Post by Deleted on Mar 1, 2014 21:49:35 GMT -5
Clouds hang low in the sky, blocking out the mid day sun, and casting a dark shadow over the property of Waylon Cash. Th wrestler sits on the foundation of what will one day be his house. He leans against a wooden post that stick up out of the concrete, one foot on the platform, one dangling off into the long grass. An unlit cigarette dangles from the Hellbilly's mouth, as he stares off into the sky, wondering when the storm will come. The camera pans around him, showing an empty countryside. Not even the animals want to be out. The storm is close. After a few moments, Waylon looks into the camera with bloodshot eyes and an annoyed glare.
Waylon:So you're the tag team champions now... good for you. I wrote that book. I'm the only reason anyone gives half a shit about those titles, so wear 'em with pride. Go ahead and pretend they mean somethin', cuz up until now, they ain't meant a damn thing around your waists. You see, those belts are supposed to represent the fact that you're the best tag team in the company. It's supposed to mean that you're at the top of the game, and there ain't a single team out there that's better than you. We all know that ain't true though, don't we. There's a team floatin' around here that y'all can't beat. There's a team in WCF that deserves those belts more than you do, and that means that in your hands those belts ain't nothin' but hunks of leather and metal.
Waylon slowly pulls a cheap plastic lighter from his pocket, and sets the end of his cigarette ablaze. He takes a deep drag, and exhales the smoke upward. He watches as darker clouds begin to roll in above them, obscuring even more of the sun's rays. He takes another drag from his cigarette, and turns back to the camera.
Waylon:S-PAC is the best team in the history of wrestlin', period. Ain't no question about it, and until those titles are back in the family, they don't mean shit. Don't worry, I ain't like some of the assholes on our roster. I ain't all talk like the Steve Orbits and Logans of the world. This is one dog whose bite is way worse than his bark, and you're gonna see that this Sunday. I'm gonna tear into you Wrestlin' Society X rejects like a gator through a stray dog. Ain't gonna be nothin' left of you BUT those damn titles when I'm through. Once that bell rings, there ain't gonna be no doubt in anyone's mind who the best team in the world is. Enjoy your little fantasy for now, cuz it's about to come crashin' down hard.
Waylon's arm rests on his knee, burning cigarette dangling between his fingers. He watches curls of smoke rise into the air for a moment, before going back to his speech.
Waylon:And don't think I'm worried that you got Oblivion with you either. That clumsy doofus is exactly what my daddy was talkin' about when he used to say strong like bull, smart like tractor. I outwit Bliv every time we meet, and this ain't gonna be no different. If anything, it's gonna be worse for him. What you're seein' is Waylon Cash at a level you've never even heard of. I'm in better shape than I been my whole life, and I'm more willin' to kill than anyone's ever seen me. Oblivion, you may be a monster, but I think you're the one who should be scared this week. You're comin' up against a rabid dog that ain't interested in your feelin's. I'm gonna show the world what it looks like when you finally kill a monster.
Small droplets of water begin to hit Waylon's face, almost refreshing his overheated skin. He tips his face to the sky and closes his eyes, letting the gentle rain hit him. After a few moments, he casts a sardonic grin back at the camera.
Waylon:As far as the other two... well let's start with Night Rider. Boy, I gotta be hoenst, I'm kinda proud of you. I've watched you scrap and claw for any spotlight your mediocre ass could grab, and you finally got it. You finally got a title around your waist that means somethin'. 'Course, on the other hand I feel sorry for you. You finally reached this moment, this pinnacle, and I'm gonna have to show the WCF fans that it wasn't nothin' but a fluke, and that you ain't nothin' but a glorified sparrin' partner. My advice to you. Get on someone's trainin' staff. You'll have a steady job that way, because got a feelin' that this wrestlin' thing ain't gonna work out too well for you.
Waylon stands up as he takes another drag from his cigarette. He steps across his quickly dampening lawn with a look of heavy contemplation on his face. He stares off into the face of the oncoming storm, watching lighting dance inside the cloud, but never leave to visit earth.
