Post by Alexander Irvine on Dec 22, 2018 23:26:07 GMT -5
“Almost two decades of this shit and I still hate it.”
Irvine grumbles as he slides his hands inside his old, faded to grey, BLACK Lion’s Road hoodie. His eyes peer from the shadow of his WALL ballcaps bill at the flight list hanging above them. The lights flutter different flights and different locations, rows and rows of flight delays and cancelations decorate the screen like a Christmas tree, and disappoint the everyone like the gift of socks.
“Come on Irv, it’s all part of this pro-wrestling game we play. If you can’t deal with the game down pick up the sticks.”
Cutlass grins stupidly as he air motions as if he were playing a gaming console, but not one of the new one, something old and ancient like he would have played with. Like the N64, the hot gift of this season back in 1996.
“I must be a fucking masochist. I hate traveling like this and I fucking hate you.”
Cutlass grins as he nods his head up, signaling that he knows Irvine really loves him, Irvine grimaces to…signal the same? Both men pull out their tickets, then up at the board, grab their bags and march off to the left. The two cornbread feed motherfuckers make their way past patrons like Zeus through the seas, Poseidon through the seas, Hammerstein and AJ Knight through and all you can eat buffet at the local gay bar “Balls and Tweeners.”
“I’ve seen almost as many friends die over the years as I’ve seen federations Jules. But this is the first time I’ve had one resurrect only to die almost three years later. I can’t tell if it’s like watching a child die or an old man come out of a coma only to die after getting his life back in order.”
Jules laughs as he reaches up to adjust his faded Jaguar Kings cap.
“I thought you said you’d see this fed get better or burn the bitch to the ground when I first got you to comeback.”
Irvine smirks.
“Do you see any flames. Guess it's better.”
Both men laugh as they adjust their Team IPPON travel bags under their shoulders. Cutlass pulls out an old Nalgene bottle that reads Marines of Destruction across the front of it, Irvine pays in kind by drinking out of an old DWF bottle. Cutlass chuckles a bit on his water when he sees it.
“Funny. That’s where we both got our first sip of this sweet curse of wrestling.
“Even funnier is that I brought you there. In the M.O.D. no less.”
Both men smirk to themselves. Irvine knocks a child off balance as his bag smacks him in the face. The crying behind him melts into the scene of crying families behind him as their flights are canceled.
“So how do you see this match going down Irv? Mr. WALL.”
“We both know how this match is going to go. Chrenshaw’s going to want to go toe to toe with you one last time. After some tusslin’ you’re going to tag Edwards and the two Iron Champs are going to go at it until I’m tagged in and Edwards tags you in. Fans will roar and so will we.”
Cutlass smiles as he soaks in the imagery, his head bobbing to and fro as you can see the image of the match flashing across his eyes like an old burned out television set. After a few moments which seemed like an utter eternity, Cutlass came back to his senses and turned to Irvine as they stopped before the moving walkway. People smashed into their backs like tennis balls against the Washington Monument. They begin to protest, but the look on Irvine’s face as he looks to Cutlass causes them to just move around.
“Wait. But how do you think it will end? Who’s going to win?”
Irvine smirks his trademark wolfish grin.
“The same way it always does Julian. With tears and applause, thank you and good byes. In the end we will separate and go our own ways only to travel down the forking road just to come back together again.”
Irvine steps onto the walkway and begins to shoot off as Julian smirks to himself. Suddenly he comes back to reality with a disappointed look on his face.
“Hey…wait! I meant the match Irv.”
Cutlass follows suit and walks on it to catch up.
Never worry. The game always ends, only to start again.
Irvine grumbles as he slides his hands inside his old, faded to grey, BLACK Lion’s Road hoodie. His eyes peer from the shadow of his WALL ballcaps bill at the flight list hanging above them. The lights flutter different flights and different locations, rows and rows of flight delays and cancelations decorate the screen like a Christmas tree, and disappoint the everyone like the gift of socks.
“Come on Irv, it’s all part of this pro-wrestling game we play. If you can’t deal with the game down pick up the sticks.”
Cutlass grins stupidly as he air motions as if he were playing a gaming console, but not one of the new one, something old and ancient like he would have played with. Like the N64, the hot gift of this season back in 1996.
“I must be a fucking masochist. I hate traveling like this and I fucking hate you.”
Cutlass grins as he nods his head up, signaling that he knows Irvine really loves him, Irvine grimaces to…signal the same? Both men pull out their tickets, then up at the board, grab their bags and march off to the left. The two cornbread feed motherfuckers make their way past patrons like Zeus through the seas, Poseidon through the seas, Hammerstein and AJ Knight through and all you can eat buffet at the local gay bar “Balls and Tweeners.”
“I’ve seen almost as many friends die over the years as I’ve seen federations Jules. But this is the first time I’ve had one resurrect only to die almost three years later. I can’t tell if it’s like watching a child die or an old man come out of a coma only to die after getting his life back in order.”
Jules laughs as he reaches up to adjust his faded Jaguar Kings cap.
“I thought you said you’d see this fed get better or burn the bitch to the ground when I first got you to comeback.”
Irvine smirks.
“Do you see any flames. Guess it's better.”
Both men laugh as they adjust their Team IPPON travel bags under their shoulders. Cutlass pulls out an old Nalgene bottle that reads Marines of Destruction across the front of it, Irvine pays in kind by drinking out of an old DWF bottle. Cutlass chuckles a bit on his water when he sees it.
“Funny. That’s where we both got our first sip of this sweet curse of wrestling.
“Even funnier is that I brought you there. In the M.O.D. no less.”
Both men smirk to themselves. Irvine knocks a child off balance as his bag smacks him in the face. The crying behind him melts into the scene of crying families behind him as their flights are canceled.
“So how do you see this match going down Irv? Mr. WALL.”
“We both know how this match is going to go. Chrenshaw’s going to want to go toe to toe with you one last time. After some tusslin’ you’re going to tag Edwards and the two Iron Champs are going to go at it until I’m tagged in and Edwards tags you in. Fans will roar and so will we.”
Cutlass smiles as he soaks in the imagery, his head bobbing to and fro as you can see the image of the match flashing across his eyes like an old burned out television set. After a few moments which seemed like an utter eternity, Cutlass came back to his senses and turned to Irvine as they stopped before the moving walkway. People smashed into their backs like tennis balls against the Washington Monument. They begin to protest, but the look on Irvine’s face as he looks to Cutlass causes them to just move around.
“Wait. But how do you think it will end? Who’s going to win?”
Irvine smirks his trademark wolfish grin.
“The same way it always does Julian. With tears and applause, thank you and good byes. In the end we will separate and go our own ways only to travel down the forking road just to come back together again.”
Irvine steps onto the walkway and begins to shoot off as Julian smirks to himself. Suddenly he comes back to reality with a disappointed look on his face.
“Hey…wait! I meant the match Irv.”
Cutlass follows suit and walks on it to catch up.
Never worry. The game always ends, only to start again.