Author: Q
Title: Psycho-Delic pt.2
Word Count: Just south of 2K.
Notes:
Okay. A redemption effort here for my recent no-show. Hope it kickstarts the reconciliation process. That, and you'll appreciate it more that I had to post this through my phone. Blagh. Anywhos. Enjoy, lovelies!*****
The Tian Harlan Chromachron watch on his wrist clearly shows that it's half past purple.
Lovely.
He rolls out of bed. Lands flat on his face on the floor. Ouch. Face-down on the blue carpet as if this were his natural position of repose, his hair splayed in all manner of chaos. Brown tendrils of fluffy and well-maintained hair stretch to assimilate the dust mites collected just beneath the surface. What a metaphor for life, eh? It's possible the humble reader might have divined this parallel for themselves ... but consider it a freebie.
Staggering to a kneeling position, he curses purple for a split-second as his eyes mount a Herculean effort to open. Pulling and clawing his way to a standing position with the aid of his comforter (he nearly falls into the floor once again thanks to said benefactor not having the wherewithal to be attached to anything stable), his feet and legs grow stronger ... more reliable with each half-somnambulistic step. Into the bathroom he stumbles, his shin acting as a bulky object location device ... banging into a table corner and the cabinets in said bathroom along the way.
It was a rough morning.
His head still throbs with the
Sturm und Drang of one very pissed off Odin-son. Retribution had come and passed and had left him in the middle of the ring, beaten by a sudden Crack of the Whip courtesy of Madame Fate. Or Reina Morgan. You choose. That's what you get for walking out on a debut match against a company's champion. Doesn't sit well with the higher-ups, one would imagine.
Splashing water in his face, he looks positively 2.37 years older than he normally would. Eyes sunken into his face slightly, the result of a night on the town. After all ... just because one LOSES doesn't mean one REALLY loses. Dig? The young woman nestled under his sheets would readily agree ... were she not dead to the world. And as ready as he is to say
'Okay okay you've had your fifteen minutes. I've got things to do so get the hell out of my bed before you dirty up my sheets!', he found that his voice had not fully risen with the rest of his body.
Sooooo ...
... out comes Mr. Sharpie.
Squeak squeak squeakity-squeak.
Kkkkkkrip.
Plunt.
The note taped to her forehead would probably be notice enough.
'Verdamnt hanger-on ... '*****
Highs ...
... and lows.
'You've lost your magnificence.'Ouch. She was starting in rather personally rather QUICKLY.
'Nothing but a caricature of what once was.'Okay, this was starting to get brutal.
'No reason to even EXIST.'WHOA!
Time-out. Flag on the play, that last shot was foul. A Golota. He felt his testicles shrivel up and withdraw within his body for protection but it was too late. Far too late. The damage was done. And for the first time in a LONG time, Q felt the caveman instinct inside begin to surface. Bubbling underneath the veil of apathy, he was struggling to repress his vehemence to the best of his ability. Especially since he happened to be at one of his favorite low-key haunts. He would like to come back here one day ... to explode in anger wouldn't faciliatate a return visit.
'All right, STOP. You've made your point, and a particularly HARSH point it is. Not to mention that you haven't even said HELLO yet. Are you that impolite?'. He regards her carefully, quietly as she rolls his words around within her skull.Silence has descended upon the pairface to face at opposite ends of the table. Silence of the gallows melancholy, she says nothing. Lips pursed, her posture rigid as that of the Easter Island monoliths, he could see little in the way of yielding in her form.
' ... hello.'. A concession, and Q was in. He smiled warmly and nodded with his eyes closed, a human expression reminiscent of the Japanese anime smiley face.
'Hello Haiku! It's been MUCH too long, how's the fam - -'. She tilts her chin downwards, tossing a particularly flammable look his way. He quiets immediately. Never in the history of EVER had a mere look strangled Q's entrance into a verbal tango. But here it lay, open for the world to witness were they able-minded enough to discern its' presence.
'Cut. The. Shit.'
'NOW.'... uh-oh.
'You don't get to speak. You only get the privelege to listen because it's about time someone on YOUR level knocked some fucking sense into you and brought you down a peg or seven. Who in the hell do you think you are? And don't try to answer with who you are. You're Q. You're brilliant. You're this, that and the other while frankly ... you've not proven DIDDLY to anyone. You're a watered down version of yourself from a year ago. ... what happened to you?'. His heart sinks.
Her voice has softened, and a twinge of pleading permeates her voice.
