Post by Killian King on Apr 23, 2016 22:36:43 GMT -5
New Orleans, La
Nestled quietly amongst The French Quarters, tucked away down on Decatur St. a building sits, reminiscent of a once booming bordello, in the prime of “The Storyville” period, and for good reason I assure you. This my friends is “The Scarlet Letter”... The cities newest and premier night club and venue, built in the remnants of one of the cities more prosperous brothels, and later a notorious speakeasy during the prohibition era. It's this romanticized history of vices and seduction that begged upon it's knees for 'England's Greatest Export' to build his newest project upon this foundation.
A masterpiece of all of the city's natural atmosphere including stained glass windows, oil paintings, and bordello charm encased in the upbeat vibe of a Los Angeles night club. Hidden in office, on the establishment's second story, that looks out from atop of the stage we find 'The Aristotle of Arrogance' himself Killian King, but one can hardly lay fault upon him for this... he's British, and there for it's in his nature.
Killian stands, his forearm resting against the glass of the window that looks out over a sea of moving people, swaying the boom echos of music below. The the marble cubes of his glass rattle amidst The Ol Fashion, crafted from a sampling of Johnny Walker Black. There's a soft tapping at the door, that he excuses as a knock, before the door opens and in walks the steps of man that Killian doesn't recognize. Killian's brow arches as he lifts his eyes from the view below and looks over the the intruder.
Killian: And pray tell... who in the fuck are you?
Fernando: Fernando!
He says with pride as he looks onward at Killian, who now seems even more puzzled. Killian glares at the man with a quirked brow, awaiting the rest of a title.
Killian: And... What the hell is your business mate?
Fernando: Fernando Diego Montoya!!!
Fernando's back seemingly straightens at this announcement.
Killian: Alright?
Fernando: Mister King... I am Mister Nottingham's newly hired butler, and it is a great pleasure to be meeting with your acquaintance...
Killian cuts him off.
Killian: Did you just say... that you were my butler's butler, to say may butler has a butler?
Fernando who also looks overwhelmed by the discovery when said aloud.
Fernando: How very inception Sir.
Fernando makes the “mind blown” action with his hands before one Richard Nottingham walks nonchalantly into the office. His eyes glancing between Killian and his new manservant Fernando.
Nottingham: What?
Killian: …
Nottingham watches Killian in return.
Killian: …
Fernando: Perhaps Senior King is speechless.
Nottingham: We should be so fucking lucky. Dear boy, be a good lad and fetch me a drink from the bar...
Fernando: What will you have Sir?
Killian's eyes cut toward this Fernando who automatically responds to Richard's whims without hurriedly, in a fashion that he's never witness from Nottingham.
Nottingham: It's doesn't bloody matter, lad. Just get gone then.
Nottingham closes the door behind him, his hand resting on his hip, the other softly rubbing his forehead, as he slowly looks back at the bewildered Killian King.
Killian: How...
Nottingham: Easy, there...
Killian: In the fathoms of fuckery, does my butler have his own fucking butler!?!?!
Nothingham: It's a status symbol mate... you're so loaded that your help even has help...
Killian: I'm not paying him!!!
Nothingham: Nonsense... of course not. I'm paying him.
Killian: What was that now? Come again? For what?!?
Nothingham: Well the things that I don't have time to do now...
Killian: You don't do anything!!!
Nottingham: Exactly mate, what with being an award winning personality now, and a vital part of your team!!!
Killian: You didn't do anything, before that!!!
Nottingham: Exactly my point, dear boy... So I surely wouldn't have time to be fucking about with such now!
Killian's lays the drink down on the table beside the window, by this point, his fingers tracing along the sides of his nose as he slowly gains his composure.
Killian: Why a Mexican?
A look of shock and disbelief courses the face of Nottingham as he slowly looks about to see is anyone else was in ear's distance.
Nottingham: Cuban, good man. He's Cuban...
Killian shrugs unmoved by this declaration.
