Post by Travis Pierce on Jul 10, 2022 21:11:39 GMT -5
July 11, 2022
A deep exhale.
The desert sun feels good on the face of the Drunken Buzzsaw, as he stands in front of a smoker in The Devil’s District of the annual WrestleStock Festival. He does not mind the heat of the desert, the Chadweiser in his hand providing sufficient relief. He smiles softly at the scent of the cooking meat, basks in the serenity of a moment he knows is unlikely to last.
A few feet away, his phone dings. He sighs as he reaches for it, shifting his Chadweister to the same hand he is using to hold his cigarette.
“Oh, you’re shitting me,” he grumbles to himself. He starts to put it back down, but it dings again. He sighs and taps on the phone, navigating to his text messages and taps on the name “Angry Dickbag” to read the message.
“Doesn’t this fuckin’ douche have anything else to be doing right now?”
He sips his Chadweiser and puts his cigarette back in his mouth, careful not to spill a drop of the beer as he does so. With the cigarette dangling from his mouth, he begins tapping on the phone screen.
He goes to put the phone back down, but not before taking a moment to glance at the time. It’s already well into the afternoon, which strikes him as odd. He glances around suspiciously, as the time has already come and gone that Travis Pierce has made his annual visit to disrupt, irritate, and generally annoy him. Not that he minds having this extended of a moment of peace, mind you.
“If that fucker’s rigged the goddamn bathroom again, I swear…” he grumbles.
But still…it’s tradition.
The phone dings again, and he looks towards it with a hint of exasperation, but his attention diverts as he overhears two of the festival workers setting up a nearby booth.
“Good looking field this year,” says the first worker.
“Yeah, it is,” agrees the second. “I’m excited to see JC back in UGWC.”
“Bah,” dismisses the first. “That guy always chokes in the big match. You think Crystal actually shows up for this?”
“Why wouldn’t she?”
“Isn’t Crystal Caldwell just Crystal Zdunich with a different surname?”
“Are you sure?”
“Pretty sure.”
The phone dings again, momentarily diverting his attention, but he ignores it and listens again to the workers.
“You think this is finally Pierce’s year?”
“Doubt it. He drew Preston.”
“So?”
“Dude. It’s Dane F’n Preston.”
“Okay?”
“I take it you don’t follow the Imperial Wrestling Federation.”
“Nah. I try to keep up with Level Up but I haven’t checked out IWF lately.”
“Well, didn’t you watch Super Adventure Island? He faced SEB.”
“Oh, that guy? Yeah, I’m a little behind. Haven’t been able to watch it yet.”
“Anyway, he just won the IWF TV Title, but he’s been around. FIGHT! NYC, Outlaw Pro, obviously recently Level Up.”
“I mean, a lot of these people pop up all over the place these days. Crystal’s been all over the place, doesn’t mean I’m picking her to beat her way out of a paper bag.”
“Yeah but Dane’s the real deal, a real badass. Dude was a professional MMA fighter, had a real promising career before he ended up in prison for a bit.”
“For what?”
“Involuntary manslaughter.”
“Oh, shit.”
“Yeah. He’s as tough as they come. I saw him a few years back in Fight NYC, had a Deathmatch in a Cage against Dickie Watson for the Empire Championship, and the roof collapsed right on top of him.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. Messed him up pretty bad, he suffered a head trauma that caused some dissociative personality issues, but hasn’t stopped him from getting back in there. You should have seen his feud with Joe Montuori, that was some epic stuff. Montouri tried to steal his wife.”
“Sounds like it got personal.”
“For sure. My point being, this dude can bring it. Pierce is going to have his hands full.”
“Eh, neither of them are going anywhere. You’ve got the Level Up Power Champion in this.”
“So?”
“So last year’s winner is the current Level Up Final Boss. I see a trend. I’m going Larry Tact all the way.”
Both workers turn and notice the Buzzsaw.
“Hey, isn’t that Chaos? Let’s ask a professional.”
“Chaos! Who do you have winning the Open?”
“Go fuck yourselves,” he grunts, turning back to the dinging phone and picking it up this time.
“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Chaos mumbles to himself, but before he begins to tap a response he notices that Ooley is again typing something. He takes a drag and waits for it to come through.
