Post by Press1269 on May 11, 2020 15:58:19 GMT
5/11/2020 [OFF CAMERA]
SANTA MONICA PIER
200 SANTA MONICA PIER, SANTA MONICA, CALIFORNIA
Waves crashed upon the beach and against the large wooden columns that helped hold up and support the massive structure that was the Santa Monica Pier. They are thrust into concrete bases buried deep within the sand, most of which closest to the beach bear the tags of various graffiti artists. Press and Youth had made there way down the sand bank to end up on this lower end of the beach and everything about the ocean sounded louder thanks to the lack of buzz that would usually accompany from activity up above. The Pier still wasn't open, the various shops and carnival rides appearing dormant and dead, like giant monstrosities looming in the cloak of night.
The two men had come to one of the known haunts of a sprite colony that had taken up residence somewhere beneath the pier, but thus far they had been unsuccessful in coaxing the little bastards out of their hidey holes. They had the usual smorgasbord of accouterments for the job; A large supreme pizza from Bartacceli's that Press had already eaten three slices from since sitting around, a bag full of assorted fruit flavored hard candies, and a twelve pack of Classic Coke. Youth's grimoire had gleaned that sprites had an exceptionally high sweet tooth, an addiction to corn syrup that caused a sense of euphoria in the tiny supernatural creatures.
Only problem was, so did his partner, which was evident by the crunching sound of what smelled like Strawberry emanating from his mouth. Youth pursed his lips as he folded the top of the hardy candy bag to keep out anymore unwanted advancements and shifted it over to the opposite side of him for safe keeping.
Press' eyebrow arched at the action and his tone was miffed when he finally spoke. "This is bullshit. We've been out for an hour..."
Youth sighed, pulling his legs up so that he could tuck his knees behind his arms and rest his chin on them. "I've never tried to call Pixies before. I figured if they were around they wouldn't be able to resist..."
Press chuckled at the absurdity of the statement, but only momentarily. The fact was, this wasn't the craziest thing that the duo had ever tried in pursuit of a lead. He reached over for one of the cokes from the twelve pack and popped the top.
Just as the fizzle subsided and he drew the can to his lips, a high pitched shrill cry sounded out behind them. The noise drew the two men's attention as they hopped up to their feet to look back but saw nothing. Could have been the wind. Could have been a cat in heat finding a mate. Either way, the mood was unsettled as Press took his first swig of the sugary liquid.
Another cry, this time from the side of them, had the two men's heads whipping around to glare in that direction. Again, there was nothing, but just when Press was about to make a remark, something struck him on the hand, causing him to drop the can of coke to the sand. He recoiled a bit, backing up from the now pouring liquid and shaking the hand that had been hit. Upon looking at the spot where he had felt the prick, a tiny red wound was forming that almost looked like a bee sting.
Through narrowed eyes he tried to pierce the darkness surrounding them while Youth did much the same. The younger of the two edges his right hand back to a pouch down at his side as another cry went up into the night, this time from the left, and he spared a glance at his partner to get ready.
Press nodded in the affirmative, a look of irritation evident by his expression. When a fourth cry went up from behind them, back towards the ocean, Youth quickly spun around, letting the contents of the pouch fly. Sparkling dust shimmered in the moonlight that was able to sneak its way under the pier and as it settled several tiny humanoid shapes that sparkled the same could be seen hovering in front of them. A quick survey told them there were eight of the diminutive figures, what looked like dragonfly wings beating furiously to keep them aloft.
"Relax, we're just here to talk and come bearing gifts." Youth says, holding his hands up in front of him to look as nonthreatening as possible.
The tiny figures, realizing by the way that these two were looking directly at them that their ruse was up, began to shimmer and take solid form. Standing at maybe a solid three inches tall and in various rainbow skin tones, they didn't exactly cast the most imposing of figures. Their speed, however, was another story entirely. They zipped back and forth in front of the two men in such rapid succession that it was almost like they were blinking in and out of existence, appearing one place and then suddenly appearing in another. In the brief glimpses they could glean that the creatures were wearing candy wrappers for clothing and some of them had plastic tooth pick like swords strapped to their sides by bread tie belts.
Youth could feel the tension of his partner at his side and shook his head 'No' in warning. This is who they had been searching for and he didn't want his partners temperament ruining any chances at a parlay.
One of the tiny creatures flew forward, out ahead of all the rest, and shook himself much like a dog would after being doused with water. The glitter that Youth had thrown on them drifted free of his form, and the younger of the two couldn't suppress his smile at the fact it much resembled Tinkerbell from Peter Pan. The figure noticed the stupid grin and his face scrunched comically as he hovered aloft, fists buried into his hips in indignant fashion.
"What is the meaning of this, Redeemers?" Even the voice was tiny. High pitched and tinkling like wind chimes.
Youth held up a hand and gave a curt bow, more to keep from howling with laughter than any formalities. "We seek audience with your people about matters of grave import, master sprite. We have come bearing many gifts."
