Post by Max f'n Daemon on Feb 7, 2021 17:23:40 GMT -5
Max Daemon walks into a bar that he’s only ever been to a few times. It’s not one he likes to frequent. Hell, he’s not really a bar guy himself.
But this bar?
This bar’s got somebody he needs to talk to.
Max approaches the bartender. He takes out his ID and throws it on the counter.
The bartender looks down at it before looking back up at Max with wide eyes.
“Relax. Just get her for me and I promise there won’t be a fight,” he says.
“That’s what ya' said last time,” the bartender says. “And I still had to rebuild this place.”
“Bao, ya' rebuild this place like…every month. The insurance on it must be ridiculous,” Max retorts with a raised eyebrow.
The bartender—Bao—doesn’t say anything. He just narrows his eyes and presses a button below the counter.
“What’ll ya’ have?” Bao asks.
“Whiskey. Hardest ya’ got,” Max says.
Bao complies and soon Max finds himself with a glass of whiskey ready to be drank.
Another one finds itself to his right. Max doesn’t bother asking and just drinks a few gulps from his own glass.
When the door behinds him busts open, neither Max nor Bao react. Everybody else in the bar? Not so much. Footsteps approach the pair, but they’re mostly deafened by the rush of people suddenly leaving.
A pair of Berettas are placed on the counter. They’re both silver and engraved on the side with an inscription that Max can never quite catch.
Max shrugs and follows suit. He sets his own pair of pistols on the counter. His are also both silver but there is a string of paint of each one. One has a black smear, the other a white.
“Everything,” the female voice behind him orders.
With a sigh, Max pulls his sword out from the scabbard on his back. He sets it on the counter and holds his hands in front of him, palms out.
The female voice sits to the right of Max and immediately downs the rest of her whiskey in one serving.
“Jesus Rebecca. Save some for the rest of us,” Max says.
Max ducks back to avoid the glass that goes sailing past him. When it shatters against the far wall, Bao speaks up.
“Watch the merchandise!” he shouts.
Both Rebecca and Max respond by flipping him off.
Eventually, another glass of whiskey is poured and given to the violent mistress.
“What can I do ya’ for Maxie?” she asks.
“We need to talk ta' Nathan,” Max says.
Rebecca sets her glass down after taking a drink. She looks towards him, raising an eyebrow.
“What for? Ya’ callin a meetin or something?” she asks.
Max lets a deep pit of breath exhale from his lungs before joining her in taking a drink of the liquor in front of him.
“Somethin like that. I need ta' get caught up on shit since I was gone,” he says.
Rebecca’s glass is slammed on the counter. Given its lack of content, there isn’t a risk in anything spilling, though the crack that forms in the side of it is fairly daunting.
“Excuse me? Are you tellin me you’re comin out of retirement?” she asks.
Max starts to pinch his nose as he takes another sip.
“More like forced. I got a visit from The Others a couple weeks ago. They wanted me ta' join ‘em for some reason. I didn’t give ‘em much info,” he says.
“As you shouldn’t,” Rebecca comments.
“But the fact that they’re interested has me curious. I know David’s set everythin on fire with this ‘fourth group’ he’s started, but I’ve never really interacted with The Others,” Max says.
It’s Rebecca’s time to sigh. She folds her hands across her chest and makes a face like contemplating this is a chore.
Which, to be fair, it really is.
“Well, the three of us have always been more of a Peacekeeper group even if Nathan’s recent actions kinda soured us on ‘em. Beyond that, there really hasn’t been much,” she ponders.
The door behind them opens, but neither pay much attention.
“Then I have some good news: Jack Hunter has just forcefully resigned from the Council,” the calm voice says.
Max reacts by spitting the whiskey onto Bao. More than used to this, Bao just stares back with a blank expression.
Rebecca nearly falls out of her stool, but holds on enough to set herself back upright.
“What?!” they both yell in unison.
