Post by Declan Prescott on Jun 30, 2010 8:12:59 GMT -5
10:43 PM Saturday, 1st April 2006 - Los Angeles, California
‘Well, that’s it,’ he thought to himself. ‘Wrestling really must destroy brain cells. It’s only a matter of time before we all go postal. What the fuck was I thinking?!’
The bar was packed. On a Saturday night, what else would one expect? Though the constant buzzing of drunken conversation, bold flirting and insults directed at the television showing the football still weren’t enough to so much as penetrate the awkward silence engulfing their booth. He stared at her - her overly thick amounts of makeup, her glowing, blonde hair, her tiny frame that shivered with nervousness every few moments and her enormous, timid green eyes focusing themselves on the coaster before her - she was truly perfect.
And that was the worst part.
He couldn’t so much as get more than an ‘okay’ out of this woman. What had he been thinking even asking her out? She had started knawing on her lip to the point of drawing blood the first time they met. And he actually asked for a second appearance! It was obvious she wanted to be anywhere, but here. She was disgusted by him. She couldn’t so much as make eye contact.
Not that he blamed her. Those kind of people were rare. The kind that actually deserved the air that they sucked on. Those who were just born angelic. Declan Prescott was a dog. Every moment of his life he had to work to obtain citizenship that people like her were born with. He was proud of his accomplishments no doubt, he was proud of the way he had squeezed every drop of respect he was held in from those that would otherwise dismiss his efforts.
But a woman like this wasn’t made to be a warrior, simply fighting for survival. She was intended for a higher purpose. She was meant to do something truly extraordinary with her life. To inspire the goodness that apparently existed in all people - Declan didn’t believe it himself. To fight injustice wherever she saw it. To make this decaying, self-destructive planet something worthy of inhabiting.
It was such a shame she was stuck being a whore.
“I can take you home,” Declan said, pressing forward, despite his better judgement. “If you don’t want to be here, it’s no problem.”
She looked up at him for the first time in minutes. Tears were swelling in her lovely green eyes, ebbing down her face, blending her pitch black mascara into the unnaturally white makeup she had painted her face with. He had lost count of how many times he had brought her to tears during the drive there alone! And it still made him shiver to the core every single time.
“I - I’m sorry,” Cara Costello weeped, pulling a tissue from her handbag and sniffling into it very unattractively. “I’ll g - go if you w - w - want.”
“Is that what you want?” he inquired.
Looking back down at her coaster, the mumble of her response was barely audible. “I just do what I’m told.”
“Hmm…” Declan mused. “Well that’s a problem. Because there’s no way I’m telling you what to do. I have to at least pretend to be a nice guy while I’m trying to score with you.”
He smirked, but the tears, even as she stared at the coaster, only swelled in response. Sitting cross armed, she began digging her nails into her skin and making uncomfortable muttering sounds. Finally she spoke. “You can fuck me if you want.”
Declan only frowned, before biting down nervously on his lip. He stopped before it started bleeding - but only just.
“I was kidding, Cara,” he said, doing his best not to slap himself on the forehead (though he felt he deserved a punch of maybe one of Vega’s famous jumping kicks). “The reason I’m not going to tell you what to do, is because it’s not my place. You should be allowed to do whatever you want, whenever you want. And anyone that tells you otherwise can go to hell.”
Her glance shot up to meet his, though her head remained stationary. Staring through her golden locks, she had all the elegance of an imprisoned angel. “What do you think it’s like?” she asked, with the first hint of enthusiasm he had ever seen in her. “Hell? Or… just dying?”
“I don’t know,” Declan replied. “And I think that’s the point.”
“Huh?” her vision returned to the coaster.
“It’s a survival mechanism. As a basic human instinct, we fear the unknown. It’s recorded all throughout history. Whenever human beings encounter something that’s unknown to them - even other groups of people - violence ensues. We hate anything we don’t understand, that’s why we’re involved in a never-ending race for knowledge. And death is the biggest unknown there is. And because of that, we’re afraid of dying. It makes us want to live. It ensures that we survive for as long as we’re possibly able.”
She erupted into a scream of tears and buried her face in her hands. Just about every person - and there must have been well over one hundred of them - turned to Declan, who had thrust himself into the back of his booth seat in shock. Her body was shuddering uncontrollably and the tears poured from the cracks between her fingers, like a broken dam attempting to hold back an ocean.
“The fuck’s going on here?” a gruff voice spat.
Before Declan could answer, he felt an enormous set of hands rip him from the booth. Standing before him was a monstrous behemoth of a man. His skull entirely bald, decorated by the tattoo of a vagina, his face was covered in piercings and he wore apparel made entirely of leather and steel.
“What you making a little girl cry for, huh?” he sneered.
“Take your fucking hands off me,” Declan yawned, rolling his eyes.
The ogre’s eyes sharpened and he yanked violently on Declan’s collar, causing it to press down harshly into The Significant Player’s throat.
“What did you just say?!” the monster barked.
“You heard what I said,” Declan replied. “And yet you haven’t let go of me.”
“Listen you piece of shit! I’mma fuck you up! And after that I’mma show that little blondie what being with a real man is lik - ”
BOOM!!!
Declan slammed the would be attacker’s cumbersome skull into bar table, sending blood splattering from his nose and spraying against the wall. Having been knocked out instantly upon impact, the goliath tumbled uselessly to the floor. Three men around the nearest pool table - all dressed in a manner far too similar to the now unconscious perpetrator to be coincidence - were now staring at The Significant Player, with both disgust and apprehension. They wouldn’t attack… not just yet.
“Cara,” Declan whispered with a tone resembling that of a lamb, as he knelt down beside her. “I think I should take you home now, okay?”
She only continued blubbering, as the hostility in the room continued to rise. Being as gentle as humanly possible, he took her by the shoulders and pulled her up, before leading her to the exit. They soon arrived at the decaying wreck - complete with smashed window and scent of Kane White sex - that Declan called a car.
“Sorry you had to see that,” he whispered again. “It’s just that I’ve been in that situation before. Violence is the only language people like him understand. Now I’ll take you home, come on.”
11:12 PM Saturday, 1st April 2006 - Los Angeles, California
Finally, he pulled the car up to a most welcome stop.
The drive back had been torture. No, torture would have been preferable. At least then Declan could have found comfort in the fact he had no control over what was transpiring. But he was the one that had asked her out. He was the one that had shattered her to tears seemingly an incomprehensible amount of time. He was the one that decided to pick her up in a car that had a smashed out window and reeked of Kane White sex. He was the one that had likely just driven the single most beautiful woman in the world to lesbianism.
