Post by Max f'n Daemon on Dec 11, 2020 23:07:09 GMT -5
Max awakes in his hotbox of a trailer under his plush sheets. He sends the comforter flying and sits up. Next to him, a redhead stirs, but otherwise dives back into her pillowed paradise.
With a yawn, Max turns to his right. He sees two gentlemen in a suit and tie, the one in the back using his bigger size to attempt an intimidating figure.
Attempt…
Max stands up, walking towards the smaller kitchen the two of them are in.
“Morning gentlemen,” he says.
He grabs a bottle of whiskey off the counter along with a nearby glass.
He tosses the glass into the sink and decides to ‘bottoms up’ the bottle itself.
“Max Daemon. We would like to have a word with you,” the smaller gentleman says.
The brick shithouse in the back says nothing.
Max swallows some whiskey before turning towards them with another yawn.
“Who the fuck are you two?” he asks.
“We are representatives of a unique group who deal with interdimensional activity—” the smaller gentleman begins to say before Max interrupts him.
“You’re not from the Council. If you were you’d be arresting me,” he begins to say. “And you’re not from the Peacekeepers, they’re much too ‘shoot first, ask questions maybe.’ That would mean you are from the Others. Which leads me to my now amended question…”
Max takes another sip from the whiskey bottle, sighing in content when the alcohol goes down his throat.
“Why the fuck are you two here?” he asks.
The smaller gentleman clears his throat a few times.
“It has come to our attention that you have a recent interaction with one David Hunter,” he says.
“God dammit…” Max mutters to himself.
“He has had recent ties to an unnamed ‘fourth group’ which has begun to make waves in our department. As the only free party of note, we have requested you in to answer some questions,” the smaller gentleman says.
“Look, I’d love to answer some questions…but I really don’t fuckin need to? I don’t know if it’s been made clear but I’m a free fuckin agent baby. I work for none of you fuckers. So if you would please leave, my lovely lady is over there trying to sleep, and between you and me, I am not to sloppy seconds myself,” Max says.
With a sigh, the smaller gentleman pinches his forehead.
“Put on some pants. You’re coming with us whether you want to or not,” he says.
Max snorts before taking another drink from the whiskey.
The gentleman then takes a pistol out of his pocket and points it at Max’s face.
“I said…put on some fucking pants,” he says.
Max lowers the whiskey. He gulps the alcohol down loudly before raising his hands.
“Don’t shoot, I’ll marry her,” he says.
He smirks before stumbling towards the bigger specimen of a human in the background. The pistol never leaves his face.
“Let’s just calm down. We’re all humans, I think. This big boy might be half brick wall but we’ll never know for sure,” Max says.
He begins to pat the bigger gentleman’s chest.
“We’re all friends here in some form or fashion right?” he asks.
The bigger gentleman grips Max’s hand tight, causing a few of the knuckles to crack. Max uses this distract to flip his grip on the whiskey bottle.
“Excuse me sir…that’s my fingering hand,” he says.
He sends the bottle flying into the face of the brick shithouse. As the smaller gentleman pulls the hammer back on his pistol, Max grabs the hand with the gun in it. He pulls himself in, standing back to chest with his assailant. The shooting hand is aimed back, firing a shot through the recently reinforced bathroom wall.
With a groan, throws his left elbow into the smaller gentleman’s face before grabbing the pistol. He tosses it at the now bleeding face of the big man, who again falls to the floor.
With that, Max flies back onto his bed. He looks to the floor for a moment and grabs a pair of Berettas, one white, one black, that were lounging in his luggage case.
On the rebound back, he aims a pistol at each of his assailants. The bigger man gets up, his blood falling to the kitchen linoleum. The smaller gentleman, whose nose is now bleeding and probably broken, raises his hands and joins the bigger man.
Behind them, the redhead in his bed yawns and gets up. Judging by the rustle of clothing, it’s safe to assume that she is getting dressed.
