Post by CM Poor on Jun 17, 2018 20:16:19 GMT -5
Clearing the Smoke
There’s an overwhelming lack of common sense beyond the curtain.
Over the course of eight years, David Brennan had just about seen it all.
Bear mace.
Hyper-violent midgets.
Exploding barbed wire.
(The sheer mechanics of that one still baffle him to this day.)
Tonight, he’d found himself mere inches from the receiving end of an attempted decapitation.
That’s a pretty deep list. From an outsider’s perspective, one or two deep might be enough to otherwise sour any rationally-minded individual on this business, but throughout it all, David had soldiered on, unwittingly stepping out time and time again to see what it is lying in wait to try and outdo whatever it is had taken the top tier of depravity on any given night.
Others had grown weary of the WFWF’s propensity for the bizarre. Some had formed factions, geared solely toward tearing it down and remaking it in their own image. Others had embraced it.
David simply rolled with it.
There was a lot to hate about this business.
The politics.
The mind games.
The management.
All of that, as far as David was concerned, fell well above any physical dangers that plagued his line of work. He’d just as soon swap places with Ace Bennett or Raider amid The New Epoch’s assault on their rivals of the time and take a full blast of mace to the eyes himself if it meant he never had to sit in on another meeting, look over his shoulder for Michael Kyzer’s next ploy, or make nice with the likes of Lila Sleater ever again.
And still?
He’d just as soon subject himself to the monotony and anxiety that came with any of those chores, perhaps, if it meant he never had to make the nerve-grindingly routine exit through the curtain into the organized chaos and overwhelming onslaught of the backstage area ever again.
”David, what the hell?! The medics...!”
First at bat? Natalie Collins. The prized apple of David Brennan’s eye, and in truth, the only welcome sight amid all he’d expected to come into contact with as he’d slung the curtain aside, he’d been almost certain she’d be first in line already the moment he’d shoved the medical staff aside, his overwhelming need to cling to some semblance of pride on his way out of the complete sh*t show that had just ensued between himself and his opponent trumping any physical pain that might be nagging him.
”It’s fine, it’s fine. C’mon, let’s just - “
”Brennan!”
Batting second? Lila Sleater - the esteemed GM of the WFWF, and in David’s eyes, at least for the moment, one of the very catalysts for the war he’d just fought. Week in and week out for the better part of several months, she’d turned a blind eye every time Kyzer emerged from the shadows to strike David down, unguarded and unawares, acting only when Kyzer finally invoked his subservient man-dragon - barring David from the arena, clearing the way to book a stipulation that allowed, well, that to have just played out.
”...f*ckin’ not now, Sleater…”
”Brennan, wait! I...Kyzer...the sword...none of that was…”
”F*ck off, Sleater!”
For such a small, dainty imposition, Nat could pack a verbal punch when she needed to. She’d always had a way of reading David, and in that moment, she’d cited everything he was too winded and beaten to articulate like her final grade depended on it. He’d lost count over the years as to just how many times he’d uttered that same exact command, word for word, only for Sleater to maintain her poise, bolstered by her role as David’s superior, at least as far as the corporate hierarchy was concerned.
But she held no sword over Nat’s head, and faced with the decision of pressing forward or holding her piece for another day, she cowered, clearing the way for Brennan to storm past, out of range of any further conversation.
He wasn’t an unreasonable man, but would it kill them to just give him a minute.
”You need a doctor.”
”I know. Just not there.”
They turned a corner, making a beeline for David’s private quarters and putting a greater distance between themselves and the overwhelming chaos that stood in wait just beyond the curtain, when the air suddenly reeked of the unmistakable scent of tobacco smoke.
”Son of a b*tch…”
There, perched atop a stack of road crates, a shogun’s sword haphazardly lain across his lap as he lazily dragged off of his smoldering cigarette, was the kid.
”David…?”
”It’s cool, Nat. How’s the back, kid?”
”I have worse.”
He hops down off of his perch, snatching up the sword in his hand in one smooth motion, almost as if to try and accentuate his point of being unphased by the damage he’d incurred at the hands of David’s opponent.
”You want this?”
He flips the sword, resting the blade upon his hand and offering the hilt to David.
”Keep it. Fought down a dragon with that sh*t. Hang it on your wall or somethin’.”
”As soon I find a wall.”
”I’m sorry….David...um…”
She fumbles, lost for a proper salutation with which she can address the boy.
”A-Wut.”
”Right, ok...A-Wut. Um...where...where do you go from here?”
