Post by Jet Somers on Apr 21, 2018 15:24:13 GMT -5
I keep swinging my hand through a swarm of bees cause I
I want honey on my table
I keep swinging my hand through a swarm of bees cause I
I want honey on my table
But I never get it right
No, I never get it right
4/21/18
"Guess your friend's stomach can't handle New England food," Jameson comments as he enters the apartment living room, looking around for the missing Bloodhound.
"Food's not the problem, I don't think," Jet, reclining on the sofa, shrugs his left shoulder a bit, "something's bothering him."
Jameson nods as he leans against the dining room counter separating the two rooms, "Him and Sherry."
"Sherry?"
"Sherry hasn't once overindulged, despite spending every other night with the three lushes," Jameson points out. "The most she has is a couple of hard ciders, and more often than not, she's the only one who can walk."
"Walking away from a night with Jenny and Liv is an accomplishment," Jet agrees, "but we're not big drinkers anyway, to be honest. 'Hound is, though. It surprises me that he's not partaking."
"Partaking isn't what you brought him along for," Gabriel's chimes in as he enters the room, the sound of flushing announcing his entrance. "Keep in mind why we're here, friends. These distractions are a smokescreen only."
"Only the Order probably already knows that," Jet mutters, pushing himself to his feet.
"That's a given," Jameson assures him, "We just have to wait for them to slip up and show their hand."
"Hand me that," Gabriel indicates his charging phone, plugged in on the counter behind Jameson. He unplugs it and hands it over, and Gabriel thumbs the home button long enough to check the time. "Eight A.M., Jet. You're still meeting us at the gym at nine, yeah?"
"Yeah, I just want to check on 'Hound before we go," Jet starts down the hallway toward Bloodhound's room.
"Go ahead, we'll meet you there, I guess," nodding to Jameson, Gabriel lets himself out.
I keep swinging my hand through a swarm of bees
I can't understand why they're stinging me
But I'll do what I want
I'll do what I please
I'll do it again till I've got what I need
I'll rip and smash through the hornet's nest
Do you understand I deserve the best?
And I'll do what I want
I'll do what I please
I'll do it again till I've got what I need
Jet knocks lightly on the door Bloodhound had taken when Gabriel gave them their first tour of the apartment he'd rented for their stay. When there's no answer, he turns the knob and pushes it open. The room is empty, but his eyes settle on 'Hound's leather duffle he'd carried his things in during the ride. Still overstuffed, Jet realizes the bag hasn't been unpacked.
"Guess he hasn't yet settled in?" Jameson asks from behind him.
Jet shakes his head, "In three days, we'll have been here for two weeks. How is he not settled?"
"Settled for living out of his bag," Jameson speculates, "That indicates a man who wants to be ready to go at a moment's notice."
"Notice that we need to move?" Jet considers, trying to put this together 'Hound's lack of presence with the rest of the group. "That makes sense, sure."
"Sure, that's got to be it," Jameson taps Jet's arm lightly with his palm, a halfhearted gesture of reassurance.
Jet sighs, "It's getting late in the morning. I'd better head to the gym. Eden, Liv, and Sherry are probably already there. You'll be patrolling, I guess?"
Jameson nods, and Jet pulls the door closed. He scoops up his bag on the way out, leaving Jameson to finish getting ready as he steals glances toward the door with real concern.
----------
I try to stick this pin through a butterfly cause I
I like all the pretty colors
It just fell apart, so I flung it in the fire
To burn with all the others
Cause I never get it right
No, I never get it right
4/23/18
A crummy sidewalk, overgrown through its cracks with knee-high grasses and weeds tangled into an impenetrable barrier between the street and the sardined tenement homes on the other side. The buildings are three storeys, ten to a row, and faded to various shades of gray which give absolutely no clue to their color before they were abandoned.
Inside, transients and criminals find residence without the burden of leases or rent. Little more than shelters against the elements, they comprise a collection of common spaces where privacy isn't a viable concern, and bodies huddle together in corners and on brown, bare mattresses. Some shiver and piss off the effects of their chemicals, some consummate violent and non-consensual relationships, and some simply rot inertly, becoming permanent fixtures, a part of the industrial wasteland.
From his vantage point on the roofs of the side-by-side tenements, Jet Somers can see the tetris-style design of endless, indistinguishable clusters like this one forming one of the least appealing inner city sections of Detroit. He paces around the rooftop, thinking outloud.
"Guess if I had to be truthful, I'm sick to death of justifying what I've been doing in this company over the last several months. Honesty is obviously a virtue that the people on our roster can't handle, because when it's staring them right in the face, calling them out, they affect a mode of obfuscating stupidity that's as frustrating as it is self-defeating."