The bigger man’s eyes briefly turn behind Max, but a quick twitch of the left Beretta ends that real quick.
“Eyes on me big boy,” he says.
After a good minute of the three of them staring each other down, the redhead approaches Max. Now dressed in a quick-to-put-on, quick-to-pull-off loose sweatshirt and the tightest pants Max has seen since he’s opened his closet, she gives him a quick kiss and a tight grope of his nether regions.
“Thanks for the fun Max,” she says.
She swings a purse over her shoulder and leaves the trailer.
When the door slams shut, only then does Max speak up.
“I don’t give a shit about the Others. I don’t give a shit about this game. I quit this whole thing ages ago. As far as I’m concerned, I’m done. So leave me out of it,” he says.
The smaller gentleman, despite his hands being parallel to his head, manages a smile.
“Mr. Daemon, I assure you, we have no ill intent towards you, but if I may? As long as you wield those two handguns, you still maintain a connection,” he says.
Max shakes his head, cocking the Beretta in his right hand aimed at the man.
“These were a gift from a friend of mine. Beyond that they’re sisters to me, and I don’t quite appreciate you degrading them like that,” he says.
The irony is not lost on Max if the smirk is any indication.
“Mr. Daemon, so long as you wield those weapons you will always be considered the next Two Hands—” the smaller gentleman begins to say.
However, he is cut off by the Beretta firing at his feet. The man shrieks in terror before backing away.
“You say that fuckin name in my presence again, the next one is in your balls,” Max says. “Now get the fuck outta my house…we’re done here.”
With a sigh, the two gentlemen approach the door. The bigger man exits first. The smaller gentleman takes a few more moments to match glances with Max.
When the Beretta is cocked once again, he is quick to make his exit.
The door shuts, once again leaving Max alone in his trailer.
He sighs, uncocking the pistol and setting them on the counter. He walks back towards his bed and looks down at the luggage still left from the last show. He grabs it and slams the open bag on his bed.
Inside he finds his attire from last night, as well as his last match. Considering it’s the same pair of skinny jeans and shoes it’s pretty easy to keep close.
Next to those are the Pure Championship. It’s a simple trophy, but one that he’s earned. Meaningless in the grand scheme of things? Sure, but it’s a testament to his ability to fight and survive. If that bastard taught him one thing it’s how to survive…
Beyond that, the luggage back his sword that he sometimes brings. His most prized possession and his closest relative.
With a sigh, Max takes out the skinny jeans. He takes a whiff at the front of the pants before wincing. He tosses them in a pile on the floor before grabbing a nearby towel. He wraps it around his waist just as his cell phone starts playing his theme song.
He clammers towards the phone. Once he reaches it, he sighs once more upon seeing who it is.
“What do ya’ want?” he asks.
“Well hello Max,” the woman on the other side says.
Max doesn’t answer as he walks across his trailer towards the bathroom.
After a few moments, the woman on the other side responds herself.
“Now you say ‘hello Miranda, how is my older sister doing’?” she asks rhetorically.
Max rolls his eyes but still doesn’t give in.
A loud exhale is heard through the speakers.
“I’m coming to visit you,” she says.
“The hell you are!” Max exclaims.
“Oh that got a reaction, of course it did. Yes, yes I am. We haven’t spoken in months and now that you’re wresting on TV again we have some things we need to discuss,” Miranda says.
Max shakes his head and examines the new hole in the recently refurbished bathroom wall.
“I don’t give a shit what you have to discuss. As far as I’m concerned, the only sisters I have are—”
“Your two babies, I know. Lay off the guns, please,” she says.
“Hey, at least they’ve done more to protect me than you have,” Max mutters.
“Still holding tight to that huh?”
“I dunno ‘older sis’,” Max says in a babyish tone. “…who’s the one who was working with that fucker this whole time? Sure as shit wasn’t me.”
“Says the dumbass who got himself caught up in something that was bigger than all of that,” Miranda says.
