonny Fly.
They slow to a stop in the parking garage of Trent's apartment. Page stops the car, but stays still, allowing Waylon to finish filming.
Waylon:Long story short, this is the beginnin' of a war, and I'll be damned if I'm gonna let you fire the first shot. I'm gonna make sure the whole word sees me take you down. By the end of Payback, everyone's gonna know the war is on, and Jonny Fly will be the first casualty. There ain't gonna be no monument of you. Ain't no one gonna remember you as a hero. In the end, you're gonna be remembered as a pompous, pampered jackass who got exactly what he had comin'. It's gonna be a beautiful day, and at the end of it, I'm gonna take your crown, and my rightful place as the new king of WCF.
It's our turn Jonny. Starting this Sunday, the pretty people don't run shit no more. You don't get to pretend your better than me. When I wrap that belt around my waist, it means once and for all that I'm better than you, and that the revolution is here. It's too late to beg. It's too late to pray. Come Sunday, I destroy my demon, take that belt, and lead my people to the first of many victories over the pretty people. Good luck Fly. With how I'm feelin', you're gonna fuckin' need it.
Waylon stops the recording, and slumps down in the passenger seat. Trent lets him relax for a minute before speaking.
Trent:You alright, Tex?
Waylon:Yeah, I'll be fine. You mind givin' me just a few minutes?
Trent:Yeah brother, not a problem. I'll be up in the apartment. I assume you're staying with me tonight. I'll set up the fold out.
Waylon:Much appreciated brother.
Trent gives him an encouraging smile, before climbing out of the vehicle, and making his way toward the elevators. Once he is gone, Waylon flips through his phone book, and presses a button. He hold the phone to his ear, shaking as he waits for the voice of his fiance to come floating over the line. After three long rings, she answers.
Roxxy:Hey baby! I was just about to call you!
Waylon:Hey baby. How's things?
Roxxy:Oh my god, it is so amazing! I'm learning so much, and the documentary is looking like it's gonna turn out really great. How are you doing back at home? You holding up ok without me?
Waylon:Yeah... yeah I'm doin' good. Scott had to go back to Jersey, and it was getting' lonely, so I'm stayin' with Trent tonight.
Roxxy:Aww baby.
Waylon:No, don't aww baby me. I'm a grown ass man, hangin' out with another grown ass man because he doesn't feel like wanderin' around his house alone all night.
Roxxanne giggles at her fiance.
Roxxy:I got some good news. I think we'll be done quicker than scheduled. I should be home some time next week.
Waylon:That's awesome baby. I can't wait.
Waylon sounds a little too relieved, and Roxxanne notices.
Roxxy:Seriously babe, are you ok?
Waylon:I'm fine hon. I just... I just miss you. That's all.
He briefly considers telling her the truth, but decides that's the last thing she needs right now.
Roxxy:I miss you too. I can't wait to be home. Listen, I gotta get back into editing. You gonna be ok?
Waylon:Yeah hon. I'm gonna be just fine.
Roxxy:Alright. I love you.
Waylon:Love you too.
A silence comes over the line. Waylon holds the phone to his ear, not wanting the conversation to end. He suspects her of doing the same, because he doesn't hear the line go dead for almost a minute. He keeps it to his ear a bit longer, before sliding the device back into his pocket. He lays his head back, and stares up at the concrete ceiling, and the pipes that run in an organized labyrinth all along the length of the garage.
Waylon:I'm gonna be just fine.
The wrestler desperately wants to believe his own words... or to at least believe he believes them. Neither is true.