They turn around and see Nathan Miles standing firm. His blue eyes are locked onto there’s. He has his own pair of Berettas out as he approaches the bar. Before he even sits down on Rebecca’s right, there is a glass of the cheapest alcohol Bao owns in front of him.
Nathan sets the Berettas on the counter and takes a sip from the glass. He gives a quick nod to Bao. The trio pay no other attention to the man as he makes his way to the back.
“Turns out Paradox ‘can’t fail’, Hunter’s words, and since Spicer voted against shutting off any dimensional travel, it left Hunter to take the fall,” Nathan says as he takes another sip from his glass.
“Oh shit…” Rebecca mutters.
“Fuckin dammit…” Max adds on his own.
“In case it was not obvious this is far from good news. Say what you want about Hunter—” Nathan starts to say.
“He’s an idiot,” Max says.
“He’s a fucking idiot,” Rebecca adds-on.
“—but at least he was a reliable fucking idiot. Nobody knows who is going to replace him, and quite frankly, I am worried they’ll start relying on Creators. I know I am not interested. We all know Nio is not as well…”
Rebecca groans and slams her head on the table.
“…Leo is still stuck in David’s soul, so he is not even an option. That would only leave…”
Max finishes off his glass of whiskey. When that’s done, he leans over the bar grabs the bottle of the first thing he sees and starts to chug away at that.
When Max is done, he wipes his lips and bites the ever so cliched bullet.
“Lillith,” he says.
“And with Mary and her trying to figure out how to scissor when there’s nothing but dust between them…” Rebecca says through the wood of the bar’s counter.
That image causes Max to dive back into his bottle with a grimace, trying to get the image out of his head.
There's some things even Max doesn't want to think of…
“Yes. I suspect that we are in for a fairly huge war…and so soon after the last one too,” Nathan says through another sip of his drink. “Welcome to Roanapur.”
He toasts his now empty glass.
Max glances over and flips him off. He is joined by Rebecca who peers up from the counter and does the same.
“Where are you staying Max? We will meet there next time and discuss a plan,” Nathan says.
“The usual. Hotel Moscow was quick to set me up once I told them why I was here,” Max says.
“Excellent. Than I trust you have a normal way of travel? I would hate to interrupt your day job for this.”
“When has that ever stopped him?” Rebecca asks. “Or you? Or any of the crazy bastards who fuck around in wrestling as a part time?”
When the other two don’t react, Rebecca takes it at face value.
“Talk to you later. Try not to blow up the bar again Max,” she says.
She stands up and heads to the door.
“It was one time!” Max calls out.
---------------------------------------------------
Max stands tall in front of the hotel mirror. The sound of gunshots can be heard from outside the open window, but all Max can focus on is his waist.
With a grimace, he takes a sip from the nearby bottle of beer he jacked from the Yellow Flag.
He groans and sets the bottle back down.
“It’s not that I lost the title that has me so upset. It was going to happen eventually. And props to Z, I guess…”
Max rolls his left shoulder, remembering the moment it nearly left its socket.
“…it’s the fact that he got me out first. Like…all those months kickin everybody’s ass meant nothin. Like…everythin I’ve done since I’ve been here has meant nothin. Because…if they mean nothin, then…Noris Cranley means nothin. Zaigon Carter means nothin. That MMA fucker means nothin.
Then ZMac…means nothin.”
Max sighs and takes another sip of his beer.
“I lost a match. It’s expected. It’ll happen ta' anybody and anybody in this or that match can tell ya’. Graham can. He lost ta' Z. Z can. He lost ta' me.
Corey Bull can. He got his ass beat worse than I did by Frank Lowe. And yet, much like I am, he is here and ready to fight.
Sam Kidsgrove can. He got thrown out by Downfall and lost his shot at the TV Title. And yet, he’s willing ta' enter Battlebowl and prove why he deserves ta' win.
But if they mean nothin…and my loss meant nothin…than it’s almost like it never happened. Like it doesn't exist”
Max finishes his bottle of beer before tossing it out the window. He pays no attention to the yell that follows.
