Post by Zane on Dec 30, 2021 23:37:32 GMT -5
Arlington, N.Y.
December 28th.
"Feeling a little inspired, were you boy?"
Clyde Scott flashed a crooked smile and traversed the small hill that sat between the back deck of the Scott residence and the woodpile out back, where his grandson stood with an ax resting on his broad shoulder and a cloud of mist ascending from him.
"It's better than the alternative," Zane replies with a smile.
Clyde stops and lets out a low whistle at the cabin of logs that sits behind his son's house. He pulls a rag from his pocket and lobs it to Zane, who catches it before giving his grandfather a skeptical look. He responds to his grandson with a quick headshake of reassurance, to which Zane cleans his face. Clyde looks at the former boring woodpile with another up and down look, then turns to his grandson.
"If by 'better', you mean that the kitchen window is still intact and there isn't a small log sitting in your mother's favorite frying pan, then yes. It's definitely 'better'."
Zane spins the ax handle around in his hand and chuckles to himself.
"I think mom might still be a little upset with me about that", he replies. "Still, you kind of have to be impressed with my aim".
"I am". Clyde answers with a quick nod. "But don't tell your mother. It may have happened over a decade ago, but she'd still think that I'd be encouraging you to try again".
Zane lays the ax down and admires his handiwork. It's literally a cabin made of chopped-up tree limbs, twigs, and a couple of trunks. The roof had been the real challenge.
"I don't know what she was so upset about". He quips. "I gave the meal a really good wood smoked flavor that night".
Clyde picks up the ax and turns back towards the house.
"I don't recall your mother finding that joke funny at the time". He calls back over his shoulder. "Dinners in ten. Get cleaned up. I'll take care of this".
"Right". The first Triple Champion in UGWC history responds.
"Oh, by the way"! Clyde suddenly exclaims. "I almost forgot"!
"What"?
"That weird guy who always speaks in third person left a voice mail. Something about a tournament next month".
Zane's eyebrows shoot up and he smiles again.
"The Global Challenge". He answers, as his smile suddenly evaporates. "What the hell is Ooley calling about that for"?
"I don't remember". Clyde responds as he reaches the bottom of the small hill.
A slight wise-assed smirk appears on his grandson's face.
"In case of forgetfulness." He taunts. "Break glass".
Clyde's head angles ever so slightly to the right.
"Very funny, boy". Clyde replies. "It'd do you well to keep one life lesson in mind".
His tone is playful, but stern.
"What's that, pop"? Zane asks.
"Never disrespect the man with the ax".
Zane throws back his head and laughs, producing a cloud of steam from his breath.
"Noted, pop". He answers. "Duly noted".
Later
As usual, his mother and grandmother had put together a fantastic dinner, which had been enthusiastically devoured as if beset upon by a pack of starving wolves. Or fifty feral hogs. Comparison aside, it had been enjoyed by all and now Zane stood in the kitchen loading the dishwasher. He'd forgotten all about the message on the answering machine and wasn't particularly thinking about it now as his phone sat on the counter next to him playing "Tempest" by Deftones. He slips a plate into the machine and looks up quizzically as he hears his phone buzz on the counter.
He stands up and reaches for the phone, quickly unlocking it. He looks at the text and smiles.
"Owen". He says to himself. "It's been a bit".
He accesses the text and his brow immediately furrows.
"So much for 'Happy New Year'." He mutters.
"Answer Bob before he gives Dexter a New Year's heart attack".
Right. Bob's voice-mail. "Shit".
He looks to see if his parents and grandparents are nearby so that he could spare them from hearing a message that would be both confusing and profane if they were. Upon not seeing them, and pausing for the feeling of relief that followed that revelation, he presses the button. It beeps and then plays the message.
It begins with what sounds like Bob fighting with something on his desk, which is followed by the sound of something being smashed and a loud squeak of terror from Vines.
"Listen Rain". Comes Bob's terse voice. "The Global Challenge is in January, and seeing that you're a two-time winner, the rest of 'The Consortium' thought you should be told. I told Vines to fuck himself, but I was overruled. So enter it. Don't enter it. Ol' Bob doesn't give a flying fuck what you do. He's done what he was told, very much against his will and he blames you".
There was an awkward silence. Because of course, there was. It was Ooley.
"Would you stop whining, Limes"? Ooley snarls. "Louis didn't hit you. He only broke that cheap clock you have on your desk".
"My mother gave me that"! Vines wails irritably from the other end. "It's a family heirloom"!!
"Heirloom"? Ooley asks, clearly with only partial interest. "Was it worth a lot"?
"Yes"! Vines yells back.
"Not anymore". Comes Ooley's smug reply. "Sucker".
Click.
"Fucking idiot". He says, shaking his head disgustedly.
He wipes the counter down and places the towel back over the oven door handle. He places his hands down on the counter and looks out of the back window at his log pile masterpiece. The symbolism of it being slowly enveloped and covered by the growing fog isn't lost on him.
Then again, maybe it wasn't really fog.
