All I See Are Familiar Faces
Dec 16, 2020 10:41:21 GMT -6
Deana Barrows, Jack Puffer, and 4 more like this
Post by Shawn Warstein on Dec 16, 2020 10:41:21 GMT -6
Obligatory Fourth Wall Break:
Ladies and gentlemen allow me to get one thing off of my chest right here and now. If a single one of you thinks I’m doing this for me you are sadly mistaken. This is all a part of the grander plan. You see when I decided to throw my name into the hat for the Righteous Rumble, never once did I do it for myself. It’s actually in part to show everyone that Legacy as a unit moves as one. Legacy defends what is THEIRS. Currently Legacy holds two titles, and in one night we can guarantee that we will continue to either hold them, or position ourselves to reclaim them.
If you thought for one miserable second that I would turn on James…. think again.
The Righteous Rumble is going to be yet another opportunity for Legacy to prove to the world that we are the top of the industry. To show everyone that we transcend companies. To show the world that they should Belive In Legacy.
Also note:
Fuck Mack
Also, Also Note:
Sup Alice?
There I was sitting in a bustling restaurant. I know right? A restaurant, in this climate? In this city? In fucking December? Well yeah I decided that I needed to get out of the house. He was there and for some reason he needed it to be known that he needed some time to himself to get over his breakup.
“Bourbon, neat.” I beckoned to the waiter as he passed by. I slowly look over the room and see a bunch of people enjoying their meals. A few of them throw me a glance, but I just give them a half smile and nod. Rather quickly the waiter returns with my drink and places the bill next to it as well.
“Hold up…” Raising a hand to get his attention. “I didn’t ask for the bill.”
“Some of the other patrons are getting worried. Apparently there was some sort of disturbance at a club several weeks ago.” The waiter looks around the room nervously, as all the eyes that were once on me begin to turn and assume the look of guilt.
“Well that was Halloween, and secondly you’re not playing shitty EDM music.”
No sooner than I say that, a giant banner being carried by two men shuffles behind him. Inbold, loud, and large colors.
**EDM FEST TONIGHT**
“Yeah…. I’m thinking that I should just call it a night then.” I pull out my wallet and toss a few bills on the table, while downing my drink. With the back of my hand I wipe the top of my lip.“And it was tainted weed that did that…. drunk I’d probably actually murder someone.”
Passing by a few of the tables, I finally get a look at some of the patrons. I should’ve known by all the neon colors and half shaved heads that something was up. I walk out of the Bar? Restaurant? Pub? Irrelevant. Out into the glorious New York night. Suddenly my vision gets blurry. I lean up against a post, as the world begins to spin around.
“Ohhh fuck…. not again.” I fall to my knees and claw my way towards the Uber that I don’t remember ordering.
“Dude what the fuck?” The driver says as I open the back door.
“What, you're not my Uber?”
“No! Now get out of here before I give you a Buffalo Beatdown!” I finally look at the man. I leap backwards in shock.
“MIKE!?!? MIKE ZYBALA!?!?”
“No… now get the fuck out of my car.”
“No way! This is a trick. You’re Zybala. It all clear now that someone as stupid as you would eventually end up Ubering…. wait? Isn’t there an Uber driver on the outsiders….hold up…. are you Uberman? It all makes sense now. You’ve got to supplement that income because you are incapable of being anything more than a fucking backyard wrestler.”
The man begins to pull away with me still half in the door. I narrowly avoided getting my head taken off by the frame of the car, but was still hit rather hard in the side of the head. I crumpled to the ground as a few people run over to help me to my feet. I shake my head and slowly open my eyes. What I see causes me to slide on the concrete backwards.
“You okay there fella?” The deep red of the MAGA hat, and southern drawl, as a man stands over me.
“Fucking Vargas? What the hell is your backwoods, racist ass doing in New York?”
“Excuse me boy?”
