【Home Is Where the Heart Is】(A CD Prelude)
Jun 16, 2021 12:52:50 GMT -5
Karlie Nash, CJ Phoenix, and 6 more like this
Post by Johnny Bacchus on Jun 16, 2021 12:52:50 GMT -5
“If you could be any animal, what would you be?”
Johnny’s legs dangled off the side of the couch, kicking aimlessly as his head rest back against Fritterz, the blunt in his hand gently smoldering. The hulking punk accepted it and took a toke of his own before answering.
“Some kinda ape. Probably a silverback.”
“You’re so fucking cliche,” Jenn said as she leaned forward to take it from his hand.
“Okay, what would you be, besides a fuckin’ bitch?”
“Can we not use the b-slur in this co-op?” Kat sneered as she entered the living room from her bedroom, passing Jenn and accepting the blunt herself.
“I’m not using a slur, that’s a name for a female dog.”
“Oh my god, dude, that’s not even clever, just shut up.”
“What?! It’s true.”
“That’s like South Park-level humor.”
“It’s true!”
A rap on the door interrupted the discussion.
“Did anyone order DoorDash?”
A collective group of shrugs. Another polite rap.
“It’s probably some Girl Scout.”
“Fine,” Kat said as she turned from the table and crossed the living room, “I’m not couchlocked yet.”
The sound of the door opening was followed by silence. The trio on the couch looked up and watched as Kat turned away from the door, her face pale. She stepped aside, leaving the door open, and in the frame, flanked by Peter Garvey and Samson Saltair, stood Ash Blake.
Fritterz rose first, as if compelled by raw instinct. No sooner had he approached the trio that Peter Garvey stepped forward to intercept him. The Bald Man’s movements were swift and practiced – the balled fist of the hapless longshoreman caught and directed harmlessly into empty space as the Bald Man’s other hand cupped Fritterz’s head and bounced it roughly against the wall. As he crumpled to the ground, Jenn sprung off the couch and rushed to his aid. Johnny remained seated, his eyes never leaving Ashley Blake’s.
“Kat,” he said to the terrified roommate, his gaze unwavering, “go back to your room. Text Alex, Chelsea, and Miles to make sure they stay out.”
The AW Champion crossed the room, the HR Department never leaving her side. Her eyes remained on the Pure Champion, though the confident smile on her lips was a far cry from the cold stare on his face. The look broke momentarily as Ash regarded a metal folding chair sitting opposite the industrial spool from Bacchus’s seat on the couch.
“Well, do have a seat,” snarked the young man, “how about a beverage? Cup of coffee? PBR? I apologize, we ran out of adrenochrome a few days ago - had to start the Pride celebration with a bang.”
"You're too kind," Ash responded, eyes diverting from him to study the room. "I'll pass, though. Lovely place."
“Thanks. You’d be surprised at the real estate you can get in the Bay Area when you have seven people each kicking in a grand a month.”
The corners of her mouth twitched reflexively – a sneer nearly piercing her practiced façade. Nonetheless, it held as she looked back to him.
“Do you ever turn that off?”
“If you can figure out how, I’d love your help. Terrible for battery life.”
She scoffed, though it was a far cry from genuine appreciation. Behind her, the Pure Champion could see Jenn tending to Fritterz, her own eyes locked with the malicious stare of Peter Garvey. Her body was tense; she was ready to fight. For every second she didn’t try her luck, Johnny quietly thanked his lucky stars. His attention turned back to Ash, who had begun to circle the room and take it in.
“I don’t suppose you came by to draw decorating inspiration. Though that picture of you of you hung in the corner with the swastika drawn over its face would look good in your office. Do you have an office, or just a cubicle?”
“An office,” Ash replied without the flinch, “but you’re correct, I’m not here for a casual visit. I just thought we should get personally acquainted. Considering the talk about you and how you talk about us.”
“You talk about me? Don’t I just feel like the belle of the ball.”
“It’s in a more ‘John Hinckley’ context.”
“I’d have preferred Leon Czolgosz, but thanks for not making it Chapman.”
“By all means,” Ash replied before her voice faded off and her eyes darted between the four young adults in the room, “but now that I’m here, I think it’s an unfair comparison.”
“Yeah, I know she’s an icon but I’m not crazy about Foster. More of a Judy Garland type.”
“No…” Ash muttered before her eyes returned to the Pure Champion, “I just don’t think John Hinckley had such a nice support network.”