A-Wut clutches his sword, his head held high, defiant in the face of Nat’s line of concern.
”I manage.”
”Made it this far, right?”
”David!”
”What? Kid’s tough, right? I mean, you seen that sh*t, yeah?”
”Be that as it may, he...A-Wut, how old are you?”
Taken aback, A-Wut looks slightly perplexed by the question, as if it had never before been a factor of discussion among anyone looking to pay him any mind.
”I have twelve years.”
”Do you have a home? Somewhere to go?”
”Not here. Not yet. I find.”
David’s eyes go wide a second before Nat can turn to lock hers on him. It was an inadvertent side effect of that little talent of hers, reading him the way she could. A connection like that often becomes something of a two way street, and he knew what was coursing through her mind a second before she even had a chance to make with the verbalization.
”Are you f*ckin’ serious right now?”
”David…”
”...after all that sh*t on the lawn…”
”He didn’t mean any harm.”
”Yeah, to you, maybe!”
At that, A-Wut burst out laughing, remembering all too well the souvenir of a shattered nose he’d handed David some months earlier in exchange for his own.
”David…”
”You’re f*ckin’ serious here, ain’t you?”
”I just…”
For a moment, David’s link was shattered. He couldn’t find a rationale behind this one. They’d never discussed kids - it hadn’t ever even come to the table, and Nat wasn’t ever one to sit on something she wanted out of life. They didn’t even have a dog. The notion of the two of them caring for something beyond their own needs had always been so far removed from the equation that for her to suddenly become so insistent on taking this kid under their wing after how tumultuous their earliest encounters had been was downright puzzling to David. It was so out of character and out of tune with the tempo their lives had beat along at these past few months that he found himself eyeing his shoulders, almost involuntarily, wondering if Kyzer was coming up around the bend, waiting to spring his next game on him.
That didn’t happen, but in a coy sort of sweep, she ushered him aside, trying to draw him out of the defiant child’s earshot for just a moment.
”...David, Jack woud’ve dumped this kid out on his ass. That’s not you. It’s not ideal - neither of us would’ve asked for this - but I think that, like it or not, we own this now.”
She was right.
David recalled, rather vividly, some of Jack’s closest ears to the streets. Kids, not much older than A-Wut, here. They were easy targets - impoverished. Unwanted. Short on any sort of role models to play moral compass in their formative years.
Not all that much unlike himself, when you think about it.
Jack would call them ‘untouchable’. Cops at the time’d never shake down a kid, and nobody’d really blink in the event that they didn’t come home at the end of the night.
David had never been much in the way of kids, but that last bit had always gotten under his skin something fierce.
And you know something?
This kid?
He’d done alright by David just now.
David turned back to look at him. Defiant to the end. Most kids would be quivering in their shoes, but damned if this kid wasn’t hardened something cold and mean. He sucked in a big breath of air.
This one was gonna sting.
”Alright. You wanna wall, kid?”
David Brennan:
The War’s End
A New Era
Close your books.
This story’s over.
The New Epoch?
Dead.
Anything left in that beat up tank of Kyzer’s is between him and Drakz.
Me?
I’m above it.
For years, I spent my life beneath the thumb of anyone with a f*ckin’ soapbox lookin’ to posture ‘emselves upon the world with the hot f*ckin’ take that I was ridin’ the coattails of names of renown here in the WFWF. For years, I spent my time playin’ third f*ckin’ fiddle to the whims of Edith and Beverly over there, b*tchin’ back and forth about the climate and whose turn it was to pay the cover at bingo this week. You can hardly go back and find yourself a mention of The New Epoch without findin’ some little f*ckin’ slight of ‘...and David Brennan’ tossed into the mix like whoever was puttin’ the keys to the paper thought they were god’s f*ckin’ gift to the written snark.
Now what?
Silence.
The last time Drakz set foot in the ring across from me, I took his WFWF Tag Team Championship and put a decisive and finite end to his unprecedented run with that sh*t. He’ll sit there and blame Josh Dean ‘til he’s blue in the face from havin’ already told you once before how many times it took David Brennan to finally pick up the W.
He ain’t gonna tell you who started Dean’s latest run from a flat back position on the biggest stage of ‘em all.
Still, this ain’t exactly about Drakz. Push comes to shove, I’d stand on his side of the ring a dozen times over, should he see the need. I ain’t lookin’ to take too much outta his corner, after all.
He ain’t exactly wrong on the one and two front.
But you, Kyzer.
One and done?
