Post by Odin Balfore on Jan 10, 2021 10:42:33 GMT -5
Previous Clash
Odin Balfore comes marching down the hall from the opposite direction.
Jenna: Sorry Lazer, we’re gonna have to cut this short. Odin Balfore just went into Jaices office. Jenna and the cameraman run towards the office but get shut out.
Inside Jaices office.
Odin: Did I not teach you a lesson last time? You want to keep me off TV to start the new year. Maybe I have to powerbomb you through a desk and teach you a lesson. I told you I wanted Walter and he skipped town. Sancho skipped town and yet you all think you can continue to duck me. I’m not going to stand for this. I’m the biggest name on this roster.
Jaice: the biggest name on the roster is Jaice wilds then its jaice wilds reflection and then its Corey Black and Odin Balfore is somewhere way, waay down the list but I can see that you’re upset and maybe me asking you to apologize to me - which you still have yet too by the way - wasnt the best way to go about it. However,I’m glad you’re here because I had a feeling that I’d be seeing you today and I got you this. No hard feelings big guy. I’ll book you next week in a title match or something. But for now, enjoy this fruit basket. Its got chocolate covered pineapples. I tell you, what will those mad scientists think of next. Spared no expense. I had to take out a pay day loan - well not me by my lackey. I’m rich. I pay the other guy peanuts. He took out a pay day loan to get this for you because I want you to know that I appreciate you. So next week, title match. I promise. But for now- fruit basket.
Odin: you’re betting your life on citrus. I want you know that. The entire locker room is betting on citrus. And if I find out whose been fucking me over for a yearcuz you’re not smart enoug - I’m going to fucking destroy them.
Odin snatches the fruit basket and storms out. Jenna, wet in the pussy swoons for a word but get shuts down and ignored. Lazers still watching on from down the hall as Odin Balfore walks away with his re-gifted fruit basket.
Last Week, Jaice Wilds tried to buy his way out of another beatdown with a fruit basket. A Vegan Tribute by a weak man. A Norse Tribute comes with gold and gems. Only for those same Norse to come to your town and ransack you regardless. He gave me that fruit basket with his word that I would get a title shot and this week I stand across the ring from the Lost Boy, Howard Black on another leg of his “Final Days” tour or whatever the fuck it is. Consistency was never the best attribute of his generation of wrestlers. Come in for a few weeks or a few months, disappear and come back some time later to try and make yourself a legend. Howie, listen to me. You couldn't hotshot your career with jumper cables, a car battery and the blessings of Allah. Yet I can see that, that doesn't stop you from trying and I’ll give you that, like this basket, this run is bearing fruit for you. I would clap but my hands will have blood on them.
I told Jaice that I would go through anyone he tries to put before me and it's been this company's goal to use me to put everyone over. Maybe because I’m not a Corey Black fan favorite. Maybe because my career can stand to hold up the world and make all these new stars because someone needs to put them over. You remember when my name came with a price. To beat me was a feat as I forged my legacy in WCF and in AW - they are vastly different. I have been consumed with personal problems and demons all year, trying to get revenge on a man that the brass have kept from me and every time I call him out he conveniently goes into hiding.
I want you to remember that, Howie. FPV, Walter, Alex Richards, Lissie Hope, All those world champions all dip out. I’ve stayed. I’ve endured this shit booking and these injustices. However, I’m not here to play that pity shit. My name and legacy have been dragged through the mud and that does not sit well with me. Getting double pinned by Spencer Adams does not sit well with me. Then again, grinding you to dust will be refreshing. This time last year I was world champion. Time to start that journey again. Not with legacy but with old school, smash mouth wrestling. Go cry on Twitter, see if their terms and services will save you from what's coming.
Spoilers: they won’t.
____________________________
Hood River, OR.
Prone on a ridge with a sniper scope to my eye I overlooked a small base of operation in the clearing at the base of a waterfall pushed up against a mountain, I followed a target as it moved around the camp.
Name: Alicia McDermond
Height: 5’6
Weight: 140 lbs
Sect: Contractor
Skill: blacksmith
Proficiency: small arms
Code Name: Siren
“That's her. She’s down there.” I say with my eye still in the scope.
“Of course she's down there. Why wouldnt she be down there; why would we have trekked up a bloody mountain otherwise.” replies Ullr in between bites of an apple.
“Keep eating an apple, it’ll make you look more like a dick.” I retort pulling myself away from the scope for a brief moment.
“Keep sounding like a cunt, it’ll make you more of a cunt.” Says Uller with a bite. "I don’t know why you’re using that thing, anyway.”
