Post by Job on May 8, 2022 22:38:37 GMT -5
Level Up's at war, but this is no game
I seriously need to prove my worth
One night, one legacy, one and the same
I'm smaller, not weak, and forged in the flame
That's burned inside from the moment of birth
Level Up's at war, but this is no game
My career's inertial reference frame
With the right impulse could be launched from Earth
One night, one legacy, one and the same
I'll fight 'til I win and earn my acclaim
I'll pull from reserves I've yet to unearth
Level Up's at war, but this is no game
I won't go into what I overcame
How the love from the crowd supplants a dearth
One night, one legacy, one and the same
I know it's my Doom, but what's in a name?
Someday I'll look back on this night with mirth
Level Up's at war, but this is no game
One night, one legacy, one and the same
The voice at the other end is, in no particular order except for alphabetical, gruff and rough and tough and unfamiliar. "Yes, hello, is this Jomatr-"
Now, of course Doom is just the name of the show, the sort of reference to a classic video game that fans of Level Up always appreciate. Still, it is ominous, isn't it? And, let's be real, I'm sprinting straight into a dangerous situation as far as this War Games match goes. When all is said and done, my teammates and I will be locked in a cage with somewhere around three quarters of a ton of focused aggression. The lines of demarcation between whether this is business or personal have gotten awfully blurry, but, whichever it is, I'm just about certain that those guys don't care for me all that much. It's understandable, though. They all have their reasons, which I'd be happy to go over in case any of you folks don't feel like you're up to speed.
Let's start with literally the biggest obstacle to success in this match. That's right, I'm talking about Drake Wilcox. The man is colossal. It was like I couldn't truly recognize the scale of his existence until I stepped in the ring with him. There are other wrestlers renowned for their powerful styles who look like scale models of Drake Wilcox. Sure, there are plenty of competitors in this industry who pack a seemingly impossible amount of muscle onto their frame, but bear in mind that, in Drake's case, that frame is seven feet tall. During our match, it became beyond obvious that, any time he managed to get his hands on me, he was going to do the sort of damage that would affect the remainder of my life. Now, in theory, the obvious thing to do about that is to make sure he never catches me. In practice, well, it's not so simple, particularly while trying to pay attention to four other opponents who are just as dangerous in one fashion or another. Beating him took everything I had, a generous helping of luck included, and it's going to be tough to come out on top against him again. Tough, but not impossible! It'll just take some fancy maneuvering.
Speaking of maneuvering, though, I have to be honest, part of me is worried about maneuvers of the legal kind. After all, EA Blizzard isn't just the Courage Champion; he isn't just another enormous wrestler, or even just an enormous jerk, though those things do seem to hold true. He's also a more than capable legal mind, and it wouldn't entirely surprise me if he's found some sort of loophole or workaround related to the contract for or stipulations of this match. Even if he hasn't, and I can only hope that's the case, he's certainly proven himself to be a threat both in and out of the ring. In fact, let me just take the time to cover my bases in case of a defamation suit. EA Blizzard is alleged to be an enormous jerk, and also a coward who's a discredit to the ideals inherent to the Courage Championship. And who, you may ask, is alleging that? Well, uh...
Let's move onto ISAAC! ISAAC is another one of our opponents in this match with whom I've already shared a ring. I'll tell you, Level Up fans, I do not relish the idea of being locked in a cage with this guy. At The Last Of Us Part 2, during the gauntlet match that gave the show its name, he came in like a tsunami and, while his only elimination was of Ziggy Morgan fairly early on, he made his presence felt the entire time he was out there. It seemed like nothing any one of us could do was enough to break his stride, let alone put him down. Ultimately, it took some serious teamwork to send him packing, and while that does bode well in some ways--this match is all about teamwork, after all--it is concerning in others. Sure, our team is united by the common purpose of disrupting the hold the Game Changers have on Level Up, by the desire to show that they can be overcome if we just work together. We've fought alongside each other in pursuit of that common purpose and now aim to do so in a more formal capacity. That said, the Game Changers have been on the same page for longer than I've been around to oppose them. ISAAC and Drake Wilcox in particular have been working together even longer than that. It's going to be an uphill battle in that respect.