"Defeating Zane, Lucy, and Phrixus has got to be the worst motivation I've ever had for fighting in a championship match. These three defeat themselves weekly by virtue of who and what they are. Does Donovan really think these are champions the fans want to take?"
"Take Zane, who can't grasp the depth of his uselessness as champion, accepting his half-assed, phoned-in reign because he defines it entirely on the three seconds that precede the closing bell of his championship matches. The rest of the time can be filled with a hypocrite calling hypocrites out for their hypocrisy, picking and choosing which parts of his contract he's bound by while pointing fingers at those of us who are forced to step outside the boundaries of the rules when our hands are tied. Because he's Donovan's enforcer, he refuses to see the writing on the wall despite being systematically deconstructed over the last four months. He still walks around like nothing can touch him, like he's still a triple champion, deflecting the constant criticism of his term like he learned spin-doctoring from our head of state."
"State of Lucy's abusive relationship with her father: stagnating. State of Lucy's generic relationship with Maggie: stale. State of Lucy's faction in defeating the Court: stewing in their ineffectiveness. If we're not privy to a never-resolving family drama, we're inundated with constant Twitter reminders that Lucy and her girlfriend are just peachy keen and just so in love. Is The Killing Joke even a thing anymore? I'm so bored with our former Cross Hemisphere Champion. Sure, she's fire in the ring, and she's had my number over and over, but can I get more than a punch-clock rival? Is that too much to ask? I've been up this bitch's ass for going on two years now, the three of us have hounded her without mercy, and I feel like I've carried the entire rivalry. I know she's good enough to beat me if I'm not on my toes, but jeez, what else has she done lately? I almost feel rejected, but really it's just boredom. Lucy, do something!"
"Something funny about No Hold's Barred: We won title shots for this show that were then just handed out to others. It kind of makes the entire Lord of Trios tournament look pointless doesn't it? It was Zane's daddy's pet project, but because The Court took it from him, it doesn't matter. Seventy-five percent of the people in the Prison Break match are people who lost the tournament, only to be given the opportunity any god damn way. You know who else lost that tournament? Lucy Wylde; give her a shot, too. We wanted to buy our shots with the resources we've bled to earn over the years, and were told no. But hey, Fear wants to cash in? That's perfectly ok. Let's add him to the list of protected talent along with Zane Scott and Dave Rydell. Who is this guy that, after being completely irrelevant and ineffective for god knows how long now, can continue to find himself in Cross Hemisphere and World Championship matches at his own whim? The guy makes a random grand gesture, gets embarrassed, crawls back into his hole, and then still can crawl out and be allowed to do whatever he wants."
"Want to know the truth? This match isn't going to be about any of the three of them. To hell with all of my opponents. I don't want to win the championship to prove a god damn thing to any of them. They're boring, repetitive, and ineffective without official influence, and I've proven myself over them endlessly before now. I'm ten times the champion any of them will ever be without even carrying a golden strap around my waist."
"Waste my time trying to stimulate myself to fight when these are my adversaries? I'd much rather set my sights higher. Winning the UGWC Championship doesn't mean a thing when it comes to knocking off Lucy, Fear, or Zane, because they'll still have the shifter stuck in neutral after I do it, and nothing will change. The real prize is being the constant thorn in the side of our Creative Director."
"'Director' Hastings is still reeling from the lesson he learned at Horizons last year. There's no victory in pinning Jet Somers, because you walk away knowing he's still better than you. Donovan walked away from his entire in-ring career because he realized that he'd reached the heights of success simply by standing across from me when the bell rang. Now, month after month he tries to rectify the mistake he made with his gamble by bending and changing the rules so that he can throw whoever and whatever he's got at me in the hopes of finally knocking me off the mountain that I raised in this industry. Winning at No Hold's Barred will finally prove to him that he can't."
"Can't do much for the puppets you're dangling in front me on chains for this one, Donny, because I'm not seeing them anymore. Each one of them is a mask you wear now that you hide behind your retirement. I'm coming for you, but I'm not threatening violence. I tore a hole in your facade by crushing your little tournament, and now I'm coming to finish the job and expose you anyway I know how."
"How you'll continue to thwart me after this is anyone's guess."
Jet stares angrily up at the sky, fists clenched at his sides as he breathes heavily.
----------
I keep swinging my hand through a swarm of bees
I can't understand why they're stinging me
But I'll do what I want
I'll do what I please
I'll do it again till I've got what I need
I'll rip and smash through the hornet's nest
Do you understand I deserve the best?
