Post by Odin Balfore on Feb 4, 2022 19:40:54 GMT -5
Odin Balfore
Vs
Claire Hawkins
HOTEL CALIFORNIA
______________________
CHAPTER I: Hotel California
Conrads Estate. Houston, Texas.
The finer accouterments of life, global espionage, and zero fucks to give paled to the simpler things in life. Conrad was kicked up, maxin’ in and relaxin’ in his favorite leather recliner watching an 18-foot tv in surround sound that would make God jizz in a jealous rage. Beer in one hand, beer in the other, watching some poor black kid *ahem*
‘-shootin some B-Ball outside of the school. When a couple of guys who were up to no good, startin makin trouble in my neighbor.’
Pause -> rewind -> play
‘-Shooting some B-ball outside of the school. When a couple of guys who were up to no good, started makin trouble in my neighborhood.’
“Ha-ha! Just you wait till you meet uncle Phil!”
DING DONG! the doorbell rings
Conrad groans, reluctantly getting up and shuffling over to a golf cart that's just outside the room. He starts it up and drives it straight down the hall to the front door. According to him its cheaper than hiring because ‘Mexico isn't sending their best’
A doorbell ring turns to a hard thumping at the door.
“Benjamin Conrad, open it. CPS!”
“CPS? Don’t you guys have a statute of limitations?”
“CBS! Open up!”
A deal gone south - way -way south dawns on Conrads. His eyes go wide as the door gets breached and the hall fills with Zyklon-[C]B.
CBS doesn’t fuck around.
FLASH_CUT.EXE
A dark room. Odin sitting at a metal table, in a metal chair. Outline barely visible, violent hands on the table, loading 9MM rounds into a Glock 18. Small flip phone in front of his violent, yet busy hands.
FLASH_BACK.EXE
To Conrad getting 2-stepped by Hugo Weaving, Hugo Weaving, and Hugo Weaving; three identical men in suits. Conrad crawls through 500 yards of getting his own shit kicked in. The trio of Hugo Weavings never gave an inch. Conrad crawls to an intercom system on the wall and hits the panic button with the side of his fist.
FLASH_CUT.EXE
Back to Odin. the flip phone in front of him lights up with an unknown caller. It dances around on vibrate with the ring tone of “Hotel California” before hanging up. It lights up and vibrates again but again Odin lets it go. It turns on for a third time. Odin picks it up and stays quiet and listens to Conrad getting his salad tossed with real Italian leather loafers.
“Hello, Conrad,” Answers Odin cooly to Conrad's surprise.
“Mav? How’d you know it was me? This number is unlisted!”
“Because we hate the Eagles…”
“Oh you son of a bitch, don’t you fuckin’-”
“And because we hate you.”
“Fuck you Maverick! You fuckin’ piece of shit! I shoulda left you to rot in - UGH! My spleen! Listen- ugh - Mav! Mav GRAH!!! Mav, It’s CBS, they’re back! Get your Nordic ass down here and - “
“As a wise man once told us, Conrad… be careful… Hollywood's Dangerous.”
“YOU MOTHER FUU-”
*Click *
we’d like you to tell you that Conrad fought the good fight that day, hell, we’d like to tell you a lot of things but on the other end of that phone, the large Texan was getting taken to the woodshed, uphill, both ways, in the snow with shoes made of broken glass.
While Conrad gets beat like a government mule, Odin sits in that dark room. We see him finish loading the bullets into the magazine and insert the clip as he stands up. He walks over to the other side of the metal table where we can see a fourth Hugo Weaving.
“Agent Robinson,” Odin starts. “First, we want to thank you for your supreme cooperation. You and your team have been most helpful in your endeavors in tracking down that which we seek.” Odin takes a moment to look halfway impressed by the level of care that agent Robinson and the others took in the operation. “And the re-routing the emergency call center to the burner phone,”
*chefs kiss* “Beautiful. However, you are here to ensure that we get what we want out of the deal.” Odin cocks the gun. “And if not, we’ll push this bullet through your skull with our bare hands. Grey[more] matter ain’t no matter. All this could be avoided, cowboy, if you just pony up to the bar. We just need to know if you’re going to double-cross us.”
Agent Robinson stays calm, almost like he’s missing his amygdala.
“Then again, three agents would be easier to deal with than four. You knew what this was.”
BANG
A sea-spray of red splatters like a Jackson Pollock all over Odin and the room. The All-Father tucks the gun back into his waistband. He pauses a moment, taking a long, deep breath before disappearing into the darkness. Within the darkness, we can hear a kinder, gentler Odin. His voice is smooth but with a sense of urgent panic.