“I’m hanging up unless you have something to say,” Max snaps back.
Miranda sighs, but does comply.
“Look, they finally released mom and dad’s wills. I have them here and they want to go through them with us. I need you there with me,” she says.
“Oh good, more family trauma, the last fuckin thing I needed right now. Can’t you deal with this shit by yourself? Nothing’s stopped you from doin so all this time,” Max says.
He opens the bathroom door and lets the towel fall to the floor.
“I’ll be there in a couple days. I expect you to be dressed. And no, this isn’t up for debate. Who knows what they said in there? Aren’t you curious?” Miranda asks.
“Not in the fuckin slightest. I spent so damn long not knowing anything about them. Why the fuck should I care now?” Max asks.
“Because they’re all we had Maxie.”
That’s enough to shut him up.
He groans and turns the water for the shower on. He closes the metal bathroom door—reinforced specifically to avoid any repeat offenses in the past—and leans against it.
Once his thoughts are cleared as the hot water starts to fog up the mirror, he speaks.
“I’ve got a lot on my mind right now, but…I’ll be there, okay? Wednesday, here, at the trailer. I’ll make sure it’s…moderately clean,” he says.
“Than I’ll be there Tuesday to make sure it is,” Miranda says.
“Of course. Might wanna get a hotel room though,” Max says.
“Yeah, no. We’re probably going to burn your bed sheets…and the bed.”
“Gene’ll be pissed.”
“Gene will get over it.”
Max actually chuckles a bit. The giggles on the other end of the phone cause a smile to reach his face.
“Love you Maxie,” Miranda says.
“Yeah…”
He doesn’t finish the sentence.
He lets the phone call sit in silence for a few moments before the speaker beeps with a hang-up.
His thumb didn’t move.
With a final sigh, Max sets the phone on the back of the toilet. He wipes his face and clears the mirror. His eyes are droopy and his hair is wild.
“This is what you wanted. You’re free. No hold-ups, no set-backs, just doin what you do best. You don’t need anybody and you never have.”
His eyes narrow.
He nods.
With a yawn, Max turns to his right. He sees two gentlemen in a suit and tie, the one in the back using his bigger size to attempt an intimidating figure.
Attempt…
Max stands up, walking towards the smaller kitchen the two of them are in.
“Morning gentlemen,” he says.
He grabs a bottle of whiskey off the counter along with a nearby glass.
He tosses the glass into the sink and decides to ‘bottoms up’ the bottle itself.
“Max Daemon. We would like to have a word with you,” the smaller gentleman says.
The brick shithouse in the back says nothing.
Max swallows some whiskey before turning towards them with another yawn.
“Who the fuck are you two?” he asks.
“We are representatives of a unique group who deal with interdimensional activity—” the smaller gentleman begins to say before Max interrupts him.
“You’re not from the Council. If you were you’d be arresting me,” he begins to say. “And you’re not from the Peacekeepers, they’re much too ‘shoot first, ask questions maybe.’ That would mean you are from the Others. Which leads me to my now amended question…”
Max takes another sip from the whiskey bottle, sighing in content when the alcohol goes down his throat.
“Why the fuck are you two here?” he asks.
The smaller gentleman clears his throat a few times.
“It has come to our attention that you have a recent interaction with one David Hunter,” he says.
“God dammit…” Max mutters to himself.
“He has had recent ties to an unnamed ‘fourth group’ which has begun to make waves in our department. As the only free party of note, we have requested you in to answer some questions,” the smaller gentleman says.
“Look, I’d love to answer some questions…but I really don’t fuckin need to? I don’t know if it’s been made clear but I’m a free fuckin agent baby. I work for none of you fuckers. So if you would please leave, my lovely lady is over there trying to sleep, and between you and me, I am not to sloppy seconds myself,” Max says.
With a sigh, the smaller gentleman pinches his forehead.