Sh*t son.
You’re played out, ain’t you? I mean, truth told? I don’t even know where to begin. I almost’d like to say I told you so, but it just feels so...I dunno...trite.
How’s about I just make good on my word? Step on your toes once more, and make good on promises where you f*ckin’ couldn’t on account of my head still bein’ firmly planted upon my shoulders?
How’s about we just chalk this one up to ‘Michael Kyzer who’?
Defying Expectations
”Oh what the f*ck now?”
Brennan Point doesn’t get many visitors. More than a handful of folk have driven along the winding coastline, wondering who, if anyone, occupies the sprawling mansion atop the cragged peak overlooking the northern Atlantic, but anyone bold enough to try and venture up the path that leads to the massive green pasture afronting the looming household would be held up at the gate a quarter of the way up unless they were either party to association beyond such restriction or they were to be expected.
Apparently, today, limousines carry clout.
That’s the only scenario David could envision that would have allowed for an unfamiliar vehicle to venture this far up the path, even as he was all but certain who he’d find on the other side just as soon as the doors swung open. Before his trip to New York, he’d have a sneaking suspicion that this was another one of Kyzer’s games, but for even as far out of character as he liked to wander, this would be way out of left field, even for him. No, here and now, David was altogether convinced, as the car slowed to a halt halfway up the gravel drive, that this unannounced visit had to do with the office memo he’d received this morning, pertaining to a bit of unfinished business left behind in Manhattan.
Rising from his rocker, David takes it upon himself to close the gap, striding down the lawn before the driver even had a chance to circle around to the back door. Pausing where grass turned to gravel, he crosses his arms, looking on with idle boredom as the driver stands aside, clearing the way for Lila Sleater to emerge from the back of the car.
”You’re doin’ house calls now?”
Sleater circles around the front of the vehicle, coming to greet David with outstretched and unreciprocated handshake. Grimacing from the blatant show of disrespect, she makes a show of admiring the landscape around them, her eyes darting back toward him several times along the way.
”I had to see for myself. This is quite a far cry from the city, isn’t it?”
”Not far enough, apparently. The f*ck you want, Sleater?”
”I’m still your boss, David.”
”I still don’t give a f*ck, Lila. You can swing your d*ck around all you want around the office or the arenas, but out here? You’re on my turf, my time. The f*ck you want?”
Her frustration visibly increasing, Sleater waves off the driver, imploring him to return to the driver’s seat so that she and her employee might ‘have the room’. Watching as he strides away, Sleater crosses her arms, declining to respond until the familiar thud of the door shutting behind him affirmed that the two could speak unimposed upon.
”I’m here out of concern, David.”
”Hm. Don’t need it. Have a nice trip back.”
He turns to leave with a shrug of his shoulders, instantaneously causing Sleater to give chase. Circling in front of him, she boldly plants herself between him and the house, her eyes popping some as the realization of what she’d exactly just done sinks in as David bounds down upon her with his eyes, a tell-tale look of furious indignance washing across his face.
”David, today, you’re right. You get to be right, okay? I’m here out of concern, and right now, it’s all my own.”
”Get the f*ck outta my way, and you ain’t got sh*t to worry about now do you?”
”Would that it were that easy, right?”
”Look, I heard you stammerin’ on back in New York, alright? I get it. You didn’t know Kyzer’d have a sword. You didn’t know he’d actually try’n kill me. You’re a naive, walkin’ f*ckin’ pantsuit without sight or sound about what’s goin’ on under your own f*ckin’ nose. It’s fine. No hard feelings. Now leave.”
”On the contrary!”
In a full blown fit, Sleater draws a stack of paper out her bag, slamming the bag upon the ground at both their feet as she does. Holding it out - rather, thrusting it out so much that it crumples some within the force of her grip - she jams her free finger down upon it, pointing at no specific part of the verbage upon it in particular as she speaks.
”There are a million and one moving pieces keeping the WFWF afloat at any given moment, and I’ve got a hand in every last one of them, right down to this god damn contract you and your second forced me into signing at practical gunpoint!”
”Ain’t exactly how it went, but okay…”
In spite of all you may believe, I’m not a stupid woman, David. I’m where I am in life for a reason. I see this mansion, alright? I’ve seen now what - and who - it is you live for, and stop me if I’m wrong, but I’ve cause to believe now that you’re at least in informal custody of a child.”
”Ain’t exactly your f*ckin’ business. What’s the point?”