With a wave of his hand behind him he indicated the candies, pizza, and sodas. The buzzing sound given off by the Sprite's wings intensified, and in a swarm they darted right past the men and descended upon the prize. The one who had spoke watched this in complete disbelief. His entire company had abandoned him for snacks, leaving him all alone with the two interlopers. But as the wrappers fell loose from the candy, the soda cans popped in a fizzle, the urge to join became so great that his disbelief vanished and he too dove down to the sands to enjoy their spoils.
Press and Youth both turned to watch as the Pixies all but destroyed the bounty they had brought to the beach. In a matter of minutes the last slurp of soda and the last candy was broken apart, leaving all of the tiny creatures looking bloated and slowed. In fact, they were so bulbous now that most of them couldn't manage to flap their wings hard enough to keep them afloat, and one by one they settled into the sand, many holding their bellies in satisfaction, an a few actually curling up on the spot to take a nap.
The one Sprite that had spoken to them stumbled around as if drunk, catching himself against an emptied soda can for fear of nosediving into the sand. Youth knelt down and held out his hand at the tiny creature who looked up at him in concern, realizing that he was in no condition to protest. In a stupor he stumbled forward, falling so that the palms of his hands caught the edge of Youth's hand. It took a few tries to finally swing his leg up onto the open palm, but with a flutter of his wings for support he finally manged to do so.
Youth stood up, hoisting his tiny prize which felt like he weighted ounces rather than pounds, and held him aloft so that both he and Press could see. The Pixie lay flat on his back now, breathing heavily, tired out by the venture of the climb and looking completely spent. His adorably tiny fingers traced an outline around his protruding purple stomach and he looked at the two men with a slight grin.
"What..." He pauses, eyes fluttering to try and stay awake. "What is the meaning of this?"
Even Press couldn't keep his hard visage at the sight of the little guy in such contented countenance and he chuckled softly. "Do you really think these little things could kill someone?"
The Sprite's eyes popped open suddenly and he looked genuinely confused as his voice rose another octave that was actually a little unsettling to human ears. "KILL SOMEONE?!? We would never!"
Press and Youth exchanged eyebrow raises before Youth finally shrugged his shoulders. "That's not what we heard, little man. Word on the street is that you guys have been on a rampage. Someone even indicated that you might be in league with Trea."
The Sprite was shaking his head rapidly, blinking from one man to the other. "Who spreads such lies about Bolock's friends? We won't stand for it! Trea was once a friend, but she betrayed us..."
"Betrayed you?" Asked the big man skeptically. "How?"
The Sprite, known as Bolock, looked completely disgusted as he sat up now on his elbows, having sobered from his sugar high at the gravity of the conversation. "Trea came to us to learn our secrets and ask for intel, but we found out what she was planning and told her no! In her anger, she slayed my friend, Foozle, and converted his power into her own..."
"Hold on a Sec...what do you mean by that?" Youth looked puzzled.
"She has our power now. She can go from big to small. She can be invisible. She can..."
"So you're saying Trea can convert another fey's power into herself? What kind of fucking Pixie is she?"
Bolock recoiled a bit, his tiny face looking truly afraid. "That's just it...she isn't a Pixie at all. She's a Mim!"
Press shook his head in disbelief. "Are you fucking kidding me? Does Leandra know?"
Bolock nodded his head slowly, looking from one man to the other. "She didn't at first, but she found out. Trea was her partner, her mate. When the challenge happened and Trea was banished, she swore us to secrecy. She didn't want the other Pixies to find out and demand justice be met."
"By Justice, you mean executing her and releasing the power."
Bolock nodded rapidly and seemed honestly disoriented by the fact that he had shared this information so freely. He held his tiny hands out in front of him in trepidation. "What have I done? Why did I tell you that? Bolock has broken his promise..."
Press smirked as he pulled back, having heard everything that he needed to. "Don't take it so hard, buddy. We spiked the snacks with a little zone of truth serum. We knew you guys couldn't resist the sweets and would gorge yourselves if given the opportunity, so I'd say you'll be feeling mighty honest for the next day or so."
Bolock looked mortified as he buried his face in his palms and began to give off the tiniest of tinkling sobs. "Leandra will be so angry with us..."
Youth knelt and gently slid Bolock onto the sand next to his other compatriots and shook his head. "I wouldn't be so worried about that, buddy. This is all starting to make sense and I don't think Leandra is who she seems."
Bolock looked up at that and stared hard at Youth, unsure what he was saying. Youth didn't stick around to explain as he stood up and he and his partner began walking away from the scene back towards the steps that would take them to the parking area.
"Just so we're on the same page, are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Youth asked.
"Leandra is no longer Leandra. She hasn't been this entire time."
"Trea killed Leandra a long time ago and took her power. The banishment was all a sham, along with the call for help investigating these murders. It explains why she didn't want us investigating Trea, why she was so upset when we'd mention other Pixie involvements. She was trying to throw us off the trail cause she knew we'd eventually make it to the Sprites who knew her secret. Trea has been stealing other Pixie's powers."
"A fucking Mim..." Press added, grim was his voice.
