Post by John Rabid on Jan 20, 2019 22:47:06 GMT -5
Chapter 1
I’m sorry for your loss.
From: @theserpent
To: @leathermagick
Hello, Miss Abernathy.
I’m sure by now your bag of magic herbal tea leaves have informed you of the devastating loss your client, Noble Savage, is about to suffer on the January 21st Edition of “Monday Night Slam”, a main event tag match heralding from the Pensacola Bay Centre in Pensacola, Florida. Perhaps not the most auspicious venue to have the newly crowned WCF world champion decimated at (I’ve never been a big fan of wrestling shows performed at ice hockey rinks myself) but seeing your precious Noble Savage gutted and left for dead in front of a shocked house of fifteen thousand distraught commoners swelled my soul with an enormous sense of smug satisfaction.
It’s difficult to put into words what happens when you see confidence drain from an opponent's face, when their loss is so crippling, so dilapidating, that they lose that spark of invincibility that comes with an unbeaten run inside the squared circle. I do know however that from my perspective, standing over the shattered remains of Noble Savage and Odin Balfore, that it tastes like a glass of Delamain de Voyage, the five grand cognac served in a crystal tumbler neat, without any frivolous dalliances with ice or water to ruin the occasion.
Perhaps I’m catering to a more refined audience than yourself, after all you like to dress like a comedy SS dominatrix from an end of the pier production of Allo! Allo! I imagine then you might appreciate a more direct approach to my discourse. How about I frame it like this, I’m going to wrap my knuckles into a tight white ball of hate and smash all the teeth from your clients skull, until her face resembles a meth ravaged whore. I’m going to leave Noble Savage ugly for the rest of her natural life. And when you wince at her appearance, I want you to know that somewhere, out there in a post Brexit England, I’ll be laughing with my beautiful Bonnie Blue about how Noble will never be loved again.
Now, it that clearer?
Y’see, unlike Noble’s thuggish, crybaby partner this week, I do not take anyone for granted. Your client has talent, but I have talent also, plus guile and a level of viciousness unparalleled. You can hold all the tarot cards you want, kiss all the toads and prance naked under a full moon fingering a bat. None of your gypsy bunkum compares to what I possess. What Bonnie possesses. The truth is, Bonnie and I like to hurt people. We love it. We savour their pain and find it sweet. While poor little Noble does this, to be loved, to be wanted, to be adored. And that’s the difference, isn’t it? Because when Monday rolled on by and Noble Savage cannoned out of her corner like a love struck ringrat, it wasn’t to hurt Bonnie Blue, it was to impress her. And that was her mistake. Noble’s last mistake. A mistake you programmed into her, a fatal chink in her armor that you created. Her destruction, on your hands, as her blood drips from your fingers.
If only you had read your own palm, perhaps you would have foreseen this future. But you didn’t. Because it frightens you, doesn’t it, Abernathy? Knowing that Noble loves Bonnie more than you. That she’d rather be “The Soul Witch” than simply a puppet on your leash. Let me inform you of what happened on Slam, Bonnie looked at Noble before the bell rang, their eyes met, there was an exchange of words, Noble became entranced by the Daughter of Time’s beauty, her radiance held Noble in place. Noble felt the pangs of broken promises mend in her heart as she lost focus.
Then Bonnie ended Brandi like a Vincent Augustine afterthought. Blood was everywhere. A canopy of horrific silence befell the arena. Except for my laughter, because you know, sometimes I can’t help myself.
Oh, but that blood, how sugary it tasted, like bubblegum and cotton candy wrapped around a hot topic robot. So innocent. So completely fucking naive. Abernathy, I have all the money in the world, and yet it can never buy me a Noble Savage prostrate at my feet, a broken husk of what she used to be. An abstract mess Dali never would have had the balls to paint. That’s why I will always love this business, it gives back in new and unsettling ways. And that excites me.
It excites you to, doesn’t it? Go on, admit it. Noble’s debut match, August 6th of last year. The moment when Eccentrix pulled off the surprise win hitting a “One Hit Wonder” for the victory. You tried to mask your pleasure with a look of disdain from the safety of the crowd but I can tell you’re a bad liar. It turns you on to see Noble hurt. And don’t try and convince me you where actually upset over the misuse of the God Caller, because that’s just more bunkum from a sadist that likes to break her toys with occult rubbish. That’s why you inexplicably paraded her though a prison of sexual deviants to prepare her for a match with Odin Balfore. Why you shoved her inside a cell to fight, what was his name again? Carry Moore? Wade should sue by the way. That’s I.P. infringement.