“Well… here it is,” he stumbled. “Sorry again about… well, everything.”
“So I get out now?” she inquired, hiding behind her glorious blonde hair and fiddling tensely with a tissue.
“Urgh…” Declan paused. “Wait, what’d I forget?” Of course. It was obvious that he was prohibited from doing absolutely anything right on this evening.
“Nothing…” she sobbed. “I…”
“Yeah?” Declan inquired. “You what?” ‘Hate me?’ he thought to himself. ‘Want me shot in the spleen? Have some arsenic I can take?’
“You must hate me,” she replied, looking out the passenger window and unknowingly sending Declan into a mental shutdown.
“Huh?” The Significant Zombie groaned, utterly dumbstruck.
“It’s just… well, this is the first time I’ve ever been on a proper date. I’m… I’m not really sure what to do and stuff. So… so I’m really sorry that I ruined your whole night. But… but…" Now she turned to him, her tears having washed away most of the powdered dust that once covered her perfect skin. But now it could be seen clearly. The beauty and tenderness of her soft, creamy, entirely smooth, milky white skin. It was like nothing he had ever witnessed before. “If… if you just let me see you again… I’ll do whatever you want me to, to make up for it!”
“Grugh?” Declan mumbled, now suffering a complete brain implosion. “You want to see me… again?!”
She emitted a strange squeak, before opening her door. Then she closed it again, before turning to him. “Do you want to fuck me? Will you ask me out again if I take you inside of me? We can do it right here in the car, if you want. I don’t min - ”
He put a single finger to her lips, sending her completely silent. “I’d love to see you again, Cara,” he replied. “But for now, you go and get some rest. I’ll call you, okay?”
“Oh… so you don’t want to… you know?”
“It’s not that I don’t want to,” Declan said, extending an arm and running a hand across her delightfully soft face, brushing the wonderfully silky hair from her perfect eyes. “It’s just that the time isn’t right. First I want to show you that you can trust me. That I care about you. And that I’d never let anything bad ever happen to you.”
Her face turned red, as she stared into his eyes. For the briefest of moments, he could have sworn he saw a smile escape her lips. He couldn’t be sure though. And within moments she had thanked him for such a wonderful evening, said goodbye and was on her way down the sidewalk.
The smile on Declan’s face was most certainly real.
10:33 PM Sunday, 18th January 2009 - Los Angeles, California
It had been almost three years. Almost three entire years since that fateful first date in this very same bar. At this very same booth. She looked as beautiful now as she did then. Though the sadness in her eyes - once nothing but an awful memory - had returned. But things seemed so simple in those days. He almost wished for them back.
Declan Prescott sat opposite his wife Cara, still in his wrestling attire, still dripping with sweat and most certainly receiving offensive glares from all those around him. Cara was dressed in a breezy, blue dress that looked worn for several days. She stared at her coaster nervously, her hair not brushed, her eyes beginning to swell with water and biting nervously on her bottom lip.
“I thought I might find you here,” he spoke, placing his hand on hers. Though she instantly withdrew.
“I wanted to watch the show,” she replied with a mumble.
“The show finished a while ago,” Declan returned. “I even had time to drive here. I’m glad you decided to stay, though. I‘ve visited this place everyday since you left, hoping to run into you.”
“I don’t have anywhere else to go.”
“Well that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“I tried to kill myself,” she replied, still staring at the useless coaster. “But I couldn’t…”
“Of course you could have,” Declan grinned, causing Cara’s eyes to meet his for the first time in days. Now his tone turned more serious. “But you didn’t want to. Just like you didn’t want to leave me all alone - ”
“I NEVER!” she snapped, sending the vision of every person in the room squarely on her. “YOU DIDN’T WANT ME THERE! YOU LEFT ME!”
“You’re stupid,” he stated matter-of-factly, while sticking his right hand down his tights and onto his crotch (causing some outraged gasps). “Wanting you to leave would be like wanting to stop breathing. I couldn’t live that way. It just isn’t possible. I need you sweetie and finding you is the only thing I’ve cared about since you walked out.”
“I saw your match tonight,” she replied coldly. “Didn’t seem like you needed me for that.”
“Heh,” Declan chuckled. “Not true at all.”
He now removed his hand from his tights, clutching a golden chain with a small locket attached. He placed it on the table before Cara, smiling serenely.
“Open it,” he instructed reassuringly.
Very reluctantly, she took the necklace and opened the locket. On one side, staring back at her was a picture of Declan Prescott, smiling broadly from some unnamed nightclub. On the opposite side, she saw a picture of herself. Beaming brightly, without a care in the world, from the same unnamed nightclub. She missed the girl in the picture.
“I had that with me the entire match,” Declan boasted. “Tucked away in my tights. A poor substitute, I’ll admit, but it was the best I could do. But the point is, that I don’t want you to leave. You’re my wife. I love you. And I’m not going to sit back, while you spend the rest of your days on the street, hoping that death snatches you up.
“Cara… I want… and I need you to come home.”
The tears continued running down her face and her demeanour didn’t become any less stern in the slightest.
“You probably just put that in your pants when you came in,” she sulked. “Just so I’d stop whining.”
“Take a whiff then,” Declan dared. “That’ll be all the proof you need that, that little locket has been safe and sound in my tights the whole time.”
She stared from the golden necklace, to her husband, before letting the briefest glance of a grin escape the corner of her lips. Declan instantly honed in for the kill.
“Ha!” he laughed. “I saw that, missy! You lurve me!”
Now her teeth revealed themselves in a broad smile, before she leaped over the table and into Declan’s arms.
“Baby!” she wept, as Declan cradled her in his clutch. “Thankyou so much! I missed you! I didn’t know what I was going to do! But now we can go home! Now we can live together again and everything will be oka - ”
“Ah…” Declan interrupted, a hollow sting about his voice. “I think you’ve misunderstood my meaning.”
“What do you mean?” she inquired, tension and apprehension rising in her voice.
“I want you to return to the apartment,” Declan told her. “But I won’t be there.”
She stared at him, seemingly about to breakdown into hysterics at any moment. The confusion etched in those giant green orbs was matched only by the sense of betrayal.
“Do you trust me?” Declan asked, very seriously, still holding very tightly to his beloved.
“I… ” she began, with no real direction. “Just… I… well… urgh… I mean… before all this… I… I would have said ‘yes’.”
