Post by War / Slate on Aug 29, 2021 19:11:11 GMT -5
Hello Level Up Wrestling.
I don't believe we've met yet, have we?
Some of you probably already know who I am, but for the benefit of those that don't let me explain.
My name is Joseph A'sau, but that isn't what you'll call me.
Because for just over a decade in this business I've gone by another name.
Joseph War.
I chose it when I wasn't in the best headspace, and I don't agree with the original philosophy behind it.
But since the name stuck, I developed a new outlook to keep it around.
These days you can probably find iterations of what I'm about to tell you on CrossFit gym walls and shit like that.
But you'll just have to trust me, it was a lot fresher of an idea in 2010.
The basic idea is that existence, from beginning to end, is a struggle for pretty much any living thing.
A struggle to survive, to thrive.
Life is made of pain and fear and hardship, strife and conflict.
And when I step between those ropes, what I throw at my opponent is everything I am.
I take all my hate and rage, passion, willpower and yeah -- even fear.
I let it spread throughout myself instead of keeping it all locked up tight in my head.
And that's what I use to fuel my specific brand of violence.
I bring my war, to you.
Now the name makes sense, huh?
At one point, I thought I was some kind of dark savior, but that personality doesn't live in my head anymore.
I'm not that kind of nutjob thankfully, there's already enough running around as is.
I like to think I'm more dangerous than the delusional type. Because I'm not threatening you with anything fantastical.
What I present is very real. It's a raw reality.
Like sandpaper to your senses.
The first time I wrestled for a company who's name mattered, it was in 2010.
Carnage Wrestling, yeah, that one.
Back then it was just one shitty little warehouse, and the guy that ran it was an insane luchador business man.
He was obsessed with twenty dollar bills. I'm pretty sure we were never paid in anything else back then.
I was a luchadore too at the time, wrestling under the mask.
I was very, very different from the man you see now. Younger, more naïve.
My life had yet to fall apart, so I was living good.
But hey, let's not make this a pity party. Let's cut back to what's necessary for you to know.
After my first leave of absence, I came back thinking I was some kind of dark harbinger of justice.
That lasted until a guy called Phoenix Matsuda almost caved in my skull.
That lead to my second leave of absence, and it lasted a lot longer.
It takes time to un-crazy yourself after all.
I didn't come back until 2016, but when I did I had what was probably my best run in the company.
But I fucked myself up in my first match back, and injury I only made worse in the following weeks.
That lead to my third break from Carnage Wrestling, but I did try to come back again.
It didn't go well. If my injury had just been a problem before, after that... it was well and truly fucked.
So for years, I bounced back and forth between doctors trying to get my career... my life, back on track.
Most of them just repeated one another, like an echo chamber.
They told me my career was over.
Some of them offered me surgeries, but the consequences of them would basically ensure my retirement anyway.
That... wasn't good enough for me.
To put it lightly, and to very much understate my feelings on the matter.
The worst part is that by the time I finally got it all figured out and taken care of...
...Carnage Wrestling was gone.
I defined... shit, still define, myself by that company.
It's been one of the only consistent forces in my life.
When everything else fell apart, there was Carnage Wrestling and it's ridiculous bullshit.
The ultraviolence.
$20 dollar bills.
People getting Tyler Rollins'd?
Don't worry about that one... it's an inside joke.
You had to be there.
But basically, I was up the creek not just without a paddle... without a goddamn boat.
With Carnage gone, what was I supposed to do?
...
Well, it took a little soul-searching.
But the one thing I knew I couldn't do was quit.
Not after everything I'd been through to come back.
So I'd jsut have to find another place to work.
But one company couldn't fill the void, so I joined two.
If I'm being honest? It's still not enough.
But, it helps.
[/i]... sounds like a challenge,[/font]" she snickered before offering Joseph a genuine smile. "But I bet you could. If there's one thing professional wrestling ain't short on right now, it's determination."[/span][/div]I don't believe we've met yet, have we?
Some of you probably already know who I am, but for the benefit of those that don't let me explain.