“Put on some pants. You’re coming with us whether you want to or not,” he says.
Max snorts before taking another drink from the whiskey.
The gentleman then takes a pistol out of his pocket and points it at Max’s face.
“I said…put on some fucking pants,” he says.
Max lowers the whiskey. He gulps the alcohol down loudly before raising his hands.
“Don’t shoot, I’ll marry her,” he says.
He smirks before stumbling towards the bigger specimen of a human in the background. The pistol never leaves his face.
“Let’s just calm down. We’re all humans, I think. This big boy might be half brick wall but we’ll never know for sure,” Max says.
He begins to pat the bigger gentleman’s chest.
“We’re all friends here in some form or fashion right?” he asks.
The bigger gentleman grips Max’s hand tight, causing a few of the knuckles to crack. Max uses this distract to flip his grip on the whiskey bottle.
“Excuse me sir…that’s my fingering hand,” he says.
He sends the bottle flying into the face of the brick shithouse. As the smaller gentleman pulls the hammer back on his pistol, Max grabs the hand with the gun in it. He pulls himself in, standing back to chest with his assailant. The shooting hand is aimed back, firing a shot through the recently reinforced bathroom wall.
With a groan, throws his left elbow into the smaller gentleman’s face before grabbing the pistol. He tosses it at the now bleeding face of the big man, who again falls to the floor.
With that, Max flies back onto his bed. He looks to the floor for a moment and grabs a pair of Berettas, one white, one black, that were lounging in his luggage case.
On the rebound back, he aims a pistol at each of his assailants. The bigger man gets up, his blood falling to the kitchen linoleum. The smaller gentleman, whose nose is now bleeding and probably broken, raises his hands and joins the bigger man.
Behind them, the redhead in his bed yawns and gets up. Judging by the rustle of clothing, it’s safe to assume that she is getting dressed.
The bigger man’s eyes briefly turn behind Max, but a quick twitch of the left Beretta ends that real quick.
“Eyes on me big boy,” he says.
After a good minute of the three of them staring each other down, the redhead approaches Max. Now dressed in a quick-to-put-on, quick-to-pull-off loose sweatshirt and the tightest pants Max has seen since he’s opened his closet, she gives him a quick kiss and a tight grope of his nether regions.
“Thanks for the fun Max,” she says.
She swings a purse over her shoulder and leaves the trailer.
When the door slams shut, only then does Max speak up.
“I don’t give a shit about the Others. I don’t give a shit about this game. I quit this whole thing ages ago. As far as I’m concerned, I’m done. So leave me out of it,” he says.
The smaller gentleman, despite his hands being parallel to his head, manages a smile.
“Mr. Daemon, I assure you, we have no ill intent towards you, but if I may? As long as you wield those two handguns, you still maintain a connection,” he says.
Max shakes his head, cocking the Beretta in his right hand aimed at the man.
“These were a gift from a friend of mine. Beyond that they’re sisters to me, and I don’t quite appreciate you degrading them like that,” he says.
The irony is not lost on Max if the smirk is any indication.
“Mr. Daemon, so long as you wield those weapons you will always be considered the next Two Hands—” the smaller gentleman begins to say.
However, he is cut off by the Beretta firing at his feet. The man shrieks in terror before backing away.
“You say that fuckin name in my presence again, the next one is in your balls,” Max says. “Now get the fuck outta my house…we’re done here.”
With a sigh, the two gentlemen approach the door. The bigger man exits first. The smaller gentleman takes a few more moments to match glances with Max.
When the Beretta is cocked once again, he is quick to make his exit.
The door shuts, once again leaving Max alone in his trailer.
He sighs, uncocking the pistol and setting them on the counter. He walks back towards his bed and looks down at the luggage still left from the last show. He grabs it and slams the open bag on his bed.
Inside he finds his attire from last night, as well as his last match. Considering it’s the same pair of skinny jeans and shoes it’s pretty easy to keep close.
