Post by Deleted on Oct 17, 2019 12:50:54 GMT -6
The sounds of waves crashing against shore bring us in from the darkness, and we see Our Man Nomad, stepping off a floating pile of trash that someone, somewhere, might call a boat. Sticking a cigarette between his lips, he looks down at the ‘dog’ by his side. Puffing on it frantically, he mumbles something beneath his breath, and exhales a large cloud into the air over his shoulder, which is pushed away by the wind. The steps leading up to the parking lot are wet, and multiple, and nothing for either Nomad or his ‘dog’. In a matter of seconds, the sprint up the steps is complete, and our man can see his home, his van, waiting for him in the middle of the parking lot. But it is not alone. Parked next to it, is a green, almost black, 1970 Ford Thunderbird. It’s owner, dressed in an all black suit, Sips on a cup of coffee, while thumbing through his phone. His eyes rising to meet the man walking toward him. He places the coffee, and the phone down, and prepares himself for what is about to occur.
“Was it you?” he said, his voice barely audible over the sound of the ‘dog’ growling next to him. “Was that you?”
“Oddly enough.” He started, pausing to take in the sheer size of the dog. “It was not. And that’s why I’m here. I needed you to know it wasn’t.”
“...the fuck should I believe you?”
“I am a many thing, but a liar, not once.”
“Oh? So you told the rest of them why I left?”
“Had they asked, I would’ve. Truth be told, your behavior prior was all the reason they needed. Looking to me was unlikely.”
“How proud you are.”
“Quite the opposite.” Vincent Black stepped away from the car and approached the man known as Nomad. They saw eye to eye, as they were indeed the exact same height. “I’m not proud. Not of this. I did what I felt was necessary. I can’t deny that.”
“Don’t underestimate yourself, Vin. You can deny a lot of things. Like how you lied about what happened. To your wife no less. How you kept it hidden with every fiber of your being for five years because you knew you were wrong. Because you knew you’d be the one to get fucked up over it.”
“So, are we under the impression that this was entirely my fault, and mine alone? Is that it? When you, who was welcomed into the family with open arms, despite so much, walked away when things got hard, that was my fault?”
“What do you know about it, you dye job fuck?” Nomad said, moving danger close to the other man.
“I know what I’d do if someone tried to keep me out. I’d burn their life down. I’d scale any wall, and fight any army. You, on the other hand, just slinked away. And not for a day. For five years. I may be the catalyst for this behavior, but I am not the reason. You walked away from us. Just like you walk away from anyone that doesn’t see things your way. You’re just like your mother.”
There are many words that one man can say to another that can cause a violent reaction. There are those that are racial, or homophobic. There are those that are explicit, or humorous, but taken far too seriously. And then there are those that touch a part of a person that they do not wish to have touched. Vincent Black had just touched Nomads, and he was being told this via a very hard shot to the jaw. What follows was listed on the police report as a double attempted murder. The officers, having lived their entire lives in Miami, had all seen some truly depraved things. Not one had ever seen a fist fight as vicious or as evenly matched, as this. In the report, it stated that it took quite a few men to separate the individuals. It was something more of several. Each.
Cooling their heels in a jail cell, separated by wrought iron bars and men with guns and mace, they stewed in their own private prison. Looking at one another in disgust almost every second. The Sheriff was an older man, salt and pepper hair with a matching mustache. Had they been on speaking terms, Vincent would comment on how he looks like the guy from Get Shorty. Nomad, would disagree, saying he looked more like the guy from Night of the Creeps. They’d argue back and forth, but eventually it would turn into a joke. Not now though. Right now it would turn into manslaughter.
“Alright, you two. Turns out you got friends in the right places. So I’m gonna release you. One at a time though. First one is gonna be you, Mohawk.” He said referencing Nomad. “You look like you could use some more rest, friend.” He said in reference to Vin, who was none too happy about the idea that Nomad had somehow gotten the upper hand. As Nomad exited the cage, he turned back and blew a kiss to the seething Phreeq, and smiled. “See you soon.” Vin called out, getting no response worth noting.
