Author:
QName:
Psycho-Delic Rebirth pt. 1Word Count:
Just shy of 2.5K.Notes:
Prologue, mostly. Sorry. The first part was created by Ms. Quaranta herself a few months ago, while I spun the P.O.V. As previously said, who ELSE would she run into in a random Argentine nightclub but yours truly? Good luck, Russell!***
A scowl slithers its' way onto his face.
Tongue pressed firmly against the inside of his bottom lip, causing the flesh to protrude ever so lightly. A universal countenance of '
WELL FUCK.', to be sure. And this is basically the thought that is looping its' way through the young man's skull as his fashionable ass is planted to a booth-style round table. Wouldn't matter much even if he wanted to make good on his escape: he's surrounded on all sides by women prattling their chickadee heads off. Trying to become the center of attention never worked around him.
Q was always the center of attention.
Whether he sought it or not, he was always found. So why on earth would any healthy and sane man be in such drab spirits while being surrounded by literally a half a dozen of the most beautiful women on the planet? Why be so morose when the entire throng of people in the general vicinity were wishing for the opportunity to trade places and occupy that very space in the scheme of all things?
His slippers were soaked with ALCOHOL.He noticed it FAR too late for it to matter ... but there was a rivulet of alcohol streaming from a pump in the center of the room. A horrible ode to the faucets suspended in mid-air by a tube with water flowing down around it. This was the same general principle, but with alcohol. It was disgusting. It was tasteless ... and yet, he could have tolerated the idea. Had they not RUINED his favorite pair of slippers. Actually he had several at his loft. HOWEVER! This was not the point.
The point is: he can literally feel the flesh on the bottom of his feet pruning up as he ruminates.
' ... so then I said to her, I said "What do you think you're doing, that is MY bag!" And she got this look on her face -- ". " ... like she didn't know who you were and thought you the lowest form of tramp to belly-slide from under some rock? Ja. I know that feeling."... straight to the jugular. He had heard the prattling long enough and it was surely to God giving him a tumor somewhere. The woman stares in shock, absolutely stunned at the man's abrupt cessation of her story.
He thinks nothing of it, as his gaze catches the eyes of a select few bodies seated around his table ... all of them looking over his shoulder. Taking a deep breath, he realized that these few had been staring for a few moments as he had been speaking. Casting his glance backwards, his eyes fall upon the woman who stands expectantly at his side. He had been so intent on his cut-throat comment that he had barely registered the slight
'Hi' she had thrown his way.
The music had a part to play in that as well. It was loud. Really loud. Bombs dropping on Hiroshima loud. It was fortunate that he had even noticed her at all. A few tense seconds pass, but it was not to be for long. '
Teresa. I've been expecting you.' She seems taken aback with this statement. A blink or two of the eyes, and an unconscious desire to speak ... only to manage a pathetic
'You -'. Something in her head didn't sound as cool as it could have been, and she had discarded it mid-thought.
How ... quaint.
The willingness to look a fool was always a criteria in which Q delighted. It shows a strength of character that the person on his right definitely had NOT shown all evening. Beautiful or not ... she IS the weakest link. Looking over at the woman, she seems happy to catch his attention after his sudden outburst towards her. Perhaps she would receive a reward for her quick cessation of babble?
No.
A simple wave of the hand, and it was clear: Leave, NOW.
A few seconds later, and she was fuming ... stomping away and throwing a jagged look towards the intruding woman. Q delighted in this attitude, and somewhere deep down hoped that the outcast would resort to fisticuffs. He knew full well that the woman would be prostrate on the floor within a moment's notice had she even attempted such a folly of an action.
Teresa looked down at him ... paying little attention to the icy stares shot her way as she takes a few baby steps inwards. And it was then she realized: the seat was small. VERY small. Before she could ask everyone to slide down (which she would have because she honestly didn't really give a rat's ass), Q reaches up and grabs her by the hips ... lightly ... and pulls her down to a position half in the seat and half planted firmly upon his leathery lap.
