Post by Johnny Reb on Nov 8, 2011 12:37:38 GMT -5
Inside Johnny Reb’s condo, once again: The Halloween decorations have been cleared away, while a matched pair of recliners has been added to the previously limited furnishings. Replicas of championship belts are displayed prominently on the wall, mounted on wooden plaques; engraved plates record the dates of each title reign.
WCF interviewer Hank Brown is already seated in one of the recliners, watching Johnny pace restlessly back and forth with a glass of Southern Comfort in his hand.
Hank: So, listen, Johnny… First off, thanks for making the time to see me today. I know you’ve been a little, er, reclusive since…the pay-per-view…
Johnny arches an eyebrow and looks at Hank.
Reb: Yeah, and?
Hank shrugs.
Hank: Well, your opponent had plenty to say after the fact. I think it’s time the WCF gets to hear your thoughts on Helloween.
Reb: My thoughts? Hm. Overall, it was a good show. D-Day winnin’ and reclaimin’ his old U.S. Championship… Oblivion and that Aaron Miles kid tearin’ it up all over the arena… The Television Title goin’ to some dude we never heard of before was a little odd… But the biggest match of the night was also the biggest travesty.
Hank: In fairness, Johnny, you made a damn good showing. It was this close…
He holds his thumb and forefinger apart, right around a quarter inch.
Hank: I mean, damn! You risked everything; that’s something to be proud of.
Johnny turns on Hank with a feral snarl.
Reb: Somethin’ to be proud of?! Are you serious, Hank? I gave ever’thin’ I had in that match – an’ then some – an’ I still walked outta there without my World Championship. How in the hell am I s’posed to be proud of that?
Hank: Yeah, but –
Reb: Do you realize this is the third time I’ve lost that belt? An’ to a man like Odin Balfore, no less. He’s some damned Johnny-come-lately, gettin' by on this delusion that he “dominated” the whole WCF roster for an entire…what? Month, maybe? All while the big dogs was out with various injuries an’ not around to put that upstart in his place.
Hank: Yeah, but –
Reb: You know what stings the worst, though, Hank? It’s knowin’ that sonofabitch wouldn’ta stood a snowball’s chance – if’n he hadn’ta punched out the ref. An’ even then, it took him bringin’ in that jackass Ryan Blake…
Johnny continues to pace back and forth as he talks, moving just perceptibly faster the more worked up he gets.
Hank: But Blake didn’t get a chance to intervene. If Doc Henry hadn’t shown up…
Reb: Damnit, Hank! Don’t even suggest that Doc Henry saved my ass! Whatever that man does is in pursuit of his own nefarious ends. If nothin’ else, he knows damn good an’ well that I would never wanna win a match ‘cause of someone else’s interference! An’ that’s precisely why he intervened. It wasn’t for me – it was for him. I dunno exactly what was goin’ through his mind, but his intentions weren’t even remotely good. Hell, he might as well have nailed me with a chair – the end result woulda been the same.
Hank: Maybe you’re looking at this the wrong way…
Johnny stops cold and turns a baleful eye on the interviewer.
Reb: Don’t you dare tell me I’m lookin’ at this wrong. I know ol’ Doc better’n you do; better’n anyone alive. Whatever it may have looked like, Hank – Doc Henry cost me my title. An’ then, on top of all that, Odin Balfore had to go an’ politely tell the whole world that I ain’t nothin’ more than a placeholder. All that contrived nicety an’ pretty words after the fact… He wasn’t so charitable before the match, that’s for damn sure. Sonofabitch just had to go addin’ insult to injury; pourin’ salt in the wounds. You let me have him in the ring one more time, an’ I’ll prove once an’ for all who’s the better man!
Hank: Well, you are facing him again this Sunday…
Reb: In a tag match…
Hank: With Doc Henry officiating. That’s got to mess with your head.
Johnny’s lip curls up in a sneer.
