Post by Sadistic on Sept 13, 2014 16:15:16 GMT -5
“The grapes are coming!”
Woodford Reserve, Bulleit, Wild Turkey, and Jim Beam are all reasons why Kentucky is known as Bourbon Country, but don't let the wine industry slip under your radar. At one point, the Bluegrass state produced over fifty percent of the country's wine yield. In fact, the first commercial winery was located in – you guessed it – Kentucky. While many of those wineries have fallen by the wayside, there are still a few scattered here and there...like the one still located in Hangtown.
“Pull the wagon around back,” directs Ruth Dillinger, sister to Phinehas and William. Her trousers are hiked up above the knee, her feet and calves stained a light shade of purple.
Unlike the modern commercial wineries that utilized pneumatic juicers, glycol cooling systems, and stainless steel holding vats, Ruth Dillinger's little operation, Black Hand Bottling, did things the old-fashioned way. The grapes, which arrived by horse-drawn wagon, had ripened unseasonably early this year. Was it the Blood Moon? So much for that old Farmer's Almanac...
The grapes were two weeks ahead of schedule, catching Ms. Dillinger unprepared and leaving her to wonder aloud,”Where in the world is William?”
Not only was Billy Sadistic adept at stomping opponents in the ring, but also stomping grapes. However, the sun had barely broken the horizon which meant that the Phenom was probably sleeping. Probably on the floor.
Sadistic's lids slowly opened as a few rays of sunlight trickled across his bushy beard. Yup, he'd slept on the floor. Again. As he began to stir, his foot kicked an empty bottle of Kraken rum. So much for Bourbon Country. Unfortunately for William, he did not share Phinehas and Ruth's constitution.
Had last night really happened, or had the Kraken given William's mind the what-for? Last night was a blur, but images of a particular dream kept lurking into his head. Had the dream been his own, or had he and his brother wandered into the dream of another? Oh yes, they'd developed a dirty little habit of wandering into dreams not their own. Freddy Krueger, eat your heart out. But William also had a feeling of distress in his gut: Something had infiltrated the dreams of his Black Hand brother, Michael, last night. Of that, William was positive.
Wild carriage rides through Hangtown's wax museum. MY wax museum. A staged battle between arachnid and beast! The Bear and the Black Widow. And then...STOMP! STOMP! STOMP!
Horse-drawn wagons? STOMP? Stomping?
Tick tock, tick tock.
William bolted upright. “SHIT!”
Ruth would be most displeased with Sadistic's late arrival. After all, there were some very select customers that would be awaiting their very own batch of fine wine. In Hangtown, missed quotas would simply not be tolerated. In a frenzy, Sadistic pulled a stained shirt over his hairy, muscular upper torso before scrambling out the door. He didn't grab no shoes or nothin', Jesus. He ran for his life!
Ruth had been most displeased with his late arrival, but he'd still gotten in a hard day of grape stomping. While Phinehas busied himself with the reaping of the crops and probably some bee agitation, the other Dillingers had done a formidable job of juicing some ripe Kentucky grapes. And even though he had the responsibility of representing the Black Hand in a six-man tag match at Return to Glory the Fifth against Eira and the Psychedelics, he also had the responsibility of keeping Hangtown in order.
Today's forecast: Stomped grapes with a good chance of irony.
Have you ever seen a sheriff in Hangtown? No. Ever bother wondering why?
The last remnants of light clung to the mighty Ohio River as the sun slowly submerged beneath the landscape. The meager Black Hand Bottling storehouse watched it all. Somewhere in the shadows, Phinehas and William were also watching. And waiting.
Tick tock, tick tock.
Somewhere, anywhere, when N. Saniti and Kelli Starr weren't worried about the immortal Rasputin, they were probably trying to steal a kiss in a janitor's closet. And Eira, that trollop, was most likely ravishing her masked beast lover, Murdoc. But Sadistic knew something he shouldn't...
“This is it,” exclaimed the ruffian with surprise. “From 1994! Aged twenty years! The good stuff.”
“Shut up er they're gunna hear you!” Two undesirables had made the conscious decision to “borrow” from Black Hand Bottling. Anything to keep a buzz going, I suppose.
Scurrying back into town with a few bottles tucked under each arm, the Hangtown patrons would surely have themselves an eventful night. Likewise, Return to Glory would be an eventful night. The Black Hand had found themselves opposition. Three combatants obstructing their divine plan. At Return to Glory, the proverbial thorns would be removed from their figurative side. The Magician, the Candy Girl, and the Trollop. Sadistic's face had taken a beating over the last two shows. First, Murdoc had punched his mouth loose with a chained fist. Then, Kelli Starr had loosened a couple of his teeth with a Candygram.