“Hey now…” I hold up my hands and continue to back away. “I don’t want no trouble, you hear? All I want to know is where is your time machine from the 50’s? If you wanted to be something that caused a stir you could’ve gone trans like Graves did… now that I mention it she does have a nice rac…. no.. it’s still Graves and you’re still a piece of shit. The fact that you are somehow still allowed to even grace a ring with me and people who actually care is sickening. Vargas you and your redneck, hillbilly, fucked my sister because she was my sister ass can leave anytime you feel like it.”
The man reaches back and swings at me. Him being a bigoted fool i rolled out of the way as his hand bashed into the concrete. He winced in pain, as I got to my feet and took off down the street. Bumping into nobodies as I turned down an alley.
“Join BoB?”
A voice comes from the other side of the alley. I look up and see a man walking towards me, hand out.
“The fuck you just say?” I snarled towards the man.
“Spare change?” As he holds a dirty cup towards me.
“Damn Knucks… finally realizing that X-Bux aren’t accepted anywhere? Needed to actually get out there and earn some real money. That’s okay buddy. I remember you saying something like, ‘Last time you beat me, I was green as shit. The next time will be different.’, or something like that. Good on you for believing in yourself. The main problem with that statement is that it’s wrong. You’re half past retarded and the fact that you sold yourself to BoB tells me thet any chance you ever had at succeeding in this business is gone. You were better off on your own, sorry your were too stupid to realize it, but I guess the cans on Graves…. either way.” I toss a few bucks into the cup. “Use that to maybe get a better haircut…. you’re slowly approaching Vargas levels of hillbilly.”
The man smiles at his acknowledgment, and shuffles down the alley. When a low growl is heard.
“I’ve made you my bitch… now meet my monster.”
“What the fuck!?!?”
A man clearly addicted to meth comes out from behind a dumpster, zipping up his fly. His face looks as if it was a mask from a dollar general.
“Oh thank goodness, finally a familiar face. Robert Main…. why are you pissing in an alley?”
The man just tilts his head towards me.
“Ohh right…. getting beat by Duke and Doc must’ve done some real damage to the ole ego huh? See that’s the difference between you and I. I moved on, you continued to be the third or fourth best member of a dwindling roster, meanwhile I came here and made this shit hole of a company worth a damn. People followed me here. James, Noah, Atty, You, Graves…. all of them followed ME! The only fucking reason you’re even here right now is because I’m here. Admit it or not, we both know the truth. You can’t live with your own failures, and now you’re chasing something that even you know you can’t touch. James is light years ahead of you and always will be. Kudos on your third person in your multiple personality disorder…. none of them are worth a damn. Focus on one before you unlock the others. Just a bit of friendly advice. Best of luck pissing in alleys buddy…. I see a firm case of alcoholism in your near future when this doesn’t go the way you planned.”
The guy grumbles something under his breath as we go our separate ways. I finally make my way to the end of the alley and standing there is a man in a black suit. There is absolutely nothing remarkable about him. The only calling card to him is his Burlington Coat Factory suit.
“Dave Branson!!”
For the umpteenth time I am met by a weird look.
“Good news buddy, I finally got around to watching Ray Donovan! It was okay I guess.” I give the man a quick shrug. “Ahh who am I kidding, that show sucks and I’m glad it got cancelled. What you need to worry about is why are you standing on the street in the middle of the night?” The irony was clearly lost on me at the time. “Like shouldn’t you be busy not being good at two different jobs? I mean hell I transitioned to acting better and to be honest even I know I suck. At least I have the discernible skill of being a good wrestler to fall back on. What are you just some sort of bouncer now? Are you just a body in the rumble to make it look impressive? Yeah that’s it. Along with Cartier too. Just added bodies to fill out the card. I get it. I mean there’s a whole lot of filler on this card and in this match. But there is only one dominant group in the field.”
The guy gives me the finger and begins to walk down the street. A scowl comes over my face as I March right up behind him, grabbing him by the shoulder and spinning him around.
“It’s not the dredges of society, BoB. It sure as fuck isn’t the A-List. No you fucking imbecile… it’s fucking Legacy! With Jackson and Noah with me in there, I can almost guarantee that I…. no, ONE of us is walking out of there with the victory.”