That brings me to another participant in this contest who, despite only recently throwing in with the Game Changers, brings a big name, a big frame, and some big talent to the match. Also, I think he's still big mad that I eliminated his wife from TLOU. I speak, of course, of Mac Bane. Now, to be clear, I don't actually know all that much about this guy. Most of what I know I gleaned from our encounter during my debut, though to be fair that gave me ample opportunity to do some gleaning. He came into the match first and left a few seconds away from making it into the final four. The dude is some sort of huge cowboy with a proportional mean streak. The top five hardest hits I've taken in my life? They all came from him. With no greater provocation than the fact that I managed a lucky reversal and pinned Amber Bane-Ryan early in my debut, he grabbed a chair and hit me on the head with it until I blacked out. I spent the biggest night of my life in a hospital because I, a professional wrestler, professionally wrestled his wife, also a professional wrestler. That said, Mac Bane may know better than anyone else in this match how difficult it's going to be to put me down. I was bloodied and in the center of his cross hairs for almost the entire match, but I white-knuckled my way to the final four regardless.
"Um, probably. I've heard people say lots of stuff!"
Finally, we have the majordomo of the Game Changers, Larry Tact. What can I say about Larry Tact that hasn't been said before, at this point? Hmm. There must be something. Let me give it a go. "When Larry Tact speaks of his lofty vision of Level Up's future, he's speaking in good faith. Also, he's super capable of winning without outside interference or other dirty tricks. Also also, he doesn't look at all like a huge dork carrying around that ridiculous hammer." And there you have it: stuff that's never been said about Larry Tact!
Anyway, Level Up fans, it's probably about time that I get going. After all, I've got a huge match against huge wrestlers and that represents a huge opportunity, not just for me, and not just for my teammates, but for all the Level Up faithful, whether in the locker room, in the stands, or at home. Appreciate you, guys. Paul Freedom out.
What they could easily deny is whether I learned anything that's going to prove useful for my match at Doom. I got in a lot of squared circle time, sure, but somehow or other I kept ending up in the same corner as the, uh, less naturally gifted members of the retreat. By a similar strange coincidence, Crusader kept voluntelling me to be his demonstration partner when he wanted to show us some new strike or hold.
Most of the time, the other dudes didn't quite follow the first time through and he had to repeat it.
Still, my time with the Christian Submissionists doesn't feel like a total waste. Again, I was going pretty much constantly and, hey, I need all the in-ring experience I can get. I'm still not where I want to be, but I swear I can see it peeking out from over the horizon, and that feels good. I'm finishing up some awkward farewells and valedictions with Muppim and The Shark when a big, meaty finger taps me on the shoulder. "Paul, can I rap with you for a moment or two?" Crusader asks.
I nod, knowing I'm almost in the clear and frankly too exhausted to argue. I follow him to the refreshments table as the other attendees of the retreat clear out. "What's up, Crusader?"
"Well, I wanted to talk to you about that favor you owe me."
Right. The favor. "Uh, sure. What did you have in mind?"
I seriously need to prove my worth
One night, one legacy, one and the same
I'm smaller, not weak, and forged in the flame
That's burned inside from the moment of birth
Level Up's at war, but this is no game
My career's inertial reference frame
With the right impulse could be launched from Earth
One night, one legacy, one and the same
I'll fight 'til I win and earn my acclaim
I'll pull from reserves I've yet to unearth
Level Up's at war, but this is no game
I won't go into what I overcame
How the love from the crowd supplants a dearth
One night, one legacy, one and the same
I know it's my Doom, but what's in a name?
Someday I'll look back on this night with mirth
Level Up's at war, but this is no game
One night, one legacy, one and the same
* * *
I'm right here in Baltimore, glad to tell, spending most of my days at a Hilton hotel, chilling out, maxing, relaxing all cool, reading some comics outside of the pool, when a couple of sounds that I find hard to place start to beep and buzz in my personal space. I wait for one little beat and then I get wise, and say, "That sound is the alert of my cellular device!"
At first I feel pretty swell for having cracked The Case of the Forgotten Ringtone, but feeling swell doesn't take the knell out of the bell and the phone keeps ringing and dinging and possibly donging, though hopefully not since we're in a public place, and then it moves onto a deputy dog dog a ding dang depadepa which, quite frankly, feels like a little or maybe a lottle too much and so I whip it out, my phone that is since we're still in the same public place, and accept the call with a kind but firm, "Hello!"
The voice at the other end is, in no particular order except for alphabetical, gruff and rough and tough and unfamiliar. "Yes, hello, is this Jomatr-"
"Yes," I affirm, and, "yes," I confirm, and finally, "yes," I reaffirm, "it is I who is the person with whom you seek to speak!"