My name is Joseph A'sau, but that isn't what you'll call me.
Because for just over a decade in this business I've gone by another name.
Joseph War.
I chose it when I wasn't in the best headspace, and I don't agree with the original philosophy behind it.
But since the name stuck, I developed a new outlook to keep it around.
These days you can probably find iterations of what I'm about to tell you on CrossFit gym walls and shit like that.
But you'll just have to trust me, it was a lot fresher of an idea in 2010.
The basic idea is that existence, from beginning to end, is a struggle for pretty much any living thing.
A struggle to survive, to thrive.
Life is made of pain and fear and hardship, strife and conflict.
And when I step between those ropes, what I throw at my opponent is everything I am.
I take all my hate and rage, passion, willpower and yeah -- even fear.
I let it spread throughout myself instead of keeping it all locked up tight in my head.
And that's what I use to fuel my specific brand of violence.
I bring my war, to you.
Now the name makes sense, huh?
At one point, I thought I was some kind of dark savior, but that personality doesn't live in my head anymore.
I'm not that kind of nutjob thankfully, there's already enough running around as is.
I like to think I'm more dangerous than the delusional type. Because I'm not threatening you with anything fantastical.
What I present is very real. It's a raw reality.
Like sandpaper to your senses.
The first time I wrestled for a company who's name mattered, it was in 2010.
Carnage Wrestling, yeah, that one.
Back then it was just one shitty little warehouse, and the guy that ran it was an insane luchador business man.
He was obsessed with twenty dollar bills. I'm pretty sure we were never paid in anything else back then.
I was a luchadore too at the time, wrestling under the mask.
I was very, very different from the man you see now. Younger, more naïve.
My life had yet to fall apart, so I was living good.
But hey, let's not make this a pity party. Let's cut back to what's necessary for you to know.
After my first leave of absence, I came back thinking I was some kind of dark harbinger of justice.
That lasted until a guy called Phoenix Matsuda almost caved in my skull.
That lead to my second leave of absence, and it lasted a lot longer.
It takes time to un-crazy yourself after all.
I didn't come back until 2016, but when I did I had what was probably my best run in the company.
But I fucked myself up in my first match back, and injury I only made worse in the following weeks.
That lead to my third break from Carnage Wrestling, but I did try to come back again.
It didn't go well. If my injury had just been a problem before, after that... it was well and truly fucked.
So for years, I bounced back and forth between doctors trying to get my career... my life, back on track.
Most of them just repeated one another, like an echo chamber.
They told me my career was over.
Some of them offered me surgeries, but the consequences of them would basically ensure my retirement anyway.
That... wasn't good enough for me.
To put it lightly, and to very much understate my feelings on the matter.
The worst part is that by the time I finally got it all figured out and taken care of...
...Carnage Wrestling was gone.
I defined... shit, still define, myself by that company.
It's been one of the only consistent forces in my life.
When everything else fell apart, there was Carnage Wrestling and it's ridiculous bullshit.
The ultraviolence.
$20 dollar bills.
People getting Tyler Rollins'd?
Don't worry about that one... it's an inside joke.
You had to be there.
But basically, I was up the creek not just without a paddle... without a goddamn boat.
With Carnage gone, what was I supposed to do?
...
Well, it took a little soul-searching.
But the one thing I knew I couldn't do was quit.
Not after everything I'd been through to come back.
So I'd jsut have to find another place to work.
But one company couldn't fill the void, so I joined two.
If I'm being honest? It's still not enough.
But, it helps.
Joseph leaned back into the couch, glass of dark liquid in hand as the television before him continued on. He watched himself, spinning Ken around, jamming his thumb into the other man’s neck and knocking him to the floor. He watched with intrigue, invested even though he’d already lived it once, as he backed himself up, drilled Ken with a Hollowpoint spear and jerked him back up to his feet to toss him over the top rope. Victory was his, in his first match back. And his first match in UGWC.