”My point is, why in God’s name should I have any expectation that you’ve got anything left for me after what Kyzer’s put you through?!”
Out of steam, her arms drop to her side, as she pants somewhat, exasperated at having run herself clean out of breath.
The truth hurts, and truth be told, he had given more than a few passing thoughts to the notion of hanging it all up. He didn’t see himself with any particular bone left to pick. He’d beaten everyone there is to beat, silenced anyone there was to shut up. There was no question left to the fact that he was the very valid, very undisputed, highly untouchable World Heavyweight Champion, but all that renown had come at quite the cost, least of which had come last week when his old ally had very seriously attempted to decapitate him and end his life in the presence of thousands. That’s a steep price of potential to tie up a few loose ends, and with his knots all secured on the business side of things, he’d seriously taken his mind back toward tidying up the world at home - not to even begin to speak about whatever the hell all this with the kid exactly meant.
The lingering question, at least for him - not that she’d ever know - is what exactly was there left that was keeping him in play?
In short?
”I ain’t a b*tch.”
Pride.
The damndest thing, and all but a birth defect assuming your last name is Brennan by biology.
”That’s not what I implied.”
”So what’s the problem?”
”I’ve got to be forgiven for entertaining the thought that a man with no legal obligation to keep working, who just found himself on the business side of attempted murder, who’s got all...well, this to live for because my God, have I told you yet just how nice all this is might give a bit of consideration to exercising that sort of clause. I mean, the stipulations were in place. Even if the law wanted to try and touch Kyzer, I’d still have a bit of an uphill climb trying to fire him for playing within the rules, right?”
”I ain't afraid of Kyzer.”
”Yes, you'd established as much back in New York. So, I shouldn't lose sleep over the prospect of you skipping out on your big homecoming?”
”Lose even less if you'll agree to refer it as f*ckin’ anything but that.”
”Really? Huh. Frank can't seem to contain himself.”
”Bully for Frank. I'd just as soon ask you to pass the place over next loop through, but I'm guessin’ that ain't in the cards.”
”I can make it worth your while.”
”Just gimme somethin’ to hit.”
”But you'll be there?”
”Be there? Sh*t. Get the f*ck off of my property and I'll show up early.”
Needle in a Haystack
You should've kept runnin’, kid.
Look, I ain't gonna white knight you here. Mesh’s a tough cookie. I'm sure she can hang just fine, and I get that anyone else in your shoes’d be just as susceptible to come in here and try’n make a name for ‘emselves by takin’ out someone ahead of ‘em in the peckin’ order. Sh*t, I'll give you a handful of credit just for tryin’. Takes stones to come in as an unknown quantity and swing for the fences. For all you know, Mesh could've just as soon fed that sh*t back to you ass end first, and you'd have just as quickly been back out the door before you'd ever made your way in, so good on you for takin’ the initiative.
I just don't like the way you went and did it.
I dunno. Guess I just got a problem with sucker hits lately.
But hey, you made your point. You're Needles Payne. You're here to fight. You're here to win - even if you haven't yet. You're here to do whatever it takes to claw your little way to the top, tooth and f*ckin’ nail.
Now’s your chance, boy.
That sh*t against Mesh?
That wasn’t even a warm up.
See, I dunno if you were payin’ attention out in New York - unlikely, on account of your ass cuttin’ and runnin’ like a b*tch - but you're gonna need your ass a bit more’n a foothold of leverage on me to put my ass down. Sh*t, Mike tried to cut my f*ckin’ head off and I still brought that sh*t right back to his front door.
You think you can do better?
Read much?
This place has been beggin’ for someone good enough to knock me off of my pedestal.
Joe Bishop did it once. MIA.
Frank Lynn had to take a page outta your mutually held b*tch book to get the job done.
Kyzer only stood tall when he didn't have to look me square in the eyes.
You think you can hang?
What - ‘cause you put down Mesh?
That was child’s play, son. You're pickin’ on folks your own size now. What I might lack in the oversized heart Mesh’s clearly packin’, I make up for in puttin’ pieces of sh*t like you in your f*ckin’ place.
Don't twist the facts.
You hurt Mesh.
You didn't beat her.
Better men’n you have stood in a f*ckin’ line for years on end to try and put ‘emselves in position to be the man who'll take my ass out, and every last f*ckin’ one of ‘em’s come out the gift shop with their tail between their legs and not so much as a souvenir shirt to show for it.
We’re supposed to think that Needles is ‘bout to change the f*ckin’ landscape?
Keep f*ckin’ runnin’, Needles.