“Will you just shut the fuck up?”
“WiLl YoU jUsT sHuT tHe…” I didn’t even get to finish mocking the man, when….
You’d think he knocked me out, but alas not to shatter your dreams, I noticed that we had made it to my brownstone in New York. He was so sly and walked away before I even noticed. I look at the front door and shrug™. Slowly I open the door and toss my keys on the table next to the door.
“LUCY….. I’M HOME!” My voice echoed through the foyer. I shuffle my way towards the kitchen in the back, on the main floor. Sitting at the kitchen table is Jackson Hart.
“How old are you?”
“What are you talking about?” I asked while reaching into the fridge and pulling out a bottle of bourbon.
“The Lucy reference? That’s more outdated than…. I don’t know but it’s pretty fucking lame.” Jackson slides his empty glass across the table.
“Come on, that’s a classic entering an abode line…. what are you doing here?” I fill up his glass and mine as well.
“Either way, lame as fuck.” Jackson takes a sip from his glass. “Why is there no food here, but like enough alcohol to throw a rager?”
“What else do I need? This is New York. Everything is delivered here…” I polish off my glass and pour yet another drink. “Still haven’t answered my question. Why are you here?”
Jackson drums his fingers on the table and takes a deep breath.
“Has James talked to you about everything?”
“Yeah. Why wouldn’t he?”
“No Shawn… I mean everything. Project Honor, the Rumble, Betsy, Di…” I stopped Jackson before he could finish.
“Yeah obviously. I don’t see what the big deal is.”
“You’re okay with all of it?”
“If you mean Legacy extending our reach then yeah. If you mean which one of us is going to win the Rumble then yeah. This isn’t just for one of us….”
“Yeah I know…” Jackson dejectedly says. “It’s for all of us. You know we are starting to sound a little cult like these days.” I smile at Jackson.
“Then maybe you shouldn’t have drank the bourbon.”
I give Jackson a quick smile. He despondently shrugs™ and finishes off his drink. I hold my hand out waiting for payment as the camera fades to black.
Ladies and gentlemen allow me to get one thing off of my chest right here and now. If a single one of you thinks I’m doing this for me you are sadly mistaken. This is all a part of the grander plan. You see when I decided to throw my name into the hat for the Righteous Rumble, never once did I do it for myself. It’s actually in part to show everyone that Legacy as a unit moves as one. Legacy defends what is THEIRS. Currently Legacy holds two titles, and in one night we can guarantee that we will continue to either hold them, or position ourselves to reclaim them.
If you thought for one miserable second that I would turn on James…. think again.
The Righteous Rumble is going to be yet another opportunity for Legacy to prove to the world that we are the top of the industry. To show everyone that we transcend companies. To show the world that they should Belive In Legacy.
Also note:
Fuck Mack
Also, Also Note:
Sup Alice?
There I was sitting in a bustling restaurant. I know right? A restaurant, in this climate? In this city? In fucking December? Well yeah I decided that I needed to get out of the house. He was there and for some reason he needed it to be known that he needed some time to himself to get over his breakup.
“Bourbon, neat.” I beckoned to the waiter as he passed by. I slowly look over the room and see a bunch of people enjoying their meals. A few of them throw me a glance, but I just give them a half smile and nod. Rather quickly the waiter returns with my drink and places the bill next to it as well.
“Hold up…” Raising a hand to get his attention. “I didn’t ask for the bill.”
“Some of the other patrons are getting worried. Apparently there was some sort of disturbance at a club several weeks ago.” The waiter looks around the room nervously, as all the eyes that were once on me begin to turn and assume the look of guilt.
“Well that was Halloween, and secondly you’re not playing shitty EDM music.”
No sooner than I say that, a giant banner being carried by two men shuffles behind him. Inbold, loud, and large colors.