“See that?” he remarked, lifting the hand in which he held his glass and gesturing with a single digit at the screen. His grin was small, but it was there. He was dressed casually, faded jeans and sleeveless dark shirt with the ‘Slayer’ band logo across the back.
“It’s like I was never gone.” His eyes were still on the screen, watching the aftermath of the match, mostly himself walking to the back from the ring. His limp there, but only slightly. Walking tall.
“I hit that spear, and that was it. I knew I was back in.” He lifted the glass to his lips, taking a drink of liquid cooled from glacial cubes, and let out a satisfied sigh.
“No more doubts left, not after that.”
"Well that's good, I think," a female voice responded from off-camera. "I mean, I'd still have my doubts - I always have my doubts - but that's just me."
Referring to herself of course and not the man sitting next to her. As the camera panned over she had a green slushie drink tipped towards her painted lips by way of a margarita glass. Her silvery hair was on full display in wavy light curls that draped down and over her shoulders. The shimmering pink dress that she wore was more indicative that this was some sort of special occasion, or a high-class function... or both.
She puckered at the particularly sour taste and gasped at the cold bite. "I've been back for... how long now? And every time I go out there it's still... imposter syndrome all over again. But I am happy for you that you feel ready to be back. Thank you for coming, by the way. It's nice not to have to do this alone for a change."
"No sweat." Comes his reply, post another sip of his drink. The rest of the UGWC show continues to play on, Joseph seemingly not really having the mind to change it. Or perhaps he didn't know what he'd switch the TV to if he did. "And thanks for indulging me… just wanted to see what the audience saw, you know?"
He's swirling what's left in his glass softly with rotations of his wrist. Ice cube clinking against their transparent cage. "Feel sort of underdressed though. Could have told me to wear somethin' nice."
She chuckled. It was at this point that it is shown that Joey's present company is in fact Level Up's Final Boss Magdalena Lockheart, who is sitting with her legs crossed. The Margarita glass is perched precariously among her tattooed fingertips as she waves it through the air.
"Ahh, I could have. This is... yes, that's entirely true." A slight giggle might suggest that she's already had a few of this establishment's finest selection. "But then again, you are an invited guest. I highly doubt they want to disappoint me."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, I've been trying to think of this kind-of-like a job interview, but in reality, kind of in reverse. I mean, I am offering a lot here. I don't think that it's too far-fetched of me to say that it's them who need to impress me... they wanted me, so I'm assuming they already like what they see."
"You're all up in this business shit huh?" He commented, busying his hands with pouring another helping of liquor from the bottle on the coffee table in front of them. "Brand deals and whatnot… it's smart. This business used to be a lot simpler. Warehouses and twenty dollar bills being shoved into my hand at the end of the night. Well, maybe that's just me and the old crew -- but you get my point."
He took another drink, the Polynesian man definitely not as affected by the alcohol as the woman beside him. Another satisfied sigh, and his eyes turn down to peer at the glass. "Which one of the new labels is this, again?"
"That? Oh, I dunno. You ordered it, I assumed that you knew," she replied with a smile.
She relaxed and her mind wandered back to the simpler times that he mentioned. Yes, it was true that the whole point of their visit was strictly business, but she did not want to see herself as a business woman.
"All I know is that I've been drinking Tequila because if I find one of their blends that I really like, I won't mind as much when I sell-out to the man and have them plaster my name all over it."
Though Maggie had been the proprietor of a tattoo parlor before, she found this to be quite different. Unlike Paper Street, the kind folks at Admiral Agave distilleries had already done most of the work and were simply willing to pay for a leg up in the market. Having her as a spokesperson seemed to be worth a good amount to them...
"Yep, if all goes well, we could be the first two people who ever drank Black Legacy Tequila... post-naming of course. But if not, hey, they'll go with someone else eventually and at least the drinks were free."
Joseph let his gaze linger on the glass for a few moments longer, letting out a small hum. Evidently, he should have paid more attention to what he ordered.
“Always better to have your name on things you actually approve of.” He commented, mind briefly wandering to better days -- like the bar he’d once upon a time co-owned.