“Well if you don’t trust me, just pretend to. Because I need you to believe me when I say what I’m about to say. Even if it doesn’t make any sense to you at all, just remember that I’ve always done my best to keep you happy and to keep you safe. I know that I’ve had my share of fucks ups, but haven’t I always tried as hard as I could? Have I ever made you second best to anything else?”
She stared at him deeply, biting on her bottom lip. Eventually she gave an unconfident nod, signalling she understood - or was willing to go along (for now) even if she didn’t.
“Thankyou,” Declan breathed. “Now, you’re going to hate it as much as I do, but right at this moment, the best thing for us - us as a couple, as a husband and wife - is to be apart.” She gasped and opened her mouth to protest, but Declan kept her silent with a single finger to her lips. “I’ve already moved all the things I’ll need out of the apartment and I’ve found somewhere else to live. And as soon as we can be together again, we will be. But in the meantime I need you to promise me that you won’t do anything crazy, like running off, again. Can you do that?”
She only frowned, as her eyes narrowed with distain. “Why… why can’t we be together?”
“I can’t explain it,” Declan responded. “That’s why I need you to trust me. But I want you to know that it has absolutely nothing to do with you. I love you just as much as I ever have and nothing upsets me more than the thought of not having you by my side. But this is a sacrifice we have to make. It’s best for you that way. So what do you say?”
“I don’t wanna live by myself!” she pouted. “I just - ”
“You won’t have to,” Declan reassured her, gently running a hand through her tangled blonde hair. “I converted the office back into a guest room and Woodward has offered to stay with you as long as you like. And Aesc will be on call all hours of the day and night if you need anything at all.”
“So you’re leaving me and giving me a psychotic old man and Satan’s Down syndrome son?! You expect me to - ”
“I don’t expect anything,” Declan interrupted, still holding her as one would a child. “That’s why I’m asking if you can do this.”
“And if I say I can’t?” she threatened.
“Then I’ll kill us both,” Declan hissed. “So that neither one of us will have to experience the torment of living in this world without the other.”
“Declan… I love you.”
“I love you too.”
7:28 PM Tuesday, 20th January 2009 - Los Angeles, California
Fucking asshole! Who does he think he is?! He ignored the Skin Man’s challenge! Didn’t even acknowledge that I called him out! What a spineless dog?! Who does he think he is?! All he’s ever done is make up a Title (that he’s too afraid to even defend), ejaculate on the entrance ramp and be killed inside the ring. Though the fact he keeps coming back for more even after all that proves he’s got tenacity, at least, I guess. But regardless, Killswitch is a pussy! Actually, that’s an insult to pussies! No bitch wants to get ploughed in her Killswitch! Not even by DA MAN CHAMP!
But if he thinks I’m gonna take this lying down (or tied up in a basement, as I’m sure is how he takes it), that moose molesting wannabe Champion has got another thing coming! Because I, Brandon McSkinny, vow to take the fight to Test! Fuck, I mean Killswitch! He’s gonna have to watch his back! He’s gonna have to keep one eye always open! He’s gonna have to stop listening to Nickelback and start fearing when The Skin Man is gonna decide to strike! He’s gonna have to stop thinking up which gimmick he wants to rip off next and start preparing for the attack! Because when I make my move - and mark my words, I most certainly will - he’s going straight to hell!
Or maybe just back to Canada, I can’t decide which is worse.
Now I gotta go scrub Tony’s ass. Fat fuck can’t reach back there.
Later people.
2:17 PM Wednesday, 21st January 2009 - Los Angeles, California
The two move ever closer. One approaching from the right, the other from the left. Declan Prescott - a large shoulder bag over one… well, shoulder and a gym bag over the other. His stride is arrogant, though there is a subtle tightness to it. As Travis Roberts moves in from the opposite direction - carrying a briefcase and a gym bag, which is sure to house his most valuable possessions - hits the pavement just a touch harder than The Significant Player. Soon the pair come face-to-face.
Travis: Declan.
Declan: Travis.
Travis: It’s time…
Declan: I have to say, I consider you a friend, but I’ve been looking forward to this all the same. Hell, maybe because you’re my friend, I’ve been excited about it.
Travis: The Blessed One couldn’t have said it better himself. Now… lets… DO THIS!!!!
Declan: ROAR!!!!![/I]
In an instant both men send their bags slamming to the ground and raise one fist in the air in exact unison. With lightning fast reflexes they send their fists surging towards each other. The inevitable collision comes from both sides. The thundering impact would send any regular man flying ten feet through the air, as if he just got dropkicked by a kangaroo after trying to feed it (true story). But these are no ordinary men…
Travis: …
Declan: …
Travis: …
Declan: …
Travis: …
Declan: …
Travis and Declan: YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!![/I]
Travis: Man, connecting fists is so much better than shaking hands! Why can’t these window lickers that surround The Revolution understand that? The TWiSTeD Icon and The Heart And Soul are redefining the entire greeting tradition and the mental debilitation that surrounds them is too blind to see it! But damn that BoolZ! Thanks to him, Travis Roberts can’t even perform the double fist connector!!
Declan: You have to relax about that guy, man. I mean, both his hands are going to turn yellow and fall off in due time. It’s just a matter of how many hand jobs he can give Chris Austin before that happens. Besides, the Undisputed Champion Travis Roberts can find all kinds of willing young ladies to roll his joints, right?
Travis: Well... urgh… what?! Of course I… he can! But dude, Travis Roberts is the Unified Champion. Even something like Raenius knows that much… maybe.
Declan: Yeah, sure you are, buddy. But getting back to the point - fist connecting! I mean, take Alex Kiseragi and Brandon Brown for example - my opponents this week, you know?
Travis: Assuming one could even call them that.
Declan: Ha, they beat you didn’t they?
Travis: The Headliner will let you know that -
Declan: Ah, save it for some other time. Can’t you see I’m ranting here?
Travis: The Blessed One will, unlike the majority of malcontents and mongoloids that litter GIW, give The Significant Player his due!