“Fuckin’ dipshit.”
=======
Chaos had taken a hammer with him to the pisshole just in case, but the fact that he didn’t find a hidden PMN camera in there again surprised him in that it actually left him feeling more unsettled.
After a stop by the Pop-Up Mixxxie’s West, Chaos got onto his motorcycle and sped off across the festival grounds, evading a gaggle of golf carts and tricycles departing from the Desert Mobility Center.
As he drove, his mind flashed back to past years. Pierce always pestered him at some point. Typically he caught up to him in the Devil’s District. Once he got him on the plane. There was the time he had the hidden camera at the urinal.
It was always something.
Chaos rumbled into the Piercing Media District, passing a dispersing crowd that had been listening to Bones the Janitor explaining the history behind a jar of Konrad Raab’s vomit. Chaos pulls up in front of the set of the upcoming live broadcast of The Piercing Truth.
He parks and approaches the entrance to the set, where Rob Cartwright appears to be attending to final details.
“He back there?” demands the Buzzsaw.
“Chaos? Um, yes, but-”
Chaos ignores the producer, bumping him out of the way with his shoulder as he passes onto the set. Travis stands in front of his desk with his back to the Drunken Buzzsaw.
“Alright, you fucker,” says Chaos, “where is it?”
Travis turns his head partially, not completely looking at Chaos.
“Where is what?”
“You’ve got a camera somewhere. Just tell me now so I can go smash it and get it over with.”
Travis turns his head back towards his desk.
“There’s no camera.”
“You’re up to something,” growls Chaos. “You always pull some shit to piss me off at this festival. We know how this goes. You tell me about how you invented this damn tournament, I have to endure some blathering prattle of some kind, and then you go and get your stupid ass beat. So just tell me what bullshit you have planned so I can get on with my life.”
“No bullshit this time,” says Travis with a sigh. He turns to face Chaos, leaning back on his desk. “Like you said, this usually doesn’t go well for me. I guess I figured it was time for a change. Hope you enjoy the festival.”
Chaos glares at him, and then grunts and steps forward. Travis visibly tenses up, but Chaos produces a Chadweister and pops it open before pressing it into Pierce’s chest.
“Why?”
“Shut the fuck up and take it, you dumb shit.”
Travis hesitates a moment, but takes the drink. Chaos opens a second and clinks it against the one that Travis is holding.
“Traditions matter,” he says before taking a sip. Travis smiles softly before doing the same. Chaos sits on the desk next to him, both men looking out towards the festival. “You’re not always a complete failure, you know,” Chaos continues. “You made sure that dipshit Vain got what he had coming that one year.”
“True,” agrees Travis. “I did. You know, about him-”
“I’m not sitting here and talking about Alan fuckin’ Wallace.”
Travis puts up his empty hand in apology, and they sit quietly for a couple minutes.
“This Preston fucker sounds like a piece of work,” says Chaos.
“He does,” agrees Travis. “Seb just faced him over in Level Up. Said that he may conduct himself as, play perfectly into the roll of being, and may legitimately be an idiot…but he’s also dangerous, unhinged, and capable of beating anyone on any given day.”
“How’d that go for him?”
“I didn’t ask.”
Chaos chuckles.
“Honestly,” continues Travis, “what does it matter, anyway? Seb and I compliment each other because we’re very different. Kind of like how I’m entertaining and charismatic and he just smolders and coasts on it. What works for him in the ring isn’t what works for me. This would be a very different match regardless. And anyway, I think one of my problems in the past has been that I focus too much on one opponent and lose sight of the field. I’m trying not to do that this time.”
“It’s all for nothing if you let Preston beat you.”
“What’s he going to do to me that hasn’t been done before? Dangerous and unhinged? We’re overstocked on that around here most of the time. Besides, nobody’s held the Chaos Championship more times than I have. I can handle dangerous and unhinged.”
“Who does worry you, then?”
“Certainly not Crystal, I’ve beaten her in this tournament before, and I know I already live rent-free in Konrad’s head whenever I need to. Looking at who I’d face in the second round, looks like the options are going to be Vespertine, Larry Tact, and whoever wins between Rogan and JC. I can see that one going either way.”