Waylon:Then there's Denise. Now, there's no doubt she's the prettiest member of her little group, but that's a damn low bar to be jumpin' over. Other than that, she's nobody special. I seen a million dark gothic chicks who didn't get enough hugs from daddy. I don't think the fact that you're bat shit crazy does a lot to help your position either. You can pretend to be immortal all you want, but that don't mean nothin' unless it's tested. What say we make a date for that this sunday. You bring your crazy little head, and I'll bring my fists, and we'll see which one can hold out longer.
Waylon takes a few frantic puffs from his cigarette, before tossing it out into the wind. It flies off behind him, as he starts to walk back towards his future house.
Waylon:Truth be told, I'm getting' kinda sick of this. I don;t give a damn if you're the tag team champions, this is a fuckin' waste of S-PAC's talents. We belong at he top of the card, fightin' guys like Jonny Fly and Jayson Price. Not in the mid card facin' a bunch of delusional wannabes. If you ask me, this is Seth bein' afraid of Waylon Cash all over again, but that's neither here nor there. What it comes down to is that we gotta do what we been doin' since day one, and that's dominatin' the whole game. It's been goin' on since S-PAC started, and I don't think these three got a hope in hell of bringin' that to an end.
Waylon steps up onto the foundation, and wanders between the wooden posts that jut up out of it. He swings back and forth across a couple, before turning his attention back to the camera.
Waylon:Now, I been doin' a lot of talkin' about myself, and what I'm gonna do, but I ain't the only reason we're gonna run you the fuck over. I'm bein' backed up by the best team in the wrestlin' business. On one side of me you got Benjamin Atreyu, God given greatness. Now, I faced this mother fucker enough times to tell you that it's a nightmare. He's one of the best wrestlers I ever seen, and I can;t figure out why the hell he ain't world champion right now. Hell, he deserves it more than that backstabbin' opportunist we got holdin' the belt now. Another thing is, I been talkin' to Benjy, and he ain't happy about losin' at the pay-per-view. It's made him hungry as hell, and I got a feelin' he's gonna wanna bite a chunk outta your asses. I can't wait to see him rip you all limb from limb. It's gonna be beautiful.
Waylon steps to a certain point on the foundation, and stomps three times. After a few seconds, the skeleton of an elevator rises from beneath the concrete, and Waylon leans on one of the steel beams that make up the frame.
Waylon:Now, you guys got your monster, Oblivion, and he can be pretty fearsome, I'll give you that, but he ain't no Chelsea Black Armstrong. Now you might look at her size and say she ain't no kinda monster. That's where you're wrong. Chelsea's so far outta her god damn mind, it don't matter how big she is. When you're done fightin' her, you're gonna feel like you got steamrolled by the biggest monster of them all. Forget that, you're gonna feel like you got hit by a bus! She's one of those psychotic things that comes in a small package, and this Sunday, you're gonna see S-PAC's monster unleashed.
Waylon steps onto the elevator platform, and stomps again, sending it sinking below the foundation. As he lowers into the large training area, he stares straight into the lens.
Waylon:S-PAC's pissed. I don't know if you noticed, but we didn't do too good at Timebomb, and we ain't too happy about it. In fact we're pissed, and we're lookin' for some poor saps to take it out on. It just so happens your asses drew the short straw. It ain't always fair, but that's the way this business goes. Do yourselves a favor, and write this week off as a loss. Start plannin' for next week, cuz you ain't gonna be the team that beats S-PAC. You can bank on that... alright, shut it off. How was that?
As the elevator this the ground, Scott Savage turns off the camera, and gives his client a look of derision.
Scott:Honestly, it's the same garbage you've been saying from the very beginning. I was hoping you would give me something new for once.
Waylon:I can't count the number of times we fought these jackasses. What do you want from me?