I wonder if Odin realises that Noble probably associates fighting Balfore now with tackling a rapist who spoke in fluent echo..echo...echo…
Honestly, the more I have to endure these nonsensical promos of yours the more it all becomes abundantly clear. Your only concern is how to psychologically torture Brandi into becoming your personal attack dog. You force Noble to watch her younger self cheer Odin on the week they’re about to fight. You force Noble to observe Brandi with her father, Michael. You construct elaborate illusionary psychodramas to twist the knife of her abandonment issues to a fine point where pain and madness become one. And in that moment, you have your finely tuned monster. The young girl whose mind you enslaved at a WCF show. That was the day you kidnapped Noble Savage’s psyche and held it hostage. You turned Brandi into a monster, but let’s face it, “Lady Abernathy”, you’re the real monster. The kind they put on a register and lock away forever.
Noble sees Odin and all she can picture is that day. The day that ruined her life forever. The day you “planted the seed of Savage into her Noble soul” Yeah, I guess that’s one way you can look at it. You fucking disgust me, Abernathy. For all my cruelty, abusing a child is the lowest form of scum there is. And you’ve reached ground floor, bitch. Trust me, the moment they turn the life support off on poor Brandi is the moment I’m coming after you. I’m going to rip your fucking throat out, you goosestepping cunt.
Getting rid of Noble is a mercy killing, because she’s no longer Brandi, she’s just your twisted creation. But with you Abernathy? You, I’ll take my time over. I won’t squander a second of your pain. I’ll frame it and store the screams for future recollection in my happy thoughts. Maybe I’ll send the remains over to Odin as a reminder of the kind of company he once kept. I wonder if he understands that he’s been bested three times now by an abused woman that sees him as the totem for all her ills. How can you team with someone that resides at the centre of all that pain? That activates the Savage and nullifies the Noble?
The answer after what happens on monday night is, you can’t.
The knife just cut too deep between them, and you Abernathy held the blade. In a strange way, I’m going to avenge Brandi when I kill you. While I honestly couldn’t care less what happens to Noble, It matters to me not to allow you to make another Frankenstein monster again. To warp a child’s mind into becoming a babbling idiot who speaks in nonsensical tongues about magic bollocks. On one hand though, perhaps you should be congratulated, after all you did create a demented racehorse that won WAR, that has bested her partner time and again, that became a Hellimination winner. And yet for all of that, what I face this coming monday is simply the abused rage of a child. Once that fact became clear? Everything else fell into place. And as a father, I feel obliged to make sure you’re not allowed to stalk wrestling shows looking for a replacement.
I’ll see you around.
Chapter 2
Blood on the Glades
The night was crisp and clear as two humanoid shadows moved with a purpose below a bright Floridian sky. The swiftly moving silhouettes belonged to Bonnie Blue and John Rabid, cloaked by intermittent patches of darkness that eased their impending approach. The WCF power couple were encroaching upon the rusting, somewhat dilapidated residence of “Marshworld airboat tours” a corrugated shack that sat listing opposite a meagre looking jetty, with a tethered airboat close by that appeared unattended.
Inside the shack the elderly airboat captain snoozed his way through the boat’s abscondment as John and Bonnie gunned the engine and drove headlong into the night.
Later, the airboat was making progress across the glades as Bonnie worked the controls. “How far out?” asked Bonnie as she sat in the pilot's seat “About another thirty miles” answered the serpent, both were dressed in black tactical gear; shoulder holstered pistols indicated they were prepared for a fight.
“ How many nests do you think they have?” inquired Bonnie
“The Covenant stretches halfway around the world. They’ve got their hooks into everyone and everything. Politicians, celebrities, sports personalities. They're everywhere. That's what it takes to conceal a secret that could change the world. And they’ll do anything to make that happen”
“Even killing your family?”
“Especially killing my family. Demonstrates a certain level of commitment. I became a threat to them, to their precious peace. So they wanted me removed from the board. I should have seen it coming, but in my arrogance I thought I had outgrown them”
“Sounds familiar” remarked Bonnie.
“Well it should. You know what it means to be seen as a threat”
Bonnie tried to focus on the map on her ipad but she was distant. Her loss at One clearly affecting her. Rabid checked his pistol’s clip, his eyes piercing into the troubled soul of his lover as he contemplated how to diffuse her doubt.