Reb: Doc ain’t got no business officiatin’ anythin’! But I don’t really give a damn, Hank. All I want on Sunday night is a little payback from Odin Balfore. Not for takin’ my title – although I’m still pissed about that – but for his little speech afterward. He barely even mentioned me, an’ then only to say that I’m not what the fans want, an’ he’s sorry it had to be me that kept that belt warm for him. The bastard couldn’t even acknowledge that I put him through the nearest approximation to Hell there is on this Earth – an’ that pisses me off more’n anythin’ else! I don’t even care about winnin’. All I want is to put Odin Balfore in his place. An’ if Doc Henry gets in my way, I will destroy him, too!
Hank: Jeez, Johnny. Maybe you better lay off the SoCo…
In response to that suggestion, Reb hurls his glass at the wall, just above Hank Brown’s head. It shatters there, raining glass and liquor down on the interviewer.
Reb: Damnit, Hank! Don’t just write this off as some kind of drunken rant! Why I –
The sound of breaking glass is followed by a streak of red light. Both men fall silent as a disembodied voice speaks.
(Johnny Reb of Earth…)
Johnny and Hank exchange puzzled glances.
(…there is great rage in your heart.)
Reb: Huh?
His gaze finally focuses on a glowing crimson ring, hovering in the air in front of him. As if acting on some compulsion, he reaches toward it; and of its own volition, the ring slips onto the middle finger of his right hand. Johnny is suddenly engulfed in scarlet light.
Reb: RRRAAAAUUUGGGHHH!!!
Hank: Fuck this, I’m outta here!
Hank hauls ass out the door, leaving Johnny to the bizarre and disturbing transformation. Reb doubles over and sinks to his knees, coughing up large quantities of blood all over his favorite area rug. This goes on for several excruciating minutes until, at last, he is able to rise shakily. He studies the ring on his hand speculatively, his confused expression shifting to one of malicious delight, as he clenches his hand into a fist.
-----------
The Inveterate Confederate sits bolt upright in his bed, the covers all twisted around him, his body soaked in sweat. It takes him a moment to catch his breath; a moment longer for the disorientation of suddenly waking to fade.
Reb: Oh, thank God. It was just a dream…
But, just to make sure, he lifts his right hand – only to find the ring firmly wedged onto his middle finger, glowing ruby red in the darkness.
Reb: Damnit!
The End … ?
WCF interviewer Hank Brown is already seated in one of the recliners, watching Johnny pace restlessly back and forth with a glass of Southern Comfort in his hand.
Hank: So, listen, Johnny… First off, thanks for making the time to see me today. I know you’ve been a little, er, reclusive since…the pay-per-view…
Johnny arches an eyebrow and looks at Hank.
Reb: Yeah, and?
Hank shrugs.
Hank: Well, your opponent had plenty to say after the fact. I think it’s time the WCF gets to hear your thoughts on Helloween.
Reb: My thoughts? Hm. Overall, it was a good show. D-Day winnin’ and reclaimin’ his old U.S. Championship… Oblivion and that Aaron Miles kid tearin’ it up all over the arena… The Television Title goin’ to some dude we never heard of before was a little odd… But the biggest match of the night was also the biggest travesty.
Hank: In fairness, Johnny, you made a damn good showing. It was this close…
He holds his thumb and forefinger apart, right around a quarter inch.
Hank: I mean, damn! You risked everything; that’s something to be proud of.
Johnny turns on Hank with a feral snarl.
Reb: Somethin’ to be proud of?! Are you serious, Hank? I gave ever’thin’ I had in that match – an’ then some – an’ I still walked outta there without my World Championship. How in the hell am I s’posed to be proud of that?
Hank: Yeah, but –
Reb: Do you realize this is the third time I’ve lost that belt? An’ to a man like Odin Balfore, no less. He’s some damned Johnny-come-lately, gettin' by on this delusion that he “dominated” the whole WCF roster for an entire…what? Month, maybe? All while the big dogs was out with various injuries an’ not around to put that upstart in his place.
Hank: Yeah, but –
Reb: You know what stings the worst, though, Hank? It’s knowin’ that sonofabitch wouldn’ta stood a snowball’s chance – if’n he hadn’ta punched out the ref. An’ even then, it took him bringin’ in that jackass Ryan Blake…
Johnny continues to pace back and forth as he talks, moving just perceptibly faster the more worked up he gets.