Scott:How about a little passion, a little heart? For a guy who can't quit the wrestling business when a free paradise is presented to him, you sure don't seem to care all that much, and I'm not just talking about your promo videos.
Waylon stops moving, and just glares at his manager.
Waylon:you got somethin' to say?
Scott:all I'm saying is that if you-
Waylon stops him mid sentence by stepping up to him, and shoving his face forward so their almost nose to nose.
Waylon:No, Scott. I think you got somethin' to say. Fuckin' say it.
Scott shoves him backward with surprising power for a man who's been retired almost four years.
Scott:Fine, you're right, I do have something to say. You've gotten lazy as I have ever seen you! You didn't lose that World title match because Steve Orbit's better than you! You lost because you didn't want it. I saw it in your eyes, and you were checked out the second the bell rang!
Waylon steps back up and gets in Scott's face, yelling so loud it echoes off the walls.
Waylon:You gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me! I bust my ass, I fly out to Nevada, I take time out of my fuckin' schedule to help you sell Waylon Cash t-shirts, and you wanna call me lazy because I couldn't beat five other guys?! You ust be outta your go damn mind boy.
Scott shoves him back again, which prompt Waylon to put his fists up. He doesn't move forward again, but he stands on guard.
Scott:Get in my face again, and you aren't going to make it long enough to get another shot at the title. Here's the bottom line, if I don't see that hunger back in your eyes this week, you and I will have a lot to discuss.
Waylon:Why don;t we talk about it now, huh? Why don;t you stop tip toein' around your bullshit, and just say what you fuckin' mean for once?!
Scott:I am giving you a chance to fix your mistakes. I am getting tired of your attitude, and I'm thinking it might need a little adjusting.
Waylon:Alright fucker, let's do it then!
Before the fight can go any farther, Roxxanne comes sprinting out of the bedroom and almost dives between them.
Roxxy:What the fuck is wrong with you two?! How many fights am I gonna have to stop before you two grow the hell up?!
Scott:You need to have a talk with your fiance. He's veering off track, and I'm not sure how much more I can do for him.
Waylon:Oh go fuck yourself, you uppity prick! I'm out there bustin' my ass, riskin' my life, while you sit back and take your cut! Don't you ever talk to me about bein' lazy again, you god damn hypocrite!
At this point Scott can only rolls his eyes, and stomp into his office, slamming the door behind him. Roxxanne turns and looks to Waylon for an explanation. He can only stare daggers into Scott's door. After a few minutes of tense silence, Roxxanne finally talks.
Roxxy:You mind explaining to m just what the hell that was all about?
Waylon:He doesn't fuckin' get it, Roxxy. He's too worries about S-PAC to think about what we're tryin' to build.
Roxxy:We already have everything we need! We can go, now. You refuse to retire.
Waylon:You're really hung up on that New Babylon place, ain't you?
Roxxy:YES! You bet your ass I am! Everything we need is right there, and you refuse to take it, because you still haven't proven yourself, or some bullshit like that! I can't take it anymore! Waylon, we have a golden opportunity here, and you're pissing all over it because of some stupid crusade, and some stupid macho idea that you have to prove something!
Waylon:I DO!
Roxxy:WHAT?! What the hell do you have left to prove. You're a former world champ, three time tag team champ. You've beaten everyone there is to beat, and achieved everything there is to achieve! What more could you possibly want?
It seems as if Waylon might reply, but the look of hurt and confusion in her eyes stops him. He stomps over toward the wrestling ring that sits in the middle of the floor. He lifts himself onto the apron, and has a seat. It is quite a while before he speaks.
Waylon:I can't go out while Steve's on top.
Roxxy:Please, for the love of all that is holy, fucking tell me you're kidding. Tell me you're not dragging this out for some stupid vendetta!
Waylon:You know this is bigger than some stupid vendetta. Steve sat by while you were kidnapped, while our house was burned to the ground, and he didn't do a god damn thing! I was scared shitless, didn't know what the hell was gonna happen to you, and all he was worried about was those damn tag titles. Now he's got what he's always wanted. He's got the big gold belt, and I wanna take it away from him. I wanna make him watch as I hold the only thing he gives a damn about high above my head.