“It's a .50 cal bolt action sniper. It can put a hole through a tank.”
“And yet you’re hiding on top of a bloody mountain. Like I said - you’re a cunt. You should go down there, put your paws in your mouth and rip her skull in half.”
“I would think the God of the Duel would know what a sniper rifle is.”
“I know what a rifle is, you leoporous cod leech. I’m just not sure who taught you that was honorable- your bastid daddy or your grab ass sissy uncles.”
“What if I told you it was a Jew?” I say, re-training the rifle.
“The fucks a Jew? I’m the God of the Duel, bastid, not of Jews. But if they taught you to fight like a sissy, they are no people of mine. My words bastid, they cut. Sharp like my sword. May it never need sharpening.”
“As long as the war is won.”
“Ah, so a Jew is a dishonorable cunt. Just like you. You know, I could start to see the resemblance but I didn't want to say anything and disgrace your poor mum.”
“Mums dead, Ullr.”
“And so arnt you if you win without honor. But tell me something Bastid, has your fancy riffle won you this battle yet. Has it slain those that stand against you? Does it sooth your wounds at night, does it reflect in the glimmer of the fire; is it alive with the beating heart of battle or does it just sit there until you act upon it? That is the difference between a sword and a rifle. A warrior and - and - and whatever you have become. You are immortal. You cannot be killed. Yet here you sit on a mountain watching some woman through that thing. Who needs a scout when you can wage ruin and make those tremble at your name. That rifle is why you’re losing, boy. Less you want to lose again. Shame. Who was that black haired fella, Kent? Clark Kent would lose to Howard Black but not Superman.”
“I didn't know you read comics.” I said, standing up from my rifle perch.
“AYE, FUCK THE DC COMIC. Bunch of nancies and boy scouts. Too afraid to do the dirty work. Is that what you are now, some nance who's too afraid to chip a nail in the heat of battle? Howard Blacks the Lost Boy. You’re just a man with no country. Countries aren't forged on a mountain top from five hundred yards away. I can tell you that much.” He tosses the apple at me. “ Take this. It’ll keep any more more cunt words from pouring out your cunt mouth.”
_______________________________
The encampment
The sand and gravel from the river crushed and turned to gems under the weight of my feet as I approached but it masked the sound of hammer on anvil.
“Siren” I call as she hammers away at her outdoor forge.
"Maverick?” she questioned as she turned towards me. “I knew’d you come. They told me I should expect you but that was nearly a year ago at this point.”
“Which sect told you? What group?”
“I’m a contractor. I’m not in that life anymore. No one told me but I still have my birds. It's called Twitter, Maverick; you should try it.” She says with snark.
“Are you working for anyone now?”
“I get my customers every now and then asking for high end pieces. But high end pieces come with high end prices. Steep Prices. Prices that even I have to pay. So if you’re here for a gun, I can't help you.”
“I was, but not anymore. I came for information.”
“I don’t have any but you’re not safe.”
“I decide who's safe and who's not, Siren. Not you.”
“When the Followers come back, Maverick, they’ll kill you.”
Looking around and over my shoulder I can see flags in the cabin. One of them read FOLLOWERS OF ODIN and WHITE POWER.
“Is this you or just who you’re working for now, siren?”
“You should give them a chance. You might like them, I know they’ll like you.”
“Who put the bounty on my head?”
“I heard you got a suit with your last coin. Shame. You’ll need it.”
“Don’t think your skin-head friends are going to save you. I told you that I decide who's safe.”
“Just wait till they get here. Everyone knows about your bounty-”
“You waste my time, Siren!” I roar, turning my back in frustration.
“Including me.” Says Siren, pulling a gun from her hip. “Looks you don’t have a gun. Looks like you don’t decide who's safe, now, do you?”
I turn with my arms up, slowly walking towards her.
“Put the gun down. This isn't what you want.”
“All that gold and I can get myself out of this shithole.”
“This isn't how you want this to go down, Siren.”
“I’ll do it, Maverick, I swear to God.”
“Swear to me.” I reach out, grab the gun in her hesitation and throw Siren behind me to the gravel shoreline. I turn around. She has a knife ready -
BANG
She falls flat to the ground as Ullr makes himself know some yards away.
“Are ya winnin’ yet, son?”
____________________________
Later that night.
Around a campfire in the Hood River Basin. Ullr conditioned his sword as the All father looked intently into the fire. The embers of ghosts gleaned brightly.