This one ain't worth either of our time.
There’s an overwhelming lack of common sense beyond the curtain.
Over the course of eight years, David Brennan had just about seen it all.
Bear mace.
Hyper-violent midgets.
Exploding barbed wire.
(The sheer mechanics of that one still baffle him to this day.)
Tonight, he’d found himself mere inches from the receiving end of an attempted decapitation.
That’s a pretty deep list. From an outsider’s perspective, one or two deep might be enough to otherwise sour any rationally-minded individual on this business, but throughout it all, David had soldiered on, unwittingly stepping out time and time again to see what it is lying in wait to try and outdo whatever it is had taken the top tier of depravity on any given night.
Others had grown weary of the WFWF’s propensity for the bizarre. Some had formed factions, geared solely toward tearing it down and remaking it in their own image. Others had embraced it.
David simply rolled with it.
There was a lot to hate about this business.
The politics.
The mind games.
The management.
All of that, as far as David was concerned, fell well above any physical dangers that plagued his line of work. He’d just as soon swap places with Ace Bennett or Raider amid The New Epoch’s assault on their rivals of the time and take a full blast of mace to the eyes himself if it meant he never had to sit in on another meeting, look over his shoulder for Michael Kyzer’s next ploy, or make nice with the likes of Lila Sleater ever again.
And still?
He’d just as soon subject himself to the monotony and anxiety that came with any of those chores, perhaps, if it meant he never had to make the nerve-grindingly routine exit through the curtain into the organized chaos and overwhelming onslaught of the backstage area ever again.
”David, what the hell?! The medics...!”
First at bat? Natalie Collins. The prized apple of David Brennan’s eye, and in truth, the only welcome sight amid all he’d expected to come into contact with as he’d slung the curtain aside, he’d been almost certain she’d be first in line already the moment he’d shoved the medical staff aside, his overwhelming need to cling to some semblance of pride on his way out of the complete sh*t show that had just ensued between himself and his opponent trumping any physical pain that might be nagging him.
”It’s fine, it’s fine. C’mon, let’s just - “
”Brennan!”
Batting second? Lila Sleater - the esteemed GM of the WFWF, and in David’s eyes, at least for the moment, one of the very catalysts for the war he’d just fought. Week in and week out for the better part of several months, she’d turned a blind eye every time Kyzer emerged from the shadows to strike David down, unguarded and unawares, acting only when Kyzer finally invoked his subservient man-dragon - barring David from the arena, clearing the way to book a stipulation that allowed, well, that to have just played out.
”...f*ckin’ not now, Sleater…”
”Brennan, wait! I...Kyzer...the sword...none of that was…”
”F*ck off, Sleater!”
For such a small, dainty imposition, Nat could pack a verbal punch when she needed to. She’d always had a way of reading David, and in that moment, she’d cited everything he was too winded and beaten to articulate like her final grade depended on it. He’d lost count over the years as to just how many times he’d uttered that same exact command, word for word, only for Sleater to maintain her poise, bolstered by her role as David’s superior, at least as far as the corporate hierarchy was concerned.
But she held no sword over Nat’s head, and faced with the decision of pressing forward or holding her piece for another day, she cowered, clearing the way for Brennan to storm past, out of range of any further conversation.
He wasn’t an unreasonable man, but would it kill them to just give him a minute.
”You need a doctor.”
”I know. Just not there.”
They turned a corner, making a beeline for David’s private quarters and putting a greater distance between themselves and the overwhelming chaos that stood in wait just beyond the curtain, when the air suddenly reeked of the unmistakable scent of tobacco smoke.
”Son of a b*tch…”
There, perched atop a stack of road crates, a shogun’s sword haphazardly lain across his lap as he lazily dragged off of his smoldering cigarette, was the kid.
”David…?”
”It’s cool, Nat. How’s the back, kid?”
”I have worse.”
He hops down off of his perch, snatching up the sword in his hand in one smooth motion, almost as if to try and accentuate his point of being unphased by the damage he’d incurred at the hands of David’s opponent.
”You want this?”
He flips the sword, resting the blade upon his hand and offering the hilt to David.
”Keep it. Fought down a dragon with that sh*t. Hang it on your wall or somethin’.”
”As soon I find a wall.”
”I’m sorry….David...um…”
She fumbles, lost for a proper salutation with which she can address the boy.
”A-Wut.”
”Right, ok...A-Wut. Um...where...where do you go from here?”
A-Wut clutches his sword, his head held high, defiant in the face of Nat’s line of concern.