A Mim, or Mimir, was a demon that originated in Viking lore that could steal the breath of life from those lured in by its charms. In that culture, breath wasn't just the act of oxygen and carbon monoxide exchange, but was the essence of the soul. The connection between the physical realm and the internal self. So when one took a breath of air, they drew the metaphysical inside to where the soul lived, and those two entities mingled before exhaling. It was a basic understanding of life and death where when you came into the world you drew breath and when you left it you exhaled. The Mim could steal that from people, absorbing their knowledge, their essence, into themselves for power. Later on, the idea shifted to the ability to absorb the powers of other demons or angelic beings. Essentially, when you went up against a Mim, you weren't fighting just one entity, but several. All the trapped souls of the entities that it had absorbed before.
This changed things. Alot of things. The Fey here in Santa Monica were in grave danger, but because they were outsiders, they probably wouldn't be believed. That meant they would have to take the direct approach.
Leandra/Trea...leader of the Pixies...had to die.
The scene opens to the fairly well lit basement of Munin's Santa Monica home. In the far corner there are mats on the floor for sparring and to the side of that various work out equipment. A heavy bag hangs from an anchor in the ceiling, it's body having seen fair use recently. In the center of the room is a table and the camera focuses on that area as Flaming Youth sits in a chair just behind it. On the center of the table is what appears to be a pile of slightly white, hardened, dog poop. Despite this fact, Youth's face is serious as he places his palms on the tables surface adjacent to the poop and begins to shake his head.
"The neighbor was out walking her dog the other day as I sat upon the front porch, and I couldn't help but notice that she allowed the little bastard to just pop a squat on the sidewalk right out in front of our house. After doing it's business she led the little mange back up the street to her house, leaving for us the digestive little present. Some fucking people, am I right?"
He shakes his head again, glancing down at the poop more than a little put out.
"So I did what any sanitary citizen would do. I went and got some protective gloves and a mask..." He pauses, rolling his eyes at the next statement. "Lord knows we have plenty of those lying around thanks to Nin. Anyways, so I go out there and collect the dog poop and started to march my way towards the neighbors yard so I could fling it at her front door when a notion suddenly hit me..."
His eyes widened, giving off a 'Whoa' expression.
"Staring down at this poop, it reminded me of something. Something like....IPW superstars."
Wink.
"You see, you folks share a lot in common with this nugget of stink. You all started out as unprocessed food, consumed by the mangy old mud-show that is the Iconic Pro Wrestling machine and eventually made your way through its digestive tract. Passing along, it sucked out any flavor any of you ever had. Digestive juices burned out all your talent. Sure, the process took some time, but in the end everything that wasn't already stripped from you people ended up as waste. Waste that ended up being big ole piles of shit by the time Munin called us up and asked us to turn this company upside down."
Youth shrugs, looking mock sympathetic.
"I digress, it only hurts so much cause it's true. People like Oliver Black, Brianna Rissi, Astrid Samson, Aaron Kostan, Jason Dave, Scott Wilson...they all had already been put through the process. They were already husks of unusable matter that had been scoured of any sustainable value. That's why it was so easy to route you people. I mean, you might as well have gift wrapped IPW and served it to us on a silver platter. We came in to this promotion like Roto-Rooter and gave it a proper cleanse!"
He pauses for a moment, trying to decide if that analogy was a boon or an insult to himself. After a second he blinks, the jury still out, and then looks back to the camera and continues.
"But man...you kids were a tough job. Little floaters that wouldn't just go down the fucking toilet. Don't you hate that? Just standing there waiting for the tank to refill so you can try and get that remnant out of your life for good? Either way, our quartet of adventurers have accomplished their goals in rather short order. While we didn't eradicate you completely as we may have previously stated, we have reduced you to the annoying nuggets that still rise above the water just enough to give off a stink. Hell, some of you continue to call us the new kids. You say that we haven't 'earned' anything, that we haven't 'done' enough. I wonder..."
He casually strokes his chin and looks wistfully off into the distance. Or rather, the far wall of the basement.
"How many times do we have to walk out of the big shows on top before you idiots give up that troupe. We beat the Queen Bee's. Zachariah Krahe is thus far undefeated and took the Television Championship off of it's longest reigning champion, Oliver Black. We beat Jason Dave & Scott Wilson. Munin beat the holy hell out of Astrid Samson...or...heh, heh, heh...excuse me. Dastrid!"
Youth can't keep a straight face as he buries his forehead into his forearm and lets out a snort of laughter. After a second he does his best to compose himself, but when he looks back up at the camera, joyful tears streak down his face from mirth.
"Seriously though...how many of you asshat's have some evil persona of yourselves. I mean, trust me, when I look in the mirror I see a handsome devil staring back, but rarely does the mother fucker start talking to me about the nasty shit we could get into if I'd just let him in. Fuck me, it's like watching people masturbate to their own picture slideshows. Need I say more?"
He gestures to the dog poop on the table with a wave of his hand, still chuckling at the absurdity of it all.
"So what do you do with a dried up turd devoid of any real personality, creativity, or depth? Well shit, literally, here in IPW we just polish that nugget up!"
He reaches beneath the table and pulls out a small opened shoe box and inside are pieces of fabric, toothpicks, Mr. Potato Head attachments, and glitters. He unscrews the glitter and pours some onto the poop. It's brown hue now has the gift of glam.
