Post by Johnny Reb on Apr 28, 2009 13:32:45 GMT -5
April 26th, 2009 -- 1:23 am:
It’s not over.
It’s never over.
It should have been my moment. My moment to outshine that over-hyped, blusterin’ Hollywood peacock.
That should have been the end of it.
Now the victory – the one that should have belonged to me, an’ me alone – is tainted.
Johnny Reb returns to his hotel room, a duffel bag slung over one shoulder. His hair, lank and damp with sweat, hangs in his face. Exhausted from the night’s exertions, he drops the bag in the middle of the floor and makes his way toward the minibar. Every movement is painful as overworked muscles begin to contract. Glass in one hand, and a bottle of Black Label SoCo in the other, he collapses onto an overstuffed sofa.
So much for that clear sky of yours, Daniels.
Reb pours himself a generous double shot.
You an’ me, we ain’t finished. But this week, looks like we got other things to worry ‘bout.
The Inveterate Confederate raises his glass in mock salute.
I wish you the best this week, Daniels. We’re gonna dance again one day; and again an’ again, until Lerch gets tired of watching us beat the livin’ hell outta each other. An’ one of those times, Daniels, I hope to return the favor you did me all those months ago in the GWC. So I hope you get your title. You deserve it.
Reb drains his glass in a single drink, then pours another.
As for me…
Johnny takes another, more moderate sip. A malicious smile plays across his lips.
Well, as for me, I got bigger concerns. Half of the four-man team that ended Gravedigger’s cruel regime, plus the current World Champ’s …what? Manservant?
A low, sinister chuckle.
Seems like there’s a kind of irony there. I suppose it’s time to see where Mr. Avery’s loyalties really lie, ain’t it? If Avery gets a shot at the World Title, what then? How far does this…friendship extend? Will Avery step out from Torture’s shadow, or is he gonna keep on ridin’ them coattails?
Reb swallows another mouthful of sorghum-sweet liquor before setting the glass on a table. Leaning back on the couch, he steeples his fingers, looking thoughtful for a moment.
I don’t expect an answer; I don’t foresee a need to even consider them. I’m gonna make damn sure of that. Then again, Chris Avery is the least of my concerns.
Johnny shakes his head slowly.
No. Y’see, while I am relieved that Mr. Lerch has regained control of his company – and an admirable job you boys did there – I have to admit I’m not overjoyed at the thought of facing Corey Black or Dake Ken. Ken because he’s an unknown factor. An’ Black because he’s an element too well known.
He reaches up, rubbing the stubble on his chin reflectively. Johnny’s eyes blaze with a new intensity; he’s caught the figurative scent of gold, and desire for a title smolders powerfully within.
Don’t think for a moment that I’ve gotten cocky, gentlemen. We’ve all been close before, I’m certain. Some of us closer than others. I ain’t gonna sit here an’ tell y’all that I’m gonna be the one walkin’ out with that title shot. Not this time. We’re all walkin’ into that ring Monday night, an’ there ain’t no guarantees for any of us. I know of the four of us, I’m the longshot.
But that don’t mean a damn thing. If I can’t beat you, I will, at the very least, give you somethin’ to remember me by.
With that, Johnny’s smile is back, full of cruel intent and unspoken promise.
End.
It’s not over.
It’s never over.
It should have been my moment. My moment to outshine that over-hyped, blusterin’ Hollywood peacock.
That should have been the end of it.
Now the victory – the one that should have belonged to me, an’ me alone – is tainted.
Johnny Reb returns to his hotel room, a duffel bag slung over one shoulder. His hair, lank and damp with sweat, hangs in his face. Exhausted from the night’s exertions, he drops the bag in the middle of the floor and makes his way toward the minibar. Every movement is painful as overworked muscles begin to contract. Glass in one hand, and a bottle of Black Label SoCo in the other, he collapses onto an overstuffed sofa.
So much for that clear sky of yours, Daniels.
Reb pours himself a generous double shot.
You an’ me, we ain’t finished. But this week, looks like we got other things to worry ‘bout.
The Inveterate Confederate raises his glass in mock salute.
I wish you the best this week, Daniels. We’re gonna dance again one day; and again an’ again, until Lerch gets tired of watching us beat the livin’ hell outta each other. An’ one of those times, Daniels, I hope to return the favor you did me all those months ago in the GWC. So I hope you get your title. You deserve it.
Reb drains his glass in a single drink, then pours another.
As for me…
Johnny takes another, more moderate sip. A malicious smile plays across his lips.
Well, as for me, I got bigger concerns. Half of the four-man team that ended Gravedigger’s cruel regime, plus the current World Champ’s …what? Manservant?
A low, sinister chuckle.
Seems like there’s a kind of irony there. I suppose it’s time to see where Mr. Avery’s loyalties really lie, ain’t it? If Avery gets a shot at the World Title, what then? How far does this…friendship extend? Will Avery step out from Torture’s shadow, or is he gonna keep on ridin’ them coattails?
Reb swallows another mouthful of sorghum-sweet liquor before setting the glass on a table. Leaning back on the couch, he steeples his fingers, looking thoughtful for a moment.
I don’t expect an answer; I don’t foresee a need to even consider them. I’m gonna make damn sure of that. Then again, Chris Avery is the least of my concerns.
Johnny shakes his head slowly.
No. Y’see, while I am relieved that Mr. Lerch has regained control of his company – and an admirable job you boys did there – I have to admit I’m not overjoyed at the thought of facing Corey Black or Dake Ken. Ken because he’s an unknown factor. An’ Black because he’s an element too well known.
He reaches up, rubbing the stubble on his chin reflectively. Johnny’s eyes blaze with a new intensity; he’s caught the figurative scent of gold, and desire for a title smolders powerfully within.
Don’t think for a moment that I’ve gotten cocky, gentlemen. We’ve all been close before, I’m certain. Some of us closer than others. I ain’t gonna sit here an’ tell y’all that I’m gonna be the one walkin’ out with that title shot. Not this time. We’re all walkin’ into that ring Monday night, an’ there ain’t no guarantees for any of us. I know of the four of us, I’m the longshot.
But that don’t mean a damn thing. If I can’t beat you, I will, at the very least, give you somethin’ to remember me by.
With that, Johnny’s smile is back, full of cruel intent and unspoken promise.
End.
