Post by Lord Hastings on May 11, 2012 13:04:11 GMT -5
He’s got a paper bag over his head as two men wearing ski masks drag his bloated body and throw him into a chair. They pull off the bag, revealing Tate Levene. He blinks several times and looks around.
Tate: Did you just do all that to bring me into the next room?
The kidnappers pull off their masks, revealing their identities as Chris Peterson and Marek Daisuke.
Chris: Shut your mouth, fat boy! You’re in real trouble this time!
Tate: Not another Wingate test…
Chris: Who gave you permission to speak?
Hastings: It’s okay, Knight-Coach Chris. I’ll take it from here. Thank you, my Enforcers.
Chris gives Tate a look of disdain before he and Marek leave the room.
Donovan pulls up a chair in front of Tate, orienting it so that he sits backwards on the chair to face him.
Hastings: You think you’re pretty smart, don’t you, Tate? You think you got it all figured out.
Tate: I actually have no idea why you brought me in here.
Donovan touches a spot of white powder on the front of Tate’s shirt.
Hastings: I guess you did a good job of checking your nose when you were done, but you probably should have wiped your shirt off, too. Tell me, Tate, where do you keep your mirror?
Tate: Um.
Hastings: We have a strict drug policy here.
Tate: Hold on, I never-
Hastings: I know. But by the time we’re done here, you’ll probably wish you had.
Tate: What are you going to do to me?
Hastings: Oh, Tate. It’s not me you have to worry about.
Donovan stands and turns his back to Tate as a hooded figure steps forward from the shadows.
Hastings: It’s him.
The figure slowly reaches up for the hood and pulls it back, revealing his identity.
Forewell Boding: At last, Tate Levene, we meet face-to-face.
Tate: Haven’t we met before?
Forewell looks at Donovan.
Forewell: I can’t work under these conditions.
Donovan snaps his fingers, and Owen Peterson pushes a hot lamp into place so that it is shining down directly on Tate.
Tate: Come on, that’s hot.
Forewell: You don’t know what hot is, Butterbean. Besides, it’s probably doing you a favor. Once when I was in Myanmar I had to use a heat lamp specifically to melt through a layer of fat. Granted, when you take the watermelons into account, it was a miracle that the-
Hastings: I’ve heard the watermelon story before. Let’s stay on topic.
Forewell: Yes, of course. Now, Tate…
Forewell wanders around Tate, his own face just inches from Tate’s, examining him as he speaks.
Forewell: If indeed you really are Tate…when did the beast first approach you?
Tate: The beast?
Forewell: Or was it one of the Dragonites?
Tate: I don’t know what you mean.
Forewell: I suppose it also could have been one of the Brotherhood of the Eastern Ocean. That would be noticeable, however, as they announce their presence with a bag of flaming goat poop, paired with brownies and white wine, which incidentally is good for washing dishes.
Forewell touches the white powder and then quickly darts forward and licks a spot.
Tate: Ew!
Donovan frowns and Owen looks like he may be ill. Forewell smacks his lips, looking up at the ceiling.
Hastings: Are you getting your fix?
Forewell: Powered sugar. The kind you put on a bribing donut, or sprinkle on your doorstep on top of the cat’s feet if you want to keep the Brotherhood away.
Tate: I’ve never heard of your Brotherhood of the…whatever.
Forewell gets directly in his face, mere inches away.
Forewell: I believe you.
Hastings: We know you’ve been feeding information to Kiseragi, Tate.
Forewell: Yes, this clinches it.
Hastings: I knew something was up when you obstructed my getting my sandwich in a timely fashion a few weeks ago.
Forewell: Of course, you’ll deny this. But that is the art of interrogation, having the proper leverage, and if you cannot admit-
Tate: I did it.
Forewell: Well, that was anti-climactic.
Tate: Can you turn the lamp off now? It’s really hot.
Hastings: No. I should tell your grandmother.
Tate: Oh, please.
Forewell: But he won’t.