And I'll do what I want
I'll do what I please
I'll do it again till I've got what I need
4/21/18
Jet arrives at the gym just as Gabriel is finished dressing out. He notices Eden and Olivia talking animatedly while sipping on dark green protein smoothies near the kettle bells. Casting his gaze around, he finally spies Sherry, bench-pressing on the opposite side of the gym with Bloodhound spotting her.
"Guess we should start with some cardio to warm up?" Gabriel elbows him and leans his head toward the treadmills. Jet is already in his gear, having jogged the distance from the apartment to here, and he nods absently as he follows Gabriel to the bank of machines.
"Up! Down, nine. Up! Down, ten," he hears 'Hound counting off Sherry's reps.
"Ten minutes should do," Gabriel begins pushing buttons on his machine, and is about to step on when Jet grasps his forearm.
"Do you know if Sherry is alright?" he asks. Gabriel was, at times, the most perceptive of their group. If anyone had picked up on any subtle clues, it would be him.
Gabriel hesitates, then looks over at the petite redhead pushing the bar above her as beads of sweat break out on her brow.
"Alright," Gabriel begins, "um, she has seemed a bit homesick since you four came in."
"In Japan she didn't act this aloof," Jet mutters, as if only just realizing something was amiss. "We were there for three weeks, and when it was time to fly back home, she didn't want to leave."
Gabriel favors Jet with a confident smile.
"Leave it to me," he guarantees him, "I'll have an offhand word with her later and see what's on her mind."
"Mind the sweat, bruv," Olivia, who had just walked over, indicates a clammy palm print on the handle of the machine Gabriel had been setting up. Grimacing, he steps over to the support column to pull out a handful of sanitary wipes, disgusted at the lack of courtesy from public gym denizens. "Oy, luv, what's eatin ya?"
Jet realizes she's talking to him, and responds with a laugh "Ya know I don't understand half of what you're saying, right?"
"Right-o bruv," she grins, "Just makin' sure ya 'eads on straight. Usin' this one?"
She climbs on the treadmill Jet was about to take.
"One second," he smiles indulgently, taking his water out of the cupholder. He gestures one arm out as if to say 'it's all yours,' then carries his gear over to Bloodhound and Sherry.
"Second set, Sherry," 'Hound cheers her, "you're doing good, let's try for twenty five this time?"
"Time for me to take over," Jet announces, overly cheery as he steps up behind the bodyguard he'd assigned for her. Bloodhound blinks at him a moment, then steps away dutifully.
"Over here, ya lug," Eden calls from the row of hanging punching bags, "Hold this for me?"
"Me?" he laughs, "how about not talking the damn bag this time?"
He wanders over to help Eden with her routine, leaving Jet and Sherry alone as they begin her next set.
"Time for us to talk," he doesn't waste time.
"Talk?" she manages to breathe between grunts. "About what?"
"What's on your mind, for starters?" he presses. "I'm sorry, that our situation hasn't given me much chance to give you my undivided attention--"
"Attention: PiYo classes start in five in the hot room!" an intercom informs them. "Time to work those butts!"
"--but I want you to let me know if something is bothering you," he finishes.
"You really want me to get into it?" Sherry stops with the bar held fully up, and Jet takes the cue and lifts it onto the brackets. She sits up and reaches for a towel.
"It's not all that simple," she admits, "and I haven't brought it up because I don't want you angry with me."
"Me?" Jet looks astonished. "When I have every been angry at you for any reason?"
He sits down next to her on the bench, a feeling of dread growing in his stomach. His arm goes around her slim shoulders automatically, as much a comfort to himself as it is to her.
"Reasons that haven't come up before," she says without meeting his eyes, "because I've never felt like it was my place to object."
"Object to what we're doing?" Jet's brow furrows, "Sherry, I want you safe and close to me at all times. These people already infiltrated my family when I wasn't looking. I don't want you all the way down in Louisiana when I'm travelling around the country and can't protect--"
"Protection isn't what I'm talking about, Jet," she interrupts, "The way things are getting, the way you're acting at work, these people you're getting involved with, these--"
"These people?" Jet's voice changes. Instead of consoling, it suddenly sounds cold. "Eden and Gabriel?"
She ignores the dare in his voice and continues, "Gabriel you already know is bad news. But you're blind when it comes to Eden."
She feels the weight of his arm drop from her shoulders.
"Eden is my best friend," he says almost robotically, as if he's tired of having to remind people of this fact. "It's that simple. I don't know why people can't simply accept it."
"It's poisonous, is why," Sherry's voice sounds more pleading than accusing.
"Why do you think we're working together now?" he demands, as if this explains everything.
"Now is the part where I remind you of the last time you two worked together," Sherry stands her ground, literally, as she gets to her feet and steps in front of him. "Do you remember how many people got hurt? Do you remember who?"