Declan: Thankyou good sir! Now like I was saying, Brandon Brown. Here’s a guy that will most certainly connect fists. Problem is - at least for him - they’ll be my fists when I’m beating the stuffing out of him for the umpteenth time. I’ve honestly lost count. Considering how much Boss P hates me, I figured he’d be putting me in gruelling matches. Instead I’m battling to be a Chief Black Person, by walking all over a bunch of jobbers that I’ve beaten more or less every time I’ve faced them. Who, in this tournament, haven’t I beaten? Hastings? Well, I’ll get to him in due course. Moss Edwards? While I admire his ability to capture the true essence of some of GIW’s ‘superstars’, his talent is behind a camera in a fold-out chair, not inside a wrestling ring. I mean, anyone willing to put their hands on Aito Chen’s diaper is someone who deserves to be put in front of a moving bus - not the GIW fans. But as sad as it is, Brown is actually the one guy who has given me more trouble than all the others combined… and his career might as well be over after all the humiliation he suffered at my hands! It’s actually quite insulting. That must be Boss P’s plan - force me to fight jobbers and hacks to try and ridicule me. Sadly his plan won’t work, as half these window lickers actually have the support of the Los Angeles masses. It's disgusting.
Like this ‘Kis-Kis’ fellow. Well, you can connect your fist to him alright, but I don’t want to tell you where he’ll put it! After all Travis, you’re still recovering and may well be heading to an early grave if any of BoolZ’ blood or saliva touched you. But what I will say, is that apparently this ‘daddy’s boy’ actually has a groupie. A groupie. And I believe she’s carrying Cyanide’s child, at that. Which confirms my suspicions that she is actually a male. After all, Jensen did have a pretty close relationship with Dylan James. Or maybe it’s just some cross dresser with the same name. Anyway, the point is that Kiseragi is a joke, who should spend more time trying to win matches and less time ruining the fist connect with his father!
Now Donovan Hastings, there’s a guy who I would gladly connect fists with. Not because I respect him or anything like that, but simply to see how long he’d remember doing it after the fact. I’m thinking… five seconds? Maybe I’m too generous… we’ll say three. This is a guy who’s so delusional, it’s hard to tell where his fantasies end and his mental retardation begins. Though I have always been one to give credit, where credit is due. When push comes to shove, Hastings has always proven to be on my side. Heck, as a team, we even defeated the mighty duo of Travis Roberts and Dylan James! Haha, I kid. But it’s a smart play by Hastings. He’s been able to flourish because he’s stayed out of my way. And, assuming he can do that again on Sunday, he’ll be taken on a ride to the easiest win of his life. Of course, of he manages to ruin things for me…
Travis: He’ll feel the wrath of The Revolution!
Declan *under breath*: That ought to ease any concerns he may have about me. Though keeping up this charade is going to be a major drag…
Travis: What’d Declan Prescott just say?
Declan: I… ugh… said ‘I hope Kiseragi doesn’t try to feel my bag!’ I will be locked in a cage with that perverted little scrotum worshipper, you know?
Travis: But The Significant Player fights for a higher purpose! To regain GIW’s glory! To usurp what is rightfully his from the Yardie popping Boss P and his needle popping puppet! The Heart And Soul Of GIW is immune to such unspeakable acts from degenerates like Alex Kiseragi!
Declan: YEAH! FIST CONNECT DOUBLE TIME!!!
Travis: YOU BETTER BELIEVE IT!!!!!
The two slam fists once more, both smiling broadly.
Travis *under breath*: Just constantly reassure him, that way he won’t notice. But damn I wish I could roll a joint. This is just cruel!
Declan: You say something?
Travis: I SAID FUCK BOOLZ THE FOOL!!!
Declan: YEAH!!!!!
Travis: …
Declan: …
Travis: …
Declan: So… urgh… you remember the plan?
Travis: Of course The Blessed One remembers the plan! How could The Headliner forget?! The Revolution scouts out the place for a few weeks or so, in a guerrilla style attack, in order to learn the routines and weaknesses of their number one enemy - BOSS PENGUIN!
Declan: Absolutely! Of course, it means we’ll have to live in this place for a while, but that’s a sacrifice we’re willing to make for the greater good. Naturally we’d both like to be spending time at our respective, true homes and it goes without saying that we are most certainly welcome in our usual places of residence, but sometimes we have to do things that we don’t want to do, simply because the situation calls for it. We know that in time, things will return to how they should be, but until then, we must make use of the resources we have. And if that means performing actions that we would otherwise decline, so be it. That’s what separates us from pretty much every other human being on the planet - we see the truth and take the appropriate action!
Travis: The Headliner couldn’t have said it better himself! Now lets go… friend.
Declan: We’ll do it… together!
The pair pick up their bags and begin marching determinedly over the front yard of the house before them, before dropping their bags at the door and knocking upon the wooden frame. They hear some sounds emitting from the other side that can only be classified as ‘disturbing’, before the door swings open so violently, it almost goes flying off the handle. Standing before them is the enormous mountain of a man, McZygmunt Cubed. He is wearing a tight wife beater and a beer dispensing hat, that has been setup with a custom design to accommodate protein shakes.
Munt: Yah, you marst be tha new guys, ey?
Declan’s and Travis’ eyes meet worryingly, before the pair gulp and nod to Munt.
Munt: Well tharn… WELCALM!!!
Munt throws his arms around the pair in a giant, embracing hug, nearly crushing both members of The Revolution.
Declan: Does he even realise who we are?
Travis: If he doesn’t, it makes The Revolution’s job to spy on him that much easier.
Munt: You guys say sarmthing?
Declan and Travis: We said we really hate ‘Leave It To Beaver’!!!
Munt: Arharharhar you so funnee! Please, carm in!
The trio move through the threshold, as the entire world of The Revolution turns black. In one corner is a busty blonde, tongue deep in a giant, buzz cut yielding Neanderthal, complete with gridiron gear.
Munt: Thart is Claire, yah. She’s a hot Univorsity studarnt with a football playar boyfriend.
Claire: Mmmm! Hmmm! Mmmmmmmmmmmmm…
In another corner is a fossilised (though still very much alive) old woman, wearing only a blanket, covered in tattered grey hair and being wrestled to the ground by at least three dozen cats.
Munt: Thart’s thar crazy cat lady, who’s name we do not know.
Crazy Cat Lady: YARK BROAK JGROAR FHRAB!!!!
In yet another corner is the all too familiar sight of Joka, who seems to have his pelvis caught in the heater.
Munt: Arnd thees is thar paedophile clown that will probably try to molest you in the ear, while you sleep!
Joka: THOU HAS’T ENTERED THY PALACE OF HELL!!! AHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! God damn, no matter how much I pull, it just won’t come out!
Munt: So evarybody, thees is Declarn and Trarvis. They’ll both be having in the room across the hall from you, Joka, while they’re share housing weeth ars. So make tharm feel welcome, yah guys? Oh, Dec and Trarv, you two don’t mind sleeping on concrete do you? Joka is using the two extra beds we had for his latest victim.
The Revolution’s eyes meet once more and they simultaneously gulp again. For now, their fates are probably best left unknown.