“Than if that loss doesn’t exist…than nobody’s beaten me yet. Hell, nobody’s been able to pin me either way, so that really just drives it home.
Corey Bull and Sam Kidsgove both lost their matches at Revolution. Graham did too but we’ll get to him.
Corey lost by getting his mask ripped off and nearly killed by Frank. If he can’t handle something like that, what makes him think he can handle two of the Pure Division’s toughest fighters? Graham proved his own by nearly makin Z quit. I’ve proven my own by holdin that title for over two months. As far as I see it, there’s nothin Corey can dish out that either myself or Graham can’t handle.
Sam lost by gettin outsmarted and tossed out of the ring to let Downfall take some advantage. Hm…seems his focus is too much on other matters. Or at least not focused enough. For all the shit talk he gave out beforehand it really didn’t amount ta' much. Trust me. That’s the same shit Noris and Graham gave me and look where it got them?
Hell, one of them got a TV Title shot and the other…shit, the other is teaming with me.
Alright, let’s not fuck around the table about it, Graham and I still hate each other. Unless he pulls it out of his ass that ‘I’m too little’ or whatever to care about, but don’t let that fool ya’. Graham cares that he lost. Graham cares that it wasn’t him who had the satisfaction of makin me quit. Graham cares that he’s forced to team up with me goin into this little tournament.
But we both care enough about gettin ahead that we’re willin to coincide together to try and win.
Try being the operative word.
I can put aside beef long enough ta' get the job done. We’ll see if Graham can do the same. I wouldn’t know. This’ll be the first time we’ve seen each other since Revolution.
That’s right. No communication, no game plan, no tag team coinciding. Just two men focused on kickin ass to try and come out the winner.
Normally that’s a recipe for a loss.
But…given Corey is comin off a huge and damagin loss of his own and Sam is just not on the level of violence Graham and I are…
Shit, call it arrogance if you want—you’re not the first, won’t be the last—but somethin tells me this shit’s ours to lose.”
There’s a bit of pause after his sentence.
Eventually, Max shrugs before heading for the door.
But this bar?
This bar’s got somebody he needs to talk to.
Max approaches the bartender. He takes out his ID and throws it on the counter.
The bartender looks down at it before looking back up at Max with wide eyes.
“Relax. Just get her for me and I promise there won’t be a fight,” he says.
“That’s what ya' said last time,” the bartender says. “And I still had to rebuild this place.”
“Bao, ya' rebuild this place like…every month. The insurance on it must be ridiculous,” Max retorts with a raised eyebrow.
The bartender—Bao—doesn’t say anything. He just narrows his eyes and presses a button below the counter.
“What’ll ya’ have?” Bao asks.
“Whiskey. Hardest ya’ got,” Max says.
Bao complies and soon Max finds himself with a glass of whiskey ready to be drank.
Another one finds itself to his right. Max doesn’t bother asking and just drinks a few gulps from his own glass.
When the door behinds him busts open, neither Max nor Bao react. Everybody else in the bar? Not so much. Footsteps approach the pair, but they’re mostly deafened by the rush of people suddenly leaving.
A pair of Berettas are placed on the counter. They’re both silver and engraved on the side with an inscription that Max can never quite catch.
Max shrugs and follows suit. He sets his own pair of pistols on the counter. His are also both silver but there is a string of paint of each one. One has a black smear, the other a white.
“Everything,” the female voice behind him orders.
With a sigh, Max pulls his sword out from the scabbard on his back. He sets it on the counter and holds his hands in front of him, palms out.
The female voice sits to the right of Max and immediately downs the rest of her whiskey in one serving.
“Jesus Rebecca. Save some for the rest of us,” Max says.
Max ducks back to avoid the glass that goes sailing past him. When it shatters against the far wall, Bao speaks up.
“Watch the merchandise!” he shouts.
Both Rebecca and Max respond by flipping him off.
Eventually, another glass of whiskey is poured and given to the violent mistress.