”I manage.”
”Made it this far, right?”
”David!”
”What? Kid’s tough, right? I mean, you seen that sh*t, yeah?”
”Be that as it may, he...A-Wut, how old are you?”
Taken aback, A-Wut looks slightly perplexed by the question, as if it had never before been a factor of discussion among anyone looking to pay him any mind.
”I have twelve years.”
”Do you have a home? Somewhere to go?”
”Not here. Not yet. I find.”
David’s eyes go wide a second before Nat can turn to lock hers on him. It was an inadvertent side effect of that little talent of hers, reading him the way she could. A connection like that often becomes something of a two way street, and he knew what was coursing through her mind a second before she even had a chance to make with the verbalization.
”Are you f*ckin’ serious right now?”
”David…”
”...after all that sh*t on the lawn…”
”He didn’t mean any harm.”
”Yeah, to you, maybe!”
At that, A-Wut burst out laughing, remembering all too well the souvenir of a shattered nose he’d handed David some months earlier in exchange for his own.
”David…”
”You’re f*ckin’ serious here, ain’t you?”
”I just…”
For a moment, David’s link was shattered. He couldn’t find a rationale behind this one. They’d never discussed kids - it hadn’t ever even come to the table, and Nat wasn’t ever one to sit on something she wanted out of life. They didn’t even have a dog. The notion of the two of them caring for something beyond their own needs had always been so far removed from the equation that for her to suddenly become so insistent on taking this kid under their wing after how tumultuous their earliest encounters had been was downright puzzling to David. It was so out of character and out of tune with the tempo their lives had beat along at these past few months that he found himself eyeing his shoulders, almost involuntarily, wondering if Kyzer was coming up around the bend, waiting to spring his next game on him.
That didn’t happen, but in a coy sort of sweep, she ushered him aside, trying to draw him out of the defiant child’s earshot for just a moment.
”...David, Jack woud’ve dumped this kid out on his ass. That’s not you. It’s not ideal - neither of us would’ve asked for this - but I think that, like it or not, we own this now.”
She was right.
David recalled, rather vividly, some of Jack’s closest ears to the streets. Kids, not much older than A-Wut, here. They were easy targets - impoverished. Unwanted. Short on any sort of role models to play moral compass in their formative years.
Not all that much unlike himself, when you think about it.
Jack would call them ‘untouchable’. Cops at the time’d never shake down a kid, and nobody’d really blink in the event that they didn’t come home at the end of the night.
David had never been much in the way of kids, but that last bit had always gotten under his skin something fierce.
And you know something?
This kid?
He’d done alright by David just now.
David turned back to look at him. Defiant to the end. Most kids would be quivering in their shoes, but damned if this kid wasn’t hardened something cold and mean. He sucked in a big breath of air.
This one was gonna sting.
”Alright. You wanna wall, kid?”
David Brennan:
The War’s End
A New Era
Close your books.
This story’s over.
The New Epoch?
Dead.
Anything left in that beat up tank of Kyzer’s is between him and Drakz.
Me?
I’m above it.
For years, I spent my life beneath the thumb of anyone with a f*ckin’ soapbox lookin’ to posture ‘emselves upon the world with the hot f*ckin’ take that I was ridin’ the coattails of names of renown here in the WFWF. For years, I spent my time playin’ third f*ckin’ fiddle to the whims of Edith and Beverly over there, b*tchin’ back and forth about the climate and whose turn it was to pay the cover at bingo this week. You can hardly go back and find yourself a mention of The New Epoch without findin’ some little f*ckin’ slight of ‘...and David Brennan’ tossed into the mix like whoever was puttin’ the keys to the paper thought they were god’s f*ckin’ gift to the written snark.
Now what?
Silence.
The last time Drakz set foot in the ring across from me, I took his WFWF Tag Team Championship and put a decisive and finite end to his unprecedented run with that sh*t. He’ll sit there and blame Josh Dean ‘til he’s blue in the face from havin’ already told you once before how many times it took David Brennan to finally pick up the W.
He ain’t gonna tell you who started Dean’s latest run from a flat back position on the biggest stage of ‘em all.
Still, this ain’t exactly about Drakz. Push comes to shove, I’d stand on his side of the ring a dozen times over, should he see the need. I ain’t lookin’ to take too much outta his corner, after all.
He ain’t exactly wrong on the one and two front.
But you, Kyzer.
One and done?
Sh*t son.