Stepping outside, Nomad is greeted by his ‘dog’ and his van, which is being lowered by a tow truck from the Miami PD. Stepping to the curb, Nomad watches as the truck driver begins to unhook his truck, and the silence of the moment is quickly filled by that of his own voice.
“There is no such thing as a free lunch. Not in this business. Shane, you got a fast one over on me. I’d stand here and tell you that you didn’t beat me, that if the masked whatever didn’t blah blah. Truth is, and we both know it, There isn’t a single fucking one of us who wouldn’t have taken that shot. Not a single one of us who wouldn’t have pinned our opponent, said fuck off dignity, self respect, and pride, and taken the easy win. Not a single one of us would’ve let victory go, simply because it wasn’t dignified. But truth be told, I ain’t one of us, and this isn’t over.”
“So track down that masked fuck friend of yours, I assume, and make it clear that his full time job from here on out is making sure that he’s got your back, because the next time I see it, I’m breaking it in fucking two. And then you and Moore can get matching wheelchairs, to go along with the matching pussies you both have always been.”
“And speaking of pussies, Look who I’m up against once more. The man who started my career here, and is certainly looking to end it. Noc, We’ve had quite the experience with each other since I got here. Granted, all of it has been me, beating you. But times change, People grow. Look at you. Changed names, personalities...Tell you what, why don’t you change jobs next? Start a career that’ll go somewhere. One you can be proud of. One that actually wants you around?”
“This one ain’t for you anymore. Yes, you are an absolute fucking legend in this industry. I’ll never deny it. Yes, the things you’ve done are both numerous, and incredible. But all of them, are in the past. All of them, are a second away from being forgotten, by all, not for now but for ever. And it all starts to collapse right about...now. Because right about now, you’ve finally made it to a place you should’ve spent every waking hour avoiding. Being my one and only point of focus. And trust me, I’m very good at Focusing. Even when I don’t want to.”
“I am sure you’re over the moon about what you did to Brandon Moore. How you injured him in such a way. Like any one of us are ignorant enough to believe that. I know Moore. Better than any. He isn’t in that…” Breaking kayfabe is not something Nomad takes lightly. There are tropes in this business. Ideas, habits, what have you, that one doesn’t spit on. If a man takes time off from the ring due to injury, you don’t question the validity of the injury, you just take it at face value. Because one day you might need them to the same for you. “You know what, Fuck that. I dare you to try to put me in one. Bring the same about of anger, and energy that you brought to that match, to this one. Show me the guy that crippled that piece of shit, and show me why I shouldn’t write his sorry ass off this week, like I have every other time we’ve been against each other. Show me how brutal you are. Try to put me in a chair. And not the bed your career lately has.”
“Don’t come at me like you have, with half assed half measures and a lack of interest. If you haven’t already learned, if it isn’t crystal clear that any attempt you have in mind, at returning to the top of this industry, has to go through me, It’s about to be. If for some reason, the loss I suffered last week gives you some semblance of hope, false in its entirety, that you look at as anything but a weakness, you’re about to see it differently.”
“I was distracted, Noc. Distracted by he who I refuse to name, and the likelihood that he would interrupt me, once again. I was waiting for one sneaky cunt to attack me and wound up getting hit by another. Now I ain’t sure they aren’t one and the same, but what I am sure of, is that you will not be as fortunate as Ham and Egger Sparx was. In fact, if there is a single moment that you think is more unfortunate than the moment you’re about to endure. you can be Nocturnal, becuase mother fucker, I am ETERNAL.”
“That is what I bring to the table. A change of perspective. A never ending story of destruction with my own hands. A different view. Considering the fact that your current view is the inside of your own ass, you should actually be thankful. Grateful. Welcoming of the fact that the ease in which you’ve rolled through thus far is over. That the time to actually try is once again here. I can’t say I don’t feel the same. To have a proper person to fight against once more. Shane Sparx was as close I got, and that’s just sad. So let’s do this, Noc. Let’s change hearts and minds, let’s focus on people worth the time and effort. Let’s hope when we separate, we’re both grateful to the other for the much needed re-education. And by all means, do your best to put me in a chair, Because I’m gonna do my best to put you in the fucking ground.”
