Post by Press1269 on Feb 1, 2016 20:04:33 GMT
Press strolled in the kitchen for a snack when he spied Youth sitting on the couch with the laptop in his lap. Most of the screen was hidden by Youth’s head, but he was pretty sure he could make out the PAW logo at the top. Usually that would be all it took for him to step over and investigate, but at the moment, his stomach was winning the battle against curiosity, so he continued over to the fridge.
He was halfway through making a turkey sandwich with cheese when the muffled audio from the other room drifted into the kitchen.
“"You won't have your fuckin' butt buddy of a partner out there to watch your hide. And you won't be able to get yourself a fuckin' sneak attack on me again! What else do you have man? NOTHING! Let's look at the facts here bro. What is the last thing of importance you did? Let's hear it, enlighten me. I don't think you've done anything important in fifteen fuckin' year’s bro!”
He didn’t need to see the promo to know the grating sound of the voice making it, and he could feel his jaw tightening as he slapped the top half of his bread down onto the completed sandwich. He began to put the separate items away as the voice continued to tirade its way through a kaleidoscope of curse words, puns, and self-adulation. He was in the midst of his first bite when the next lines spilled through the apartment.
“"This whole thing is simple bro, you stepped into the wrong game man. The second you decided to powerbomb me through that announce table and show off to Constance is the second you wrote yourself a death wish. Like it or not, believe it or don't, I'm coming for your fuckin' heads.”
Press could feel the heat that was pulling itself from his gut and into the rest of his body, and involuntarily his hands turned into fists, squishing the sandwich in his grasp. He swallowed the bite in his mouth hole, and then looked down at the remnants of what had once been a pretty tasty treat. This made him even angrier, and he strode towards the living room, snapping the ruined sandwich in the trash as he passed.
“Luke Knux?” He asked, the venom unmaskable.
Youth looked over his shoulder from the couch, but swiftly turned back to face the screen upon spying the visible frustration on his partner’s face.
“Heh, yep.” He replied hesitantly, “Luke Knux.”
Press stepped around the couch and plopped down beside his partner, at the same time twirling his finger in a circular motion. “Why don’t you play that again, from the beginning.”
Youth recognized that it wasn’t a question, but a statement, and sighed heavily before using the mouse to back up the track and hit play. They both sat there and watched the promo, Knux seemingly bouncing off the walls of the computer screen, spewing obscenities and idle threats right and left. It was pretty obvious that the rock star was pissed about the powerbomb through the announce table, and didn’t even try to mask the fact that he had designs on revenge for WICKED #3. In a lot of ways, Press didn’t really blame him for that. He knew the minute that he had said that it wasn’t personal, which it wasn’t, that Luke wouldn’t see it that way. Sort of easy to get that confused when you’re the one lying in the midst of a splintered announce table. Even more difficult when it was your body that splintered it.
Alas, however, that was the nature of the game. It’s what sold tickets. Not the matches themselves. Not the endless stream of promos, or flashy graphics and posters. It was the drama of having an unforeseen event drive home the need to come back for the next show just to see what happens next. That was the key to everything, and in what appeared to be a calculated attack at such a random point in the show on such an unsuspecting opponent is the real reason that Press and Luke Knux had made Main Event. If Knux had any sense at all, he would have been thanking him right now.
But instead, this was the most you could hope for. The same tired song and dance repackaged a million different ways in an attempt to sell it as something new and fresh. Unfortunately some people hadn’t figured out that you can’t polish a turd. Hell, he should know better than anyone, considering Youth had literally tried to polish one in his last promo.
The promo came to a close ten minutes later, and both men sat there silently watching the PAW logo flash before preparing to skip to the next video. Press reached over Youth, and ran his finger across the mouse, backing the timer to the beginning one more time. He paused it, and then stood up from the couch.
“You mind doing some research?” He asked.
Youth shrugged in response, and said, “Sure. What did you have in mind?”
“Watch that promo again, and count how many times he uses the word ‘fuck’.”
Youth’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, and then a sarcastic expression spread over his face. “Are you telling me that you’re going to get on this guy’s case for gratuitous cursing? You? Come on!”
Press stepped back from the couch with a look of feigned hurt and surprise, even placing his hand over his chest in mock pain. “I may curse a little bit, but not like that. Never like that!”
“A little bit?” Youth asked with a grin while rolling his eyes.