“JC’s a bad mother fucker when he wants to be. That shit with Tempest a couple years back was brutal.”
“And Rogan is a survivor. Can’t deny that. Piercing truth is that if I could avoid anybody it would probably be Tact, he’s the one I’ve seen the least of, but he’s going to pop up somewhere along the path. End of the day, if you want to win this thing, you’ve got to be ready to go through anybody.”
They stand in silence for another minute, each man sipping his drink, and Chaos takes a drag.
“I know I’ve done this to myself,” continues Travis.
“Done what?”
“Put myself in a position where I need to win this tournament. I’ve made too much of it over the years. The prize doesn’t matter anymore. I’m at a point where it is starting to feel like my failures are overshadowing my successes. I’m a former World Champion, a Grand Slam Champion. I won Battleground and vanquished Eden Morgan at Horizons. It all feels like such a long time ago. This time of year especially, the name Travis Pierce becomes associated with disappointment. It’s past due that I put a stop to that.”
“Then fuckin’ stop it already,” grunts Chaos. He takes a drag before continuing. “Listen, I’ve been through it with you. You and I threw down at Horizons one year. I know what you can do. Only thing holding you back is you, always has been. So get it done. Get it fuckin’ done.”
Travis nods, and after a moment he holds up his Chadweiser, and Chaos obliges him and they silently toast together.
A line is starting to form outside the set, a reminder that the live edition of The Piercing Truth is scheduled to soon get underway.
“Listen,” says Travis, “how about I blow this off, we head over to the Johncast District, and we mess with them for a bit?”
“Don’t press your fuckin’ luck. Listen, we ain’t friends. I’m not fuckin’ doing this with you again next year. Go. Get. It. Done.”
Chaos leaves his empty Chadweiser on the desk as he walks off the set and heads back to his motorcycle. Travis looks down at his drink and smiles to himself.
“The truth hurts.”
A deep exhale.
The desert sun feels good on the face of the Drunken Buzzsaw, as he stands in front of a smoker in The Devil’s District of the annual WrestleStock Festival. He does not mind the heat of the desert, the Chadweiser in his hand providing sufficient relief. He smiles softly at the scent of the cooking meat, basks in the serenity of a moment he knows is unlikely to last.
A few feet away, his phone dings. He sighs as he reaches for it, shifting his Chadweister to the same hand he is using to hold his cigarette.
“Oh, you’re shitting me,” he grumbles to himself. He starts to put it back down, but it dings again. He sighs and taps on the phone, navigating to his text messages and taps on the name “Angry Dickbag” to read the message.
Hey.
Hey!
Serenity! Respond now!
Hey!
Serenity! Respond now!
“Doesn’t this fuckin’ douche have anything else to be doing right now?”
He sips his Chadweiser and puts his cigarette back in his mouth, careful not to spill a drop of the beer as he does so. With the cigarette dangling from his mouth, he begins tapping on the phone screen.
The fuck you want, Ooley? I’ve got enough shit to do here already.
He goes to put the phone back down, but not before taking a moment to glance at the time. It’s already well into the afternoon, which strikes him as odd. He glances around suspiciously, as the time has already come and gone that Travis Pierce has made his annual visit to disrupt, irritate, and generally annoy him. Not that he minds having this extended of a moment of peace, mind you.
“If that fucker’s rigged the goddamn bathroom again, I swear…” he grumbles.
But still…it’s tradition.
The phone dings again, and he looks towards it with a hint of exasperation, but his attention diverts as he overhears two of the festival workers setting up a nearby booth.
“Good looking field this year,” says the first worker.
“Yeah, it is,” agrees the second. “I’m excited to see JC back in UGWC.”
“Bah,” dismisses the first. “That guy always chokes in the big match. You think Crystal actually shows up for this?”
“Why wouldn’t she?”
“Isn’t Crystal Caldwell just Crystal Zdunich with a different surname?”
“Are you sure?”
“Pretty sure.”
The phone dings again, momentarily diverting his attention, but he ignores it and listens again to the workers.
“You think this is finally Pierce’s year?”
“Doubt it. He drew Preston.”
“So?”
“Dude. It’s Dane F’n Preston.”