"Look-a-there. Just like Oliver Black. Guy talks real big and bad until he actually has to prove it against a credible threat like Zachariah Krahe, and when he's put in his place what does he go out and do? He puts a little sparkle on his looks, gets another manager, and turns his back on Brianna Rissi on the biggest night of her career. Why? Cause, quite frankly, he needs the fucking attention. Otherwise, he's just the guy that Zach Krahe made his bitch."
Wink.
"In other news..." He says while pulling a black cowboy hat from the Mr. Potato Head line and plunks it down on the turd. "You got Jason Dave turning on his partner after our tag match cause ole' Scott Wilson wasn't getting it done. I mean, he's not wrong, but really Jason? Is it all Scott's fault you suck? Or maybe, just maybe, you saw the writing on the wall from the very beginning of this return to the ring of yours and thought you could get a little flavor back in that filthy muck you call a career by rubbing shoulders with The BombTrax. And when that didn't work, well, you took the opportunity to pull off a costume change and don your black hat, get back to the man you used to be before by laying Scott Wilson low. Again...the big story isn't that we walked out victorious, but that you turned on your partner. Bravo, asshat. Consider that turd officially polished."
He rolls his eyes.
"Even Astrid couldn't get away from this. She gave pretty good, but lets face facts. It wasn't good enough. Munin walks out victorious, after doing EXACTLY what she said she was going to do to her, and what's the parting image? Joshua Samson Esquire has returned and the two share an embrace as he carries her off into the sunset to recoup. What a bunch of contrived bullshit. Apparently in this company, even if you win you fail. These mother fuckers need to have the last word, the last laugh, the last hurrah even when they haven't accomplished a GOD DAMN THING!"
He's heated now, a sudden turn from his usual jovial self.
"And what do we have here...out of the shadows of yet ANOTHER FUCKING FAILURE...Enforcer and his pet goon, Vin Halsted, challenging us for the non-sanctioned IPW Tag Team Championships."
He smirks as if the irony were self evident.
"At Civil War Two, after failing to advance and become the Heavyweight Champion, you got the balls to go on record with Butterscotch Monroe and say that WE...THE BOMBTRAX...are not top level talent."
He bursts out with a chuckle that has no mirth, shaking his head while sucking on his teeth.
"See, with you two coming from Chicago and the Bronx, I don't know what kind of broken fucking English you two are used to, but let me see if I can put this into terms that you can understand. Matter of fact, I'll use your native dialect."
Youth sticks out his chest, jaw pointed towards the air, cheeks puffed out, and in a deeper than usual voice says, "Unlike the guys of this team that has challenged us that are not top level talent. Where the two of us are top level talent. Us guys that are in this team have sustained excellence through a long period of time. We actually win our big match at Civil War Two. We really good."
Youth lets out a long breath, looking exhausted.
"I mean...seriously, what the fuck? Did you guys watch an all night film festival of John Wayne movies and appropriate the offensive speech patterns that Native Americans were portrayed with back then, or are you just fucking retarded?"
He truly looks puzzled, unsure what he's supposed to do next. He...who has a pile of poop on his table.
"I'm honestly at a loss. Vin...I don't really know you. That's not a knock, I just haven't really seen you around the bend in this crazy industry of ours. You look imposing, but so does Enforcer, and he couldn't do a trivial thing like put Brianna Rissi on her back. I mean, that in and of itself is ludicrous to me. Anyone, and I'M SAYING ANYONE...can get Brianna Rissi on her back."
Wink.
"But this isn't about Rissi, and this isn't about what could have been if Enforcer had managed to remove his head from his ass. This is about you two challenging for the Tag Team Championships, which, just so we're clear. We Accept."
Shrug.
"There's no reason to beat around the bush. The powers that be at IPW, limited in their vision they may be, but a decision they have made. They made it when they made these two singles matches for Chaos. I imagine that Brooklyn has had just about enough of us as of late, and I know that Tapioca, while not really malicious, wouldn't mind it so much if we got brought down a peg or two. Unfortunately, I'm afraid that they are going to be disappointed with the outcome."
He grins.
"I realize that if you look at our track record here in IPW that singles matches aren't really my forte, but I'm not too overly concerned. We aren't in this for the one offs, nah, we're playing the long game. The observant will note that when it matters, we tend to deliver on exactly what we say we are going to do. That is a tough reputation to live up to, but when surrounded by the likes of all of you, it's not that difficult. After all, there is a difference between being a turd, and wading through the turds and getting some of it on you."
Wink.
"To summarize Vin, I don't want you to think that because I made a few unflattering jokes about the company as a whole, or you and your partner in particular, that I don't take this match seriously. Far from it. This is an opportunity to shut you and Enforcer down early in this little venture of yours. I mean, we're the best team in IPW. Not just cause I say so, but because we've proved it by anyone whose stood in front of us. What's the point of putting the tag titles on the line against two guys who can't even get past us when we're singled out? That IS the task before you, Vin. I don't have to beat you, but you really do need to beat me, but that is easier said than done."
Youth takes a moment to let the weight of the statement sink in for the man he knows is watching, and to also slip a sanitary glove onto his left hand.