Business was business, but Joseph did find drink testing with Lockheart more akin to passing liquor around with a friend than anything all that professional. He also simply wasn’t one for gussying up very much at all, if his choice of attire hadn’t already made that painfully obvious.
“Well, whatever this is -- “ he moved his glass up a little, in a gesture, “ -- it’s good.” And then he was polishing it off, placing the glass back down upon the table with a thud.
A few moments passed after Joseph eased into his seat, letting the tension of his shoulders and collar ebb as much as possible into the cushions.
“So, tell me about Johnny Fringe.” May as well talk the other shop they were familiar with too while they were at it yeah? It gave them another conversation piece at the very least. “You’ve been in the ring with him, I know that much.”
Maggie was nose deep in her margarita glass by the time the question had been posed.
"Fringe?" She had to grab a napkin to dab some slush off her upper lip. "Demon of New Orleans? Yeah, dude's legit. Real scary guy. Believes everything he says. You know the kind."
Truth was she was still wearing the bruises from her recent battle with Fringe. Winning the match against him in Reno meant very little considering how he was able to pop right back up and assault her the way that he did after the bell.
"I don't know what to tell you... other than to keep him in front of you at all times." She continued, feeling the twinge in her back where she was spinebustered into the turnbuckles. "Then you don't have to worry as much about what he'll do when your back's turned."
Joseph listened intently to everything she said, his head nodding slowly. But despite how seriously he took her words, he ended her short little information dump with a smile.
“Believes everything he says, huh?” Oh, he definitely knew the type. She was talking to the type, or at least a variation of it. “I’ll keep all that in mind. Fringe… he’s gotta have a little somethin’ if he took you to task like that… but I’m not worried.”
The Television was on the Conquest championship match by now, but Joseph seemed only half interested, and much more focused on the thoughts brewing in his head.
“People can call themselves whatever they want, you know. Kings, monsters, angels, demons… but that ain’t it.” He closed his eyes a moment, leaning back.
“They’re all just people, men and women. They bleed, and I can beat anything that bleeds.”
"[i]That
“I have been routinely called challenging before.” he replied, a lopsided smirk just barely preceding a small chuckle. “And with me, if it sounds like a challenge that’s probably because it is. But I’m patient… more than I used to be, anyway.”
"Yeah, but patience only goes so far," she said, pointing across at him, "and if I had to guess, you're only going to be patient for so long. When people realize that you really are back and you're not settling for anything less than the best... I'm sure someone will figure out how to push the wrong button."
“Mm, true. And it won’t be very hard. I have lots of buttons, and depending on the person in question, there are a few I’m just dying to have pushed. Almost losing all of this puts things into perspective, you know?”
He doesn’t even notice, but his hand has absent-mindedly drifted to his knee, where his palm settles on the brace he wears over his jeans.
"Kind of makes me appreciate each fight a little more, yeah. You try to stay prepared 'cause you know deep down in your mind... you never know if this one's gonna be the last one... 'til it is."
He was quiet for probably a few moments longer than he intended to be, just enough to almost make the silence awkward.
“Yeah? Well… fuck all that noise.”
He leaned forward then, hand haphazardly snatching the neck of the tequila bottle and refilling his glass.
“The next time I’m out, it’ll be because I’m dead.”
She chuckled. "Oh, just like me the last time. I can drink to that."
“Fuckin’ cheers.” he held up his glass, for her to tap with her own drink. She obliged him with a tap of her glass.
"To fighting forever," she exclaimed, "or until we're dead. Whichever comes first... of course."
“To not dying too early.” He added, and lifted the glass to his lips, drinking it down, down… down until the entirety was gone in one go. He slammed the glass back down on the table.
“And to me whipping Johnny Fringe’s ass.”
I think my biggest virtue in this business is that I don't quit.
I know that's weird to hear from a guy who used to disappear for years at a time, but stay with me on this one. Every time I left this business, it's because I was forced out by circumstances beyond my control. I could have communicated better sure, but that doesn't change what actually happened. Every single time I've had to step away, I was actually being dragged; all the while trying to claw and scrape and hold on to anything to keep me in the game.