"Um," the man at the other end says. "Just to be clear, you're Paul Freedom's agent, right?"
"And his cousin!" I amend, by way of crystal clarification, though hopefully not so clear as to keep the conversational clarity from being included because it's important to be inclusive, as the world don't move to the beat of just one drum and what might be right for you may not be right for some.
"Are you humming a sitcom theme?" He asks, clearly reeling from disbelief, likely awestruck by my ability to carry a tune and the secret there is to breathe with your diaphragm and not your shoulders and to lift with your legs and not your back although lifting with my legs is kind of out of the question at this point but the breathing thing still holds true but it's a secret so I don't tell him that.
"That's none of your business!" I do declare with flair to spare and a fair share of care. "What is your business is the business you called about, so let's keep it professional if you don't mind and I thank you very much for doing so!"
"That's none of your business!" I do declare with flair to spare and a fair share of care. "What is your business is the business you called about, so let's keep it professional if you don't mind and I thank you very much for doing so!"
"Look," he says, taking on that tone of voice that everyone seems to affect when they recognize that I'm getting down to business and playing hardball rather than just coming out of left field and colliding headfirst with the shortstop, and in that tone he continues, "I know your client has a big match coming up next Tuesday and I've got a proposition for him."
"Well, you can shoot your shot, but I have to warn you that he wouldn't even agree to appear on Cameo!"
"That's not the kind of proposition I'm talking about."
"Let's cut to the chase here, as I'm a very busy man," I lie, "who are you and what are you proposing?"
"I'm called Crusader."
"I'm called Cousin Jommy!"
"I used to be a successful wrestler who specialized in tag teams."
"I'm still a successful talent agent who specializes in family members!"
"I'm currently located in Baltimore."
"What an insane coincidence! I'm currently located in Baltimore as well! We have so much in common!"
"Right, right. And due to all that common ground we share, I feel comfortable telling you that, with my training, Paul can go into his next match with an edge that he just doesn't have right now."
"Right, right. And due to all that common ground we share, I feel comfortable telling you that, with my training, Paul can go into his next match with an edge that he just doesn't have right now."
"What's the catch?" I inquire suspiciously, ready to pounce on any shadiness or discrepancy in this Crusader fellow's narrative.
"There really isn't one. I'll put him through the paces over the course of a weekend retreat, and then he'll owe me a small favor."
"Great!" I declare enthusiastically. "We love paying for things with favors!"
* * *
Hey, Level Up fans! This is Paul Freedom, coming at you from one of the treadmills here at the Hilton in Baltimore's Inner Harbor. I think that's a pretty apt situation for me. On the one hand, it feels like I've been moving up in the world the entire time I've been on the Level Up roster. The love and support you folks have showed me have been amazing, and trust me, every time I lay my head down on the pillow in this four-star hotel, part of me wonders if I'm just going to wake up from this wild dream, just going to go back to the life I lived before all this. So far, so good. If things can just stay this way forever I'll be overjoyed, but what's really crazy to consider is that this might just be the beginning of my story, that I might be on my way to bigger and better things. That said, well, I'm on a treadmill, and that seems to fit also. If I just keep jogging, I'm not going to go anywhere, and if I stumble at any point I'll lose ground. As much as I was happy for Guy Manson for earning his first win over me, it didn't exactly do wonders for my prospects in this industry. If I'm going to make progress, true progress, I'm going to need to pour on the speed. With that in mind, let's discuss my impending Doom!
Now, of course Doom is just the name of the show, the sort of reference to a classic video game that fans of Level Up always appreciate. Still, it is ominous, isn't it? And, let's be real, I'm sprinting straight into a dangerous situation as far as this War Games match goes. When all is said and done, my teammates and I will be locked in a cage with somewhere around three quarters of a ton of focused aggression. The lines of demarcation between whether this is business or personal have gotten awfully blurry, but, whichever it is, I'm just about certain that those guys don't care for me all that much. It's understandable, though. They all have their reasons, which I'd be happy to go over in case any of you folks don't feel like you're up to speed.
* * *
"You've got to be kidding me, Jommy. You signed me up for a church retreat?"
"Now, Paul, it's probably not what it looks like!"