You’re played out, ain’t you? I mean, truth told? I don’t even know where to begin. I almost’d like to say I told you so, but it just feels so...I dunno...trite.
How’s about I just make good on my word? Step on your toes once more, and make good on promises where you f*ckin’ couldn’t on account of my head still bein’ firmly planted upon my shoulders?
How’s about we just chalk this one up to ‘Michael Kyzer who’?
Defying Expectations
”Oh what the f*ck now?”
Brennan Point doesn’t get many visitors. More than a handful of folk have driven along the winding coastline, wondering who, if anyone, occupies the sprawling mansion atop the cragged peak overlooking the northern Atlantic, but anyone bold enough to try and venture up the path that leads to the massive green pasture afronting the looming household would be held up at the gate a quarter of the way up unless they were either party to association beyond such restriction or they were to be expected.
Apparently, today, limousines carry clout.
That’s the only scenario David could envision that would have allowed for an unfamiliar vehicle to venture this far up the path, even as he was all but certain who he’d find on the other side just as soon as the doors swung open. Before his trip to New York, he’d have a sneaking suspicion that this was another one of Kyzer’s games, but for even as far out of character as he liked to wander, this would be way out of left field, even for him. No, here and now, David was altogether convinced, as the car slowed to a halt halfway up the gravel drive, that this unannounced visit had to do with the office memo he’d received this morning, pertaining to a bit of unfinished business left behind in Manhattan.
Rising from his rocker, David takes it upon himself to close the gap, striding down the lawn before the driver even had a chance to circle around to the back door. Pausing where grass turned to gravel, he crosses his arms, looking on with idle boredom as the driver stands aside, clearing the way for Lila Sleater to emerge from the back of the car.
”You’re doin’ house calls now?”
Sleater circles around the front of the vehicle, coming to greet David with outstretched and unreciprocated handshake. Grimacing from the blatant show of disrespect, she makes a show of admiring the landscape around them, her eyes darting back toward him several times along the way.
”I had to see for myself. This is quite a far cry from the city, isn’t it?”
”Not far enough, apparently. The f*ck you want, Sleater?”
”I’m still your boss, David.”
”I still don’t give a f*ck, Lila. You can swing your d*ck around all you want around the office or the arenas, but out here? You’re on my turf, my time. The f*ck you want?”
Her frustration visibly increasing, Sleater waves off the driver, imploring him to return to the driver’s seat so that she and her employee might ‘have the room’. Watching as he strides away, Sleater crosses her arms, declining to respond until the familiar thud of the door shutting behind him affirmed that the two could speak unimposed upon.
”I’m here out of concern, David.”
”Hm. Don’t need it. Have a nice trip back.”
He turns to leave with a shrug of his shoulders, instantaneously causing Sleater to give chase. Circling in front of him, she boldly plants herself between him and the house, her eyes popping some as the realization of what she’d exactly just done sinks in as David bounds down upon her with his eyes, a tell-tale look of furious indignance washing across his face.
”David, today, you’re right. You get to be right, okay? I’m here out of concern, and right now, it’s all my own.”
”Get the f*ck outta my way, and you ain’t got sh*t to worry about now do you?”
”Would that it were that easy, right?”
”Look, I heard you stammerin’ on back in New York, alright? I get it. You didn’t know Kyzer’d have a sword. You didn’t know he’d actually try’n kill me. You’re a naive, walkin’ f*ckin’ pantsuit without sight or sound about what’s goin’ on under your own f*ckin’ nose. It’s fine. No hard feelings. Now leave.”
”On the contrary!”
In a full blown fit, Sleater draws a stack of paper out her bag, slamming the bag upon the ground at both their feet as she does. Holding it out - rather, thrusting it out so much that it crumples some within the force of her grip - she jams her free finger down upon it, pointing at no specific part of the verbage upon it in particular as she speaks.
”There are a million and one moving pieces keeping the WFWF afloat at any given moment, and I’ve got a hand in every last one of them, right down to this god damn contract you and your second forced me into signing at practical gunpoint!”
”Ain’t exactly how it went, but okay…”
In spite of all you may believe, I’m not a stupid woman, David. I’m where I am in life for a reason. I see this mansion, alright? I’ve seen now what - and who - it is you live for, and stop me if I’m wrong, but I’ve cause to believe now that you’re at least in informal custody of a child.”
”Ain’t exactly your f*ckin’ business. What’s the point?”
”My point is, why in God’s name should I have any expectation that you’ve got anything left for me after what Kyzer’s put you through?!”