Getting into the van, which is finally unhooked by the tow truck. He points to the bed, which Ace immediately jumps into, and gets behind the wheel. The roar of the engine is deafening, and shakes the entirety of the vehicle. Peeling away from the curb, he zips off into the distance, with a motorcycle following him close behind. We pan away back to the curb and see a Black Cadillac CTS pull up and stop short at the curb. Stepping out of the vehicle, a man with shoulder length blonde hair, a very bushy beard, and a rediculous hat, appears. He walks toward the station with vigor, obviously in a rush. We rejoin him in the interior, as he knocks on the Sheriffs door, with the ridiculous hat in hand.
“Aye, You the big man ‘round here?” He says, a pleasant smile on his face.
“That’d be me. How can I help you?” The Sheriff asked, familiar with the man’s voice but unsure about why.
“We spoke not that long ago, eh. About the lads you picked up. The fighting ones.”
“Ahh, those two. Yeah. You know, I’m not too happy with this whole situation. Let me...I’m not new to this world, son. I’ve seen things. I’ve watched men do harm to one another in ways I never expected. But that. That was no fight. That was two men trying to kill the other, hell maybe even themselves in the process. I had to send one of my deputies home early.”
“Sheriff, Listen, i get it. You get it. Everyone gets it. But the fact of the matter, and it’s a matter of fact, is that these boys wouldn’t done a stitch o’ time in the slammer, and would’ve just made your tomorrow as stressful as yah today. Besides, it’s not a bad thing, doing a favor such as this.”
“Favors be damned. Your organization, does a lot of good. I don’t know where most of the women I’ve come across would be without it. So let’s just call it a professional courtesy.”
“Works for me, Chief. Now tell me, where are they being held?”
“Well, one of them is in the processing cell. The other we released, as your office’s instruction.”
The man strokes his beard, and begins to think of a million ways this could’ve gone wrong. How his instructions could have been clearer, or his assistant could’ve been smarter. But any case, it was what it was, and now was not the time to lament. Now was the time to play catch up.
“Tell ya what. Release the one yah got left. And we’ll call it a day.”
“Sure thing. Follow me.” The Sheriff said, leading the way. “That’s an odd accent you got. Where you from?” he asked the man, genuine in his interest.
“Evansville, Minnesota.” responded the man, disingenuously.
We fade away for a moment, and we rejoin the bearded man, as he leads Vincent from the building and to the Cadillac parked outside. Vincent stops, and begins to snarl, which is easily noticed due to the grow emanating from his throat, and the veins bulging from his head.
“You coming ‘r nah?”
“I’m considering it.”
“Well consider this, ya prick. I didn’t drive me arse all the fuck round here just for you to consider this ‘r that. I came because this house is in disorder. Worse’n when I went away. I don’t know what occured, and really I don’t care. We’re gonna track down the other arsehole, and we’re gonna make it proper again. Now shut the fuck up, and get the fuck in.”
“Who told you, you can speak to me that way?” Vincent asked, unsure where this man gets the right to even think of dressing him down in such a way.
“I did, ya cunt. I did. I’m the one. Because someone around here has to. And the big guy has his head so far up his own arse, he’s too blinded by intestines to see how things are. You’re gonnna fuck this up for as long as you can, because you know, you’re wrong. The one who could fix it, ain’t allowed to, fuck all sense that makes. Blow me for asking though, right? So they can’t, they won’t, you should, they could, but yet, what’s done is, again, FUCK ALL. So I’ll do it, yeh? Because I don’t listen to ‘em, and I don’t have the same issues as the lot. Now come on son, shut the fuck up, and get in the fucking car.”
Rage Against The Machine once sang a lyric that went ‘silence, something about silence makes me sick, because silence can be violence, sort of like a slit wrist.” Vincent had known what that meant his entire life. He’d felt those moments in previous situations, and for the most part, he cherished them. This was one he would not forget. Because he was on the wrong side of it, and the person on the other side knew it.