The corners of Ash’s lips turned up into a grin as their gazes locked once again. The Pure Champion’s cherry-red hair shone against his own pale face, his expression dark and locked.
“Oh, don’t look so glum, John, plenty of people would die for a few romantic relationships, a tight circle of friends, and two loving parents who live only a town away. Orinda, right? The little white house with navy trim at the top of the hill? A couple gardenia bushes out front and a patch of lawn out back where the family dog is buried under a eucalyptus tree?”
The Pure Champ remained seated. His eyes remained with Ash, but his head swam and his stomach was heavy and leaden. The grin had left the World Champion’s lips, replaced by a twisted sneer.
“I’m sorry, did you expect the organization you caricatured as an authoritarian corporate menace wouldn’t be keeping tabs on you, ‘JuulzVerne’?”
Johnny’s head hung, and the previous death grip he’d had on the couch relaxed. His eyes stayed on the industrial spool coffee table.
“Okay.”
“You know what I think, John? I think you could use a vacation,” Ash stated as the grin returned to her face, “I hear South Africa is lovely this time of year.”
Johnny looked up from the table to Ash, his voice low and trembling.
“You know where she is.”
“She took a flight from La Guardia to Qatar, had a four hour layover, and then flew to Johannesburg. Took a taxi to a quaint little cottage with an apple tree in the backyard. Very picturesque. Let me know if you’d like to send her a postcard – I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if I forwarded the address to her old beau.”
Ash turned from the table and returned to the open door. “Good luck at Evolution, John,” she said without looking back as Peter Garvey followed.
But the Dark Man did not. He stayed in the room, staring down at the young man on the couch. His voice was the stern monotone that young man had heard over the television many times – that didn’t do justice to the real thing. Each word seemed to echo in the room, coming in multiple tones and from various angles. It was like the snarl of a malevolent animal that left the Dark Man’s lips, and each word seemed to make the energy in Johnny’s body fade.
And then he was back on the couch, and the Dark Man was gone. Fritterz was coming to, but Johnny hardly noticed. He’d already stood up and silently walked out of the room.
Johnny’s legs dangled off the side of the couch, kicking aimlessly as his head rest back against Fritterz, the blunt in his hand gently smoldering. The hulking punk accepted it and took a toke of his own before answering.
“Some kinda ape. Probably a silverback.”
“You’re so fucking cliche,” Jenn said as she leaned forward to take it from his hand.
“Okay, what would you be, besides a fuckin’ bitch?”
“Can we not use the b-slur in this co-op?” Kat sneered as she entered the living room from her bedroom, passing Jenn and accepting the blunt herself.
“I’m not using a slur, that’s a name for a female dog.”
“Oh my god, dude, that’s not even clever, just shut up.”
“What?! It’s true.”
“That’s like South Park-level humor.”
“It’s true!”
A rap on the door interrupted the discussion.
“Did anyone order DoorDash?”
A collective group of shrugs. Another polite rap.
“It’s probably some Girl Scout.”
“Fine,” Kat said as she turned from the table and crossed the living room, “I’m not couchlocked yet.”
The sound of the door opening was followed by silence. The trio on the couch looked up and watched as Kat turned away from the door, her face pale. She stepped aside, leaving the door open, and in the frame, flanked by Peter Garvey and Samson Saltair, stood Ash Blake.
Fritterz rose first, as if compelled by raw instinct. No sooner had he approached the trio that Peter Garvey stepped forward to intercept him. The Bald Man’s movements were swift and practiced – the balled fist of the hapless longshoreman caught and directed harmlessly into empty space as the Bald Man’s other hand cupped Fritterz’s head and bounced it roughly against the wall. As he crumpled to the ground, Jenn sprung off the couch and rushed to his aid. Johnny remained seated, his eyes never leaving Ashley Blake’s.
“Kat,” he said to the terrified roommate, his gaze unwavering, “go back to your room. Text Alex, Chelsea, and Miles to make sure they stay out.”
The AW Champion crossed the room, the HR Department never leaving her side. Her eyes remained on the Pure Champion, though the confident smile on her lips was a far cry from the cold stare on his face. The look broke momentarily as Ash regarded a metal folding chair sitting opposite the industrial spool from Bacchus’s seat on the couch.