Tate: You won’t?
Hastings: I won’t. I don’t have to.
A tiny motor can be heard, and Old Lady Levene rolls out of the shadows in a motorized chair. She stops in front of her grandson.
OLL: I am so disappointed in you.
Tate: They shot me! Does nobody remember that!?! THEY FREAKING SHOT ME!!!
Hastings: Okay, let’s be fair. That was Travis, it wasn’t me, plus I’m pretty sure we figured out that it was the horse’s fault.
Forewell: Frankly, I’m surprised you don’t get hit by things more often, given how large and inviting a target you present. Maybe you want to take the heat lamp with you?
OLL: You are no grandson of mine.
The motor starts back up, and Old Lady Levene putt-putts out of the room at a remarkably slow rate that is the vehicle’s top speed.
Donovan taps his foot.
Forewell scratches his head.
She’s halfway out now.
Donovan crosses his arms.
Owen’s arms are getting tired.
Now she’s stuck in the doorway.
Forewell yawns.
And she’s out.
Tate: So what are you going to do to me?
Hastings: As tempting as it may be, you should consider yourself lucky. In spite of your treachery, Kiseragi was defeated at Rising Sun. The time has come for my focus to be elsewhere, on another old score yet to be settled. Fear. Come Synergy, I must inject him with his own medicine, give him a preview of things to come. It was nearly two years ago that he took the World Heavyweight Championship from me. At WrestleStock, I return the favor. As for you, Tate Levene, I can think of only one fitting punishment.
Forewell: What is it?
Forewell leans close to Donovan, who hesitates a moment, but rolls his eyes and whispers something to him.
Forewell: Surely not! A fate worse than death, to be certain!
Tate: What? What!?!?
Hastings: You have to train at the Dragon’s Cave!!!
Beats of silence.
Tate: That’s it?
Hastings: Consider yourself lucky you’ve only been sentenced to certain career suicide. Now get out of here.
Tate quickly gets up and waddles out of the room.
Donovan starts to say something, but the exhausted Owen Peterson loses his grip on the lamp and drops it on the ground, plunging the room into darkness.
Tate: Did you just do all that to bring me into the next room?
The kidnappers pull off their masks, revealing their identities as Chris Peterson and Marek Daisuke.
Chris: Shut your mouth, fat boy! You’re in real trouble this time!
Tate: Not another Wingate test…
Chris: Who gave you permission to speak?
Hastings: It’s okay, Knight-Coach Chris. I’ll take it from here. Thank you, my Enforcers.
Chris gives Tate a look of disdain before he and Marek leave the room.
Donovan pulls up a chair in front of Tate, orienting it so that he sits backwards on the chair to face him.
Hastings: You think you’re pretty smart, don’t you, Tate? You think you got it all figured out.
Tate: I actually have no idea why you brought me in here.
Donovan touches a spot of white powder on the front of Tate’s shirt.
Hastings: I guess you did a good job of checking your nose when you were done, but you probably should have wiped your shirt off, too. Tell me, Tate, where do you keep your mirror?
Tate: Um.
Hastings: We have a strict drug policy here.
Tate: Hold on, I never-
Hastings: I know. But by the time we’re done here, you’ll probably wish you had.
Tate: What are you going to do to me?
Hastings: Oh, Tate. It’s not me you have to worry about.
Donovan stands and turns his back to Tate as a hooded figure steps forward from the shadows.
Hastings: It’s him.
The figure slowly reaches up for the hood and pulls it back, revealing his identity.
Forewell Boding: At last, Tate Levene, we meet face-to-face.
Tate: Haven’t we met before?
Forewell looks at Donovan.
Forewell: I can’t work under these conditions.
Donovan snaps his fingers, and Owen Peterson pushes a hot lamp into place so that it is shining down directly on Tate.
Tate: Come on, that’s hot.