Next to those are the Pure Championship. It’s a simple trophy, but one that he’s earned. Meaningless in the grand scheme of things? Sure, but it’s a testament to his ability to fight and survive. If that bastard taught him one thing it’s how to survive…
Beyond that, the luggage back his sword that he sometimes brings. His most prized possession and his closest relative.
With a sigh, Max takes out the skinny jeans. He takes a whiff at the front of the pants before wincing. He tosses them in a pile on the floor before grabbing a nearby towel. He wraps it around his waist just as his cell phone starts playing his theme song.
He clammers towards the phone. Once he reaches it, he sighs once more upon seeing who it is.
“What do ya’ want?” he asks.
“Well hello Max,” the woman on the other side says.
Max doesn’t answer as he walks across his trailer towards the bathroom.
After a few moments, the woman on the other side responds herself.
“Now you say ‘hello Miranda, how is my older sister doing’?” she asks rhetorically.
Max rolls his eyes but still doesn’t give in.
A loud exhale is heard through the speakers.
“I’m coming to visit you,” she says.
“The hell you are!” Max exclaims.
“Oh that got a reaction, of course it did. Yes, yes I am. We haven’t spoken in months and now that you’re wresting on TV again we have some things we need to discuss,” Miranda says.
Max shakes his head and examines the new hole in the recently refurbished bathroom wall.
“I don’t give a shit what you have to discuss. As far as I’m concerned, the only sisters I have are—”
“Your two babies, I know. Lay off the guns, please,” she says.
“Hey, at least they’ve done more to protect me than you have,” Max mutters.
“Still holding tight to that huh?”
“I dunno ‘older sis’,” Max says in a babyish tone. “…who’s the one who was working with that fucker this whole time? Sure as shit wasn’t me.”
“Says the dumbass who got himself caught up in something that was bigger than all of that,” Miranda says.
“I’m hanging up unless you have something to say,” Max snaps back.
Miranda sighs, but does comply.
“Look, they finally released mom and dad’s wills. I have them here and they want to go through them with us. I need you there with me,” she says.
“Oh good, more family trauma, the last fuckin thing I needed right now. Can’t you deal with this shit by yourself? Nothing’s stopped you from doin so all this time,” Max says.
He opens the bathroom door and lets the towel fall to the floor.
“I’ll be there in a couple days. I expect you to be dressed. And no, this isn’t up for debate. Who knows what they said in there? Aren’t you curious?” Miranda asks.
“Not in the fuckin slightest. I spent so damn long not knowing anything about them. Why the fuck should I care now?” Max asks.
“Because they’re all we had Maxie.”
That’s enough to shut him up.
He groans and turns the water for the shower on. He closes the metal bathroom door—reinforced specifically to avoid any repeat offenses in the past—and leans against it.
Once his thoughts are cleared as the hot water starts to fog up the mirror, he speaks.
“I’ve got a lot on my mind right now, but…I’ll be there, okay? Wednesday, here, at the trailer. I’ll make sure it’s…moderately clean,” he says.
“Than I’ll be there Tuesday to make sure it is,” Miranda says.
“Of course. Might wanna get a hotel room though,” Max says.
“Yeah, no. We’re probably going to burn your bed sheets…and the bed.”
“Gene’ll be pissed.”
“Gene will get over it.”
Max actually chuckles a bit. The giggles on the other end of the phone cause a smile to reach his face.
“Love you Maxie,” Miranda says.
“Yeah…”
He doesn’t finish the sentence.
He lets the phone call sit in silence for a few moments before the speaker beeps with a hang-up.
His thumb didn’t move.
With a final sigh, Max sets the phone on the back of the toilet. He wipes his face and clears the mirror. His eyes are droopy and his hair is wild.
“This is what you wanted. You’re free. No hold-ups, no set-backs, just doin what you do best. You don’t need anybody and you never have.”
His eyes narrow.
He nods.