'Q ... you've become a BURNOUT. A falling star extinguished in the atmosphere. What happened to that over-the-top, crazy and out-there man that I was always proud to defend? I can't defend you anymore because no one else may know it ... but I can see that you're merely PRETENDING. You're faking at being something that you don't feel anymore.'He cannot bring himself to look at her. She wasn't merely releasing built-up frustration ... she was going for the FUCKING JUGULAR. And man oh man was she doing a spectacular job.
'Please. Please tell me what's wrong with you. You act like you don't care about anything. Nothing matters to you. I know what you're about Q. You're the world's biggest HEDONIST. A goddamned pleasure hound. If you couldn't feel something, then you wouldn't do it. You were the most exciting man I ever had the chance to lay eyes on. Never a dull moment! It wasn't about a thrill or a rush ... it was about YOU. And it being about you made you a fucking joy to be around, because YOU had to have the BEST around you.'She was on the verge of tears. He couldn't endure this much longer.
'I watch you on television, you know. And every week .. it breaks my heart just a little bit more. Because I SEE And FEEL that you DON'T. Wins and losses do not a person make, and certainly not for YOU ... but how can people get behind someone who doesn't give a damn?!'ENOUGH!'. The bass in his voice could move mountains.
'Enough enough ... '
Enough!
He spat at the camera.
Not just a regular contemptuous apit, one of vile ... yet beautiful ... chartreuse. The camera lens now coated in it, Q grabs the camera and its' operator, holding them both in place.
'I swear to Heaven if you move this camera I will throw you out the window. I don't CARE if you're covered in paint, you stay PUT!. Q had reached a plateau of pissed off that he had not experienced in quite some time. It is hard to tell what Q is angry at, exactly. It is hard to tell what the scene is, even. The color description would do precious little good as it now stood permanently chartreuse hued. All that is readily apparent is that there is a chair in the room.
A puffy arm chair, directly central between the four walls.
To not describe the chair would be SACRILEGE.
Oh, right.
Q.
'I have something ... that I would like to say.'
'But first, I have something ELSE to say. And this would be directed at Mr. Wade Mason. You lured me here to True Glory Wrestling, with the promise of getting my image and likeness out to hundreds of thousands if not MILLIONS of people worldwide ... and this is what I find when I get here? This is a sinkhole! In my debut I am given Russell Franchise? Russell ... Franchise. Oh sure, he may be a champion ... but I could put that belt on a MANNEQUIN and it would be a better champion!'
'The A-Game? Really? Here's your A-Game: a drooling knuckle-dragger with no sense of anything bigger than the rims on his Escalade. That's right, I said it. And with this as my initial welcome, you expect me to take GloryHole Wrestling ... SERIOUSLY? Well Wade. Seriously? This place is a tanker if that's your idea of a champion, and I am ashamed that I even signed the contract to be here.'Q relaxes a bit. Taking a deep and refreshing breath, Q's features revert to the calm, dreamy reverie that is typically plastered across his features.
'Now that that is out of the way ... my reason for this interview is to say ...
I'm sorry.'
'Thats right. I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I have not given my fullest attention to this company. I didn't make many friends when I abandoned the trainwreck that was my debut match. I set out to make a point, and I did that. But it was, and IS Clear to me, that True Glory Wrestling is anything but ... and needs something to help raise it to its' own moniker.'You're a watered down version of yourself ...
'Its time that this place got a shot in the arm. The Blacklist started it, but one group does not an antidote create. Thanks to a dismal welcome, my assistance was delayed and I was forced to seek my own lift. I just never expected it to stoke a fire in me like .. THIS.'You act as if you don't care about anything.
'I must move forward. Forge ahead. Straight in the direction of Michael Hyde.'. Q stops and stares intently into the camera lens, his features murky and muddied by the molasses speed paint dribbling down the once pristine camera lens.
'Michael. Hello. Now that we have become acquainted, I just had to say to you, PERSONALLY, that I am sorry. Your debut match at Retribution was ... abysmal, to say the most. It was horrid. You too felt the ANGUISH that I felt upon arriving here. All of your dreams of a bright career CRUSHED by being thrown into a match what amounts to little more than a stuffed turkey. I cannot allow you to walk in this shame for one week LONGER.'
'You decided to ride it out, to throw in with the rest of this locker room of nobodies. I can respect the nobility of your actions, but it doesn't mean I am any less empathetic to your plight. And so, at the next Animosity ... I will lift you from the mediocrity that you have already been relegated to. You are worthy of floundering in the tar-pit that Wade Mason deems the upper echelon. Next week, I will SHOW you UPPER ECHELON. And as you lay face-up on my canvas ... covered in more paint than even YOU are used to ... the words 'Thank You' will bleed from your mouth.
And I will say you're welcome.*****