I never, ever, wanted to leave. Had it ever actually been my choice, I never would have.
But while this can be viewed as a good thing, it's also probably easy to see where it can go wrong, isn't it?
And if you're getting the vibe I'm trying to put out here, good job.
I am literally unable to quit this business.
It's an actual, real problem. One that's fucking scary sometimes.
Have you ever just sat by yourself in the middle of the night, alone in the dark, and come to the realization that there's an aspect of your existence you would sacrifice anything to keep from losing?
Even your own body?
Even your own soul?
It's a fucking terrifying thing to discover, that one thing has so much power over you that you'd do anything to keep things from changing. Any. Single. Fucking. Thing. All in one moment you feel so robbed of your agency, your independence. Realizing the entire notion of your existence has become so intrinsically tied to something else by your own passion can leave this awful, foreboding hollowness in your chest. In that moment, you know you'll never really be complete without that one thing that holds so much power over you.
It's haunting.
And for me, that's wrestling.
Since I'm stuck with it anyone, loving it too much to leave, I make sure to include that level of passion in every bout. In every match, I come at my opponents as if they've somehow personally attacked my notion of worth, my standing as a professional wrestler. It's typically never true but... what do I care?
Fighting each and every person in my way as if losing to them means I risk being finished has worked so far.
Some people might call that desperate, and I honestly wouldn't be able to blame them.
But for me, it is something more... positive than that.
More useful.
Think of it like wearing my heart on my sleeve.
After all, if I didn't come at each and every enemy with all that I've got and all that I am...
...would there even be a point?
I know that's weird to hear from a guy who used to disappear for years at a time, but stay with me on this one. Every time I left this business, it's because I was forced out by circumstances beyond my control. I could have communicated better sure, but that doesn't change what actually happened. Every single time I've had to step away, I was actually being dragged; all the while trying to claw and scrape and hold on to anything to keep me in the game.
I never, ever, wanted to leave. Had it ever actually been my choice, I never would have.
But while this can be viewed as a good thing, it's also probably easy to see where it can go wrong, isn't it?
And if you're getting the vibe I'm trying to put out here, good job.
I am literally unable to quit this business.
It's an actual, real problem. One that's fucking scary sometimes.
Have you ever just sat by yourself in the middle of the night, alone in the dark, and come to the realization that there's an aspect of your existence you would sacrifice anything to keep from losing?
Even your own body?
Even your own soul?
It's a fucking terrifying thing to discover, that one thing has so much power over you that you'd do anything to keep things from changing. Any. Single. Fucking. Thing. All in one moment you feel so robbed of your agency, your independence. Realizing the entire notion of your existence has become so intrinsically tied to something else by your own passion can leave this awful, foreboding hollowness in your chest. In that moment, you know you'll never really be complete without that one thing that holds so much power over you.
It's haunting.
And for me, that's wrestling.
Since I'm stuck with it anyone, loving it too much to leave, I make sure to include that level of passion in every bout. In every match, I come at my opponents as if they've somehow personally attacked my notion of worth, my standing as a professional wrestler. It's typically never true but... what do I care?
Fighting each and every person in my way as if losing to them means I risk being finished has worked so far.
Some people might call that desperate, and I honestly wouldn't be able to blame them.
But for me, it is something more... positive than that.
More useful.
Think of it like wearing my heart on my sleeve.
After all, if I didn't come at each and every enemy with all that I've got and all that I am...
...would there even be a point?
Joseph was doing the dishes when he caught sight of Jean, coming back home from hanging out with her friends. There were to oddities to notice.
One, she was about an hour early.
And two, she kept looking back over her shoulder, occasionally increasing her pace.
Concern immediately bubbled up in Joseph's skull, but he lost sight of her from the window as she approached the front door. He heard it open and slam, so he quickly finished washing up the plate in his hand.
"Hey kiddo."
"Uh, hey." She called from the other room.
"Everything cool?"
"Yeah, yeah everything is cool..."