“You may have just turned me on.”
“For fucks sake, Get in the car!”
The two men get in the car, and begin to speed away. Their headlights vanish into the abundance of others, and quickly become indistinguishable from the others. At that moment, a man appears outside the precinct. A cigarette between his lips, and a handlebar mustache that is very well groomed running down the sides of his mouth. He flicks the cigarette and walks inside, and we return to the darkness from which we came.
“Was it you?” he said, his voice barely audible over the sound of the ‘dog’ growling next to him. “Was that you?”
“Oddly enough.” He started, pausing to take in the sheer size of the dog. “It was not. And that’s why I’m here. I needed you to know it wasn’t.”
“...the fuck should I believe you?”
“I am a many thing, but a liar, not once.”
“Oh? So you told the rest of them why I left?”
“Had they asked, I would’ve. Truth be told, your behavior prior was all the reason they needed. Looking to me was unlikely.”
“How proud you are.”
“Quite the opposite.” Vincent Black stepped away from the car and approached the man known as Nomad. They saw eye to eye, as they were indeed the exact same height. “I’m not proud. Not of this. I did what I felt was necessary. I can’t deny that.”
“Don’t underestimate yourself, Vin. You can deny a lot of things. Like how you lied about what happened. To your wife no less. How you kept it hidden with every fiber of your being for five years because you knew you were wrong. Because you knew you’d be the one to get fucked up over it.”
“So, are we under the impression that this was entirely my fault, and mine alone? Is that it? When you, who was welcomed into the family with open arms, despite so much, walked away when things got hard, that was my fault?”
“What do you know about it, you dye job fuck?” Nomad said, moving danger close to the other man.
“I know what I’d do if someone tried to keep me out. I’d burn their life down. I’d scale any wall, and fight any army. You, on the other hand, just slinked away. And not for a day. For five years. I may be the catalyst for this behavior, but I am not the reason. You walked away from us. Just like you walk away from anyone that doesn’t see things your way. You’re just like your mother.”
There are many words that one man can say to another that can cause a violent reaction. There are those that are racial, or homophobic. There are those that are explicit, or humorous, but taken far too seriously. And then there are those that touch a part of a person that they do not wish to have touched. Vincent Black had just touched Nomads, and he was being told this via a very hard shot to the jaw. What follows was listed on the police report as a double attempted murder. The officers, having lived their entire lives in Miami, had all seen some truly depraved things. Not one had ever seen a fist fight as vicious or as evenly matched, as this. In the report, it stated that it took quite a few men to separate the individuals. It was something more of several. Each.
Cooling their heels in a jail cell, separated by wrought iron bars and men with guns and mace, they stewed in their own private prison. Looking at one another in disgust almost every second. The Sheriff was an older man, salt and pepper hair with a matching mustache. Had they been on speaking terms, Vincent would comment on how he looks like the guy from Get Shorty. Nomad, would disagree, saying he looked more like the guy from Night of the Creeps. They’d argue back and forth, but eventually it would turn into a joke. Not now though. Right now it would turn into manslaughter.
“Alright, you two. Turns out you got friends in the right places. So I’m gonna release you. One at a time though. First one is gonna be you, Mohawk.” He said referencing Nomad. “You look like you could use some more rest, friend.” He said in reference to Vin, who was none too happy about the idea that Nomad had somehow gotten the upper hand. As Nomad exited the cage, he turned back and blew a kiss to the seething Phreeq, and smiled. “See you soon.” Vin called out, getting no response worth noting.
Stepping outside, Nomad is greeted by his ‘dog’ and his van, which is being lowered by a tow truck from the Miami PD. Stepping to the curb, Nomad watches as the truck driver begins to unhook his truck, and the silence of the moment is quickly filled by that of his own voice.
