Post by Deleted on Mar 10, 2021 10:23:25 GMT -7
// Off Camera//
February 28th 2021
Thunder Residence
United States.
He sat in the dark, country music playing in the background. Guitars, sad stories of the plains and prairies, trains, posses, shootouts and days long gone. The towering Dutchman didn’t even recognize the singers anymore, he started with Johnny Cash, could have been Waylong Jennings, Kris Kristofersson, Willie Nelson or someone not from the legendary Highwaymen, hell by the time he had sat there in the dark, the singers name, gender or lyrics didn’t much matter. All had blended in together to a mush of melancholy.
“Fucking England..The Queen, Peaky Blinders, Smokey ghost of Winston Churchill, the arrogantly adrogynious ghost of David Bowie, Sir Elton Flipping Flapping John and the whole damn isle of autism that they inhabit. FUCK THEM ALL!”
The last three words were a bit louder than they were meant to be. He reached for a bottle topping off his tumbler glass. No need for mixers, or even ice to dilute the flavor. Losing a championship match against the one man who seemed to find a way to outsmart him every damn time they faced in Southern Rebellion Wrestling hurt more than he cared to admit, hell it still hurt after god knows how many drinks, bottles or cigars later.
“What’s going o- *cough cough* LUTHER MARCELLUS DONDER! *cough cough* WHAT IS ALL THIS *cough cough* smoke....?!”
Shit! It’s the wife! He realized it only a shot (make it a bottle or two) too late. Fumbling about. On the desk.
“Don’t trun on the lights! It’s fine, I was just...working on my smoke signals!”
That should trick her enough, well it would have if Mrs. Donder was dumb as a box of rocks, which contray to popular belief, she was not.
“Smoke signals huh? Considering how much you slur your words, and the somber sounds of Country classics..either you have started to work as a Dutchman’s Johnny Cash on your spare time or your native american name should be bullshits with *she takes a wiff or two of the air*...cigars?! ARE YOU SMOKING CIGARS INDOORS?!”
Loving wife with keen sense of observation, smell and..
*click*
..yup you guessed it folks, that was the light switch. We could add reflexes to the aforementioned list. What she saw next was her husband, slumped behind his desk, surrounded by empty bottles, half empty bottles and of course few full ones lined up in a arranged disarray that only those drunk few sheets to the wind know how to do. Oh and desperately crushing a thick cigar to the ashtray furiously.
“That’s no way to assault a cohiba, those Cuban things aren’t cheap you know!”
She says sashaying to the desk and half subconsciously swiping the cigar and ashtray away before grabbing a few puffs and putting it out safely. This was a house firmly within fire and safety regulations.
“I can explain..”
He mumbled back at her trying to focus his eyes on somewhere where he believed she would stand.
“Oh really now? Let me make myself comfortable, this ought to be good. Please Luther, do explain to me all of this. I am dying to know what is going on.” Her voice seemed almost mocking in tone, though if Luther had had enough awareness to see her eyes, they may have betrayed a genuine feeling of concern.
He topped off his glass, not realizing he had topped it off before. She bites her, lip. That would leave a stain if she let it sink into the damn desk.
“You know..how much work, time and effort I put into that championship. I damn near killed myself against Juliet Black, took on all comers, schooled the hell out of Jerry Watts. I unified two championships to make it something better and bigger, something I could take along to the new heights along with the whole company..only to get cheated out of it by that Yorkshire runt and his senile senior citizen sensei and deadbeat dad extraordinaire..”
She scoffs.
“Oh yeah ALL that work YOU did, since I didn’t do anything for any of that did I?”
He seemed genuinely unaware of her sarcasm and baffled.
“Yeah you did! But I’m the one who LOST it all..and to that son of a bitch especially”
“I... I get that, but wrecking your lungs and liver is going to get that championship back... how exactly? This is why country songs are bad for the soul. Much like them, you drink and wallow instead of picking your ass up and getting shit sorted.”
“Hey... I dunno what...”
*CLAP*
She clapped her hands in his face, causing him to fall backwards off his chair in surprise.
“Ow...”
“Listen to me. I didn’t go through all this everything I’ve done for you, we’ve built together... just for you to go into a drunken funk at the first sign of a hazard. You see this? The empty bottles, the smoke, the misery? This is all the stench of failure. You’re LETTING HIM WIN!!!”
He stumbled his way back up, rubbing his aching body up.
“They say truth hurts but I thought that was just a metaphor!”
“God damn it, Luther. Pull your shit together. Losing a title is an occupational hazard, these things happen. We can win it back. But all... all of THIS?” Her hand sweeps the room before she looks him dead in the eyes. “THIS is what really disappoints me in you. I thought you were better than this.”
Without another word, she walks out of the room, shutting the door behind her.
He sat there in silence, even the country songs seemed to have gone silent. If she could shut down the Highwaymen, it was no wonder she left her husband speechless, somewhere through the drunken stupor, truth still hit home.
“I hate it when she’s right..again.”