"So come June 1st, I expect you to be at the top of your game. Bring some of that 'Excellence' that you and your partner claim to have down to the ring. Step up to the plate, call your spot, and swing for the fences..."
Youth smirks, standing now, and with a shrug delivers his closing arguments.
"I just hope you don't get caught of guard when what has happened to every other turd in this bowl happens to you."
And just like that his gloved hand slams down onto the glitter covered, cowboy hat wearing, turd. Shit literally flies as the camera fades to black.
The two men had come to one of the known haunts of a sprite colony that had taken up residence somewhere beneath the pier, but thus far they had been unsuccessful in coaxing the little bastards out of their hidey holes. They had the usual smorgasbord of accouterments for the job; A large supreme pizza from Bartacceli's that Press had already eaten three slices from since sitting around, a bag full of assorted fruit flavored hard candies, and a twelve pack of Classic Coke. Youth's grimoire had gleaned that sprites had an exceptionally high sweet tooth, an addiction to corn syrup that caused a sense of euphoria in the tiny supernatural creatures.
Only problem was, so did his partner, which was evident by the crunching sound of what smelled like Strawberry emanating from his mouth. Youth pursed his lips as he folded the top of the hardy candy bag to keep out anymore unwanted advancements and shifted it over to the opposite side of him for safe keeping.
Press' eyebrow arched at the action and his tone was miffed when he finally spoke. "This is bullshit. We've been out for an hour..."
Youth sighed, pulling his legs up so that he could tuck his knees behind his arms and rest his chin on them. "I've never tried to call Pixies before. I figured if they were around they wouldn't be able to resist..."
Press chuckled at the absurdity of the statement, but only momentarily. The fact was, this wasn't the craziest thing that the duo had ever tried in pursuit of a lead. He reached over for one of the cokes from the twelve pack and popped the top.
Just as the fizzle subsided and he drew the can to his lips, a high pitched shrill cry sounded out behind them. The noise drew the two men's attention as they hopped up to their feet to look back but saw nothing. Could have been the wind. Could have been a cat in heat finding a mate. Either way, the mood was unsettled as Press took his first swig of the sugary liquid.
Another cry, this time from the side of them, had the two men's heads whipping around to glare in that direction. Again, there was nothing, but just when Press was about to make a remark, something struck him on the hand, causing him to drop the can of coke to the sand. He recoiled a bit, backing up from the now pouring liquid and shaking the hand that had been hit. Upon looking at the spot where he had felt the prick, a tiny red wound was forming that almost looked like a bee sting.
Through narrowed eyes he tried to pierce the darkness surrounding them while Youth did much the same. The younger of the two edges his right hand back to a pouch down at his side as another cry went up into the night, this time from the left, and he spared a glance at his partner to get ready.
Press nodded in the affirmative, a look of irritation evident by his expression. When a fourth cry went up from behind them, back towards the ocean, Youth quickly spun around, letting the contents of the pouch fly. Sparkling dust shimmered in the moonlight that was able to sneak its way under the pier and as it settled several tiny humanoid shapes that sparkled the same could be seen hovering in front of them. A quick survey told them there were eight of the diminutive figures, what looked like dragonfly wings beating furiously to keep them aloft.
"Relax, we're just here to talk and come bearing gifts." Youth says, holding his hands up in front of him to look as nonthreatening as possible.
The tiny figures, realizing by the way that these two were looking directly at them that their ruse was up, began to shimmer and take solid form. Standing at maybe a solid three inches tall and in various rainbow skin tones, they didn't exactly cast the most imposing of figures. Their speed, however, was another story entirely. They zipped back and forth in front of the two men in such rapid succession that it was almost like they were blinking in and out of existence, appearing one place and then suddenly appearing in another. In the brief glimpses they could glean that the creatures were wearing candy wrappers for clothing and some of them had plastic tooth pick like swords strapped to their sides by bread tie belts.
Youth could feel the tension of his partner at his side and shook his head 'No' in warning. This is who they had been searching for and he didn't want his partners temperament ruining any chances at a parlay.
One of the tiny creatures flew forward, out ahead of all the rest, and shook himself much like a dog would after being doused with water. The glitter that Youth had thrown on them drifted free of his form, and the younger of the two couldn't suppress his smile at the fact it much resembled Tinkerbell from Peter Pan. The figure noticed the stupid grin and his face scrunched comically as he hovered aloft, fists buried into his hips in indignant fashion.
"What is the meaning of this, Redeemers?" Even the voice was tiny. High pitched and tinkling like wind chimes.
Youth held up a hand and gave a curt bow, more to keep from howling with laughter than any formalities. "We seek audience with your people about matters of grave import, master sprite. We have come bearing many gifts."
With a wave of his hand behind him he indicated the candies, pizza, and sodas. The buzzing sound given off by the Sprite's wings intensified, and in a swarm they darted right past the men and descended upon the prize. The one who had spoke watched this in complete disbelief. His entire company had abandoned him for snacks, leaving him all alone with the two interlopers. But as the wrappers fell loose from the candy, the soda cans popped in a fizzle, the urge to join became so great that his disbelief vanished and he too dove down to the sands to enjoy their spoils.