**EDM FEST TONIGHT**
“Yeah…. I’m thinking that I should just call it a night then.” I pull out my wallet and toss a few bills on the table, while downing my drink. With the back of my hand I wipe the top of my lip.“And it was tainted weed that did that…. drunk I’d probably actually murder someone.”
Passing by a few of the tables, I finally get a look at some of the patrons. I should’ve known by all the neon colors and half shaved heads that something was up. I walk out of the Bar? Restaurant? Pub? Irrelevant. Out into the glorious New York night. Suddenly my vision gets blurry. I lean up against a post, as the world begins to spin around.
“Ohhh fuck…. not again.” I fall to my knees and claw my way towards the Uber that I don’t remember ordering.
“Dude what the fuck?” The driver says as I open the back door.
“What, you're not my Uber?”
“No! Now get out of here before I give you a Buffalo Beatdown!” I finally look at the man. I leap backwards in shock.
“MIKE!?!? MIKE ZYBALA!?!?”
“No… now get the fuck out of my car.”
“No way! This is a trick. You’re Zybala. It all clear now that someone as stupid as you would eventually end up Ubering…. wait? Isn’t there an Uber driver on the outsiders….hold up…. are you Uberman? It all makes sense now. You’ve got to supplement that income because you are incapable of being anything more than a fucking backyard wrestler.”
The man begins to pull away with me still half in the door. I narrowly avoided getting my head taken off by the frame of the car, but was still hit rather hard in the side of the head. I crumpled to the ground as a few people run over to help me to my feet. I shake my head and slowly open my eyes. What I see causes me to slide on the concrete backwards.
“You okay there fella?” The deep red of the MAGA hat, and southern drawl, as a man stands over me.
“Fucking Vargas? What the hell is your backwoods, racist ass doing in New York?”
“Excuse me boy?”
“Hey now…” I hold up my hands and continue to back away. “I don’t want no trouble, you hear? All I want to know is where is your time machine from the 50’s? If you wanted to be something that caused a stir you could’ve gone trans like Graves did… now that I mention it she does have a nice rac…. no.. it’s still Graves and you’re still a piece of shit. The fact that you are somehow still allowed to even grace a ring with me and people who actually care is sickening. Vargas you and your redneck, hillbilly, fucked my sister because she was my sister ass can leave anytime you feel like it.”
The man reaches back and swings at me. Him being a bigoted fool i rolled out of the way as his hand bashed into the concrete. He winced in pain, as I got to my feet and took off down the street. Bumping into nobodies as I turned down an alley.
“Join BoB?”
A voice comes from the other side of the alley. I look up and see a man walking towards me, hand out.
“The fuck you just say?” I snarled towards the man.
“Spare change?” As he holds a dirty cup towards me.
“Damn Knucks… finally realizing that X-Bux aren’t accepted anywhere? Needed to actually get out there and earn some real money. That’s okay buddy. I remember you saying something like, ‘Last time you beat me, I was green as shit. The next time will be different.’, or something like that. Good on you for believing in yourself. The main problem with that statement is that it’s wrong. You’re half past retarded and the fact that you sold yourself to BoB tells me thet any chance you ever had at succeeding in this business is gone. You were better off on your own, sorry your were too stupid to realize it, but I guess the cans on Graves…. either way.” I toss a few bucks into the cup. “Use that to maybe get a better haircut…. you’re slowly approaching Vargas levels of hillbilly.”
The man smiles at his acknowledgment, and shuffles down the alley. When a low growl is heard.
“I’ve made you my bitch… now meet my monster.”
“What the fuck!?!?”
A man clearly addicted to meth comes out from behind a dumpster, zipping up his fly. His face looks as if it was a mask from a dollar general.
“Oh thank goodness, finally a familiar face. Robert Main…. why are you pissing in an alley?”
The man just tilts his head towards me.