Forewell: You don’t know what hot is, Butterbean. Besides, it’s probably doing you a favor. Once when I was in Myanmar I had to use a heat lamp specifically to melt through a layer of fat. Granted, when you take the watermelons into account, it was a miracle that the-
Hastings: I’ve heard the watermelon story before. Let’s stay on topic.
Forewell: Yes, of course. Now, Tate…
Forewell wanders around Tate, his own face just inches from Tate’s, examining him as he speaks.
Forewell: If indeed you really are Tate…when did the beast first approach you?
Tate: The beast?
Forewell: Or was it one of the Dragonites?
Tate: I don’t know what you mean.
Forewell: I suppose it also could have been one of the Brotherhood of the Eastern Ocean. That would be noticeable, however, as they announce their presence with a bag of flaming goat poop, paired with brownies and white wine, which incidentally is good for washing dishes.
Forewell touches the white powder and then quickly darts forward and licks a spot.
Tate: Ew!
Donovan frowns and Owen looks like he may be ill. Forewell smacks his lips, looking up at the ceiling.
Hastings: Are you getting your fix?
Forewell: Powered sugar. The kind you put on a bribing donut, or sprinkle on your doorstep on top of the cat’s feet if you want to keep the Brotherhood away.
Tate: I’ve never heard of your Brotherhood of the…whatever.
Forewell gets directly in his face, mere inches away.
Forewell: I believe you.
Hastings: We know you’ve been feeding information to Kiseragi, Tate.
Forewell: Yes, this clinches it.
Hastings: I knew something was up when you obstructed my getting my sandwich in a timely fashion a few weeks ago.
Forewell: Of course, you’ll deny this. But that is the art of interrogation, having the proper leverage, and if you cannot admit-
Tate: I did it.
Forewell: Well, that was anti-climactic.
Tate: Can you turn the lamp off now? It’s really hot.
Hastings: No. I should tell your grandmother.
Tate: Oh, please.
Forewell: But he won’t.
Tate: You won’t?
Hastings: I won’t. I don’t have to.
A tiny motor can be heard, and Old Lady Levene rolls out of the shadows in a motorized chair. She stops in front of her grandson.
OLL: I am so disappointed in you.
Tate: They shot me! Does nobody remember that!?! THEY FREAKING SHOT ME!!!
Hastings: Okay, let’s be fair. That was Travis, it wasn’t me, plus I’m pretty sure we figured out that it was the horse’s fault.
Forewell: Frankly, I’m surprised you don’t get hit by things more often, given how large and inviting a target you present. Maybe you want to take the heat lamp with you?
OLL: You are no grandson of mine.
The motor starts back up, and Old Lady Levene putt-putts out of the room at a remarkably slow rate that is the vehicle’s top speed.
Donovan taps his foot.
Forewell scratches his head.
She’s halfway out now.
Donovan crosses his arms.
Owen’s arms are getting tired.
Now she’s stuck in the doorway.
Forewell yawns.
And she’s out.
Tate: So what are you going to do to me?
Hastings: As tempting as it may be, you should consider yourself lucky. In spite of your treachery, Kiseragi was defeated at Rising Sun. The time has come for my focus to be elsewhere, on another old score yet to be settled. Fear. Come Synergy, I must inject him with his own medicine, give him a preview of things to come. It was nearly two years ago that he took the World Heavyweight Championship from me. At WrestleStock, I return the favor. As for you, Tate Levene, I can think of only one fitting punishment.
Forewell: What is it?
Forewell leans close to Donovan, who hesitates a moment, but rolls his eyes and whispers something to him.
Forewell: Surely not! A fate worse than death, to be certain!
Tate: What? What!?!?
Hastings: You have to train at the Dragon’s Cave!!!
Beats of silence.
Tate: That’s it?
Hastings: Consider yourself lucky you’ve only been sentenced to certain career suicide. Now get out of here.
Tate quickly gets up and waddles out of the room.
Donovan starts to say something, but the exhausted Owen Peterson loses his grip on the lamp and drops it on the ground, plunging the room into darkness.
2013, '18, '23 
2013 