“What can I do ya’ for Maxie?” she asks.
“We need to talk ta' Nathan,” Max says.
Rebecca sets her glass down after taking a drink. She looks towards him, raising an eyebrow.
“What for? Ya’ callin a meetin or something?” she asks.
Max lets a deep pit of breath exhale from his lungs before joining her in taking a drink of the liquor in front of him.
“Somethin like that. I need ta' get caught up on shit since I was gone,” he says.
Rebecca’s glass is slammed on the counter. Given its lack of content, there isn’t a risk in anything spilling, though the crack that forms in the side of it is fairly daunting.
“Excuse me? Are you tellin me you’re comin out of retirement?” she asks.
Max starts to pinch his nose as he takes another sip.
“More like forced. I got a visit from The Others a couple weeks ago. They wanted me ta' join ‘em for some reason. I didn’t give ‘em much info,” he says.
“As you shouldn’t,” Rebecca comments.
“But the fact that they’re interested has me curious. I know David’s set everythin on fire with this ‘fourth group’ he’s started, but I’ve never really interacted with The Others,” Max says.
It’s Rebecca’s time to sigh. She folds her hands across her chest and makes a face like contemplating this is a chore.
Which, to be fair, it really is.
“Well, the three of us have always been more of a Peacekeeper group even if Nathan’s recent actions kinda soured us on ‘em. Beyond that, there really hasn’t been much,” she ponders.
The door behind them opens, but neither pay much attention.
“Then I have some good news: Jack Hunter has just forcefully resigned from the Council,” the calm voice says.
Max reacts by spitting the whiskey onto Bao. More than used to this, Bao just stares back with a blank expression.
Rebecca nearly falls out of her stool, but holds on enough to set herself back upright.
“What?!” they both yell in unison.
They turn around and see Nathan Miles standing firm. His blue eyes are locked onto there’s. He has his own pair of Berettas out as he approaches the bar. Before he even sits down on Rebecca’s right, there is a glass of the cheapest alcohol Bao owns in front of him.
Nathan sets the Berettas on the counter and takes a sip from the glass. He gives a quick nod to Bao. The trio pay no other attention to the man as he makes his way to the back.
“Turns out Paradox ‘can’t fail’, Hunter’s words, and since Spicer voted against shutting off any dimensional travel, it left Hunter to take the fall,” Nathan says as he takes another sip from his glass.
“Oh shit…” Rebecca mutters.
“Fuckin dammit…” Max adds on his own.
“In case it was not obvious this is far from good news. Say what you want about Hunter—” Nathan starts to say.
“He’s an idiot,” Max says.
“He’s a fucking idiot,” Rebecca adds-on.
“—but at least he was a reliable fucking idiot. Nobody knows who is going to replace him, and quite frankly, I am worried they’ll start relying on Creators. I know I am not interested. We all know Nio is not as well…”
Rebecca groans and slams her head on the table.
“…Leo is still stuck in David’s soul, so he is not even an option. That would only leave…”
Max finishes off his glass of whiskey. When that’s done, he leans over the bar grabs the bottle of the first thing he sees and starts to chug away at that.
When Max is done, he wipes his lips and bites the ever so cliched bullet.
“Lillith,” he says.
“And with Mary and her trying to figure out how to scissor when there’s nothing but dust between them…” Rebecca says through the wood of the bar’s counter.
That image causes Max to dive back into his bottle with a grimace, trying to get the image out of his head.
There's some things even Max doesn't want to think of…
“Yes. I suspect that we are in for a fairly huge war…and so soon after the last one too,” Nathan says through another sip of his drink. “Welcome to Roanapur.”
He toasts his now empty glass.
Max glances over and flips him off. He is joined by Rebecca who peers up from the counter and does the same.
“Where are you staying Max? We will meet there next time and discuss a plan,” Nathan says.
“The usual. Hotel Moscow was quick to set me up once I told them why I was here,” Max says.