‘Well, that’s it,’ he thought to himself. ‘Wrestling really must destroy brain cells. It’s only a matter of time before we all go postal. What the fuck was I thinking?!’
The bar was packed. On a Saturday night, what else would one expect? Though the constant buzzing of drunken conversation, bold flirting and insults directed at the television showing the football still weren’t enough to so much as penetrate the awkward silence engulfing their booth. He stared at her - her overly thick amounts of makeup, her glowing, blonde hair, her tiny frame that shivered with nervousness every few moments and her enormous, timid green eyes focusing themselves on the coaster before her - she was truly perfect.
And that was the worst part.
He couldn’t so much as get more than an ‘okay’ out of this woman. What had he been thinking even asking her out? She had started knawing on her lip to the point of drawing blood the first time they met. And he actually asked for a second appearance! It was obvious she wanted to be anywhere, but here. She was disgusted by him. She couldn’t so much as make eye contact.
Not that he blamed her. Those kind of people were rare. The kind that actually deserved the air that they sucked on. Those who were just born angelic. Declan Prescott was a dog. Every moment of his life he had to work to obtain citizenship that people like her were born with. He was proud of his accomplishments no doubt, he was proud of the way he had squeezed every drop of respect he was held in from those that would otherwise dismiss his efforts.
But a woman like this wasn’t made to be a warrior, simply fighting for survival. She was intended for a higher purpose. She was meant to do something truly extraordinary with her life. To inspire the goodness that apparently existed in all people - Declan didn’t believe it himself. To fight injustice wherever she saw it. To make this decaying, self-destructive planet something worthy of inhabiting.
It was such a shame she was stuck being a whore.
“I can take you home,” Declan said, pressing forward, despite his better judgement. “If you don’t want to be here, it’s no problem.”
She looked up at him for the first time in minutes. Tears were swelling in her lovely green eyes, ebbing down her face, blending her pitch black mascara into the unnaturally white makeup she had painted her face with. He had lost count of how many times he had brought her to tears during the drive there alone! And it still made him shiver to the core every single time.
“I - I’m sorry,” Cara Costello weeped, pulling a tissue from her handbag and sniffling into it very unattractively. “I’ll g - go if you w - w - want.”
“Is that what you want?” he inquired.
Looking back down at her coaster, the mumble of her response was barely audible. “I just do what I’m told.”
“Hmm…” Declan mused. “Well that’s a problem. Because there’s no way I’m telling you what to do. I have to at least pretend to be a nice guy while I’m trying to score with you.”
He smirked, but the tears, even as she stared at the coaster, only swelled in response. Sitting cross armed, she began digging her nails into her skin and making uncomfortable muttering sounds. Finally she spoke. “You can fuck me if you want.”
Declan only frowned, before biting down nervously on his lip. He stopped before it started bleeding - but only just.
“I was kidding, Cara,” he said, doing his best not to slap himself on the forehead (though he felt he deserved a punch of maybe one of Vega’s famous jumping kicks). “The reason I’m not going to tell you what to do, is because it’s not my place. You should be allowed to do whatever you want, whenever you want. And anyone that tells you otherwise can go to hell.”
Her glance shot up to meet his, though her head remained stationary. Staring through her golden locks, she had all the elegance of an imprisoned angel. “What do you think it’s like?” she asked, with the first hint of enthusiasm he had ever seen in her. “Hell? Or… just dying?”
“I don’t know,” Declan replied. “And I think that’s the point.”
“Huh?” her vision returned to the coaster.
“It’s a survival mechanism. As a basic human instinct, we fear the unknown. It’s recorded all throughout history. Whenever human beings encounter something that’s unknown to them - even other groups of people - violence ensues. We hate anything we don’t understand, that’s why we’re involved in a never-ending race for knowledge. And death is the biggest unknown there is. And because of that, we’re afraid of dying. It makes us want to live. It ensures that we survive for as long as we’re possibly able.”
She erupted into a scream of tears and buried her face in her hands. Just about every person - and there must have been well over one hundred of them - turned to Declan, who had thrust himself into the back of his booth seat in shock. Her body was shuddering uncontrollably and the tears poured from the cracks between her fingers, like a broken dam attempting to hold back an ocean.
“The fuck’s going on here?” a gruff voice spat.
Before Declan could answer, he felt an enormous set of hands rip him from the booth. Standing before him was a monstrous behemoth of a man. His skull entirely bald, decorated by the tattoo of a vagina, his face was covered in piercings and he wore apparel made entirely of leather and steel.
“What you making a little girl cry for, huh?” he sneered.
“Take your fucking hands off me,” Declan yawned, rolling his eyes.
The ogre’s eyes sharpened and he yanked violently on Declan’s collar, causing it to press down harshly into The Significant Player’s throat.
“What did you just say?!” the monster barked.
“You heard what I said,” Declan replied. “And yet you haven’t let go of me.”
“Listen you piece of shit! I’mma fuck you up! And after that I’mma show that little blondie what being with a real man is lik - ”
BOOM!!!
Declan slammed the would be attacker’s cumbersome skull into bar table, sending blood splattering from his nose and spraying against the wall. Having been knocked out instantly upon impact, the goliath tumbled uselessly to the floor. Three men around the nearest pool table - all dressed in a manner far too similar to the now unconscious perpetrator to be coincidence - were now staring at The Significant Player, with both disgust and apprehension. They wouldn’t attack… not just yet.
“Cara,” Declan whispered with a tone resembling that of a lamb, as he knelt down beside her. “I think I should take you home now, okay?”
She only continued blubbering, as the hostility in the room continued to rise. Being as gentle as humanly possible, he took her by the shoulders and pulled her up, before leading her to the exit. They soon arrived at the decaying wreck - complete with smashed window and scent of Kane White sex - that Declan called a car.
“Sorry you had to see that,” he whispered again. “It’s just that I’ve been in that situation before. Violence is the only language people like him understand. Now I’ll take you home, come on.”
* * * * *
11:12 PM Saturday, 1st April 2006 - Los Angeles, California
Finally, he pulled the car up to a most welcome stop.
The drive back had been torture. No, torture would have been preferable. At least then Declan could have found comfort in the fact he had no control over what was transpiring. But he was the one that had asked her out. He was the one that had shattered her to tears seemingly an incomprehensible amount of time. He was the one that decided to pick her up in a car that had a smashed out window and reeked of Kane White sex. He was the one that had likely just driven the single most beautiful woman in the world to lesbianism.