“Whatever,” Press replied indignantly, and he started back towards the kitchen. “Just do it.”
“I’m not a slave kid in a sweat shop! That’s Nike!” Youth called out at the same time that he pressed play on the video.
Press just shook his head and went about the task of making himself another sandwich while Youth continued watching the promo for the third time. By the time Press was finished, he could hear the video winding down to the big finish, which consisted of ‘Fuck everybody’. He took a few bites of the new sandwich, and savored the taste, before swallowing it down with a swig of his water.
“So, how many was it?” He yelled into the living room. He waited for a few seconds, and another bite of sandwich, before realizing that he wasn’t going to get a response. He stalked towards the living room and stopped in the door way, a mask of disgust finding its way onto his face.
Youth was sitting there, his head lulled back with his eyes shut, a bit of spittle drooling from his mouth. The laptop had half slid off of his lap and onto the couch, and his arms hung limply at his sides. His breathing was slow and steady, and about every other breath elicited a snore.
Press, for the second time today, chunked his sandwich, but this time not in the trash, but right at Youth’s head. The Turkey on white with extra mayo smacked the younger man square in the face, and he startled awake with a yelp. He frantically swatted at his face to get the remains of bread and turkey off of him, and then blinked as if realizing where he was for the first time. He looked up at Press, then down at the laptop which had landed in the floor due to the outburst, and then sighed in relief.
“Dude, what the fuck?” Press thundered, half amused, half irritated.
“You see,” Youth pointed in consternation, pulling the lap top back up onto the couch. “You can’t go a minute without using it!”
“Oh, come on. I’m not getting into this with you. If you want to be the cursing police then go tag with Ian Wright.”
“Yeah, but if you do it, you’re just being a hypocrite.” Youth retorted.
“Are you trying to tell me that I do it that often? Every other sentence? Come on!”
“Ok, ok. This guy’s got a talent for it.” Youth replied begrudgingly. “I got up to about 40 before I passed out. I used to think that we had a foul mouth, but this guy definitely takes the cake!”
“Good. I can work with that. I’m gonna head over to the Xayarena for a promo, want to tag along?”
Youth checked his watch, and saw that it was around 11:00a.m., and hopped up with a little more exuberance than usual for a trip to the park. “Sure. Let me grab my hoodie.”
Youth darted past Press for his room, leaving the big man to wonder what all that excitement was about. Youth was always the more up-beat of the group, but Press knew his partner well enough to know when there was something more going on to add that extra spring in his step. He surmised that there must be a new hotty that had grabbed his friend’s attention, and smirked at his partner’s inability to keep his cool. He didn’t figure that he had too much to worry about, though, considering that Youth’s dalliances tended to only last a few weeks and always ended after he got bored with them.
Youth had never had a serious relationship for as long as Press had known him, and that fact perturbed the big man for some reason. Back in the day, Press had Tammy, but Youth was always the tag along, the third wheel. None of them ever really thought about it back then because he never seemed bothered by it. It was just a natural fit. Then everything went south, and the trio ended up in the servitude to the Arch-Angel, Redemption. When it was over, the trio was no more, with Tammy remaining behind in Purgatory.
On one hand, he knew that Youth worried about him, and his disposition to remain unhindered by relationships. On the other, Press worried about Youth, and the fact that perhaps the reason he never really committed to someone, was because he was afraid of leaving him behind. He could never be sure of that, but it seemed to be an unspoken bond that followed the two men for most of their friendship. The only thing he ever knew for certain, was that nothing that had happened to them in those matters ever seemed fair.
Youth popped back around the corner, hoodie in tow, and cast the big man a questioning expression. “You ready?”
Press nodded, tossing the younger man his keys, and then nodded towards the door. Youth grinned, and took off while Press brought up the rear at a slower pace. There was a lot of things to consider when going into the future, and he hoped that perhaps Fate had a greater design for them than it had in the past. Perhaps, just maybe, this tournament for the PAW Championship would turn all of that past around towards the positive. With that thought in mind, he turned the knob on the lock, and then pulled the door closed as he exited.
**********
The Production Department located on the far end of the Xayarena loomed right in front of him from his vantage point from behind the tree. Press was hiding, biding his time for the off chance that maybe he would see Brandy Irving exiting the building, and taking off in the opposite direction. He didn’t want to get caught by the woman again for what he was hoping would be a simple and candid promo without the added drama of the snooping woman’s questions.