She didn't sound very convincing. Joseph's eyes wandered back to the window, and he watched as a shifty beat-up Chevy cavalier pulled up along the street. Not quite in front of the house, but close enough. For a few moments it just sat there, idling, but then the door opened. The sight of the man who got out to smoke a cigarette caused Joseph to squeeze down on the glass he had in his hand, shattering it with his grip alone.
"This MOTHERFUCKER."
Zena whined, and Jean poked her head in from the dining room, catching sight of the man outside.
"Shit.. I thought, I t-thought I lost him."
Without saying a word Joseph went on the move, dropping the broken glass on the counter for now and heading towards the back door.
"Dad--"
"Stay. Inside."
He growled back, cutting off her objection. From the back door he made his way around the backyard of the neighbouring house, and out onto the sidewalk on the far side of the vehicle and it's familiar driver. Despite his anger, his gait changed to a casual half trot as he approached, his breath steadying into short puffs as if to emulate someone who was out for a small jog.
The guy was therefore none the wiser when Joseph rolled up on him. "Hey." The Polynesian greeted, and as the skinny brown haired meth addict-looking asshole opened his mouth to give a halfhearted greeting back, Joseph swung.
His right hand unloaded on the guy, and he went from casually leaned up on the side of his car to face down in the gravel at the side of the road. Amidst the individual's pained and angry protestations, Joseph reached down, grabbed him by the front of his ratty sweatshirt and SLAMMED him up against the car, teeth grit in a vicious snarl.
"WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?!"
"The f-FUCK MAN! What's your fucking problem--"
"My PROBLEM is you following my fucking kid home, asshole!"
The man, who had been struggling in his grip, both stopped speaking and stopped moving. The look he shot Joseph's way went from realization, to contempt.
"She's not your fucking kid, she's mine..."
"Oh yeah, is that what you think? I got a news flash for you you drugged up son of a bitch, she doesn't want a god damn thing to do with you!"
"Doesn't matter fuckface, I'm her dad. I got rights--"
letting go of his shirt with one hand, Joseph took his palm and used it to slam the other man's head against the car door. The blow was solid knocking him senseless.. though not unconscious, and Joseph allowed him to collapse to the floor.
"Say it again, I fucking dare you."
"F-fuck off man, she's my k--"
Joseph heel came down, and one of the man's fingers snapped like a baby carrot. He screamed.
"SAY IT AGAIN!"
"FUCK YOU!"
Joseph stomped down again, breaking one... maybe two more fingers while the other man wailed. once more, Joseph hauled him to his feet, but this time he merely shoved him at the car.
"Get the fuck away from my home. I ever catch you here again, you're a goddamn DEAD MAN!"
Joseph seethed, and the other man didn't need to be told twice. Within moments, he was speeding away, and Joseph was treading down the sidewalk the short distance back to his home, ignoring the onlookers that had stepped out into their yards to see the commotion, or pressed their faces up against the nearby windows.
When he got back inside, Jean was on the couch with Zena in her lap. Her eyes rose to meet his.
"I... I'm sorry. I saw him lurking around the community center while I was at D&D and... I mean I tried to lose him on my way home but--"
Joseph held up a hand, and she quieted down.
"You don't gotta be sorry for anything." His voice was beginning to calm, the righteously angry energy in his body beginning to slowly disperse now that it was all over Joseph approached, falling softly into the seat beside Jean, who quickly leant into his form. Zena took the cue and stretched out to share both of their laps. "It's not your fault."
For a few moments, Jean was quiet.
"I don't know why he was even here, he doesn't really want me." She tucked her head under Joseph's arm.
"He quit on me. But I know you won't."
One, she was about an hour early.
And two, she kept looking back over her shoulder, occasionally increasing her pace.
Concern immediately bubbled up in Joseph's skull, but he lost sight of her from the window as she approached the front door. He heard it open and slam, so he quickly finished washing up the plate in his hand.
"Hey kiddo."
"Uh, hey." She called from the other room.
"Everything cool?"
