Post by Odin Balfore on Jan 11, 2022 22:27:16 GMT -5
Trials of Despair
Hardcore match
HOLLYWOOD, DANGEROUS.
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Chapter I: Pretty Women
FLASH BACK
Hollywood, CA. 1997
On the set of Danger Spy 4.
Dissolve. The stars trailer. INT/DAY
A handsome man in his early thirties sits in a make up chair. Head back, listening to classical music as a cigarette burns in an ashtray in front of him.
::Knock knock::
"Come in." Says the star.
"Shave, sir?" Asks another man, closing the door behind him.
"About time, where's veronica?"
"Family emergency." Responds the man that we can now see is Odin Balfore with a shaving kit.
"Right, well, make this quick. I don't need an amateur ruining this face."
The star leans back as Odin puts a cape on him, opens the case and preps the lather. With the razor open, Odin whistles and sing familiar tune as he starts to shave the star.
"Pretty women.. fascinating.. dancing women.. innocent women.." Odin sings to himself as the star pays little mind but questions what comes next.
"Little women.. little.. girls.."
"What?" Puzzles the star as he turns his head to look at Odin only to get his throat slit with a straight razor.
__________________
Chapter II: Intel
Conrad's office. Houston, TX.
A manila folder slides across the desk. Odin stands with a furrowed brow as Conrad sits on the other side of the desk, peeling an orange with his fingers.
"What's this?" Asks Odin.
"I told you, per our agreement. You'd have to pay the band. I figured I'd do some digging on your opponent, Angelo. You should take a look." Says Conrad, more involved with the fruit than the conversation.
Odin thumbs through the file.
"Where did-" He starts only to be cut off.
"Ghislaine owed me a favor- and a blow job. With her going down, a lot of high-profile people are coming to light. High profile like Prince Andrew and our friend, Hollywood, over there.. And he's just the tiniest pedo pebble on the island. Epstein’s operation wasn't the only one. He didn't have the only net. Mav, I- I have no qualms in my line of work. I'll hit a dog. I'll shoot a dog. I'll put a slug in a newborn’s grey matter on Christmas morning. Various messages need different modes of delivery. What I won't tolerate are diddlers. They hide in our line of work and I won't tolerate it. They think dark shadows hide them but they forget some shadows are darker than others."
"Our?" Asks Odin, continuing to look through the folder.
"This guy’s a movie star. Fuckin Hollywood elite. It's always the liberals. Fuckin communists. No morals." grunts Conrad with disgust.
"What's the St. Jude?"
"It's a plane but it's unmarked. Completely dark. That's what you're gonna figure out. A put a finger in ghislaine's booty hole but she wasn't talkin. Whoever owns it must be bigger than her. "
"Bigger than you?" remarks Odin, trying to absorb the scope of the situation.
Conrad looks at him, splitting his orange between the thumbs. "No. No one is bigger than me. Not even the queen of England. And we've measured dicks a few times. " Conrad pops a slice in his mouth and continues. "So I want you to sniff around on this Angelo guy. But first, we need to get you a suit. Welcome back, Maverick." Says Conrad with a mouth full of orange. "Oh, and be careful Maverick. I hear Hollywood's dangerous." Conrad laughs as he pops another orange slice in his mouth.
Odin takes the folder and leaves the room, only stopping to look at his warped reflection in a mirror in the hallway. His inner monologue creeps up and speaks to him.
“Stepping over Hollywood would be rather appropriate on the way to CJ and the US title. Do you see that Mav’, that right there is the rigged game; we can get back what’s ours, and we can destroy this pedo in the process. It calls to us. Can’t you hear it? A silent whisper. The lamentation of a cursed idol, begging to be set free from its mediocre vessel. We’ll get what our at Revolution one way or the other.”
The voice fades and the reflection returns to normal before Odin continues down the hall.
_______________
Chapter III: Every time I'm Out.
James Cameron's home. Santa Barbara, CA.
Odin sits in one of James Cameron's many sunrooms. Odin is dressed in jeans, cowboy boots, and a Carhartt hoodie. Cameron sits across from him as they are in mid-conversation.
"-Why not Chris Hansen or Navarro?" Asks James.
"He's out of the game. This is bigger than him and I have to track down Navarro and that could be longer than this altogether." Answers Odin.
"It certainly sounds it but how can I help?"
"Jimmy, you been on my side for years in WCF. If I can ask anyone, it's you. Also- Angelo said your writings shit. Hand to god." Swears Odin.
James pulls out a billion dollars from between the couch cushion he's sitting on and dabs the non-existent tears complete with sniffles.
"Well, better I write Aliens, Terminator, Titanic and Avatar rather than be a cho-mo. And you said Maxwell gave up this info? You might wanna go to Miramax. Bunch of perverts over there. I don't have much to give you. I run my own production. Just be careful, don't get sucked back into that assassin life."