You couldn't be too careful, these days.
December 28th.
"Feeling a little inspired, were you boy?"
Clyde Scott flashed a crooked smile and traversed the small hill that sat between the back deck of the Scott residence and the woodpile out back, where his grandson stood with an ax resting on his broad shoulder and a cloud of mist ascending from him.
"It's better than the alternative," Zane replies with a smile.
Clyde stops and lets out a low whistle at the cabin of logs that sits behind his son's house. He pulls a rag from his pocket and lobs it to Zane, who catches it before giving his grandfather a skeptical look. He responds to his grandson with a quick headshake of reassurance, to which Zane cleans his face. Clyde looks at the former boring woodpile with another up and down look, then turns to his grandson.
"If by 'better', you mean that the kitchen window is still intact and there isn't a small log sitting in your mother's favorite frying pan, then yes. It's definitely 'better'."
Zane spins the ax handle around in his hand and chuckles to himself.
"I think mom might still be a little upset with me about that", he replies. "Still, you kind of have to be impressed with my aim".
"I am". Clyde answers with a quick nod. "But don't tell your mother. It may have happened over a decade ago, but she'd still think that I'd be encouraging you to try again".
Zane lays the ax down and admires his handiwork. It's literally a cabin made of chopped-up tree limbs, twigs, and a couple of trunks. The roof had been the real challenge.
"I don't know what she was so upset about". He quips. "I gave the meal a really good wood smoked flavor that night".
Clyde picks up the ax and turns back towards the house.
"I don't recall your mother finding that joke funny at the time". He calls back over his shoulder. "Dinners in ten. Get cleaned up. I'll take care of this".
"Right". The first Triple Champion in UGWC history responds.
"Oh, by the way"! Clyde suddenly exclaims. "I almost forgot"!
"What"?
"That weird guy who always speaks in third person left a voice mail. Something about a tournament next month".
Zane's eyebrows shoot up and he smiles again.
"The Global Challenge". He answers, as his smile suddenly evaporates. "What the hell is Ooley calling about that for"?
"I don't remember". Clyde responds as he reaches the bottom of the small hill.
A slight wise-assed smirk appears on his grandson's face.
"In case of forgetfulness." He taunts. "Break glass".
Clyde's head angles ever so slightly to the right.
"Very funny, boy". Clyde replies. "It'd do you well to keep one life lesson in mind".
His tone is playful, but stern.
"What's that, pop"? Zane asks.
"Never disrespect the man with the ax".
Zane throws back his head and laughs, producing a cloud of steam from his breath.
"Noted, pop". He answers. "Duly noted".
Later
As usual, his mother and grandmother had put together a fantastic dinner, which had been enthusiastically devoured as if beset upon by a pack of starving wolves. Or fifty feral hogs. Comparison aside, it had been enjoyed by all and now Zane stood in the kitchen loading the dishwasher. He'd forgotten all about the message on the answering machine and wasn't particularly thinking about it now as his phone sat on the counter next to him playing "Tempest" by Deftones. He slips a plate into the machine and looks up quizzically as he hears his phone buzz on the counter.
He stands up and reaches for the phone, quickly unlocking it. He looks at the text and smiles.
"Owen". He says to himself. "It's been a bit".
He accesses the text and his brow immediately furrows.
"So much for 'Happy New Year'." He mutters.
"Answer Bob before he gives Dexter a New Year's heart attack".
Right. Bob's voice-mail. "Shit".
He looks to see if his parents and grandparents are nearby so that he could spare them from hearing a message that would be both confusing and profane if they were. Upon not seeing them, and pausing for the feeling of relief that followed that revelation, he presses the button. It beeps and then plays the message.
It begins with what sounds like Bob fighting with something on his desk, which is followed by the sound of something being smashed and a loud squeak of terror from Vines.
"Listen Rain". Comes Bob's terse voice. "The Global Challenge is in January, and seeing that you're a two-time winner, the rest of 'The Consortium' thought you should be told. I told Vines to fuck himself, but I was overruled. So enter it. Don't enter it. Ol' Bob doesn't give a flying fuck what you do. He's done what he was told, very much against his will and he blames you".
There was an awkward silence. Because of course, there was. It was Ooley.
"Would you stop whining, Limes"? Ooley snarls. "Louis didn't hit you. He only broke that cheap clock you have on your desk".
"My mother gave me that"! Vines wails irritably from the other end. "It's a family heirloom"!!
"Heirloom"? Ooley asks, clearly with only partial interest. "Was it worth a lot"?
"Yes"! Vines yells back.
"Not anymore". Comes Ooley's smug reply. "Sucker".
Click.
"Fucking idiot". He says, shaking his head disgustedly.
He wipes the counter down and places the towel back over the oven door handle. He places his hands down on the counter and looks out of the back window at his log pile masterpiece. The symbolism of it being slowly enveloped and covered by the growing fog isn't lost on him.
Then again, maybe it wasn't really fog.
You couldn't be too careful, these days.