“Excellent. Than I trust you have a normal way of travel? I would hate to interrupt your day job for this.”
“When has that ever stopped him?” Rebecca asks. “Or you? Or any of the crazy bastards who fuck around in wrestling as a part time?”
When the other two don’t react, Rebecca takes it at face value.
“Talk to you later. Try not to blow up the bar again Max,” she says.
She stands up and heads to the door.
“It was one time!” Max calls out.
---------------------------------------------------
Max stands tall in front of the hotel mirror. The sound of gunshots can be heard from outside the open window, but all Max can focus on is his waist.
With a grimace, he takes a sip from the nearby bottle of beer he jacked from the Yellow Flag.
He groans and sets the bottle back down.
“It’s not that I lost the title that has me so upset. It was going to happen eventually. And props to Z, I guess…”
Max rolls his left shoulder, remembering the moment it nearly left its socket.
“…it’s the fact that he got me out first. Like…all those months kickin everybody’s ass meant nothin. Like…everythin I’ve done since I’ve been here has meant nothin. Because…if they mean nothin, then…Noris Cranley means nothin. Zaigon Carter means nothin. That MMA fucker means nothin.
Then ZMac…means nothin.”
Max sighs and takes another sip of his beer.
“I lost a match. It’s expected. It’ll happen ta' anybody and anybody in this or that match can tell ya’. Graham can. He lost ta' Z. Z can. He lost ta' me.
Corey Bull can. He got his ass beat worse than I did by Frank Lowe. And yet, much like I am, he is here and ready to fight.
Sam Kidsgrove can. He got thrown out by Downfall and lost his shot at the TV Title. And yet, he’s willing ta' enter Battlebowl and prove why he deserves ta' win.
But if they mean nothin…and my loss meant nothin…than it’s almost like it never happened. Like it doesn't exist”
Max finishes his bottle of beer before tossing it out the window. He pays no attention to the yell that follows.
“Than if that loss doesn’t exist…than nobody’s beaten me yet. Hell, nobody’s been able to pin me either way, so that really just drives it home.
Corey Bull and Sam Kidsgove both lost their matches at Revolution. Graham did too but we’ll get to him.
Corey lost by getting his mask ripped off and nearly killed by Frank. If he can’t handle something like that, what makes him think he can handle two of the Pure Division’s toughest fighters? Graham proved his own by nearly makin Z quit. I’ve proven my own by holdin that title for over two months. As far as I see it, there’s nothin Corey can dish out that either myself or Graham can’t handle.
Sam lost by gettin outsmarted and tossed out of the ring to let Downfall take some advantage. Hm…seems his focus is too much on other matters. Or at least not focused enough. For all the shit talk he gave out beforehand it really didn’t amount ta' much. Trust me. That’s the same shit Noris and Graham gave me and look where it got them?
Hell, one of them got a TV Title shot and the other…shit, the other is teaming with me.
Alright, let’s not fuck around the table about it, Graham and I still hate each other. Unless he pulls it out of his ass that ‘I’m too little’ or whatever to care about, but don’t let that fool ya’. Graham cares that he lost. Graham cares that it wasn’t him who had the satisfaction of makin me quit. Graham cares that he’s forced to team up with me goin into this little tournament.
But we both care enough about gettin ahead that we’re willin to coincide together to try and win.
Try being the operative word.
I can put aside beef long enough ta' get the job done. We’ll see if Graham can do the same. I wouldn’t know. This’ll be the first time we’ve seen each other since Revolution.
That’s right. No communication, no game plan, no tag team coinciding. Just two men focused on kickin ass to try and come out the winner.
Normally that’s a recipe for a loss.
But…given Corey is comin off a huge and damagin loss of his own and Sam is just not on the level of violence Graham and I are…
Shit, call it arrogance if you want—you’re not the first, won’t be the last—but somethin tells me this shit’s ours to lose.”
There’s a bit of pause after his sentence.
Eventually, Max shrugs before heading for the door.