"Every time I'm out," Odin says, as he motions his arms back in towards them.
"Shit can be dangerous. Hollywood is dangerous. I know you got your friends and ties but if he's the tip, be careful about the plunge. This could be Challenger Deep, type stuff."
"Hey, do you know his agent, Deon Jones? Could you give me his number?"
"Yah, yah sure. What about that plane?" Asks Cameron, scribbling Deons number on the folder.
"Cold."
"Have you checked the Santa Barbara Airport? Lots of private planes over there."
"I'll give it a look, thanks." Says Odin looking over the file again as the scene fades.
_____________
Chapter IV: That Angelo Pack.
Santa Barbara Airport Plaza.
Odin sits in Conrad's Range Rover over at the Airport Plaza, staking out who is coming and going from one of the private hangers. . Odin taps down a pack of Newports and pontificates.
"You're right, Hollywood, wrestling and nicotine are a lot of like and I got that Gerard Angelo pedophile pack to smoke"
Odin puts the cigarette in his mouth, lights up, and takes a drag.
"You're one of those Divas that run they mouth till they get punched in the face and slink back off to "more important things" well, Hollywood, allow me to introduce you to more important things.. But I'm not perfect; Lord knows I'm not. I'm cursed, unwanted and on the hunt for the TV title. However, me and the US. We got some history. Maybe that history bears repeating. The Intel that I got this week- well.. you taking innocence from the innocent and I just can't abide by that. So because of that, a certain part of my past bears repeating. That spells DOOM for fuccbois and boy fuckers like you.
Now you're in a hardcore match against me, in front of the world trying to be the "best in the world," Midcard jobber getting your shit pushed in because your mouth doesn't know any better. This is where your journey ends. A loss of innocence in the most violent of ways. I'm a cursed man in search of a cursed idol. Looking for one to corrupt like the TV title, but looks like another idol of a different sort has found me this week.
Fucking sucks to be you. In your second match in action wrestling, looking for your first US title- a misplaced motivation - against an unwanted legend. Now I'm here at the airport plaza, about to shakedown some flight logs. Maybe I'll find your name. Maybe your brother’s name will magically appear in some little black book somewhere. Perhaps Deon has a few Lolita skeletons he needs to address and if so-"
Odin takes out a slip of paper.
"I got his name and address. See, you think the world revolves around you. It doesn’t. It's liable to get people in your life hurt. I should know, I used to think like that. Now, Hollywood; you're in my world. You'll live to regret it- or- if you're lucky - you won't survive our encounter.
You told Kidsgrove were built differently but I'm going to break you. Your hubris caught up to you and like CJ, it brought you right to me. To these hands.. I've had some infamous hardcore matches against Walter and Dune. If you're sitting there telling me that you ain't got a fucking clue who they are - then you're a vapid jizz stain on the hotel bath mat in this very airport plaza. Me, on the other hand, I put the former TV champion through a table inside of three minutes just last week, and truthfully, I'm done apologizing to John. This is what he and everyone wanted - so come and see.
And last week two actors went Broadway. Nine million people didn't tune in to see your time limit draw. No one watches porn to see a chick *almost* climax or the hero *almost* win. Now they get to see that same bitch live in a snuff film. Live- for now. What they have been doing is tuning in for twenty-three years to see me do what always do to the Hollywood "dangerous" types, such as you.
Fuckin, Hollywood pieces of shit. If that's the limits of your "greatness," I'm not impressed. But I keep hearing Hollywood is dangerous. Show me. Because in that ring - I am the danger. These hands are the danger. In that hardcore match, there's no telling what they'll do but Hollywood, I'm not liable for breaking your plastic surgeon’s warranty.
But know that I am going to bust those cheeks."
Odin takes a drag.
"No cho-mo."
He exhales.
"You should pray that I give you a quick death and an easy way out. Out of these trials. Out of this company and out of my fucking sight.
I'll make you subconsciously submit to power. My power. My will.
And I'll enjoy your futile struggles
To persist in this fantasy that you're hot-shotting into a US title because you tied Sam Kidsgrove is fucking buffoonery. The forge of suffering will show you the flaw in that logic and make you very wise.
I'm going to cripple your career and break your fucking pelvis. Then I'll probably move on to the guy you couldnt finish off in the first round. However, don't fret. I got a round in the chamber for him as well as CJ.
So before you come at me that 'you're ruthless and hardcore', know the difference between that and WAR BALFORE - for we are NOT the same. You think you're here to collect a belt while I'm here to collect something of higher value. You'll know what that is when the time comes. For now, just know that your mansions and the hills and the endorsements do not and will not keep you safe from me if you chose to come to work.
Because this week, you, a Hollywood elite, chose vanity for a chance at the US championship
And I, the cursed man- simply - just chose violence.
And there ain't a God damn thing you can do about it.
Rest in fucking piss, Hollywood.
~1933