“You want to talk about it?”
“Now?”
“I need you to have your mind clear. You just lost your WCF belt in a match you were never pinned in. You didn’t deserve that.“
“No, I didn’t. But the top brass keep saying it was a fair match. I’m not sure how to react to that.”
“You honestly think that the fatal fourway at ONE was arranged to give everyone a fair shot at the belt? It was arranged so that a habitual opportunist like Noble Savage could pin a rusty, out of sorts returnee like Alex Richards without their precious Odin Balfore losing face...again. They wanted a non offensive champion in Noble. A champion that would tow the party line and stay on their corporate straight and narrow. Look above you, Bonnie, what do you see?”
A looming eclipse is closing in on the moon. The airboat rests on a sea of glistening beams that resembles an undulating tapestry of light.
“Noble speaks in tongues. She babbles in hare-brained sentences about nothing. Prays to eclipses for divine knowledge. In short, she’s a nutcase. And that's perfect for a company like WCF that wants nothing but safe, easy to manage paper champions that don’t rock the boat and don’t question the hierarchy. And I know for a fact that's the case, because I used to be one of them.”
“I can’t believe they didn’t even give me a single one on one match to defend my belt. I was railroaded”
“Yeah, right from the start. We don’t live in an era where a Vincent Augustine incident can go unchecked. They have to be seen to be in control. That management and not the wrestlers make the decisions. When you snapped Vincent’s neck that made you a pariah. A heretic to the WCF cause. So now this week we show them what it means to anger us. They want to team up their champions and set an example? Fine. We’ll tear their limp wristed god and their zany witch apart and consign them to a footnote in history. Odin probably deserves more, but when you whine your way out of your own manhood, you take what you’re given.“
“He called his loss to me at Payback a fluke like it was nothing. I can’t have that, John. I can’t have this seven foot tall child crying over my career and staining it with his fucking petulance”
“You can add Brandi Noble to that list, Bonnie. Savage goes on Slam saying that you’re out to take credit for her accomplishments, the next minute she’s calling herself the soul witch. She’s such a lunatic she doesn’t know when to piss or wind a watch. In one sentence she calls you The great time witch, the next you’re her enemy. The sentence after that it’s about carrying the team. If she can’t focus her personalities to conduct a simple interview how the fuck can she wrestle cohesively? So much for the “Cleric of Balance” That woman’s off her fucking rocker.”
“Odin’s leg isn’t a hundred percent. I worked it over on the Huntington arena edition of Slam and I know for a fact something snapped. Perhaps a tendon, maybe more. The Norse Tank’s mobility is shot. The irony is if he had that half yard of pace maybe he would have broken the pin. But unlike him, I don’t need to blame others for my loss. I’ll tough it out and get the belt back. I’m not getting teary eyed and sobbing for sympathy.”
Rabid smirked, he saw the fire back in Bonnie’s eye as her fangs began to protrude.
“So, you ready?”
“Yeah” Bonnie answered grimly "I’m ready."
Bonnie gunned the engine and the airboat roared. Off to Bell LaRoux. And a date with the Covenant.
Chapter 3
Get this God a retainer
From: @the Serpent
To: @norsetank
Hello, Odin.
I remember you. I remember when you used to matter. That was back when “The Thickness” was a tag team phenomenon. When Bobby Cairo had a partner that was every bit his equal. Or so it seemed. Maybe you had that dominant run during 2011 because WCF was a land of small guys and you where this giant that could get away with never being tested. Until you were, by a certain Johnny Reb at WAR; the first time you ever lost a WCF world championship. And who did you lose it to? The same DNA as Bonnie Blue.
Sure, you won it back but you were never the same after that. A month after regaining the belt you lost it again to Corey Black at ONE, pinned by the man you once annihilated inside the squared circle. But that Odin Balfore was long gone by then, the all powerful God had evaporated. Something inside your spirit snapped, and from then on you became a tag act. Then a glorified security guard for Seth Lerch. And eventually? Nothing.
Those wilderness years must have been heartbreaking for you. Or perhaps deep down you knew when to hide that seven foot tall frame of yours under a rock. Maybe deep down, you knew that when the talent ratio went up, Odin Balfore just couldn’t hang anymore. Or If he could, he would have to work on it. And that scared him off. Right?