Roxxanne crosses her arms in front of her chest, unsure of what to say.
Waylon:Look, I don't expect you to understand, but as a man, there are certain things-
Roxxy:Oh don't give me that bullshit! The truth is you need to grow up. You need to realize what's important before you don't have it anymore.
Waylon goes to reply, but she doesn't give him the chance. She stomps away, and slams the bedroom door behind her.
Waylon:Can't tell you two are fuckin' related!
Waylon jams his shaking hand into the pocket of his jeans, and pulls out a small glass vial. He removes the cap, and pulls a tiny metal scoop out from underneath. He uses the scoop to take some white powder from the bottle, and hold it to his nostril. He inhales the cocaine, and tips his head back, letting the numbing sensation drip down his sinuses. He slides the vial back into his pocket, and leans back against the bottom two ropes. He has a few minutes of silence before the sound of his cell phone ringing echoes off the walls. He pulls it out of his pocket, and looks at the screen. He sees that it is in unknown number. Waylon thinks about ignoring it, but something compels him to answer the call.
Waylon:Hello?
The oily voice that drifts over the other end causes Waylon's skin to crawl. It is that of Blake Updegraff IV, the insufferable son of Waylon's trainer.
Blake:Hey there Tex!
Waylon:What do you want, Pee-Wee?
Blake:I hope you know you're the only one who remembers that nickname.
Waylon:Roxxanne still remembers it pretty vividly. Seriously, what do you want? You got about ten seconds before I hang up on your ass.
Blake:Merely to schedule a meeting. I've been thinking about how thing have been with us... and I don't think it's right.
Waylon:Uh huh. Keep weavin' your web brother.
Blake:I'm serious. My father didn't want it to be this way. He loves you. In fact, you were always his favorite student. He'd never say it, but it's true. The way I see it, I shouldn't be on bad terms with one of my father's favorite people.
Waylon:So waddaya wanna talk about?
Blake:We can discuss that when the time comes. I'll be down your way next week sometime. I'll call you and let you know.
Before Waylon can get any information, the line goes dead. Cash slides the phone back into his pocket, and runs a hand over his scalp.
Waylon:What the hell?
Waylon:So you're the tag team champions now... good for you. I wrote that book. I'm the only reason anyone gives half a shit about those titles, so wear 'em with pride. Go ahead and pretend they mean somethin', cuz up until now, they ain't meant a damn thing around your waists. You see, those belts are supposed to represent the fact that you're the best tag team in the company. It's supposed to mean that you're at the top of the game, and there ain't a single team out there that's better than you. We all know that ain't true though, don't we. There's a team floatin' around here that y'all can't beat. There's a team in WCF that deserves those belts more than you do, and that means that in your hands those belts ain't nothin' but hunks of leather and metal.
Waylon slowly pulls a cheap plastic lighter from his pocket, and sets the end of his cigarette ablaze. He takes a deep drag, and exhales the smoke upward. He watches as darker clouds begin to roll in above them, obscuring even more of the sun's rays. He takes another drag from his cigarette, and turns back to the camera.
Waylon:S-PAC is the best team in the history of wrestlin', period. Ain't no question about it, and until those titles are back in the family, they don't mean shit. Don't worry, I ain't like some of the assholes on our roster. I ain't all talk like the Steve Orbits and Logans of the world. This is one dog whose bite is way worse than his bark, and you're gonna see that this Sunday. I'm gonna tear into you Wrestlin' Society X rejects like a gator through a stray dog. Ain't gonna be nothin' left of you BUT those damn titles when I'm through. Once that bell rings, there ain't gonna be no doubt in anyone's mind who the best team in the world is. Enjoy your little fantasy for now, cuz it's about to come crashin' down hard.
Waylon's arm rests on his knee, burning cigarette dangling between his fingers. He watches curls of smoke rise into the air for a moment, before going back to his speech.