Hank: But Blake didn’t get a chance to intervene. If Doc Henry hadn’t shown up…
Reb: Damnit, Hank! Don’t even suggest that Doc Henry saved my ass! Whatever that man does is in pursuit of his own nefarious ends. If nothin’ else, he knows damn good an’ well that I would never wanna win a match ‘cause of someone else’s interference! An’ that’s precisely why he intervened. It wasn’t for me – it was for him. I dunno exactly what was goin’ through his mind, but his intentions weren’t even remotely good. Hell, he might as well have nailed me with a chair – the end result woulda been the same.
Hank: Maybe you’re looking at this the wrong way…
Johnny stops cold and turns a baleful eye on the interviewer.
Reb: Don’t you dare tell me I’m lookin’ at this wrong. I know ol’ Doc better’n you do; better’n anyone alive. Whatever it may have looked like, Hank – Doc Henry cost me my title. An’ then, on top of all that, Odin Balfore had to go an’ politely tell the whole world that I ain’t nothin’ more than a placeholder. All that contrived nicety an’ pretty words after the fact… He wasn’t so charitable before the match, that’s for damn sure. Sonofabitch just had to go addin’ insult to injury; pourin’ salt in the wounds. You let me have him in the ring one more time, an’ I’ll prove once an’ for all who’s the better man!
Hank: Well, you are facing him again this Sunday…
Reb: In a tag match…
Hank: With Doc Henry officiating. That’s got to mess with your head.
Johnny’s lip curls up in a sneer.
Reb: Doc ain’t got no business officiatin’ anythin’! But I don’t really give a damn, Hank. All I want on Sunday night is a little payback from Odin Balfore. Not for takin’ my title – although I’m still pissed about that – but for his little speech afterward. He barely even mentioned me, an’ then only to say that I’m not what the fans want, an’ he’s sorry it had to be me that kept that belt warm for him. The bastard couldn’t even acknowledge that I put him through the nearest approximation to Hell there is on this Earth – an’ that pisses me off more’n anythin’ else! I don’t even care about winnin’. All I want is to put Odin Balfore in his place. An’ if Doc Henry gets in my way, I will destroy him, too!
Hank: Jeez, Johnny. Maybe you better lay off the SoCo…
In response to that suggestion, Reb hurls his glass at the wall, just above Hank Brown’s head. It shatters there, raining glass and liquor down on the interviewer.
Reb: Damnit, Hank! Don’t just write this off as some kind of drunken rant! Why I –
The sound of breaking glass is followed by a streak of red light. Both men fall silent as a disembodied voice speaks.
(Johnny Reb of Earth…)
Johnny and Hank exchange puzzled glances.
(…there is great rage in your heart.)
Reb: Huh?
His gaze finally focuses on a glowing crimson ring, hovering in the air in front of him. As if acting on some compulsion, he reaches toward it; and of its own volition, the ring slips onto the middle finger of his right hand. Johnny is suddenly engulfed in scarlet light.
Reb: RRRAAAAUUUGGGHHH!!!
Hank: Fuck this, I’m outta here!
Hank hauls ass out the door, leaving Johnny to the bizarre and disturbing transformation. Reb doubles over and sinks to his knees, coughing up large quantities of blood all over his favorite area rug. This goes on for several excruciating minutes until, at last, he is able to rise shakily. He studies the ring on his hand speculatively, his confused expression shifting to one of malicious delight, as he clenches his hand into a fist.
-----------
The Inveterate Confederate sits bolt upright in his bed, the covers all twisted around him, his body soaked in sweat. It takes him a moment to catch his breath; a moment longer for the disorientation of suddenly waking to fade.
Reb: Oh, thank God. It was just a dream…
But, just to make sure, he lifts his right hand – only to find the ring firmly wedged onto his middle finger, glowing ruby red in the darkness.
Reb: Damnit!
The End … ?