He and Youth had arrived at the park around 1:30p.m. and had split up to take their own different directions. He made a mental note as he watched his partner depart that he was headed in the direction of Jamie Wheeler’s skate park, The Wheelhouse, and figured he wouldn’t get up to too much mischief hanging around the resident degenerate. He could see the draw to the flamboyant jokester, since he and Youth seemed to share the same sense of humor and style. He just hoped that wouldn’t get in the way if the two ever had to face off with each other. It was unlikely, considering Youth was a professional and highly competitive, but you could never be sure till the time came.
The double doors leading into the Production Department burst open, and out came Brandy Irving, a look of disdain spread across her face. She appeared to be talking to herself vehemently, but he was too far away to hear what was being said, nor did he really care. He ducked down as she started past his position, and did the best he could to keep the bulk of himself from sight. She stormed by in disarray, the words ‘where’ and ‘Sam’ the only thing that Press could decipher from her jumble of lunacy.
Once she was out of sight, he sighed in relief, and stood back up to his full height. Hiding from this bitch was going to give him a back spasm, he thought, and he could ill afford it. He made his way towards the double doors she had exited from and entered.
Inside, the offices were uncharacteristically quiet, and he smirked at the thought that without Brandy, everything was calm once again. Despite that fact, he still moved quietly, as silently as one of his size could, towards the door marked as equipment. When he reached the portal, he took hold of the handle, looked up and down the hall to confirm he wasn’t seen, and then slipped inside, closing the door behind him.
He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath before letting it out slowly, and then started forward to check out the equipment. When he opened his eyes, however, what he saw in front of him took him completely by surprised. There, directly in front of him, was the PAW Helper Monkey, Jynx, sitting in front of a dry erase board with an open calculus book at her feet.
He looked first at the dry erase board, which had a few equations crudely written upon it, then to the open calculus book, and then to then back to the monkey, a black marker in her tiny hand. “You’ve got to be kidding me…” He blurted, shaking his head in disbelief.
It was as if Luke Knux’s words were reverberating in his skull, and he suddenly grinned, and winked at the monkey. “Thanks for believing in me, pal. I’m just here to grab a camera and a tripod, and I’ll be out of your,” Ahem, “hair.”.
The monkey returned his grin, but hers was much more gruesome with the rows of sharp teeth in her mouth gleaming in the pale overhead light. He chuckled a bit, and then made his way over to the tangled mess of cables, cameras, and lenses that made up the ‘equipment room’. He sighed in frustration, and began untangling some of the mess in order to get himself a camera that would suit his purposes. Once obtaining the camera, he grabbed a tripod, and then made his way for the exit.
When he stepped in the hallway he noticed that the monkey wasn’t too far behind him, having abandoned the dry erase board to curiously watch his progression. He shrugged at the monkey, and said, “Sure, why not? Nothing strange about this at all.”
He shook his head, and then made his way across the hall, monkey in tow, to the conference room he had made his first promo in with Brandy. Upon making sure the coast was clear, he brought everything inside, laying out the equipment on the surface of the conference table. The Monkey climbed first into a chair, and then up onto the table, and came to sit right in front of him by the equipment.
He kept a cautious eye on the monkey as he set up the tripod where he wanted it, and then took the camera in his hands. He examined the mechanism for a minute, scratching his head at all the buttons that had no labels indicating what they did. He secured the camera to the tripod, turned it in the direction facing where he would be standing, and then began fidgeting with the buttons. He checked for the red light the indicated that it was in ‘record’, and after several attempts, growled in frustration.
Seeing the big man’s failure, Jynx hopped from the table to the big man’s shoulder. Press jumped a bit, startled by the sudden intrusion, but he kept his calm, remembering that she was only a five pound monkey, and he was a 365 pound man. The monkey stared at the camera for a long moment with Press, before cocking her head to the side, and reaching out with her small finger to push one of the buttons.
Much to his surprise the little red light blinked on and off, and he nodded his head, impressed. “Thanks, man.”
The monkey squeaked at him indignantly, and he held his hands up in front of him to placate her. “Sorry, sorry. I know you’re a girl! Thanks, Jynx.”
The monkey swung down, using his shirt to help her, and landed on the floor at his feet. She pawed across the carpet for the door, but stopped in the archway to regard the big man with a thoughtful expression, before disappearing back into the hall.
He shook his head again in disbelief, and made his way in front of the camera. “They wouldn’t believe me if I told them.”