"Yeah, yeah everything is cool..."
She didn't sound very convincing. Joseph's eyes wandered back to the window, and he watched as a shifty beat-up Chevy cavalier pulled up along the street. Not quite in front of the house, but close enough. For a few moments it just sat there, idling, but then the door opened. The sight of the man who got out to smoke a cigarette caused Joseph to squeeze down on the glass he had in his hand, shattering it with his grip alone.
"This MOTHERFUCKER."
Zena whined, and Jean poked her head in from the dining room, catching sight of the man outside.
"Shit.. I thought, I t-thought I lost him."
Without saying a word Joseph went on the move, dropping the broken glass on the counter for now and heading towards the back door.
"Dad--"
"Stay. Inside."
He growled back, cutting off her objection. From the back door he made his way around the backyard of the neighbouring house, and out onto the sidewalk on the far side of the vehicle and it's familiar driver. Despite his anger, his gait changed to a casual half trot as he approached, his breath steadying into short puffs as if to emulate someone who was out for a small jog.
The guy was therefore none the wiser when Joseph rolled up on him. "Hey." The Polynesian greeted, and as the skinny brown haired meth addict-looking asshole opened his mouth to give a halfhearted greeting back, Joseph swung.
His right hand unloaded on the guy, and he went from casually leaned up on the side of his car to face down in the gravel at the side of the road. Amidst the individual's pained and angry protestations, Joseph reached down, grabbed him by the front of his ratty sweatshirt and SLAMMED him up against the car, teeth grit in a vicious snarl.
"WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?!"
"The f-FUCK MAN! What's your fucking problem--"
"My PROBLEM is you following my fucking kid home, asshole!"
The man, who had been struggling in his grip, both stopped speaking and stopped moving. The look he shot Joseph's way went from realization, to contempt.
"She's not your fucking kid, she's mine..."
"Oh yeah, is that what you think? I got a news flash for you you drugged up son of a bitch, she doesn't want a god damn thing to do with you!"
"Doesn't matter fuckface, I'm her dad. I got rights--"
letting go of his shirt with one hand, Joseph took his palm and used it to slam the other man's head against the car door. The blow was solid knocking him senseless.. though not unconscious, and Joseph allowed him to collapse to the floor.
"Say it again, I fucking dare you."
"F-fuck off man, she's my k--"
Joseph heel came down, and one of the man's fingers snapped like a baby carrot. He screamed.
"SAY IT AGAIN!"
"FUCK YOU!"
Joseph stomped down again, breaking one... maybe two more fingers while the other man wailed. once more, Joseph hauled him to his feet, but this time he merely shoved him at the car.
"Get the fuck away from my home. I ever catch you here again, you're a goddamn DEAD MAN!"
Joseph seethed, and the other man didn't need to be told twice. Within moments, he was speeding away, and Joseph was treading down the sidewalk the short distance back to his home, ignoring the onlookers that had stepped out into their yards to see the commotion, or pressed their faces up against the nearby windows.
When he got back inside, Jean was on the couch with Zena in her lap. Her eyes rose to meet his.
"I... I'm sorry. I saw him lurking around the community center while I was at D&D and... I mean I tried to lose him on my way home but--"
Joseph held up a hand, and she quieted down.
"You don't gotta be sorry for anything." His voice was beginning to calm, the righteously angry energy in his body beginning to slowly disperse now that it was all over Joseph approached, falling softly into the seat beside Jean, who quickly leant into his form. Zena took the cue and stretched out to share both of their laps. "It's not your fault."
For a few moments, Jean was quiet.
"I don't know why he was even here, he doesn't really want me." She tucked her head under Joseph's arm.
"He quit on me. But I know you won't."
( NOW PLAYING; BRING ME THE HORIZON - PARASITE EVE
I can't leave this business.
But you know what, I like it here. So you motherfuckers are just gonna have to deal with me.