“There is no such thing as a free lunch. Not in this business. Shane, you got a fast one over on me. I’d stand here and tell you that you didn’t beat me, that if the masked whatever didn’t blah blah. Truth is, and we both know it, There isn’t a single fucking one of us who wouldn’t have taken that shot. Not a single one of us who wouldn’t have pinned our opponent, said fuck off dignity, self respect, and pride, and taken the easy win. Not a single one of us would’ve let victory go, simply because it wasn’t dignified. But truth be told, I ain’t one of us, and this isn’t over.”
“So track down that masked fuck friend of yours, I assume, and make it clear that his full time job from here on out is making sure that he’s got your back, because the next time I see it, I’m breaking it in fucking two. And then you and Moore can get matching wheelchairs, to go along with the matching pussies you both have always been.”
“And speaking of pussies, Look who I’m up against once more. The man who started my career here, and is certainly looking to end it. Noc, We’ve had quite the experience with each other since I got here. Granted, all of it has been me, beating you. But times change, People grow. Look at you. Changed names, personalities...Tell you what, why don’t you change jobs next? Start a career that’ll go somewhere. One you can be proud of. One that actually wants you around?”
“This one ain’t for you anymore. Yes, you are an absolute fucking legend in this industry. I’ll never deny it. Yes, the things you’ve done are both numerous, and incredible. But all of them, are in the past. All of them, are a second away from being forgotten, by all, not for now but for ever. And it all starts to collapse right about...now. Because right about now, you’ve finally made it to a place you should’ve spent every waking hour avoiding. Being my one and only point of focus. And trust me, I’m very good at Focusing. Even when I don’t want to.”
“I am sure you’re over the moon about what you did to Brandon Moore. How you injured him in such a way. Like any one of us are ignorant enough to believe that. I know Moore. Better than any. He isn’t in that…” Breaking kayfabe is not something Nomad takes lightly. There are tropes in this business. Ideas, habits, what have you, that one doesn’t spit on. If a man takes time off from the ring due to injury, you don’t question the validity of the injury, you just take it at face value. Because one day you might need them to the same for you. “You know what, Fuck that. I dare you to try to put me in one. Bring the same about of anger, and energy that you brought to that match, to this one. Show me the guy that crippled that piece of shit, and show me why I shouldn’t write his sorry ass off this week, like I have every other time we’ve been against each other. Show me how brutal you are. Try to put me in a chair. And not the bed your career lately has.”
“Don’t come at me like you have, with half assed half measures and a lack of interest. If you haven’t already learned, if it isn’t crystal clear that any attempt you have in mind, at returning to the top of this industry, has to go through me, It’s about to be. If for some reason, the loss I suffered last week gives you some semblance of hope, false in its entirety, that you look at as anything but a weakness, you’re about to see it differently.”
“I was distracted, Noc. Distracted by he who I refuse to name, and the likelihood that he would interrupt me, once again. I was waiting for one sneaky cunt to attack me and wound up getting hit by another. Now I ain’t sure they aren’t one and the same, but what I am sure of, is that you will not be as fortunate as Ham and Egger Sparx was. In fact, if there is a single moment that you think is more unfortunate than the moment you’re about to endure. you can be Nocturnal, becuase mother fucker, I am ETERNAL.”
“That is what I bring to the table. A change of perspective. A never ending story of destruction with my own hands. A different view. Considering the fact that your current view is the inside of your own ass, you should actually be thankful. Grateful. Welcoming of the fact that the ease in which you’ve rolled through thus far is over. That the time to actually try is once again here. I can’t say I don’t feel the same. To have a proper person to fight against once more. Shane Sparx was as close I got, and that’s just sad. So let’s do this, Noc. Let’s change hearts and minds, let’s focus on people worth the time and effort. Let’s hope when we separate, we’re both grateful to the other for the much needed re-education. And by all means, do your best to put me in a chair, Because I’m gonna do my best to put you in the fucking ground.”