“Well… here it is,” he stumbled. “Sorry again about… well, everything.”
“So I get out now?” she inquired, hiding behind her glorious blonde hair and fiddling tensely with a tissue.
“Urgh…” Declan paused. “Wait, what’d I forget?” Of course. It was obvious that he was prohibited from doing absolutely anything right on this evening.
“Nothing…” she sobbed. “I…”
“Yeah?” Declan inquired. “You what?” ‘Hate me?’ he thought to himself. ‘Want me shot in the spleen? Have some arsenic I can take?’
“You must hate me,” she replied, looking out the passenger window and unknowingly sending Declan into a mental shutdown.
“Huh?” The Significant Zombie groaned, utterly dumbstruck.
“It’s just… well, this is the first time I’ve ever been on a proper date. I’m… I’m not really sure what to do and stuff. So… so I’m really sorry that I ruined your whole night. But… but…" Now she turned to him, her tears having washed away most of the powdered dust that once covered her perfect skin. But now it could be seen clearly. The beauty and tenderness of her soft, creamy, entirely smooth, milky white skin. It was like nothing he had ever witnessed before. “If… if you just let me see you again… I’ll do whatever you want me to, to make up for it!”
“Grugh?” Declan mumbled, now suffering a complete brain implosion. “You want to see me… again?!”
She emitted a strange squeak, before opening her door. Then she closed it again, before turning to him. “Do you want to fuck me? Will you ask me out again if I take you inside of me? We can do it right here in the car, if you want. I don’t min - ”
He put a single finger to her lips, sending her completely silent. “I’d love to see you again, Cara,” he replied. “But for now, you go and get some rest. I’ll call you, okay?”
“Oh… so you don’t want to… you know?”
“It’s not that I don’t want to,” Declan said, extending an arm and running a hand across her delightfully soft face, brushing the wonderfully silky hair from her perfect eyes. “It’s just that the time isn’t right. First I want to show you that you can trust me. That I care about you. And that I’d never let anything bad ever happen to you.”
Her face turned red, as she stared into his eyes. For the briefest of moments, he could have sworn he saw a smile escape her lips. He couldn’t be sure though. And within moments she had thanked him for such a wonderful evening, said goodbye and was on her way down the sidewalk.
The smile on Declan’s face was most certainly real.
* * * * *
10:33 PM Sunday, 18th January 2009 - Los Angeles, California
It had been almost three years. Almost three entire years since that fateful first date in this very same bar. At this very same booth. She looked as beautiful now as she did then. Though the sadness in her eyes - once nothing but an awful memory - had returned. But things seemed so simple in those days. He almost wished for them back.
Declan Prescott sat opposite his wife Cara, still in his wrestling attire, still dripping with sweat and most certainly receiving offensive glares from all those around him. Cara was dressed in a breezy, blue dress that looked worn for several days. She stared at her coaster nervously, her hair not brushed, her eyes beginning to swell with water and biting nervously on her bottom lip.
“I thought I might find you here,” he spoke, placing his hand on hers. Though she instantly withdrew.
“I wanted to watch the show,” she replied with a mumble.
“The show finished a while ago,” Declan returned. “I even had time to drive here. I’m glad you decided to stay, though. I‘ve visited this place everyday since you left, hoping to run into you.”
“I don’t have anywhere else to go.”
“Well that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“I tried to kill myself,” she replied, still staring at the useless coaster. “But I couldn’t…”
“Of course you could have,” Declan grinned, causing Cara’s eyes to meet his for the first time in days. Now his tone turned more serious. “But you didn’t want to. Just like you didn’t want to leave me all alone - ”
“I NEVER!” she snapped, sending the vision of every person in the room squarely on her. “YOU DIDN’T WANT ME THERE! YOU LEFT ME!”
“You’re stupid,” he stated matter-of-factly, while sticking his right hand down his tights and onto his crotch (causing some outraged gasps). “Wanting you to leave would be like wanting to stop breathing. I couldn’t live that way. It just isn’t possible. I need you sweetie and finding you is the only thing I’ve cared about since you walked out.”
“I saw your match tonight,” she replied coldly. “Didn’t seem like you needed me for that.”
“Heh,” Declan chuckled. “Not true at all.”
He now removed his hand from his tights, clutching a golden chain with a small locket attached. He placed it on the table before Cara, smiling serenely.
“Open it,” he instructed reassuringly.
Very reluctantly, she took the necklace and opened the locket. On one side, staring back at her was a picture of Declan Prescott, smiling broadly from some unnamed nightclub. On the opposite side, she saw a picture of herself. Beaming brightly, without a care in the world, from the same unnamed nightclub. She missed the girl in the picture.
“I had that with me the entire match,” Declan boasted. “Tucked away in my tights. A poor substitute, I’ll admit, but it was the best I could do. But the point is, that I don’t want you to leave. You’re my wife. I love you. And I’m not going to sit back, while you spend the rest of your days on the street, hoping that death snatches you up.
“Cara… I want… and I need you to come home.”
The tears continued running down her face and her demeanour didn’t become any less stern in the slightest.
“You probably just put that in your pants when you came in,” she sulked. “Just so I’d stop whining.”
“Take a whiff then,” Declan dared. “That’ll be all the proof you need that, that little locket has been safe and sound in my tights the whole time.”
She stared from the golden necklace, to her husband, before letting the briefest glance of a grin escape the corner of her lips. Declan instantly honed in for the kill.
“Ha!” he laughed. “I saw that, missy! You lurve me!”
Now her teeth revealed themselves in a broad smile, before she leaped over the table and into Declan’s arms.
“Baby!” she wept, as Declan cradled her in his clutch. “Thankyou so much! I missed you! I didn’t know what I was going to do! But now we can go home! Now we can live together again and everything will be oka - ”
“Ah…” Declan interrupted, a hollow sting about his voice. “I think you’ve misunderstood my meaning.”
“What do you mean?” she inquired, tension and apprehension rising in her voice.
“I want you to return to the apartment,” Declan told her. “But I won’t be there.”
She stared at him, seemingly about to breakdown into hysterics at any moment. The confusion etched in those giant green orbs was matched only by the sense of betrayal.
“Do you trust me?” Declan asked, very seriously, still holding very tightly to his beloved.
“I… ” she began, with no real direction. “Just… I… well… urgh… I mean… before all this… I… I would have said ‘yes’.”