Out of steam, her arms drop to her side, as she pants somewhat, exasperated at having run herself clean out of breath.
The truth hurts, and truth be told, he had given more than a few passing thoughts to the notion of hanging it all up. He didn’t see himself with any particular bone left to pick. He’d beaten everyone there is to beat, silenced anyone there was to shut up. There was no question left to the fact that he was the very valid, very undisputed, highly untouchable World Heavyweight Champion, but all that renown had come at quite the cost, least of which had come last week when his old ally had very seriously attempted to decapitate him and end his life in the presence of thousands. That’s a steep price of potential to tie up a few loose ends, and with his knots all secured on the business side of things, he’d seriously taken his mind back toward tidying up the world at home - not to even begin to speak about whatever the hell all this with the kid exactly meant.
The lingering question, at least for him - not that she’d ever know - is what exactly was there left that was keeping him in play?
In short?
”I ain’t a b*tch.”
Pride.
The damndest thing, and all but a birth defect assuming your last name is Brennan by biology.
”That’s not what I implied.”
”So what’s the problem?”
”I’ve got to be forgiven for entertaining the thought that a man with no legal obligation to keep working, who just found himself on the business side of attempted murder, who’s got all...well, this to live for because my God, have I told you yet just how nice all this is might give a bit of consideration to exercising that sort of clause. I mean, the stipulations were in place. Even if the law wanted to try and touch Kyzer, I’d still have a bit of an uphill climb trying to fire him for playing within the rules, right?”
”I ain't afraid of Kyzer.”
”Yes, you'd established as much back in New York. So, I shouldn't lose sleep over the prospect of you skipping out on your big homecoming?”
”Lose even less if you'll agree to refer it as f*ckin’ anything but that.”
”Really? Huh. Frank can't seem to contain himself.”
”Bully for Frank. I'd just as soon ask you to pass the place over next loop through, but I'm guessin’ that ain't in the cards.”
”I can make it worth your while.”
”Just gimme somethin’ to hit.”
”But you'll be there?”
”Be there? Sh*t. Get the f*ck off of my property and I'll show up early.”
Needle in a Haystack
You should've kept runnin’, kid.
Look, I ain't gonna white knight you here. Mesh’s a tough cookie. I'm sure she can hang just fine, and I get that anyone else in your shoes’d be just as susceptible to come in here and try’n make a name for ‘emselves by takin’ out someone ahead of ‘em in the peckin’ order. Sh*t, I'll give you a handful of credit just for tryin’. Takes stones to come in as an unknown quantity and swing for the fences. For all you know, Mesh could've just as soon fed that sh*t back to you ass end first, and you'd have just as quickly been back out the door before you'd ever made your way in, so good on you for takin’ the initiative.
I just don't like the way you went and did it.
I dunno. Guess I just got a problem with sucker hits lately.
But hey, you made your point. You're Needles Payne. You're here to fight. You're here to win - even if you haven't yet. You're here to do whatever it takes to claw your little way to the top, tooth and f*ckin’ nail.
Now’s your chance, boy.
That sh*t against Mesh?
That wasn’t even a warm up.
See, I dunno if you were payin’ attention out in New York - unlikely, on account of your ass cuttin’ and runnin’ like a b*tch - but you're gonna need your ass a bit more’n a foothold of leverage on me to put my ass down. Sh*t, Mike tried to cut my f*ckin’ head off and I still brought that sh*t right back to his front door.
You think you can do better?
Read much?
This place has been beggin’ for someone good enough to knock me off of my pedestal.
Joe Bishop did it once. MIA.
Frank Lynn had to take a page outta your mutually held b*tch book to get the job done.
Kyzer only stood tall when he didn't have to look me square in the eyes.
You think you can hang?
What - ‘cause you put down Mesh?
That was child’s play, son. You're pickin’ on folks your own size now. What I might lack in the oversized heart Mesh’s clearly packin’, I make up for in puttin’ pieces of sh*t like you in your f*ckin’ place.
Don't twist the facts.
You hurt Mesh.
You didn't beat her.
Better men’n you have stood in a f*ckin’ line for years on end to try and put ‘emselves in position to be the man who'll take my ass out, and every last f*ckin’ one of ‘em’s come out the gift shop with their tail between their legs and not so much as a souvenir shirt to show for it.
We’re supposed to think that Needles is ‘bout to change the f*ckin’ landscape?
Keep f*ckin’ runnin’, Needles.
This one ain't worth either of our time.
I dont know good luck 