What it looks like, after a long, harrowing trip through Baltimore, pushing Jommy along, is a squat concrete building in the modernist style. It's been plopped down among several similar buildings and, as if to better catch its prey unawares, it doesn't give into the typical concessions to ornamentation made by those who purport to build houses of worship. It is aggressively plain and unassuming, bereft of stained glass, ornate doors, or even any obvious crosses. Still, though, there's a simple sign labeling it "First Church of Christ, Scientific Wrestler." I point to it as I say, "What does that look like to you?"
"Well, okay, I saw the sign, and it opened up my eyes, but until I saw the sign I swear I had no idea!"
"Dude, Amanda's not gonna be happy about this."
"Well, then she shouldn't have gone to the National Aquarium without us! Besides, I'm not sure she's gonna be happy about anything, but this training could be just the thing you need to help you help your team help you win, and maybe then she'll be less unhappy!"
"But I already have training! From her! She's taking a percentage of my earnings to train me, Jommy! If her training is less effective than a weekend in a church basement, why were you so insistent on hiring her?"
"She's a great trainer! But..."
"But?"
"She has basically no experience wrestling as part of a team. That was something she had in common with your father, actually. I thought it might be good for you to get a different perspective on things, you know? Learn the sweet synergy and hostile harmony of the team wrestler!"
"And there weren't any options available that were less... Jesusy?"
"Not that I'm aware of!"
I sigh and massage the bridge of my nose reflexively. It may as well be the international hand sign to communicate the concept of having a conversation with Jommy. This isn't great, but it's not the end of the world. Even if this turns out to be one of those apocalyptic sects, it really isn't the end of the world. I turn my gaze to the sky and, after taking in the clouds for a few moments, I look Jommy in the eye. "Okay, fine. I'll do this, I guess. What's it going to cost us?"
"Will you promise you won't get mad?"
"I will make no such promise."
"You're going to owe this Crusader guy some sort of favor."
I get mad.
* * *
Let's start with literally the biggest obstacle to success in this match. That's right, I'm talking about Drake Wilcox. The man is colossal. It was like I couldn't truly recognize the scale of his existence until I stepped in the ring with him. There are other wrestlers renowned for their powerful styles who look like scale models of Drake Wilcox. Sure, there are plenty of competitors in this industry who pack a seemingly impossible amount of muscle onto their frame, but bear in mind that, in Drake's case, that frame is seven feet tall. During our match, it became beyond obvious that, any time he managed to get his hands on me, he was going to do the sort of damage that would affect the remainder of my life. Now, in theory, the obvious thing to do about that is to make sure he never catches me. In practice, well, it's not so simple, particularly while trying to pay attention to four other opponents who are just as dangerous in one fashion or another. Beating him took everything I had, a generous helping of luck included, and it's going to be tough to come out on top against him again. Tough, but not impossible! It'll just take some fancy maneuvering.
Speaking of maneuvering, though, I have to be honest, part of me is worried about maneuvers of the legal kind. After all, EA Blizzard isn't just the Courage Champion; he isn't just another enormous wrestler, or even just an enormous jerk, though those things do seem to hold true. He's also a more than capable legal mind, and it wouldn't entirely surprise me if he's found some sort of loophole or workaround related to the contract for or stipulations of this match. Even if he hasn't, and I can only hope that's the case, he's certainly proven himself to be a threat both in and out of the ring. In fact, let me just take the time to cover my bases in case of a defamation suit. EA Blizzard is alleged to be an enormous jerk, and also a coward who's a discredit to the ideals inherent to the Courage Championship. And who, you may ask, is alleging that? Well, uh...
* * *
It could be worse.
Crusader gives off a big youth pastor vibe, which is to say that he has the demeanor and mannerisms of a typical youth pastor, but is at the same time very big. He's several inches taller than me and musclebound, with an even light tan, ice blue eyes, and a shaved head. That isn't the strangest combination for a youth pastor, and I've certainly known my share, but combined with the red singlet he's wearing it does lead to something of an odd first impression.
As I suspected, this wrestling church youth retreat thingamajig is going to take place in the basement of the First Church of Christ, Scientific Wrestler, which turns out to be quite spacious and features a ring that's in better shape than the one Amanda stuck me in during my intense week at the Gorilla Power gym. Now, of course I recognize that she was operating on a limited budget, not only in terms of money but also in terms of time, whereas Crusader and his young flock seem to be benefiting from tithing and not having many other hobbies.
At ringside, about where you might typically see a professional promotion putting tables for commentary and timekeeping, there are instead a pair of abutted folding tables laid out with standard-issue light refreshments. In the event that I get a hankering for some Hydrox, they've got me covered. When Crusader and I enter, there are no more than a dozen clean-cut teens awkwardly milling around and grazing at said tables, but as soon as they spot us their energy changes noticeably, though I can't quite put my finger on how.