“Well, do have a seat,” snarked the young man, “how about a beverage? Cup of coffee? PBR? I apologize, we ran out of adrenochrome a few days ago - had to start the Pride celebration with a bang.”
"You're too kind," Ash responded, eyes diverting from him to study the room. "I'll pass, though. Lovely place."
“Thanks. You’d be surprised at the real estate you can get in the Bay Area when you have seven people each kicking in a grand a month.”
The corners of her mouth twitched reflexively – a sneer nearly piercing her practiced façade. Nonetheless, it held as she looked back to him.
“Do you ever turn that off?”
“If you can figure out how, I’d love your help. Terrible for battery life.”
She scoffed, though it was a far cry from genuine appreciation. Behind her, the Pure Champion could see Jenn tending to Fritterz, her own eyes locked with the malicious stare of Peter Garvey. Her body was tense; she was ready to fight. For every second she didn’t try her luck, Johnny quietly thanked his lucky stars. His attention turned back to Ash, who had begun to circle the room and take it in.
“I don’t suppose you came by to draw decorating inspiration. Though that picture of you of you hung in the corner with the swastika drawn over its face would look good in your office. Do you have an office, or just a cubicle?”
“An office,” Ash replied without the flinch, “but you’re correct, I’m not here for a casual visit. I just thought we should get personally acquainted. Considering the talk about you and how you talk about us.”
“You talk about me? Don’t I just feel like the belle of the ball.”
“It’s in a more ‘John Hinckley’ context.”
“I’d have preferred Leon Czolgosz, but thanks for not making it Chapman.”
“By all means,” Ash replied before her voice faded off and her eyes darted between the four young adults in the room, “but now that I’m here, I think it’s an unfair comparison.”
“Yeah, I know she’s an icon but I’m not crazy about Foster. More of a Judy Garland type.”
“No…” Ash muttered before her eyes returned to the Pure Champion, “I just don’t think John Hinckley had such a nice support network.”
The corners of Ash’s lips turned up into a grin as their gazes locked once again. The Pure Champion’s cherry-red hair shone against his own pale face, his expression dark and locked.
“Oh, don’t look so glum, John, plenty of people would die for a few romantic relationships, a tight circle of friends, and two loving parents who live only a town away. Orinda, right? The little white house with navy trim at the top of the hill? A couple gardenia bushes out front and a patch of lawn out back where the family dog is buried under a eucalyptus tree?”
The Pure Champ remained seated. His eyes remained with Ash, but his head swam and his stomach was heavy and leaden. The grin had left the World Champion’s lips, replaced by a twisted sneer.
“I’m sorry, did you expect the organization you caricatured as an authoritarian corporate menace wouldn’t be keeping tabs on you, ‘JuulzVerne’?”
Johnny’s head hung, and the previous death grip he’d had on the couch relaxed. His eyes stayed on the industrial spool coffee table.
“Okay.”
“You know what I think, John? I think you could use a vacation,” Ash stated as the grin returned to her face, “I hear South Africa is lovely this time of year.”
Johnny looked up from the table to Ash, his voice low and trembling.
“You know where she is.”
“She took a flight from La Guardia to Qatar, had a four hour layover, and then flew to Johannesburg. Took a taxi to a quaint little cottage with an apple tree in the backyard. Very picturesque. Let me know if you’d like to send her a postcard – I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if I forwarded the address to her old beau.”
Ash turned from the table and returned to the open door. “Good luck at Evolution, John,” she said without looking back as Peter Garvey followed.
But the Dark Man did not. He stayed in the room, staring down at the young man on the couch. His voice was the stern monotone that young man had heard over the television many times – that didn’t do justice to the real thing. Each word seemed to echo in the room, coming in multiple tones and from various angles. It was like the snarl of a malevolent animal that left the Dark Man’s lips, and each word seemed to make the energy in Johnny’s body fade.
“We are offering you the same as her: the freedom to run. Do not mistake our generosity for kindness.”
Johnny was in a dark, cement room. He was hundreds of miles deep in the earth, though he wasn’t sure how he knew this. Peter Garvey had his sleeve rolled up and was washing his hands in the sink. Mae was cuffed to a chair under a single, dim bulb, her cheeks streaked with running make-up and her entire body shuddering from fear and torture. But he couldn’t move – he couldn’t speak – he could only watch. From within the shadows, something writhed like a nest of snakes. As obsidian talons and scimitar teeth clittered just beyond the veil of shadows, he screamed in unison with her.