Waylon:And don't think I'm worried that you got Oblivion with you either. That clumsy doofus is exactly what my daddy was talkin' about when he used to say strong like bull, smart like tractor. I outwit Bliv every time we meet, and this ain't gonna be no different. If anything, it's gonna be worse for him. What you're seein' is Waylon Cash at a level you've never even heard of. I'm in better shape than I been my whole life, and I'm more willin' to kill than anyone's ever seen me. Oblivion, you may be a monster, but I think you're the one who should be scared this week. You're comin' up against a rabid dog that ain't interested in your feelin's. I'm gonna show the world what it looks like when you finally kill a monster.
Small droplets of water begin to hit Waylon's face, almost refreshing his overheated skin. He tips his face to the sky and closes his eyes, letting the gentle rain hit him. After a few moments, he casts a sardonic grin back at the camera.
Waylon:As far as the other two... well let's start with Night Rider. Boy, I gotta be hoenst, I'm kinda proud of you. I've watched you scrap and claw for any spotlight your mediocre ass could grab, and you finally got it. You finally got a title around your waist that means somethin'. 'Course, on the other hand I feel sorry for you. You finally reached this moment, this pinnacle, and I'm gonna have to show the WCF fans that it wasn't nothin' but a fluke, and that you ain't nothin' but a glorified sparrin' partner. My advice to you. Get on someone's trainin' staff. You'll have a steady job that way, because got a feelin' that this wrestlin' thing ain't gonna work out too well for you.
Waylon stands up as he takes another drag from his cigarette. He steps across his quickly dampening lawn with a look of heavy contemplation on his face. He stares off into the face of the oncoming storm, watching lighting dance inside the cloud, but never leave to visit earth.
Waylon:Then there's Denise. Now, there's no doubt she's the prettiest member of her little group, but that's a damn low bar to be jumpin' over. Other than that, she's nobody special. I seen a million dark gothic chicks who didn't get enough hugs from daddy. I don't think the fact that you're bat shit crazy does a lot to help your position either. You can pretend to be immortal all you want, but that don't mean nothin' unless it's tested. What say we make a date for that this sunday. You bring your crazy little head, and I'll bring my fists, and we'll see which one can hold out longer.
Waylon takes a few frantic puffs from his cigarette, before tossing it out into the wind. It flies off behind him, as he starts to walk back towards his future house.
Waylon:Truth be told, I'm getting' kinda sick of this. I don;t give a damn if you're the tag team champions, this is a fuckin' waste of S-PAC's talents. We belong at he top of the card, fightin' guys like Jonny Fly and Jayson Price. Not in the mid card facin' a bunch of delusional wannabes. If you ask me, this is Seth bein' afraid of Waylon Cash all over again, but that's neither here nor there. What it comes down to is that we gotta do what we been doin' since day one, and that's dominatin' the whole game. It's been goin' on since S-PAC started, and I don't think these three got a hope in hell of bringin' that to an end.
Waylon steps up onto the foundation, and wanders between the wooden posts that jut up out of it. He swings back and forth across a couple, before turning his attention back to the camera.
Waylon:Now, I been doin' a lot of talkin' about myself, and what I'm gonna do, but I ain't the only reason we're gonna run you the fuck over. I'm bein' backed up by the best team in the wrestlin' business. On one side of me you got Benjamin Atreyu, God given greatness. Now, I faced this mother fucker enough times to tell you that it's a nightmare. He's one of the best wrestlers I ever seen, and I can;t figure out why the hell he ain't world champion right now. Hell, he deserves it more than that backstabbin' opportunist we got holdin' the belt now. Another thing is, I been talkin' to Benjy, and he ain't happy about losin' at the pay-per-view. It's made him hungry as hell, and I got a feelin' he's gonna wanna bite a chunk outta your asses. I can't wait to see him rip you all limb from limb. It's gonna be beautiful.