Press and Youth both turned to watch as the Pixies all but destroyed the bounty they had brought to the beach. In a matter of minutes the last slurp of soda and the last candy was broken apart, leaving all of the tiny creatures looking bloated and slowed. In fact, they were so bulbous now that most of them couldn't manage to flap their wings hard enough to keep them afloat, and one by one they settled into the sand, many holding their bellies in satisfaction, an a few actually curling up on the spot to take a nap.
The one Sprite that had spoken to them stumbled around as if drunk, catching himself against an emptied soda can for fear of nosediving into the sand. Youth knelt down and held out his hand at the tiny creature who looked up at him in concern, realizing that he was in no condition to protest. In a stupor he stumbled forward, falling so that the palms of his hands caught the edge of Youth's hand. It took a few tries to finally swing his leg up onto the open palm, but with a flutter of his wings for support he finally manged to do so.
Youth stood up, hoisting his tiny prize which felt like he weighted ounces rather than pounds, and held him aloft so that both he and Press could see. The Pixie lay flat on his back now, breathing heavily, tired out by the venture of the climb and looking completely spent. His adorably tiny fingers traced an outline around his protruding purple stomach and he looked at the two men with a slight grin.
"What..." He pauses, eyes fluttering to try and stay awake. "What is the meaning of this?"
Even Press couldn't keep his hard visage at the sight of the little guy in such contented countenance and he chuckled softly. "Do you really think these little things could kill someone?"
The Sprite's eyes popped open suddenly and he looked genuinely confused as his voice rose another octave that was actually a little unsettling to human ears. "KILL SOMEONE?!? We would never!"
Press and Youth exchanged eyebrow raises before Youth finally shrugged his shoulders. "That's not what we heard, little man. Word on the street is that you guys have been on a rampage. Someone even indicated that you might be in league with Trea."
The Sprite was shaking his head rapidly, blinking from one man to the other. "Who spreads such lies about Bolock's friends? We won't stand for it! Trea was once a friend, but she betrayed us..."
"Betrayed you?" Asked the big man skeptically. "How?"
The Sprite, known as Bolock, looked completely disgusted as he sat up now on his elbows, having sobered from his sugar high at the gravity of the conversation. "Trea came to us to learn our secrets and ask for intel, but we found out what she was planning and told her no! In her anger, she slayed my friend, Foozle, and converted his power into her own..."
"Hold on a Sec...what do you mean by that?" Youth looked puzzled.
"She has our power now. She can go from big to small. She can be invisible. She can..."
"So you're saying Trea can convert another fey's power into herself? What kind of fucking Pixie is she?"
Bolock recoiled a bit, his tiny face looking truly afraid. "That's just it...she isn't a Pixie at all. She's a Mim!"
Press shook his head in disbelief. "Are you fucking kidding me? Does Leandra know?"
Bolock nodded his head slowly, looking from one man to the other. "She didn't at first, but she found out. Trea was her partner, her mate. When the challenge happened and Trea was banished, she swore us to secrecy. She didn't want the other Pixies to find out and demand justice be met."
"By Justice, you mean executing her and releasing the power."
Bolock nodded rapidly and seemed honestly disoriented by the fact that he had shared this information so freely. He held his tiny hands out in front of him in trepidation. "What have I done? Why did I tell you that? Bolock has broken his promise..."
Press smirked as he pulled back, having heard everything that he needed to. "Don't take it so hard, buddy. We spiked the snacks with a little zone of truth serum. We knew you guys couldn't resist the sweets and would gorge yourselves if given the opportunity, so I'd say you'll be feeling mighty honest for the next day or so."
Bolock looked mortified as he buried his face in his palms and began to give off the tiniest of tinkling sobs. "Leandra will be so angry with us..."
Youth knelt and gently slid Bolock onto the sand next to his other compatriots and shook his head. "I wouldn't be so worried about that, buddy. This is all starting to make sense and I don't think Leandra is who she seems."
Bolock looked up at that and stared hard at Youth, unsure what he was saying. Youth didn't stick around to explain as he stood up and he and his partner began walking away from the scene back towards the steps that would take them to the parking area.
"Just so we're on the same page, are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Youth asked.
"Leandra is no longer Leandra. She hasn't been this entire time."
"Trea killed Leandra a long time ago and took her power. The banishment was all a sham, along with the call for help investigating these murders. It explains why she didn't want us investigating Trea, why she was so upset when we'd mention other Pixie involvements. She was trying to throw us off the trail cause she knew we'd eventually make it to the Sprites who knew her secret. Trea has been stealing other Pixie's powers."
"A fucking Mim..." Press added, grim was his voice.
A Mim, or Mimir, was a demon that originated in Viking lore that could steal the breath of life from those lured in by its charms. In that culture, breath wasn't just the act of oxygen and carbon monoxide exchange, but was the essence of the soul. The connection between the physical realm and the internal self. So when one took a breath of air, they drew the metaphysical inside to where the soul lived, and those two entities mingled before exhaling. It was a basic understanding of life and death where when you came into the world you drew breath and when you left it you exhaled. The Mim could steal that from people, absorbing their knowledge, their essence, into themselves for power. Later on, the idea shifted to the ability to absorb the powers of other demons or angelic beings. Essentially, when you went up against a Mim, you weren't fighting just one entity, but several. All the trapped souls of the entities that it had absorbed before.