"Who are we hurting now?" Jet raises his palms and the inflection in his voice, "We're trying to protect the people we care about, and--"
"And yet, Nate..." Sherry finishes.
Jet's jaw twitches. He gets to his feet, looking out over the gym over her head as if he doesn't know she's there.
"Nate is a name you don't get to bring up again," he warns. "This is how we take care of business. And don't talk about Eden like that again, she's supported me no matter what I've-"
"I've supported you!" Sherry screeches. "The whole way, I'm the one who was there, from the beginning. No one else. Even after your schemes landed me in a hospital, poisoned. Poisoned like everything gets when you get like this."
"This conversation is over," Jet declares.
The resulting slap echoes around the gym, causing the rest of their group, and even the other patrons to stop and stare. Jet's eyes narrow as he realizes that 'Hound stopped holding Eden's bag, and has been watching them like a hawk the entire time.
Scooping up his gym bag, Jet stomps away and exits, slamming the door open hard enough on his way out to knock the bell chime from it's moorings.
"That wen' well, I guess," Olivia says over the stunned silence of the gym.
This time, I'll get it right
This time, I'll get it right
It's gonna be this time, I'll get it right
God, let it be this time I get it right
"Guess they're headed back south again, then," Jameson says as he and Jet come up to the apartment building's steps from different directions at the same time. "Are you going with?"
"With who?" Jet pauses. "Who is headed south? What are you talking about?"
"About your girl and her bodyguard," Jameson informs him, "I thought you knew."
"Knew she was upset, yes," Jet corrects him, "what makes you think they're heading out?"
"Out in the parking garage, she and Bloodhound were loading that duffle bag on his bike, and a couple more besides," he says.
Jet shoots down the steps like a bolt of lightning and sprints to the parking garage. Sensing trouble, Jameson sighs and runs after him. A few minutes later, they come up on Sherry climbing onto 'Hound's bike as he finishes zipping one of the saddlebags.
"Besides," Jet hears his friend say, "this is what he asked me to do."
"Do you want to try explaining when I asked you to take Sherry back home?" Jet calls out, challenging 'Hound.
"Home is where she's going to be the safest," he calls back. "You told me to make sure she was protected while you took care of your shit; I'm protecting her."
"Her safest bet is to be with me," Jet growls. "New Orleans isn't safe and you know it."
"It seems to me like the worst shit that's happened in NOLA has happened when you were there," 'Hound steps up to Jet.
"There's no reason for this," Jameson tries to mollify the heating situation.
"This is your one and only warning, 'Hound," Jet mumbles just loud enough for him to hear. "Get on your bike, alone, and get the hell out of New York."
"New York, the next place you're going to burn down," 'Hound pushes, "damn anyone who's in your way?"
"Way out of line, friend" Jet barks as he takes a swing. 'Hound ducks and tackles Jet, taking him off his feet and driving the two of them to the concrete. Sherry and Jameson dart in to pull them apart.
"Friends! You're friends! Stop it!" Sherry screams as she pulls on Jet's shoulders. He shoves back with his left arm without looking, knocking her off her feet. As Jameson manages to get 'Hound back to his feet and away from Jet, Opie realizes what he's down and his jaw drops.
Bloodhound dusts himself off and walks over to help Sherry up.
"It's become very fuckin' clear that the person she needs protecting from is you," he says to Jet. He helps Sherry back to the motorcycle as Jet stares moritified at the spot on the floor where he'd shoved her.
'Hound sighs and walks back to Jet.
"You should come back with us, brother," he whispers. "Walk away from this shit. Fix things with her while you can still get it fixed."
"Fix it," Jet repeats without looking up. Sherry looks at him hopefully, helmet in her hands. He looks up at her.
"It's going to be ok," he nods slowly, "you guys go back home. We'll handle this."
Jet gives Jameson a look, and the two of them walk back to the entrance of the parking garage without looking back.
"This is the right thing," 'Hound assures Sherry, who watches her man walk away from her. "Jet can take care of himself, you know that, yeah?"
"Yeah I guess," she says before sliding her helmet on to hide her face.
Moments later, Jet ignores the roar of the bike's engine as Bloodhound explodes out of the garage and away from the apartment building. Jameson watches them go, lifting his sleeve to speak into the cuff, before turning to join Jet as he walks up the steps, defeated.
So I'm cutting that branch off the cherry tree
Singing, "This will be my victory,"
Then I
See them coming after me
And they're following me across the sea
And now they're stinging my friends and my family
And I
Don't know why this is happening
But I'll do what I want
I'll do what I please
I'll do it again till I've got what I need