“Okay?”
“I take it you don’t follow the Imperial Wrestling Federation.”
“Nah. I try to keep up with Level Up but I haven’t checked out IWF lately.”
“Well, didn’t you watch Super Adventure Island? He faced SEB.”
“Oh, that guy? Yeah, I’m a little behind. Haven’t been able to watch it yet.”
“Anyway, he just won the IWF TV Title, but he’s been around. FIGHT! NYC, Outlaw Pro, obviously recently Level Up.”
“I mean, a lot of these people pop up all over the place these days. Crystal’s been all over the place, doesn’t mean I’m picking her to beat her way out of a paper bag.”
“Yeah but Dane’s the real deal, a real badass. Dude was a professional MMA fighter, had a real promising career before he ended up in prison for a bit.”
“For what?”
“Involuntary manslaughter.”
“Oh, shit.”
“Yeah. He’s as tough as they come. I saw him a few years back in Fight NYC, had a Deathmatch in a Cage against Dickie Watson for the Empire Championship, and the roof collapsed right on top of him.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah. Messed him up pretty bad, he suffered a head trauma that caused some dissociative personality issues, but hasn’t stopped him from getting back in there. You should have seen his feud with Joe Montuori, that was some epic stuff. Montouri tried to steal his wife.”
“Sounds like it got personal.”
“For sure. My point being, this dude can bring it. Pierce is going to have his hands full.”
“Eh, neither of them are going anywhere. You’ve got the Level Up Power Champion in this.”
“So?”
“So last year’s winner is the current Level Up Final Boss. I see a trend. I’m going Larry Tact all the way.”
Both workers turn and notice the Buzzsaw.
“Hey, isn’t that Chaos? Let’s ask a professional.”
“Chaos! Who do you have winning the Open?”
“Go fuck yourselves,” he grunts, turning back to the dinging phone and picking it up this time.
We’re not going to need that food order after all.
Just gonna Doordash some Mickey D’s.
The food chain, not the psychopath.
Just gonna Doordash some Mickey D’s.
The food chain, not the psychopath.
“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Chaos mumbles to himself, but before he begins to tap a response he notices that Ooley is again typing something. He takes a drag and waits for it to come through.
Nevermind. Bummers is being a douche canoe about it.
Carry on. Ol’ Bob was never here.
Carry on. Ol’ Bob was never here.
“Fuckin’ dipshit.”
=======
Chaos had taken a hammer with him to the pisshole just in case, but the fact that he didn’t find a hidden PMN camera in there again surprised him in that it actually left him feeling more unsettled.
After a stop by the Pop-Up Mixxxie’s West, Chaos got onto his motorcycle and sped off across the festival grounds, evading a gaggle of golf carts and tricycles departing from the Desert Mobility Center.
As he drove, his mind flashed back to past years. Pierce always pestered him at some point. Typically he caught up to him in the Devil’s District. Once he got him on the plane. There was the time he had the hidden camera at the urinal.
It was always something.
Chaos rumbled into the Piercing Media District, passing a dispersing crowd that had been listening to Bones the Janitor explaining the history behind a jar of Konrad Raab’s vomit. Chaos pulls up in front of the set of the upcoming live broadcast of The Piercing Truth.
He parks and approaches the entrance to the set, where Rob Cartwright appears to be attending to final details.
“He back there?” demands the Buzzsaw.
“Chaos? Um, yes, but-”
Chaos ignores the producer, bumping him out of the way with his shoulder as he passes onto the set. Travis stands in front of his desk with his back to the Drunken Buzzsaw.
“Alright, you fucker,” says Chaos, “where is it?”
Travis turns his head partially, not completely looking at Chaos.
“Where is what?”
“You’ve got a camera somewhere. Just tell me now so I can go smash it and get it over with.”
Travis turns his head back towards his desk.
“There’s no camera.”
“You’re up to something,” growls Chaos. “You always pull some shit to piss me off at this festival. We know how this goes. You tell me about how you invented this damn tournament, I have to endure some blathering prattle of some kind, and then you go and get your stupid ass beat. So just tell me what bullshit you have planned so I can get on with my life.”