Howie, do not think that I do not hear the whispers that my career in on the down slide or even the freefall. I’ve only held one title - the world title and after that, oof, yah - this past year was looking bleak. But that was then. This is now. This is a man and his ghosts. Do you have ghosts? Would you stop at nothing to get what you want - I have. If’n you ain't been paying attention - this has been my whole arc. Make peace with who I am to become something greater and for a long time - I did not know how to be greater. I had done it all - multiple times over. When twenty-four year olds tell me I’m washed up - I tell him to go wash up before he gets these hands. Go change your pants before you come step to the man. I’ve never been in your position Howie where I’ve come and gone from this industry. I don’t know how to do that; I only know how to plow ahead. I only know fire and rage and the blunt force trauma caused by my fists. I know what this industry does to people. How it chews them up and spits them out. How many guys my age are signing 8x10’s for soup, salad and breadsticks. That's wrestling. That's America.
You know America, right? You were telling Stu, that. About the suffering.
I caused that suffering. I made widows. I made orphans. I took food off the table and tore roofs off houses with the business end of a gun. Forgive me if my heart doesn't bleed if your six hundred dollar stimulus check is late.
You told him about small town america. I have multiple of them as body counts.”
Ullur sword sharpening gets louder in the background.
“Do you know what killed the American Dream? Opportunity. There's so much of it, they all just dreamed themselves into a silent suffering. I am no hero to them. The same as I am no hero to this industry. I’m a Breaker. A Maverick. Not of Bread. Not of norms. But of the dreams and bone.
You had a contract.This pretty little thing that you feel entitles you to certain other things. My whole life is a contract.
Gold for blood, Howie. Gold for blood.
Paper and ink will not protect you from me. It only grants you an opportunity. A Dream. One that I will shatter. I will orphan you from that dream. I will take the food off your table. But do not think of this as a sell out. This is just how I get paid.
By being a real American. Dirty. Selfish. Underhanded and bloodthirsty. May those Missouri orphans running down I-80 barefoot chasing tumble weeds wash your feet with perfume. May they anoint you their savior. Because this week I will relish as their savior betrays them. As you fall to the catastrophic catch 22.
There is no saving the lost.
The damned.
The Howard Blacks of the world.
Small towns filled with little sleepy dreamers like you that are unaware of the world of shadow in which I have always worked.”
Ullrs sharpening gets louder still.
“You want to champion the american dream because to you - that's what this is. A small boy from Lincoln. You could not have done than what you are doing right now. I would commend that if’n that was commendable. And here I am with no country. Then again, when you’re an assassin, you have no country. No bounds. Just a fist full of dollars and the desire to get a few dollars more. The only question I have for Howard Black, US Champion, You said you would do anything. My only question is: Did you mean that or did you just dream that.
Because now is not the time for American dreams, US champion.
The America you knew is under siege by the America I helped create.
And for a few dollars more, I’ll finish the job.
Ya know, thinking about it and thinking back, I had a target kinda like you. Some accounting firm mega genius from the midwest who moved out to Vegas. He started owing money to the wrong people. I get a phone call to go pay this kid a visit. Funny thing was, I was no older than him. I went up into his little penthouse, dressed in my suit, hair pulled back. Prospecting for the diamonds. The smell of freshly shampooed carpet. That lobby elevator music is a foreboding undertone of what's to come. I knock on the door. He opens the door. I push him inside. Me, seven foot, maybe 280 at the time. Him, five-eight, a buck sixty. A lots gonna go wrong in this American dream and it did. I strangled him with piano wire. No mess. No blood. Just floundering gasps for air. That's how the American dream dies. That's how democracy sinks into rule under a guy that looks like an ostrich. And guys like me facilitate that for money.
So spare me your small town nostalgia. Spare me the crying laments and gnashing of teeth of the hungry children. They will not leap out of this fire and save you from me. They will not carry to me hell. But may they, however and you know this to be true - may they haunt you in the steam of your reflective hot showers. May they wail and rattle on the walls every time you look in the mirror.
There are no small towns in America. Just small town minds. And America is built on that exploitation and trust me when I tell you that this week you will be exploited. One of us champions of America.
One of us used the tragedy of 9/11 to change their name and create a new life. A new American dream.
One of us saved Santa from the Chinese. The beacon and symbol of American consumerism from the anthesis.
One of us fought off ISIS in a WCF ring not once but twice. A show of American spirit.
One of us has seen, smelled, felt, and lived in the America that you do not think exists. In the underworld of places like New York and Vegas
And one of is from Licoln fucking Nebraska. dreaming of glory, apple pie and that chip of gold on your shoulder.
And for a few dollars more, I'll call him by name.
Howard Black.”