"I just wanted to say that uh ... I'm a big fan of your work. And ... I like kicking people and LSD. Not that I DO LSD anymore I mean ... like Watts says 'Get the picture and hang up the phone. And - '"Of course." His hand moves on its' own, coming to rest lightly on her thigh near the inside. Nothing much made of it, he didn't really care to be honest. It was a bit more comfortable for him than to have the limb remain folded in to his body. He couldn't know how it ran through her mind, though the thought that he might be doing something ... taboo ... was probably high on the list.
"Have you ever wondered, fraulein ... why you are here?" She pauses and looks about, perhaps even descending into her own soul to retrieve an innermost notion.
"I --- sure, I think of moments, like ... a little chain of memories that - "He stops her quickly with an apologetic smile.
"That isn't EXACTLY what I meant. I meant ... HERE. Sprawled across my lap in beautiful Argentina while dozens of people snap and record with their cell phones ... all of which will likely be on every entertainment show in the world tomorrow night ... when you could be at home eating cheeseburgers in suburban Toronto."He spat cheeseburgers from his mouth with bile.
'I ... I just thought the answers would just .... you know ... COME. Eventually.' He smiles and leans in as she finishes voicing her retort.
"I see." His gentle and lithe hand burying itself underneath the beautiful tussle of her hair, he pulls her in towards him ... close enough to hear the blood rushing through his temples almost.
"Well then ... allow me to give you your first chance." Their hands met, it was providence. A rare shining glimmer of --- no, wait. Just a business card.
Puzzlement spreads. Spreads like a manic virus.
'Q? What ... what is this?' He pulls himself away from such close proximity and stood, slowly ... lethargically. Hands reaching to dust his attire, he could hear the rustle of clothes joining him in unison ... save for hers. Left sitting in the seat where Q once relaxed, she gazes up at him with labyrinthian wonder.
"This scene ... my amusement has faded. A good morning to you." Quiet for a few brief moments, she finally finds the words to reply.
'But ... don't you wanna ... ?'. Before his attention has vanished completely, conscious mind pulled back by her words.
Eyes roving over her ... scrutinizing ... analyzing ...
"I wouldn't."He says it politely enough. Smiling, he shakes his head and snaps his thumb and middle digit together, moving into the rolling waves of mass humanity ... aftershocks of flesh following his every motion. He couldn't help but cast his glance over the right shoulder ... watching in utter pleasure as the woman begins to finger the small business card held tightly in her hands ...
***
Intensity.
Personified.
This was the only way to describe it. It never changes. Oh sure, it's something different every time. But it's always extreme. Never do the bare minimum. Not Q. Not ever. Silent night .... holy night. All is lost. All is bright. He could see it so clearly, the luminescence of a hundred suns ... and yet, he couldn't tell you explicitly what IT is. Swirling, cascading brilliance of a spectrum rarely observed by the human eye. Not many were so fortunate as to own one. But of course ... Q had to be an exception.
The sensory deprivation tank ... isolation tank ... flotation tank ... whatever you want to label it as ... is off the beaten path. In a back room of Q's studio apartment. How long he had been in California, no one really knows for sure. Could've been a few months. Maybe just a few days. All that mattered was that children-friendly Florida was out and Cali is in.
And OH is it in.
Now as to how long he had been in the sensory deprivation tank? That was a little easier to pinpoint. Approximately 2 hours by the small egg timer off to the side of the metal casket-resembling tank. Everyone has a bathtub story. You know the one. The main character ruminates on their past, their present and their futures while taking a luxurious bath. But somehow, they always forget to get out of the BATHTUB.
FUCK BATHTUBS.
This was so much better.
In a bathtub, can you watch a kaleidoscope unravel before your very eyes? Can you feel the colors circle around you like an angry tribe of pygmy natives, poking and prodding at your weak flesh with their glass-blown spears? Does a bathtub send you on a quest to rescue the rainbows of the world by defeating the forces of evil with your magical love breath? If yours does, then please.
PLEASE. For the love of God, don't sell that bathtub for it may be the most amazing porcelain flesh receptacle in the history of
EVER.Floating effortlessly in the epsom salt laden water, Q's naked form was one with nothing. No light. No sound. No smells. It was pure oblivion, and it was playing tricks on his already ... unique ... psyche. It always does. But for Q, this was a rote and routine situation. So much so, that the unbelievable surrealism of it all was commonplace and oddly enough, RELAXING.