I'm introduced to the group in attendance, and that gets kind of odd, even considering that I'm in a church basement with a wrestling ring and a guy who insists on being called Crusader, which I have to assume isn't what it says on his driver's license, or at least not on his birth certificate. These dudes have some weird names, and I'm not just talking about the appropriately dour kid named Ephai. Names like that are just par for the course, but I'm also introduced to The Shark, Golden Swagger, and Burly Moon.
What the fuck am I getting into, here?
What the fuck am I getting into, here?
I get a little bit of clarity when we're all split up into two teams, given a half-assed pep talk, and sent to the ring to spar en masse. It comes as no great shock that, when the teams are divided up, I end up with Ephai and Muppim rather than The Shark and Burly Moon. It's kind of rough, especially given that we're giving up the numbers game out the gate, but I think I'm starting to figure out the nature of the situation I'm in.
The other team starts upping the intensity to levels I, personally, don't associate with sparring, but turnabout is fair play and so I kick it up a couple notches as well. Everything is going great, or at least as well as can be expected. I'm not sure I'm learning much about teamwork, or whatever the point of this was supposed to be, but I'm kicking ass and forgetting names.
Then Crusader enters the ring, and it becomes clear that I am in for a wicked long weekend.
Then Crusader enters the ring, and it becomes clear that I am in for a wicked long weekend.
* * *
Let's move onto ISAAC! ISAAC is another one of our opponents in this match with whom I've already shared a ring. I'll tell you, Level Up fans, I do not relish the idea of being locked in a cage with this guy. At The Last Of Us Part 2, during the gauntlet match that gave the show its name, he came in like a tsunami and, while his only elimination was of Ziggy Morgan fairly early on, he made his presence felt the entire time he was out there. It seemed like nothing any one of us could do was enough to break his stride, let alone put him down. Ultimately, it took some serious teamwork to send him packing, and while that does bode well in some ways--this match is all about teamwork, after all--it is concerning in others. Sure, our team is united by the common purpose of disrupting the hold the Game Changers have on Level Up, by the desire to show that they can be overcome if we just work together. We've fought alongside each other in pursuit of that common purpose and now aim to do so in a more formal capacity. That said, the Game Changers have been on the same page for longer than I've been around to oppose them. ISAAC and Drake Wilcox in particular have been working together even longer than that. It's going to be an uphill battle in that respect.
That brings me to another participant in this contest who, despite only recently throwing in with the Game Changers, brings a big name, a big frame, and some big talent to the match. Also, I think he's still big mad that I eliminated his wife from TLOU. I speak, of course, of Mac Bane. Now, to be clear, I don't actually know all that much about this guy. Most of what I know I gleaned from our encounter during my debut, though to be fair that gave me ample opportunity to do some gleaning. He came into the match first and left a few seconds away from making it into the final four. The dude is some sort of huge cowboy with a proportional mean streak. The top five hardest hits I've taken in my life? They all came from him. With no greater provocation than the fact that I managed a lucky reversal and pinned Amber Bane-Ryan early in my debut, he grabbed a chair and hit me on the head with it until I blacked out. I spent the biggest night of my life in a hospital because I, a professional wrestler, professionally wrestled his wife, also a professional wrestler. That said, Mac Bane may know better than anyone else in this match how difficult it's going to be to put me down. I was bloodied and in the center of his cross hairs for almost the entire match, but I white-knuckled my way to the final four regardless.
* * *
"Look, Amanda, I'm sorry!"
"Jommy," I begin, "have you ever heard someone say that sorry doesn't fix anything?"
"Um, probably. I've heard people say lots of stuff!"
"Okay, so, let me summarize the situation as I understand it. I took one day to myself. For one fucking day, I left you and Paul to your own devices and had some me time. Does that sound about right?"
"Sure!"
"Sure!"
"And so, in the time it took for me to visit an aquarium, you took a phone call from a stranger, right?" He nods enthusiastically. "And you accepted an offer of training for Paul from this stranger." Again he nods. "Even though you dragged me kicking and screaming out of retirement to train the kid."
"To be fair, you didn't start kicking and screaming until after the training started!"
"Then the two of you traipsed through the streets of fucking Baltimore to an unfamiliar address, which turned out to be a church, which turned out specifically to be the headquarters of the Christian Submissionists..."