This changed things. Alot of things. The Fey here in Santa Monica were in grave danger, but because they were outsiders, they probably wouldn't be believed. That meant they would have to take the direct approach.
Leandra/Trea...leader of the Pixies...had to die.
*****TO BE CONTINUED IN PART 10*****
5/27/2020 [ON CAMERA]
MUNIN'S HOME
633 12th STREET, SANTA MONICA, CALIFORNIA
"The neighbor was out walking her dog the other day as I sat upon the front porch, and I couldn't help but notice that she allowed the little bastard to just pop a squat on the sidewalk right out in front of our house. After doing it's business she led the little mange back up the street to her house, leaving for us the digestive little present. Some fucking people, am I right?"
He shakes his head again, glancing down at the poop more than a little put out.
"So I did what any sanitary citizen would do. I went and got some protective gloves and a mask..." He pauses, rolling his eyes at the next statement. "Lord knows we have plenty of those lying around thanks to Nin. Anyways, so I go out there and collect the dog poop and started to march my way towards the neighbors yard so I could fling it at her front door when a notion suddenly hit me..."
His eyes widened, giving off a 'Whoa' expression.
"Staring down at this poop, it reminded me of something. Something like....IPW superstars."
Wink.
"You see, you folks share a lot in common with this nugget of stink. You all started out as unprocessed food, consumed by the mangy old mud-show that is the Iconic Pro Wrestling machine and eventually made your way through its digestive tract. Passing along, it sucked out any flavor any of you ever had. Digestive juices burned out all your talent. Sure, the process took some time, but in the end everything that wasn't already stripped from you people ended up as waste. Waste that ended up being big ole piles of shit by the time Munin called us up and asked us to turn this company upside down."
Youth shrugs, looking mock sympathetic.
"I digress, it only hurts so much cause it's true. People like Oliver Black, Brianna Rissi, Astrid Samson, Aaron Kostan, Jason Dave, Scott Wilson...they all had already been put through the process. They were already husks of unusable matter that had been scoured of any sustainable value. That's why it was so easy to route you people. I mean, you might as well have gift wrapped IPW and served it to us on a silver platter. We came in to this promotion like Roto-Rooter and gave it a proper cleanse!"
He pauses for a moment, trying to decide if that analogy was a boon or an insult to himself. After a second he blinks, the jury still out, and then looks back to the camera and continues.
"But man...you kids were a tough job. Little floaters that wouldn't just go down the fucking toilet. Don't you hate that? Just standing there waiting for the tank to refill so you can try and get that remnant out of your life for good? Either way, our quartet of adventurers have accomplished their goals in rather short order. While we didn't eradicate you completely as we may have previously stated, we have reduced you to the annoying nuggets that still rise above the water just enough to give off a stink. Hell, some of you continue to call us the new kids. You say that we haven't 'earned' anything, that we haven't 'done' enough. I wonder..."
He casually strokes his chin and looks wistfully off into the distance. Or rather, the far wall of the basement.
"How many times do we have to walk out of the big shows on top before you idiots give up that troupe. We beat the Queen Bee's. Zachariah Krahe is thus far undefeated and took the Television Championship off of it's longest reigning champion, Oliver Black. We beat Jason Dave & Scott Wilson. Munin beat the holy hell out of Astrid Samson...or...heh, heh, heh...excuse me. Dastrid!"
Youth can't keep a straight face as he buries his forehead into his forearm and lets out a snort of laughter. After a second he does his best to compose himself, but when he looks back up at the camera, joyful tears streak down his face from mirth.
"Seriously though...how many of you asshat's have some evil persona of yourselves. I mean, trust me, when I look in the mirror I see a handsome devil staring back, but rarely does the mother fucker start talking to me about the nasty shit we could get into if I'd just let him in. Fuck me, it's like watching people masturbate to their own picture slideshows. Need I say more?"
He gestures to the dog poop on the table with a wave of his hand, still chuckling at the absurdity of it all.
"So what do you do with a dried up turd devoid of any real personality, creativity, or depth? Well shit, literally, here in IPW we just polish that nugget up!"
He reaches beneath the table and pulls out a small opened shoe box and inside are pieces of fabric, toothpicks, Mr. Potato Head attachments, and glitters. He unscrews the glitter and pours some onto the poop. It's brown hue now has the gift of glam.
"Look-a-there. Just like Oliver Black. Guy talks real big and bad until he actually has to prove it against a credible threat like Zachariah Krahe, and when he's put in his place what does he go out and do? He puts a little sparkle on his looks, gets another manager, and turns his back on Brianna Rissi on the biggest night of her career. Why? Cause, quite frankly, he needs the fucking attention. Otherwise, he's just the guy that Zach Krahe made his bitch."
Wink.