Nottingham: Well I wasn't going to be the next one to imply our standing by adding yet another black sidekick to the roster.
Killian: What?
Nottingham: What with Gian Jones, Waldo, and that eD cASe... I most certainly shan't add to their stereotypical list!!! ...and set myself up for a lawsuit? Not I.
Killian: Edward is a yellow Muppet...
Nothingham: Oh but we knowwwwww...
Killian: Rubbish! Know what?
Nottingham whom looks surprised, again.
Nothingham: Really? I mean you really can't tell?
'Her Majesty's Most Beloved Grappler' waves off the effects of such as is the pointless topic.
Killian: Regardless... I don't have time for this, Richard. Sex and Violence are back and we're poised to take center stage once more, but I've got to soften my image a bit, make myself more accessible to the family demographics.
Killian unwinds a bit, as Nottingham slips his arm around Killian's shoulder and guides him.
Nottingham: This is exactly what I've been talking about my boy, with all the time I have free now, thanks to Fernando, I've already got it figured out.
Killian sighs softly, already evident that he's afraid to ask. Nottingham pats him on his sculpted and defines chest.
Nottingham: We do one of those 'Make-A-Wish” Foundation, appearances...
Killian already looking put-off by the idea, grimaces.
Nottingham: We find the most saddening cases we can muster, and we grant a once in a life time meet and greet filled wish for some gloomy, depressing, outlook having child who has nay a hope of happiness to cling to.
Killian: I mean it sounds well enough... but the , and the having to actually touch people, and acting like I honestly care about...
Nottingham: I've already found the perfect one.
His arm and grip tighten around Killian's shoulder, who looks disgruntled already.
Nottingham: Sister... wee troubled little ones, with the wight of the world on their tiny shoulders.
Killian sighs softly.
Killian: Is it terminal?
Nottingham: Sadly no... but there is no cure unfortunately, and the outlook is everlastingly grim.
Killian who now looks moved by all this.
Killian: Is it crippling? Life altering?
Richard groans feebly, as he shakes his head slowly.
Nottingham: They'll never know a normal life of opportunity lad, they might as well be cursed... Doomed to a bitter, hardening, cold existence.
Nottingham looks as he's about to cry, Killian himself slightly moved.
Killian: I... don't know. Richard, truely I mean...
Nottingham: Their father... is Donovan Hastings.
As if renewed with sanctified and consecrated vigor, Killian's head snaps up, and he shrugs himself free of Richard Nottingham's graps, stepping forward.
Killian: I'll do it! For those girls... I'll do it.
Fernando: You'll do it!
At this point Fernando has returned with Nottingham's drink in hand. Which Richard quickly graps hold of, and takes a sip.
Nottingham: Cheers, lad.
His rolling about in relation to it's strength. His voice now rasped and choking.
Nottingham: That'll do.
Killian just as quickly removes the drink from Richard's hand and places it on the table, much to his now award winning steward's surprise.
Killian: Fernando, stop by the gift shop and pick up two of everything in child size small, and a few toys... Richard, get the car.
No sooner had the words left Killian's lips Richard looks to Fernando.
Nottingham: Fernando, stop by the gift shop and pick up two of everything in a child size small, and a few toys... then get the car.
Killian stares at Richard for a moment.
Killian: …
Nottingham nods in approval as Fernando jumps straight to it.
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Owen Peterson finds himself sitting backstage in the confides of Donovan Hastings's dressing room. He sits flipping slowly through a magazine as Donovan's twins play before him. Hastings having just finished a match is relaxing in a hot shower, evident by the slight trails of mist that billow from the door that leads to the tile shower. Thankfully the belting of his own entrance music is drowned out by the ambiance around him, though that does little to stop his bad lounge singer interpretation.
Hastings: And just one mistake... Yeah!(snapping his fingers) ...is all it will take, We'll go down in history... Remember me for centuries... Hey yeah! Oh hey! Hey yeah!!! Remember me for centuriesssss. Thank you and good night!!!