"That doesn't sound right. I don't think it's what they call themselves, that is. The rest of it seems pretty familiar."
"Jommy, what do you know about that church?"
"I know it's kind of ugly."
"Do you know who founded it? Or why he did so? Or how they operate? Or what their fucking mission statement is?"
"No, just the ugly thing."
I choke back a primal scream and suppress it to merely a bestial growl. "This is going to do the sort of damage that sorry just can't fix. I can't believe you two fucking morons went through with this."
"Can't you?"
Unfortunately, he's right. I absolutely can.
* * *
Finally, we have the majordomo of the Game Changers, Larry Tact. What can I say about Larry Tact that hasn't been said before, at this point? Hmm. There must be something. Let me give it a go. "When Larry Tact speaks of his lofty vision of Level Up's future, he's speaking in good faith. Also, he's super capable of winning without outside interference or other dirty tricks. Also also, he doesn't look at all like a huge dork carrying around that ridiculous hammer." And there you have it: stuff that's never been said about Larry Tact!
Anyway, Level Up fans, it's probably about time that I get going. After all, I've got a huge match against huge wrestlers and that represents a huge opportunity, not just for me, and not just for my teammates, but for all the Level Up faithful, whether in the locker room, in the stands, or at home. Appreciate you, guys. Paul Freedom out.
* * *
I'm beat to shit.
It'd be easier to figure out what doesn't hurt than to list off what does. My liver feels pretty good, so I have that going for me. Not too bad for a weekend in a church basement getting worked over in the ring and occasionally pretending to pray. Still, I'm no quitter, so I saw this fucking thing through from start to finish. Nobody can deny that.
What they could easily deny is whether I learned anything that's going to prove useful for my match at Doom. I got in a lot of squared circle time, sure, but somehow or other I kept ending up in the same corner as the, uh, less naturally gifted members of the retreat. By a similar strange coincidence, Crusader kept voluntelling me to be his demonstration partner when he wanted to show us some new strike or hold.
Most of the time, the other dudes didn't quite follow the first time through and he had to repeat it.
Still, my time with the Christian Submissionists doesn't feel like a total waste. Again, I was going pretty much constantly and, hey, I need all the in-ring experience I can get. I'm still not where I want to be, but I swear I can see it peeking out from over the horizon, and that feels good. I'm finishing up some awkward farewells and valedictions with Muppim and The Shark when a big, meaty finger taps me on the shoulder. "Paul, can I rap with you for a moment or two?" Crusader asks.
I nod, knowing I'm almost in the clear and frankly too exhausted to argue. I follow him to the refreshments table as the other attendees of the retreat clear out. "What's up, Crusader?"
"Well, I wanted to talk to you about that favor you owe me."
Right. The favor. "Uh, sure. What did you have in mind?"
"I need you to take my daughters to prom."
My face probably doesn't do a very good job of obfuscating my surprise. I was expecting some sort of banal community service. "Your- wait, what? Daughters as in plural?"
"Daughters as in plural, yeah. I don't want them to miss out on this experience, but I think maybe they're having trouble getting dates because of big bad Deacon Dad, you know?" I nod mutely, still working through my confusion internally. "Besides, most teenage boys only have one thing on their mind, but I know that isn't true of you."
"You know?"
"Yeah," he says, prodding a welt on my chest with a malicious grin. "You know better than most teenage boys how bad it would be if you were to upset one of my girls. That's at least one other thing."
"Um, yeah, I guess there's that." He stares at me, a new dark light seeming to shine out of his pupils and be refracted by his pale irises. "Yeah, I'll do it, sure."
"I know you will."
My face probably doesn't do a very good job of obfuscating my surprise. I was expecting some sort of banal community service. "Your- wait, what? Daughters as in plural?"
"Daughters as in plural, yeah. I don't want them to miss out on this experience, but I think maybe they're having trouble getting dates because of big bad Deacon Dad, you know?" I nod mutely, still working through my confusion internally. "Besides, most teenage boys only have one thing on their mind, but I know that isn't true of you."
"You know?"
"Yeah," he says, prodding a welt on my chest with a malicious grin. "You know better than most teenage boys how bad it would be if you were to upset one of my girls. That's at least one other thing."
"Um, yeah, I guess there's that." He stares at me, a new dark light seeming to shine out of his pupils and be refracted by his pale irises. "Yeah, I'll do it, sure."
"I know you will."