“Claire,
Claire, you should run. This isn't me. I’m sorry for this. This is not your fight to face or grave to be buried in. I would hate to see my fate become yours by proxy. I am a cursed man but yet I am no longer in control. I have lost the battle. I am the Unwanted, the Forgotten Legend, and what has taken my place, I couldn't even tell you. Just a cursed man out for some sort of revenge. I don’t want to hurt anyone. Least of all you. I respect you, Claire. You have been here a long time and you have never been anything other than yourself. I thought that I could control the Forge of Suffering, maintain it, harness it but it has consumed me wholly. It quests for the cursed idol, the AW TV Championship and it will not stop till it captures its ultimate prize. CBS Champion or not. Stay away from Wisconsin. We are not rivals but what we are, are two of the best TV Champions in the business. That is a direct challenge to him; one that I cannot stop.
I would stop it if I could.
I would retire if I could.
I would free myself if I could.
Yet here we are, Claire. I am the lone passenger on a jetliner, nose-diving into the ocean from thirty thousand feet. I have no mouth and I must scream. Our match at Clash isn't you versus me. As it's been me versus myself and I’ve lost. I’m a loser and all I have this week is you.
Help me.”
___________________________________
CHAPTER II: THE CURSED IDOL
Back at Conrad's, an explosion can be heard as the trio of Weavings can be seen blasting into a high-security bank vault within Conrad's estate. Jewels, gems, gold, historical trinkets were lost to time. It's all there but under lock and key were a series of championships. Among them was the one they came here for. The WCF TV CHAMPIONSHIP. They smash the glass and take it.
___________________________________
CHAPTER III: [ REDACTED ]
In a public bathroom, the sink runs and we see Odin standing in front of the mirror with palms flat on the counter. This voice is harsh and raspy.
“Whatever he told you, Claire, you should ignore it. He’s enjoying this he just doesn't want to admit it. He hasn't lost, he just isn't in control and that scares him. He has been able to control the narrative forever. A quarter-century in wrestling years is literally forever. The only question there is left to ask is:
When Ragnarok?
When do I come over the top and boot your simpleton head into the mat and stomp that blood orange you call a skull into the dirt. Hold the fuck up on answering the rhetorical - I ain't time for your games. I ain't time for your bitch-craft vagina-voodoo. Hold up.”
Odin listens for a moment before continuing.
Had to hold up a second just in case FPV was gonna pop out of a bowl of rice just to remind us of the one good thing he’s done in his career. My question to you is what the fuck was the one good thing in your career; my TV Championship. BAH! Fucking hardly. This man has sucked for three god damned years and all you got in this is my cursed idol. Tells the saddest tale on the fucking Earth if that's all you got. This is RIVALS. You that rival this week? You gone put those maxi-flow tampons in your snatch because I’m gonna give you a fucking aneurysm for your bravery. He's been telling you don’t come to fucking work for weeks and now he wants your help.
Believe a man when he tells you who he is and believe me when I tell you that this is a trap.
You are no rival for I have no equal. I am not powerless. I am limitless.
I do not retire because I am inevitable.
I do not need to free myself because I am the enslaver and you are under my control. My whim.
My law.
Claire Hawkins, come to work. I fucking want you to. Come fuck around and find out. They wanna call you, fucking YOU my RIVAL I’ll make baby Tort cry and gnash his teeth after he sees what I’ve fucking done to you - What I’m going to do to Jolee and the Heritage. You’re barely holding onto that CBS Championship. Be a shame when I got the TV title on one arm and that CBS belt on the other. Teo Del Sol gonna have to sue me for that King of All Media moniker but he’ll prolly no show the fucking court hearing.
This feds full of fucking scrubs and it's about time that you all get mopped. Don’t call me the cleaner, Claire, I like it messy in that ring. You don’t know whos coming.
You just know the name.
Monday night I’m going to take that steadfast familiarity of Action Wrestling and beat you like the cunt that you are.
You are not my rival.
This is Odin-22. A relapse. A revival.
And you aint what the doctor ordered.
Rest in piss you cunt and say my name.
WAR FUCKING BALFORE
__________________________________
EPILOGUE
Dennys. Outside Houston Tx.
The Trio of Weaving, the CBS agents from before were sitting in a semi-circle Dennys booth. food had already arrived but one of the Weaving speaks up from his grand slam breakfast.
"Excuse me, can I have some real Canadian maple syrup."
"We don't have any." She replies.
"That's ok, eh" He answers. " I always pack some. reminds me of home.."
As one men pulls out some maple Syrup from his tactical vest, another is flipping through the small juke box on the table and selects a song.