“No bullshit this time,” says Travis with a sigh. He turns to face Chaos, leaning back on his desk. “Like you said, this usually doesn’t go well for me. I guess I figured it was time for a change. Hope you enjoy the festival.”
Chaos glares at him, and then grunts and steps forward. Travis visibly tenses up, but Chaos produces a Chadweister and pops it open before pressing it into Pierce’s chest.
“Why?”
“Shut the fuck up and take it, you dumb shit.”
Travis hesitates a moment, but takes the drink. Chaos opens a second and clinks it against the one that Travis is holding.
“Traditions matter,” he says before taking a sip. Travis smiles softly before doing the same. Chaos sits on the desk next to him, both men looking out towards the festival. “You’re not always a complete failure, you know,” Chaos continues. “You made sure that dipshit Vain got what he had coming that one year.”
“True,” agrees Travis. “I did. You know, about him-”
“I’m not sitting here and talking about Alan fuckin’ Wallace.”
Travis puts up his empty hand in apology, and they sit quietly for a couple minutes.
“This Preston fucker sounds like a piece of work,” says Chaos.
“He does,” agrees Travis. “Seb just faced him over in Level Up. Said that he may conduct himself as, play perfectly into the roll of being, and may legitimately be an idiot…but he’s also dangerous, unhinged, and capable of beating anyone on any given day.”
“How’d that go for him?”
“I didn’t ask.”
Chaos chuckles.
“Honestly,” continues Travis, “what does it matter, anyway? Seb and I compliment each other because we’re very different. Kind of like how I’m entertaining and charismatic and he just smolders and coasts on it. What works for him in the ring isn’t what works for me. This would be a very different match regardless. And anyway, I think one of my problems in the past has been that I focus too much on one opponent and lose sight of the field. I’m trying not to do that this time.”
“It’s all for nothing if you let Preston beat you.”
“What’s he going to do to me that hasn’t been done before? Dangerous and unhinged? We’re overstocked on that around here most of the time. Besides, nobody’s held the Chaos Championship more times than I have. I can handle dangerous and unhinged.”
“Who does worry you, then?”
“Certainly not Crystal, I’ve beaten her in this tournament before, and I know I already live rent-free in Konrad’s head whenever I need to. Looking at who I’d face in the second round, looks like the options are going to be Vespertine, Larry Tact, and whoever wins between Rogan and JC. I can see that one going either way.”
“JC’s a bad mother fucker when he wants to be. That shit with Tempest a couple years back was brutal.”
“And Rogan is a survivor. Can’t deny that. Piercing truth is that if I could avoid anybody it would probably be Tact, he’s the one I’ve seen the least of, but he’s going to pop up somewhere along the path. End of the day, if you want to win this thing, you’ve got to be ready to go through anybody.”
They stand in silence for another minute, each man sipping his drink, and Chaos takes a drag.
“I know I’ve done this to myself,” continues Travis.
“Done what?”
“Put myself in a position where I need to win this tournament. I’ve made too much of it over the years. The prize doesn’t matter anymore. I’m at a point where it is starting to feel like my failures are overshadowing my successes. I’m a former World Champion, a Grand Slam Champion. I won Battleground and vanquished Eden Morgan at Horizons. It all feels like such a long time ago. This time of year especially, the name Travis Pierce becomes associated with disappointment. It’s past due that I put a stop to that.”
“Then fuckin’ stop it already,” grunts Chaos. He takes a drag before continuing. “Listen, I’ve been through it with you. You and I threw down at Horizons one year. I know what you can do. Only thing holding you back is you, always has been. So get it done. Get it fuckin’ done.”
Travis nods, and after a moment he holds up his Chadweiser, and Chaos obliges him and they silently toast together.
A line is starting to form outside the set, a reminder that the live edition of The Piercing Truth is scheduled to soon get underway.
“Listen,” says Travis, “how about I blow this off, we head over to the Johncast District, and we mess with them for a bit?”
“Don’t press your fuckin’ luck. Listen, we ain’t friends. I’m not fuckin’ doing this with you again next year. Go. Get. It. Done.”
Chaos leaves his empty Chadweiser on the desk as he walks off the set and heads back to his motorcycle. Travis looks down at his drink and smiles to himself.
“The truth hurts.”