I often wonder where you were when the WCF actually needed you. Tell me Odin, why was it Corey Black and not Odin Balfore that took on “The Sheriff” Thomas Uriel Bates? Surely a man of your size and power would have been the more obvious choice to stand as the flag bearer for sanity within the federation. But no, you were still hiding under a rock. Too afraid to stand with Pantheon. Too afraid to create actual change. Better to just observe. “Odin Observer” that’s what the boys called you, did you know that?
Well, now you do.
Funny thing though, about a year ago the talent level did eventually drop, didn't it? We even ended up with Adam Young as champion. And then suddenly, all those niggling injuries of yours vanished. As if by magic it was 2011 again in 2018. The big man had gotten his mojo back. You even defeated Stephen Singh for the strap. Even though Stephen Singh often flatters to deceive when it comes to world title runs, he’s about as ineffectual as you.
And then the specter of Johnny Reb returned, and down you went once again. Payback took about seven years to arrive, but when it did? All that doubt and lack of self worth returned. While I stood back and observed. Just like you Odin during mexico. I watched and savoured and laughed as your were humbled like you’ve never been before. And I have to say, it was magnificent to see. The great aslan of the WCF, sheared and made mute. Bonnie really does know how to make an impression, now doesn’t she?
You know what you are now Odin? After the loss at Payback. After your loss at ONE? You’re nothing more than a seven foot tall infantile hippie, who balls his eyes out when he loses to his better. For you, It’s impossible to act like a man, you’re too preoccupied trying to find an excuse for being second best. You’re nothing but a petulant child, sniffling back the tears when you lose to a legit champion like Bonnie blue; ignoring the loss because it was “a fluke”, your words Odin, not mine. A fluke that’s about to strike twice. But you’ll deny it again like always, unable to see that you’ve descended into a washed up bum with zero to offer but trips to jazz clubs and promos where you self falacio about how you’re an unstoppable God….and yet you keep losing.
You’ve never been able to take a loss and evolve from the experience, you’re just this stagnant pool of shit that’s permanently oblivious to actual results. There’s less real substance to you than even a James Wolf. The two of you are on par, delusional is your default setting. Arrogance to a fault is your single lane of traffic.
When are you going to act like a man, Odin? When are you going to find time in your busy itinerary of mincing around like a queen pleb to grow a set and step up? You spent so long licking the boots of Seth Lerch, that you forgot what it was like to have a thick between your legs, and no, Seth’s doesn’t count.
There used to be a time when you were an actual monster, now you pat yourself on the back because you won the B-team Ultimate showdown. That’s Odin Balfore in 2019. You can sniff around success, but as of now? You’re no longer good enough to taste it.
Explain to me, oh Norsemen colossus , how can a seven foot tall, three hundred pound man can lose to a five foot nothing ditzy carny bint, who makes career choices off who gets the wishbone from a chicken wing? You can’t and that’s why you’re broken. Even when you team with Noble this week, you’ll still won’t have a clue. Even now when you’re scouring for answers all you’ll discover is more reasons why you fail.
What are you gonna do, Odin? Are you gonna cherry pick from Joey Flash’s promo? Don’t fucking bother, you don’t have the flare nor the skill to match up to Malignaggi. But let’s just suppose that you’re stupid enough to try, “resurrection man”, what aspect of Joey’s promo will you swipe? Let me guess, that I lost my world title at One to a transgender competitor? So what? You lose regularly to women. The difference being, when I lose, I get back up and conquer. When you lose, you just...keep losing. I have a victory over SJW, that saw me finally gain a world heavyweight championship at war 2018. When you lost to Noble savage, you just..kept losing to her. You’re suffering from a career paralysis, stuck in a freeze frame because you can’t accept that you lost to a woman. Then Bonnie. Then Noble, again. It’s impossible for you to shake the concept that maybe being seven feet tall isn’t enough. That perhaps three hundred pounds doesn’t guarantee you instant victory. And that’s when you get dragged back to 2016, spending your waking hours cleaning Seth’s boots. Working the concession stand. Acting as a bodyguard nobody needed nor used. Just a mutt tethered to the hope that one day, the talent would flutter away and allow you to reign supreme once more in an arid main event scene.
But those brief halcyon days are over. And that fact will be cemented this week on Slam. The old coward and the young mad woman. Crushed under our oppressive boots forever. So it shall be written.
...well, you know the rest.
Good day.