Leaning against the conference room table, he crossed his arms over his chest, and put on his game face before finally addressing the blinking red light.
“Hello, PAW Universe. Just thought I’d invite you guys to reflect with me for a moment on some of the most ridiculous shit I have ever seen in my life. By that, I mean the most recent promo brought to us by the rock star, Luke Knux. You see, I sat there this morning, watching that video on the PAW website, and I thought, ‘Man, this guy is a thinker!’ I mean, he’s going on and on, running around in a circle of words the way Nada chases her tale, and you can see the real angst he was trying to portray. I’m getting this sneaking suspicion that ole’ Knuxy is pissed at The BombTrax, specifically, yours truly, and I guess I just don’t get it.”
Press wore a mock expression of disconcert and pain, and shook his head before continuing.
“Come on, Knux. We were just trying to do you a favor! Why can’t you see that? I mean, up to this point in your PAW career, you haven’t really done a lot. Sure, sure, you put on one hell of a concert at WICKED #1. No one’s denying your musical talent, the way you guys rearranged someone else’s song to fit the situation at the time. I mean, come on, there’s nothing wrong with being a glorified cover band. If that’s your thing, then I say more power to you. Any which way you gotta go to get over, right?”
Press smirked, leaning back against the table.
“But your musical talents aren’t on trial here, ‘Bro’. We’re here talking about the wrestling business. A business, as I said in my last speech, is a business you appear to know nothing about. Let’s review, shall we? Your first scheduled match you pulled a no show by bumping some poor schmuck in his balls. Your second match you got put down by Johnny Raike. You can go on and on about former glories, and all the championships of the past, but the one thing that you seem to fail to realize, is that none of that crap matters. In the wrestling business, you’re only as relevant as the last thing you did, and what you did, Knux, is get your ass handed to you courtesy of The BombTrax!”
The amusement fled from Press’ expression, and was replaced with a darker tone.
“You see, Luke, we singled handedly took someone who was previously getting over only because of his rock star status, and thrust you kicking and screaming into the forefront of the wrestling business. We made you….The Main Event.”
Press pauses for a moment to let that point sink in.
“Do you think for one second you’d be sitting across from me in that position if it hadn’t been for last week? You should be fucking thanking me, but instead you’re popping off at the mouth like some asshole. ‘Fuck this’, ‘Fuck that’, ‘Fuck everybody’! You know, far be it from me to call anyone out on the use of the word ‘Fuck’, as I am a fan of its verbiage, but for fuck’s sake Luke!
Press grins, winking at the camera.
“I got all the way up to 41 before I finally blacked out from the absurdity. I mean, there were regular ‘fucks’, exclaimed ‘fucks’, verb ‘fucks’, and proper noun ‘fucks’. And don’t get me started on all those ‘mother fuckers’, which I guess sort of go along with the rock star status, considering your band is targeting middle aged tarts like Bunny Calhoun. Can’t dispute that man, not after that song! When I finally came to from the coma your promo put me in, I was only left with one thing I could really say about it.”
Press paused, leaning into the camera conspiratorially, and getting very serious.
“Fuck….”
He let the word hang there in the ether for a moment, before leaning back, a smirk forming at the edges of his lips.
“So, you see, Luke, you really owe me a debt of gratitude instead of all these idle threats and grandiose boasts. Not only am I elevating your status as a legitimate wrestler, but I’m educating you on how to cut a promo that actually matters. By the time I’m done with you, Sam and Munin are going to owe me a god damn training bonus.”
Press laughs dispassionately, shaking his head at the notion, before focusing back on the camera.
“And lucky for you, Knux, the next lesson I have to teach is a real easy one. All you have to do is show up in Shreveport to find out how it feels to have your skull removed from your neck while I take a dump down your throat.”
His eyes are serious as he pushes off the table, and gets in line with the camera so that the only thing that can be seen is his face.
“See, everybody, my partner’s not the only member of the team who can illustrate creative ways of taking a shit.”
With that, Press walked out of camera view, and pressed the same button that Jynx had to turn the camera off. He removed the SD card from the device, and then exited the conference room, heading in the direction of video editing. In a few minutes his promo would be complete, and uploaded to the PAW website for the world to see. And this Thursday, in Shreveport, a packed capacity crowd would get to witness him keep his promise to Luke Knux. He just hoped the world was ready for it, cause it was going to be brutal.