“Ohh right…. getting beat by Duke and Doc must’ve done some real damage to the ole ego huh? See that’s the difference between you and I. I moved on, you continued to be the third or fourth best member of a dwindling roster, meanwhile I came here and made this shit hole of a company worth a damn. People followed me here. James, Noah, Atty, You, Graves…. all of them followed ME! The only fucking reason you’re even here right now is because I’m here. Admit it or not, we both know the truth. You can’t live with your own failures, and now you’re chasing something that even you know you can’t touch. James is light years ahead of you and always will be. Kudos on your third person in your multiple personality disorder…. none of them are worth a damn. Focus on one before you unlock the others. Just a bit of friendly advice. Best of luck pissing in alleys buddy…. I see a firm case of alcoholism in your near future when this doesn’t go the way you planned.”
The guy grumbles something under his breath as we go our separate ways. I finally make my way to the end of the alley and standing there is a man in a black suit. There is absolutely nothing remarkable about him. The only calling card to him is his Burlington Coat Factory suit.
“Dave Branson!!”
For the umpteenth time I am met by a weird look.
“Good news buddy, I finally got around to watching Ray Donovan! It was okay I guess.” I give the man a quick shrug. “Ahh who am I kidding, that show sucks and I’m glad it got cancelled. What you need to worry about is why are you standing on the street in the middle of the night?” The irony was clearly lost on me at the time. “Like shouldn’t you be busy not being good at two different jobs? I mean hell I transitioned to acting better and to be honest even I know I suck. At least I have the discernible skill of being a good wrestler to fall back on. What are you just some sort of bouncer now? Are you just a body in the rumble to make it look impressive? Yeah that’s it. Along with Cartier too. Just added bodies to fill out the card. I get it. I mean there’s a whole lot of filler on this card and in this match. But there is only one dominant group in the field.”
The guy gives me the finger and begins to walk down the street. A scowl comes over my face as I March right up behind him, grabbing him by the shoulder and spinning him around.
“It’s not the dredges of society, BoB. It sure as fuck isn’t the A-List. No you fucking imbecile… it’s fucking Legacy! With Jackson and Noah with me in there, I can almost guarantee that I…. no, ONE of us is walking out of there with the victory.”
“Will you just shut the fuck up?”
“WiLl YoU jUsT sHuT tHe…” I didn’t even get to finish mocking the man, when….
You’d think he knocked me out, but alas not to shatter your dreams, I noticed that we had made it to my brownstone in New York. He was so sly and walked away before I even noticed. I look at the front door and shrug™. Slowly I open the door and toss my keys on the table next to the door.
“LUCY….. I’M HOME!” My voice echoed through the foyer. I shuffle my way towards the kitchen in the back, on the main floor. Sitting at the kitchen table is Jackson Hart.
“How old are you?”
“What are you talking about?” I asked while reaching into the fridge and pulling out a bottle of bourbon.
“The Lucy reference? That’s more outdated than…. I don’t know but it’s pretty fucking lame.” Jackson slides his empty glass across the table.
“Come on, that’s a classic entering an abode line…. what are you doing here?” I fill up his glass and mine as well.
“Either way, lame as fuck.” Jackson takes a sip from his glass. “Why is there no food here, but like enough alcohol to throw a rager?”
“What else do I need? This is New York. Everything is delivered here…” I polish off my glass and pour yet another drink. “Still haven’t answered my question. Why are you here?”
Jackson drums his fingers on the table and takes a deep breath.
“Has James talked to you about everything?”
“Yeah. Why wouldn’t he?”
“No Shawn… I mean everything. Project Honor, the Rumble, Betsy, Di…” I stopped Jackson before he could finish.
“Yeah obviously. I don’t see what the big deal is.”
“You’re okay with all of it?”
“If you mean Legacy extending our reach then yeah. If you mean which one of us is going to win the Rumble then yeah. This isn’t just for one of us….”
“Yeah I know…” Jackson dejectedly says. “It’s for all of us. You know we are starting to sound a little cult like these days.” I smile at Jackson.
“Then maybe you shouldn’t have drank the bourbon.”
I give Jackson a quick smile. He despondently shrugs™ and finishes off his drink. I hold my hand out waiting for payment as the camera fades to black.