Getting into the van, which is finally unhooked by the tow truck. He points to the bed, which Ace immediately jumps into, and gets behind the wheel. The roar of the engine is deafening, and shakes the entirety of the vehicle. Peeling away from the curb, he zips off into the distance, with a motorcycle following him close behind. We pan away back to the curb and see a Black Cadillac CTS pull up and stop short at the curb. Stepping out of the vehicle, a man with shoulder length blonde hair, a very bushy beard, and a rediculous hat, appears. He walks toward the station with vigor, obviously in a rush. We rejoin him in the interior, as he knocks on the Sheriffs door, with the ridiculous hat in hand.
“Aye, You the big man ‘round here?” He says, a pleasant smile on his face.
“That’d be me. How can I help you?” The Sheriff asked, familiar with the man’s voice but unsure about why.
“We spoke not that long ago, eh. About the lads you picked up. The fighting ones.”
“Ahh, those two. Yeah. You know, I’m not too happy with this whole situation. Let me...I’m not new to this world, son. I’ve seen things. I’ve watched men do harm to one another in ways I never expected. But that. That was no fight. That was two men trying to kill the other, hell maybe even themselves in the process. I had to send one of my deputies home early.”
“Sheriff, Listen, i get it. You get it. Everyone gets it. But the fact of the matter, and it’s a matter of fact, is that these boys wouldn’t done a stitch o’ time in the slammer, and would’ve just made your tomorrow as stressful as yah today. Besides, it’s not a bad thing, doing a favor such as this.”
“Favors be damned. Your organization, does a lot of good. I don’t know where most of the women I’ve come across would be without it. So let’s just call it a professional courtesy.”
“Works for me, Chief. Now tell me, where are they being held?”
“Well, one of them is in the processing cell. The other we released, as your office’s instruction.”
The man strokes his beard, and begins to think of a million ways this could’ve gone wrong. How his instructions could have been clearer, or his assistant could’ve been smarter. But any case, it was what it was, and now was not the time to lament. Now was the time to play catch up.
“Tell ya what. Release the one yah got left. And we’ll call it a day.”
“Sure thing. Follow me.” The Sheriff said, leading the way. “That’s an odd accent you got. Where you from?” he asked the man, genuine in his interest.
“Evansville, Minnesota.” responded the man, disingenuously.
We fade away for a moment, and we rejoin the bearded man, as he leads Vincent from the building and to the Cadillac parked outside. Vincent stops, and begins to snarl, which is easily noticed due to the grow emanating from his throat, and the veins bulging from his head.
“You coming ‘r nah?”
“I’m considering it.”
“Well consider this, ya prick. I didn’t drive me arse all the fuck round here just for you to consider this ‘r that. I came because this house is in disorder. Worse’n when I went away. I don’t know what occured, and really I don’t care. We’re gonna track down the other arsehole, and we’re gonna make it proper again. Now shut the fuck up, and get the fuck in.”
“Who told you, you can speak to me that way?” Vincent asked, unsure where this man gets the right to even think of dressing him down in such a way.
“I did, ya cunt. I did. I’m the one. Because someone around here has to. And the big guy has his head so far up his own arse, he’s too blinded by intestines to see how things are. You’re gonnna fuck this up for as long as you can, because you know, you’re wrong. The one who could fix it, ain’t allowed to, fuck all sense that makes. Blow me for asking though, right? So they can’t, they won’t, you should, they could, but yet, what’s done is, again, FUCK ALL. So I’ll do it, yeh? Because I don’t listen to ‘em, and I don’t have the same issues as the lot. Now come on son, shut the fuck up, and get in the fucking car.”
Rage Against The Machine once sang a lyric that went ‘silence, something about silence makes me sick, because silence can be violence, sort of like a slit wrist.” Vincent had known what that meant his entire life. He’d felt those moments in previous situations, and for the most part, he cherished them. This was one he would not forget. Because he was on the wrong side of it, and the person on the other side knew it.
“You may have just turned me on.”
“For fucks sake, Get in the car!”
The two men get in the car, and begin to speed away. Their headlights vanish into the abundance of others, and quickly become indistinguishable from the others. At that moment, a man appears outside the precinct. A cigarette between his lips, and a handlebar mustache that is very well groomed running down the sides of his mouth. He flicks the cigarette and walks inside, and we return to the darkness from which we came.