The girls look to one another and sigh, shaking their heads in unison, like synchronized shame. But alas there is a knocking on the door, and again. Peterson makes his way toward the door cautiously before opening it just enough to peak through. As he does so Nottingham stares at him with a raised eyebrow, before the door shoves open wide with Owen behind it as it crashes into the wall. Killian King with Nottingham behind him stride inward, with Fernando in tow, his arms filled with Killian King swag of all shapes and styles.
Nottingham: A moment of your time good sir...
As Owen peels himself from behind the door, his eyes widened, he musters to form words to no avail as he peers to see Nottingham hanging posters of 'Her Majesty's Most Beloved Grappler' around the room. Killian plopping down on Donovan's throne, one leg hanging over the arm of the chair, as their third yet unknown counterpart showers gifts over the table of Killian King as well as 'Sex and Violence' merchandise around the room. Action figures, plush wrestling buddies, Best of dvd's and more.
Killian: Brilliant!!!
Peterson: ….
Nottingham: Where are the little ankle biter.... I mean there you are darlings.
Peterson: …
Hastings: For Centuries!!!
The twins look at one another slightly confused but excitedly at the mass amounts of goods gifted onto them.
Peterson leaps to his feet and begins trying to gather up as many items in his arms as he can, looking around as where to stash them before Donovan makes his way out to such pandemonium, unfolding under his watch. Nottingham, and Killian watch Owen silently, their brows equally arched as he rolls over the coffee table and snatches at new items and ones he's dropping alike.
Peterson: What are you doing?!?!?
Hastings: What was that, Owen?
Peterson looks as if he's currently having a stroke, the twinge in his eye as he takes notice of the girls now both wearing shirts that Nottingham has slipped over their regular clothes. One a Killian King shirt, the other a 'Hugs and Fisticuffs' PG take on their already popular 'Sex and Violence' shirts.
Killian: Alright let's wrap this up, ladies...
Killian takes a bended knee before the girls now also wearing matching youth sized replicas of the Co-Op Championship belts as well.
Killian: I want you two to know... that I'm dedicating my match against your father... to you both.
Everyone in the room looks on the verge of tears, save Owen who is in the midst of vomiting into a Killian King logo wearing waste basket.
Peterson: It's all going dark... so dark. I can't feel my left arm.
Killian: I can't cure your ailment... but I can ease your troubles. Whenever you turn on that television, know that you won't have to be subjected to watching the same dribble that your used to. There's indeed a light at the end of the tunnel. Killian King and The Vain One are back... and We're going to liven up the joint.
Owen forces himself up to his feet, his skin a sickly shade of pale white. Fernando has finished setting up a wrestling ring on the coffee table as well as depicted a diorama of this Monday that has Killian King and Vain, pinning current Champions Donovan Hastings and 'The Monster' Dredd.
Nottingham: We're fuc... (he catches himself) We're class, lads... true gentlemen.
Peterson looks as if he's about to fall out, as the invaders wrap up with a few selfies with the girls and make their way to the door. Nottingham finishes unwrapping a Killian King rubber ducky that he slings into the shower room upon his exit... hearing it land with a repeated “squeak” across the tiled floor.
Owens feels upon the verge or tears as he watches the entrance to the shower, the door to the room closing behind their guest. The sounds of the shower no longer running.
Hastings: What... what is the meaning of this Peterson? This is unacceptable!
Donovan Hastings makes his way out of the shower area, wearing an exact replica of his entrance robe, but made from an absorbing towel like material. The Killian King duck in hand. His look, of a stiffened upper lip and a scowl as his mouth drops open, gaping as he takes in the mass amounts of booty found sprawled around the room, the girls in the center of it, smiling toward their father while wearing his enemies swag.
Hastings: Et tu, daughters... Et tu? ...I suppose this too, was inevitable.
Peterson's head droops.
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Down the Hall...
Killian: I feel we've done grand here today boys, we've done well.