"In other news..." He says while pulling a black cowboy hat from the Mr. Potato Head line and plunks it down on the turd. "You got Jason Dave turning on his partner after our tag match cause ole' Scott Wilson wasn't getting it done. I mean, he's not wrong, but really Jason? Is it all Scott's fault you suck? Or maybe, just maybe, you saw the writing on the wall from the very beginning of this return to the ring of yours and thought you could get a little flavor back in that filthy muck you call a career by rubbing shoulders with The BombTrax. And when that didn't work, well, you took the opportunity to pull off a costume change and don your black hat, get back to the man you used to be before by laying Scott Wilson low. Again...the big story isn't that we walked out victorious, but that you turned on your partner. Bravo, asshat. Consider that turd officially polished."
He rolls his eyes.
"Even Astrid couldn't get away from this. She gave pretty good, but lets face facts. It wasn't good enough. Munin walks out victorious, after doing EXACTLY what she said she was going to do to her, and what's the parting image? Joshua Samson Esquire has returned and the two share an embrace as he carries her off into the sunset to recoup. What a bunch of contrived bullshit. Apparently in this company, even if you win you fail. These mother fuckers need to have the last word, the last laugh, the last hurrah even when they haven't accomplished a GOD DAMN THING!"
He's heated now, a sudden turn from his usual jovial self.
"And what do we have here...out of the shadows of yet ANOTHER FUCKING FAILURE...Enforcer and his pet goon, Vin Halsted, challenging us for the non-sanctioned IPW Tag Team Championships."
He smirks as if the irony were self evident.
"At Civil War Two, after failing to advance and become the Heavyweight Champion, you got the balls to go on record with Butterscotch Monroe and say that WE...THE BOMBTRAX...are not top level talent."
He bursts out with a chuckle that has no mirth, shaking his head while sucking on his teeth.
"See, with you two coming from Chicago and the Bronx, I don't know what kind of broken fucking English you two are used to, but let me see if I can put this into terms that you can understand. Matter of fact, I'll use your native dialect."
Youth sticks out his chest, jaw pointed towards the air, cheeks puffed out, and in a deeper than usual voice says, "Unlike the guys of this team that has challenged us that are not top level talent. Where the two of us are top level talent. Us guys that are in this team have sustained excellence through a long period of time. We actually win our big match at Civil War Two. We really good."
Youth lets out a long breath, looking exhausted.
"I mean...seriously, what the fuck? Did you guys watch an all night film festival of John Wayne movies and appropriate the offensive speech patterns that Native Americans were portrayed with back then, or are you just fucking retarded?"
He truly looks puzzled, unsure what he's supposed to do next. He...who has a pile of poop on his table.
"I'm honestly at a loss. Vin...I don't really know you. That's not a knock, I just haven't really seen you around the bend in this crazy industry of ours. You look imposing, but so does Enforcer, and he couldn't do a trivial thing like put Brianna Rissi on her back. I mean, that in and of itself is ludicrous to me. Anyone, and I'M SAYING ANYONE...can get Brianna Rissi on her back."
Wink.
"But this isn't about Rissi, and this isn't about what could have been if Enforcer had managed to remove his head from his ass. This is about you two challenging for the Tag Team Championships, which, just so we're clear. We Accept."
Shrug.
"There's no reason to beat around the bush. The powers that be at IPW, limited in their vision they may be, but a decision they have made. They made it when they made these two singles matches for Chaos. I imagine that Brooklyn has had just about enough of us as of late, and I know that Tapioca, while not really malicious, wouldn't mind it so much if we got brought down a peg or two. Unfortunately, I'm afraid that they are going to be disappointed with the outcome."
He grins.
"I realize that if you look at our track record here in IPW that singles matches aren't really my forte, but I'm not too overly concerned. We aren't in this for the one offs, nah, we're playing the long game. The observant will note that when it matters, we tend to deliver on exactly what we say we are going to do. That is a tough reputation to live up to, but when surrounded by the likes of all of you, it's not that difficult. After all, there is a difference between being a turd, and wading through the turds and getting some of it on you."
Wink.
"To summarize Vin, I don't want you to think that because I made a few unflattering jokes about the company as a whole, or you and your partner in particular, that I don't take this match seriously. Far from it. This is an opportunity to shut you and Enforcer down early in this little venture of yours. I mean, we're the best team in IPW. Not just cause I say so, but because we've proved it by anyone whose stood in front of us. What's the point of putting the tag titles on the line against two guys who can't even get past us when we're singled out? That IS the task before you, Vin. I don't have to beat you, but you really do need to beat me, but that is easier said than done."
Youth takes a moment to let the weight of the statement sink in for the man he knows is watching, and to also slip a sanitary glove onto his left hand.
"So come June 1st, I expect you to be at the top of your game. Bring some of that 'Excellence' that you and your partner claim to have down to the ring. Step up to the plate, call your spot, and swing for the fences..."
Youth smirks, standing now, and with a shrug delivers his closing arguments.
"I just hope you don't get caught of guard when what has happened to every other turd in this bowl happens to you."
And just like that his gloved hand slams down onto the glitter covered, cowboy hat wearing, turd. Shit literally flies as the camera fades to black.