I'm like an infection, or a parasite. You just can't get rid of me. And if I ever am gone? It's because I've got nothing left of me to give. I don't see that happening any time soon either... I've got a lot left in the tank. Every week I spend back, back in the life, I add a ltitle but more fuel to the fire inside. So I might just be the sickness that lasts.
But you know what I know for sure?
I know Johnny Fringe ain't no demon.
Johnny Fringe is a tough guy in a mask, but that's all he is. Human, just like the rest of us. A demon would have beaten Maggie Lockheart, but that didn't happen. Instead you lost Johnny, and then you threw a temper tantrum after the match.
Naughty naughty.
Not that I'm here to judge you for your sins, oh no. I'm not concerned with any of that. My beef with you is strictly professional, but as we've already discussed I fight every battle like it's a personal one. Every time that bell rings I'm prepared to break my enemy down piece by piece until they're DONE, or there's nothing left to fight. So no, the demon thing doesn't scare me. Your mask doesn't scare me. But knowing Maggie thinks you're legit?
That excites me.
She tells me you believe your own hype, everything you say. We're akin in that way, I've never said a word in one of these promos that I haven't meant. I stand by every claim I've ever made.
So when I tell you that I have the deadliest shoulders in the business, and I'm gonna run you through at Devil may Cry?
You'd better believe that.
What an aptly named show, honestly. Depending on who you ask demons and devils may not necessarily be the same thing, but that shit is all semantics and I don't have the patience for a debate.
But if you really think you're some sort of demon?
Some sort of devil?
Then you'd better fucking show me.
Because although I am going to kick your ass around all four corners, it's going to be so much worse if I find your performance wanting.
My patience for people who waste my time is at an all time low these days.
This is my day one for this company.
You may be the Demon of NOLA -- which is still fucking stupid by the way.
But I'm the Devil that Smiles.
Please remain calm, Johnny.
The end has arrived.
No one can save you.
So enjoy the ride.
This is the moment, they've all been waiting for.
Don't call it a warning....
THIS
IS
A
WAR
I can't leave this business.
But you know what, I like it here. So you motherfuckers are just gonna have to deal with me.
I'm like an infection, or a parasite. You just can't get rid of me. And if I ever am gone? It's because I've got nothing left of me to give. I don't see that happening any time soon either... I've got a lot left in the tank. Every week I spend back, back in the life, I add a ltitle but more fuel to the fire inside. So I might just be the sickness that lasts.
But you know what I know for sure?
I know Johnny Fringe ain't no demon.
Johnny Fringe is a tough guy in a mask, but that's all he is. Human, just like the rest of us. A demon would have beaten Maggie Lockheart, but that didn't happen. Instead you lost Johnny, and then you threw a temper tantrum after the match.
Naughty naughty.
Not that I'm here to judge you for your sins, oh no. I'm not concerned with any of that. My beef with you is strictly professional, but as we've already discussed I fight every battle like it's a personal one. Every time that bell rings I'm prepared to break my enemy down piece by piece until they're DONE, or there's nothing left to fight. So no, the demon thing doesn't scare me. Your mask doesn't scare me. But knowing Maggie thinks you're legit?
That excites me.
She tells me you believe your own hype, everything you say. We're akin in that way, I've never said a word in one of these promos that I haven't meant. I stand by every claim I've ever made.
So when I tell you that I have the deadliest shoulders in the business, and I'm gonna run you through at Devil may Cry?
You'd better believe that.
What an aptly named show, honestly. Depending on who you ask demons and devils may not necessarily be the same thing, but that shit is all semantics and I don't have the patience for a debate.
But if you really think you're some sort of demon?
Some sort of devil?
Then you'd better fucking show me.
Because although I am going to kick your ass around all four corners, it's going to be so much worse if I find your performance wanting.
My patience for people who waste my time is at an all time low these days.
This is my day one for this company.
You may be the Demon of NOLA -- which is still fucking stupid by the way.
But I'm the Devil that Smiles.
Please remain calm, Johnny.
The end has arrived.
No one can save you.
So enjoy the ride.
This is the moment, they've all been waiting for.
Don't call it a warning....
THIS
IS
A
WAR