Waylon steps to a certain point on the foundation, and stomps three times. After a few seconds, the skeleton of an elevator rises from beneath the concrete, and Waylon leans on one of the steel beams that make up the frame.
Waylon:Now, you guys got your monster, Oblivion, and he can be pretty fearsome, I'll give you that, but he ain't no Chelsea Black Armstrong. Now you might look at her size and say she ain't no kinda monster. That's where you're wrong. Chelsea's so far outta her god damn mind, it don't matter how big she is. When you're done fightin' her, you're gonna feel like you got steamrolled by the biggest monster of them all. Forget that, you're gonna feel like you got hit by a bus! She's one of those psychotic things that comes in a small package, and this Sunday, you're gonna see S-PAC's monster unleashed.
Waylon steps onto the elevator platform, and stomps again, sending it sinking below the foundation. As he lowers into the large training area, he stares straight into the lens.
Waylon:S-PAC's pissed. I don't know if you noticed, but we didn't do too good at Timebomb, and we ain't too happy about it. In fact we're pissed, and we're lookin' for some poor saps to take it out on. It just so happens your asses drew the short straw. It ain't always fair, but that's the way this business goes. Do yourselves a favor, and write this week off as a loss. Start plannin' for next week, cuz you ain't gonna be the team that beats S-PAC. You can bank on that... alright, shut it off. How was that?
As the elevator this the ground, Scott Savage turns off the camera, and gives his client a look of derision.
Scott:Honestly, it's the same garbage you've been saying from the very beginning. I was hoping you would give me something new for once.
Waylon:I can't count the number of times we fought these jackasses. What do you want from me?
Scott:How about a little passion, a little heart? For a guy who can't quit the wrestling business when a free paradise is presented to him, you sure don't seem to care all that much, and I'm not just talking about your promo videos.
Waylon stops moving, and just glares at his manager.
Waylon:you got somethin' to say?
Scott:all I'm saying is that if you-
Waylon stops him mid sentence by stepping up to him, and shoving his face forward so their almost nose to nose.
Waylon:No, Scott. I think you got somethin' to say. Fuckin' say it.
Scott shoves him backward with surprising power for a man who's been retired almost four years.
Scott:Fine, you're right, I do have something to say. You've gotten lazy as I have ever seen you! You didn't lose that World title match because Steve Orbit's better than you! You lost because you didn't want it. I saw it in your eyes, and you were checked out the second the bell rang!
Waylon steps back up and gets in Scott's face, yelling so loud it echoes off the walls.
Waylon:You gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me! I bust my ass, I fly out to Nevada, I take time out of my fuckin' schedule to help you sell Waylon Cash t-shirts, and you wanna call me lazy because I couldn't beat five other guys?! You ust be outta your go damn mind boy.
Scott shoves him back again, which prompt Waylon to put his fists up. He doesn't move forward again, but he stands on guard.
Scott:Get in my face again, and you aren't going to make it long enough to get another shot at the title. Here's the bottom line, if I don't see that hunger back in your eyes this week, you and I will have a lot to discuss.
Waylon:Why don;t we talk about it now, huh? Why don;t you stop tip toein' around your bullshit, and just say what you fuckin' mean for once?!
Scott:I am giving you a chance to fix your mistakes. I am getting tired of your attitude, and I'm thinking it might need a little adjusting.
Waylon:Alright fucker, let's do it then!
Before the fight can go any farther, Roxxanne comes sprinting out of the bedroom and almost dives between them.
Roxxy:What the fuck is wrong with you two?! How many fights am I gonna have to stop before you two grow the hell up?!
Scott:You need to have a talk with your fiance. He's veering off track, and I'm not sure how much more I can do for him.
Waylon:Oh go fuck yourself, you uppity prick! I'm out there bustin' my ass, riskin' my life, while you sit back and take your cut! Don't you ever talk to me about bein' lazy again, you god damn hypocrite!