“Well if you don’t trust me, just pretend to. Because I need you to believe me when I say what I’m about to say. Even if it doesn’t make any sense to you at all, just remember that I’ve always done my best to keep you happy and to keep you safe. I know that I’ve had my share of fucks ups, but haven’t I always tried as hard as I could? Have I ever made you second best to anything else?”
She stared at him deeply, biting on her bottom lip. Eventually she gave an unconfident nod, signalling she understood - or was willing to go along (for now) even if she didn’t.
“Thankyou,” Declan breathed. “Now, you’re going to hate it as much as I do, but right at this moment, the best thing for us - us as a couple, as a husband and wife - is to be apart.” She gasped and opened her mouth to protest, but Declan kept her silent with a single finger to her lips. “I’ve already moved all the things I’ll need out of the apartment and I’ve found somewhere else to live. And as soon as we can be together again, we will be. But in the meantime I need you to promise me that you won’t do anything crazy, like running off, again. Can you do that?”
She only frowned, as her eyes narrowed with distain. “Why… why can’t we be together?”
“I can’t explain it,” Declan responded. “That’s why I need you to trust me. But I want you to know that it has absolutely nothing to do with you. I love you just as much as I ever have and nothing upsets me more than the thought of not having you by my side. But this is a sacrifice we have to make. It’s best for you that way. So what do you say?”
“I don’t wanna live by myself!” she pouted. “I just - ”
“You won’t have to,” Declan reassured her, gently running a hand through her tangled blonde hair. “I converted the office back into a guest room and Woodward has offered to stay with you as long as you like. And Aesc will be on call all hours of the day and night if you need anything at all.”
“So you’re leaving me and giving me a psychotic old man and Satan’s Down syndrome son?! You expect me to - ”
“I don’t expect anything,” Declan interrupted, still holding her as one would a child. “That’s why I’m asking if you can do this.”
“And if I say I can’t?” she threatened.
“Then I’ll kill us both,” Declan hissed. “So that neither one of us will have to experience the torment of living in this world without the other.”
“Declan… I love you.”
“I love you too.”
* * * * *
7:28 PM Tuesday, 20th January 2009 - Los Angeles, California
Fucking asshole! Who does he think he is?! He ignored the Skin Man’s challenge! Didn’t even acknowledge that I called him out! What a spineless dog?! Who does he think he is?! All he’s ever done is make up a Title (that he’s too afraid to even defend), ejaculate on the entrance ramp and be killed inside the ring. Though the fact he keeps coming back for more even after all that proves he’s got tenacity, at least, I guess. But regardless, Killswitch is a pussy! Actually, that’s an insult to pussies! No bitch wants to get ploughed in her Killswitch! Not even by DA MAN CHAMP!
But if he thinks I’m gonna take this lying down (or tied up in a basement, as I’m sure is how he takes it), that moose molesting wannabe Champion has got another thing coming! Because I, Brandon McSkinny, vow to take the fight to Test! Fuck, I mean Killswitch! He’s gonna have to watch his back! He’s gonna have to keep one eye always open! He’s gonna have to stop listening to Nickelback and start fearing when The Skin Man is gonna decide to strike! He’s gonna have to stop thinking up which gimmick he wants to rip off next and start preparing for the attack! Because when I make my move - and mark my words, I most certainly will - he’s going straight to hell!
Or maybe just back to Canada, I can’t decide which is worse.
Now I gotta go scrub Tony’s ass. Fat fuck can’t reach back there.
Later people.
* * * * *
2:17 PM Wednesday, 21st January 2009 - Los Angeles, California
The two move ever closer. One approaching from the right, the other from the left. Declan Prescott - a large shoulder bag over one… well, shoulder and a gym bag over the other. His stride is arrogant, though there is a subtle tightness to it. As Travis Roberts moves in from the opposite direction - carrying a briefcase and a gym bag, which is sure to house his most valuable possessions - hits the pavement just a touch harder than The Significant Player. Soon the pair come face-to-face.
Travis: Declan.
Declan: Travis.
Travis: It’s time…
Declan: I have to say, I consider you a friend, but I’ve been looking forward to this all the same. Hell, maybe because you’re my friend, I’ve been excited about it.
Travis: The Blessed One couldn’t have said it better himself. Now… lets… DO THIS!!!!
Declan: ROAR!!!!![/I]
In an instant both men send their bags slamming to the ground and raise one fist in the air in exact unison. With lightning fast reflexes they send their fists surging towards each other. The inevitable collision comes from both sides. The thundering impact would send any regular man flying ten feet through the air, as if he just got dropkicked by a kangaroo after trying to feed it (true story). But these are no ordinary men…
Travis: …
Declan: …
Travis: …
Declan: …
Travis: …
Declan: …
Travis and Declan: YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!![/I]
Travis: Man, connecting fists is so much better than shaking hands! Why can’t these window lickers that surround The Revolution understand that? The TWiSTeD Icon and The Heart And Soul are redefining the entire greeting tradition and the mental debilitation that surrounds them is too blind to see it! But damn that BoolZ! Thanks to him, Travis Roberts can’t even perform the double fist connector!!
Declan: You have to relax about that guy, man. I mean, both his hands are going to turn yellow and fall off in due time. It’s just a matter of how many hand jobs he can give Chris Austin before that happens. Besides, the Undisputed Champion Travis Roberts can find all kinds of willing young ladies to roll his joints, right?
Travis: Well... urgh… what?! Of course I… he can! But dude, Travis Roberts is the Unified Champion. Even something like Raenius knows that much… maybe.
Declan: Yeah, sure you are, buddy. But getting back to the point - fist connecting! I mean, take Alex Kiseragi and Brandon Brown for example - my opponents this week, you know?
Travis: Assuming one could even call them that.
Declan: Ha, they beat you didn’t they?
Travis: The Headliner will let you know that -
Declan: Ah, save it for some other time. Can’t you see I’m ranting here?
Travis: The Blessed One will, unlike the majority of malcontents and mongoloids that litter GIW, give The Significant Player his due!
Declan: Thankyou good sir! Now like I was saying, Brandon Brown. Here’s a guy that will most certainly connect fists. Problem is - at least for him - they’ll be my fists when I’m beating the stuffing out of him for the umpteenth time. I’ve honestly lost count. Considering how much Boss P hates me, I figured he’d be putting me in gruelling matches. Instead I’m battling to be a Chief Black Person, by walking all over a bunch of jobbers that I’ve beaten more or less every time I’ve faced them. Who, in this tournament, haven’t I beaten? Hastings? Well, I’ll get to him in due course. Moss Edwards? While I admire his ability to capture the true essence of some of GIW’s ‘superstars’, his talent is behind a camera in a fold-out chair, not inside a wrestling ring. I mean, anyone willing to put their hands on Aito Chen’s diaper is someone who deserves to be put in front of a moving bus - not the GIW fans. But as sad as it is, Brown is actually the one guy who has given me more trouble than all the others combined… and his career might as well be over after all the humiliation he suffered at my hands! It’s actually quite insulting. That must be Boss P’s plan - force me to fight jobbers and hacks to try and ridicule me. Sadly his plan won’t work, as half these window lickers actually have the support of the Los Angeles masses. It's disgusting.