Most come away thanking their lucky stars that it was over. Claustrophobia sets in, and the world shrinks. The heart starts to beat with the cadence of a jackhammer. The blood flows with the force of a New Orleans catastrophe. The pulse quickens and synapses spark, rip-roaring razorwire sensation tearing every muscle and ligament asunder. It was a learning experience ...
... and most learn not to attempt it again.
Q, however ... comes away MOROSE. As the timer goes off beside him, the lid to the capsule lifts with a slight FWOOSH. Air rushes in, and sunlight breaks upon his face. The sunlight above was a reminder to wake up, should he ever fall asleep. The timer rings with the shrill tempo of the triangle in a two man orchestra. Arms moving of their own volition, sending the small timer spiralling towards the floor ... cracking and shutting off forever. They were cheap ... fuck it.
Requiring the strength and willpower of Samson, Q manages to force himself up to a sitting position. Bleary eyes fluttering open, it was like being reborn into a world less wondrous than ever before. And it was irritating. The only thing that kept Q from reacting with bat-shit crazy violence was the memory of and the peaceful feeling left behind that glorious Utopia. That, and the fact that he knew that there was no reason why he shouldn't visit it again. It was like ... a drug. Without the fear of needing to smoke one of his teeth for a 'fix'.
Palms cupping at his open eyes, he stumbles. Staggers his way out of the contraption with the grace of a newborn giraffe. He wobbled. Much like a Weeble. And in the same vein, DIDN'T fall down. Luckily for him, an armchair was waiting mere feet away. A heavy thud and the plush cushion is embracing his wet and birthday-suit form. Breaths escaping from his lungs in measured speed, he smiled from ear to ear. He was content to simply rest. Soul aching for normalcy, he would pound the desire from his DNA with fists loaded with venom.
There IS no normal.
This is why Q cannot keep a steady employer. Luckily for him, work was not hard to find. In fact, work somehow always finds him. He could honestly say that word of mouth was the only reason why he managed to receive phone calls. Letters. Emails. Text messages. His phone was in the bedroom. It wasn't until thirty minutes later that, upon flipping through its' notifications ... did he see the missed call. From the same number. 17 times.
Hm.He grabs the phone aaaaand tosses it to the bed. Pests. Stomach down, his legs kick quite childishly as he grabs for the remote control.
Flip.
Nothing on televison.FLIP.
Nothing ever on, it seems.FLIP FLIP.
370 channels and not a thing to wa-... woop. Wait. Stooooop. Backtrack.
Fingers pressing frantically at the descending channel button, he searches. Had he been seeing things? Was it TRUE? He desperately hopes for an answer. Where the hell is it?! It was NOT a mirage. NOT a figment of his over-stimulated imagination. Anger was beginning to build, until finally ... there it lay. Before him in its' High-Definition glory.
HIS FACE.
His face, plastered on some shoddily put together splash page for a local wrestling promotion. Tilting his head to the side, much like a raccoon staring at the intricacies of a nuclear reactor ... Q is rather ... FUDDLED. Volume ... UP.
'TGW's Animosity also marks the debut of several new stars! Russell Franchise welcomes one of them in the enigmatic Q! Will the champion have something to say about lowering his stature to meet this rising newcomer?! Plus, don't forget to check the main event as the Blacklist meets the team of -- 'PAUSE.
God, Q loves DVR right now.
The Blacklist.
And the names on it ... he finds himself quite ... AMAZED.
Jack Darling. Destruction of wrestling, blah blah ... seen it, heard it. Sold the shirt. The second name didn't really ring a bell, not surprisingly.
Reina Morgan? Enh. Soon enough, I suppose. The third name is the one that interests him the most.
Teresa -
Everybody wants to join the club.
Once you join the club, the innocence is gone.
Everybody wants to be the bomb
But once you are the bomb, the innocence is gone.
-Quaranta.
Everybody wants a big ol' slice
Of a little pie, the innocence is gone.
Everybody wants in
Everybody wants in
Everybody wants -
Everybody?
Fuck Everybody.
TGW is where Q wants to be.
And now the party has started.
Too bad Russell Franchise isn't on the list.
*FIN*