At this point Scott can only rolls his eyes, and stomp into his office, slamming the door behind him. Roxxanne turns and looks to Waylon for an explanation. He can only stare daggers into Scott's door. After a few minutes of tense silence, Roxxanne finally talks.
Roxxy:You mind explaining to m just what the hell that was all about?
Waylon:He doesn't fuckin' get it, Roxxy. He's too worries about S-PAC to think about what we're tryin' to build.
Roxxy:We already have everything we need! We can go, now. You refuse to retire.
Waylon:You're really hung up on that New Babylon place, ain't you?
Roxxy:YES! You bet your ass I am! Everything we need is right there, and you refuse to take it, because you still haven't proven yourself, or some bullshit like that! I can't take it anymore! Waylon, we have a golden opportunity here, and you're pissing all over it because of some stupid crusade, and some stupid macho idea that you have to prove something!
Waylon:I DO!
Roxxy:WHAT?! What the hell do you have left to prove. You're a former world champ, three time tag team champ. You've beaten everyone there is to beat, and achieved everything there is to achieve! What more could you possibly want?
It seems as if Waylon might reply, but the look of hurt and confusion in her eyes stops him. He stomps over toward the wrestling ring that sits in the middle of the floor. He lifts himself onto the apron, and has a seat. It is quite a while before he speaks.
Waylon:I can't go out while Steve's on top.
Roxxy:Please, for the love of all that is holy, fucking tell me you're kidding. Tell me you're not dragging this out for some stupid vendetta!
Waylon:You know this is bigger than some stupid vendetta. Steve sat by while you were kidnapped, while our house was burned to the ground, and he didn't do a god damn thing! I was scared shitless, didn't know what the hell was gonna happen to you, and all he was worried about was those damn tag titles. Now he's got what he's always wanted. He's got the big gold belt, and I wanna take it away from him. I wanna make him watch as I hold the only thing he gives a damn about high above my head.
Roxxanne crosses her arms in front of her chest, unsure of what to say.
Waylon:Look, I don't expect you to understand, but as a man, there are certain things-
Roxxy:Oh don't give me that bullshit! The truth is you need to grow up. You need to realize what's important before you don't have it anymore.
Waylon goes to reply, but she doesn't give him the chance. She stomps away, and slams the bedroom door behind her.
Waylon:Can't tell you two are fuckin' related!
Waylon jams his shaking hand into the pocket of his jeans, and pulls out a small glass vial. He removes the cap, and pulls a tiny metal scoop out from underneath. He uses the scoop to take some white powder from the bottle, and hold it to his nostril. He inhales the cocaine, and tips his head back, letting the numbing sensation drip down his sinuses. He slides the vial back into his pocket, and leans back against the bottom two ropes. He has a few minutes of silence before the sound of his cell phone ringing echoes off the walls. He pulls it out of his pocket, and looks at the screen. He sees that it is in unknown number. Waylon thinks about ignoring it, but something compels him to answer the call.
Waylon:Hello?
The oily voice that drifts over the other end causes Waylon's skin to crawl. It is that of Blake Updegraff IV, the insufferable son of Waylon's trainer.
Blake:Hey there Tex!
Waylon:What do you want, Pee-Wee?
Blake:I hope you know you're the only one who remembers that nickname.
Waylon:Roxxanne still remembers it pretty vividly. Seriously, what do you want? You got about ten seconds before I hang up on your ass.
Blake:Merely to schedule a meeting. I've been thinking about how thing have been with us... and I don't think it's right.
Waylon:Uh huh. Keep weavin' your web brother.
Blake:I'm serious. My father didn't want it to be this way. He loves you. In fact, you were always his favorite student. He'd never say it, but it's true. The way I see it, I shouldn't be on bad terms with one of my father's favorite people.
Waylon:So waddaya wanna talk about?
Blake:We can discuss that when the time comes. I'll be down your way next week sometime. I'll call you and let you know.
Before Waylon can get any information, the line goes dead. Cash slides the phone back into his pocket, and runs a hand over his scalp.
Waylon:What the hell?