Like this ‘Kis-Kis’ fellow. Well, you can connect your fist to him alright, but I don’t want to tell you where he’ll put it! After all Travis, you’re still recovering and may well be heading to an early grave if any of BoolZ’ blood or saliva touched you. But what I will say, is that apparently this ‘daddy’s boy’ actually has a groupie. A groupie. And I believe she’s carrying Cyanide’s child, at that. Which confirms my suspicions that she is actually a male. After all, Jensen did have a pretty close relationship with Dylan James. Or maybe it’s just some cross dresser with the same name. Anyway, the point is that Kiseragi is a joke, who should spend more time trying to win matches and less time ruining the fist connect with his father!
Now Donovan Hastings, there’s a guy who I would gladly connect fists with. Not because I respect him or anything like that, but simply to see how long he’d remember doing it after the fact. I’m thinking… five seconds? Maybe I’m too generous… we’ll say three. This is a guy who’s so delusional, it’s hard to tell where his fantasies end and his mental retardation begins. Though I have always been one to give credit, where credit is due. When push comes to shove, Hastings has always proven to be on my side. Heck, as a team, we even defeated the mighty duo of Travis Roberts and Dylan James! Haha, I kid. But it’s a smart play by Hastings. He’s been able to flourish because he’s stayed out of my way. And, assuming he can do that again on Sunday, he’ll be taken on a ride to the easiest win of his life. Of course, of he manages to ruin things for me…
Travis: He’ll feel the wrath of The Revolution!
Declan *under breath*: That ought to ease any concerns he may have about me. Though keeping up this charade is going to be a major drag…
Travis: What’d Declan Prescott just say?
Declan: I… ugh… said ‘I hope Kiseragi doesn’t try to feel my bag!’ I will be locked in a cage with that perverted little scrotum worshipper, you know?
Travis: But The Significant Player fights for a higher purpose! To regain GIW’s glory! To usurp what is rightfully his from the Yardie popping Boss P and his needle popping puppet! The Heart And Soul Of GIW is immune to such unspeakable acts from degenerates like Alex Kiseragi!
Declan: YEAH! FIST CONNECT DOUBLE TIME!!!
Travis: YOU BETTER BELIEVE IT!!!!!
The two slam fists once more, both smiling broadly.
Travis *under breath*: Just constantly reassure him, that way he won’t notice. But damn I wish I could roll a joint. This is just cruel!
Declan: You say something?
Travis: I SAID FUCK BOOLZ THE FOOL!!!
Declan: YEAH!!!!!
Travis: …
Declan: …
Travis: …
Declan: So… urgh… you remember the plan?
Travis: Of course The Blessed One remembers the plan! How could The Headliner forget?! The Revolution scouts out the place for a few weeks or so, in a guerrilla style attack, in order to learn the routines and weaknesses of their number one enemy - BOSS PENGUIN!
Declan: Absolutely! Of course, it means we’ll have to live in this place for a while, but that’s a sacrifice we’re willing to make for the greater good. Naturally we’d both like to be spending time at our respective, true homes and it goes without saying that we are most certainly welcome in our usual places of residence, but sometimes we have to do things that we don’t want to do, simply because the situation calls for it. We know that in time, things will return to how they should be, but until then, we must make use of the resources we have. And if that means performing actions that we would otherwise decline, so be it. That’s what separates us from pretty much every other human being on the planet - we see the truth and take the appropriate action!
Travis: The Headliner couldn’t have said it better himself! Now lets go… friend.
Declan: We’ll do it… together!
The pair pick up their bags and begin marching determinedly over the front yard of the house before them, before dropping their bags at the door and knocking upon the wooden frame. They hear some sounds emitting from the other side that can only be classified as ‘disturbing’, before the door swings open so violently, it almost goes flying off the handle. Standing before them is the enormous mountain of a man, McZygmunt Cubed. He is wearing a tight wife beater and a beer dispensing hat, that has been setup with a custom design to accommodate protein shakes.
Munt: Yah, you marst be tha new guys, ey?
Declan’s and Travis’ eyes meet worryingly, before the pair gulp and nod to Munt.
Munt: Well tharn… WELCALM!!!
Munt throws his arms around the pair in a giant, embracing hug, nearly crushing both members of The Revolution.
Declan: Does he even realise who we are?
Travis: If he doesn’t, it makes The Revolution’s job to spy on him that much easier.
Munt: You guys say sarmthing?
Declan and Travis: We said we really hate ‘Leave It To Beaver’!!!
Munt: Arharharhar you so funnee! Please, carm in!
The trio move through the threshold, as the entire world of The Revolution turns black. In one corner is a busty blonde, tongue deep in a giant, buzz cut yielding Neanderthal, complete with gridiron gear.
Munt: Thart is Claire, yah. She’s a hot Univorsity studarnt with a football playar boyfriend.
Claire: Mmmm! Hmmm! Mmmmmmmmmmmmm…
In another corner is a fossilised (though still very much alive) old woman, wearing only a blanket, covered in tattered grey hair and being wrestled to the ground by at least three dozen cats.
Munt: Thart’s thar crazy cat lady, who’s name we do not know.
Crazy Cat Lady: YARK BROAK JGROAR FHRAB!!!!
In yet another corner is the all too familiar sight of Joka, who seems to have his pelvis caught in the heater.
Munt: Arnd thees is thar paedophile clown that will probably try to molest you in the ear, while you sleep!
Joka: THOU HAS’T ENTERED THY PALACE OF HELL!!! AHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! God damn, no matter how much I pull, it just won’t come out!
Munt: So evarybody, thees is Declarn and Trarvis. They’ll both be having in the room across the hall from you, Joka, while they’re share housing weeth ars. So make tharm feel welcome, yah guys? Oh, Dec and Trarv, you two don’t mind sleeping on concrete do you? Joka is using the two extra beds we had for his latest victim.
The Revolution’s eyes meet once more and they simultaneously gulp again. For now, their fates are probably best left unknown.