Trotting back into town, the pair of heathens hunkered down behind a church to enjoy their booty. The first goon, fashioned with untamed mustaches, triumphantly popped the cork to one of the bottles and took himself a long pull before wiping his mouth with the back of his fist.
“Yowee! They ain't lyin' when they say that's some-uh-the best wine around,” he declares, his drunkenness evident in his speech. His partner snatches the bottle and takes a few swigs himself for confirmation's sake.
While the Black Hand had been present, they had yet to make their presence felt. Return to Glory would showcase a return to form for William, Phinehas, and Michael. It had been far too long since Sadistic had dined on human flesh, and the tandem of Starr and Eira might prove too appetizing to ignore. And while technically the Black Hand would be facing three opponents, and Eira wouldn't dare admit it, she knew all too well that it would be four souls that would suffer in the ring...
“What in tarnation is going on out here?!” The priest was anything but happy as he burst through the back door of the church. Oddly enough, the church was filled with townsfolk on a Saturday night. Noticing the bottles of wine, the priest's brow lowered. “Sinners. I take it you'll be attending the sermon first thing in the morning rather than nursing a hangover from that filthy drink?”
“We suggest you git back inside if you knew what was good fer ya, bible thumper,” the two goons approached the black-clad priest with bad intentions on the brain. “We drink what we want, when we want.”
Just as the priest was about to respond, something grabbed his tongue. There, standing behind the petty thieves in the darkness, was Billy Sadistic. The religious man's face went pale and even in their drunken stupor, the ill-willed idiots realized that something was amiss.
Tick tock, tick tock.
Slowly turning an about face, one man dropped his bottle of wine to the ground. Glass broke. Precious wine was wasted. Ruth would be most displeased. All of that hard stomping for naught. Sadistic slowly tilted his head, examining the men as a bear would before stomping out a black widow. The priest was rendered absolutely speechless. Without missing a beat, the priest snatched the remaining bottle of wine away from the fool and chugged the rest before scurrying back into the church. An ominous beat had started inside the church as Sadistic peered down at the wasted drink on the ground.
*STOMP* *CLAP* *STOMP* *CLAP*
“One of these days, God will cut you down,” offered the Sadistic One as he stepped towards the men.
“W...we din't mean nuthin' by it. Honest.” The petty crooks began to back away from the Phenom.
“Well, you've spilled our hard work all over the ground. Now I must spill something in return.”
Sadistic had never claimed to be an honest man, but if you ask him, he had nothing to do with those bodies found floating face down in the mighty Ohio. Probably just too much drinking if you ask him. This is Bourbon Country.
And while Michael Solomon might implore you to trust him, Sadistic would do no such thing. After all, William didn't even trust himself.
Oh yes, the grapes, they are a' coming.
*STOMP* *CLAP* *STOMP* *CLAP*
Nex Addo
Woodford Reserve, Bulleit, Wild Turkey, and Jim Beam are all reasons why Kentucky is known as Bourbon Country, but don't let the wine industry slip under your radar. At one point, the Bluegrass state produced over fifty percent of the country's wine yield. In fact, the first commercial winery was located in – you guessed it – Kentucky. While many of those wineries have fallen by the wayside, there are still a few scattered here and there...like the one still located in Hangtown.
“Pull the wagon around back,” directs Ruth Dillinger, sister to Phinehas and William. Her trousers are hiked up above the knee, her feet and calves stained a light shade of purple.
Unlike the modern commercial wineries that utilized pneumatic juicers, glycol cooling systems, and stainless steel holding vats, Ruth Dillinger's little operation, Black Hand Bottling, did things the old-fashioned way. The grapes, which arrived by horse-drawn wagon, had ripened unseasonably early this year. Was it the Blood Moon? So much for that old Farmer's Almanac...
The grapes were two weeks ahead of schedule, catching Ms. Dillinger unprepared and leaving her to wonder aloud,”Where in the world is William?”
Not only was Billy Sadistic adept at stomping opponents in the ring, but also stomping grapes. However, the sun had barely broken the horizon which meant that the Phenom was probably sleeping. Probably on the floor.
* * *
Sadistic's lids slowly opened as a few rays of sunlight trickled across his bushy beard. Yup, he'd slept on the floor. Again. As he began to stir, his foot kicked an empty bottle of Kraken rum. So much for Bourbon Country. Unfortunately for William, he did not share Phinehas and Ruth's constitution.
Had last night really happened, or had the Kraken given William's mind the what-for? Last night was a blur, but images of a particular dream kept lurking into his head. Had the dream been his own, or had he and his brother wandered into the dream of another? Oh yes, they'd developed a dirty little habit of wandering into dreams not their own. Freddy Krueger, eat your heart out. But William also had a feeling of distress in his gut: Something had infiltrated the dreams of his Black Hand brother, Michael, last night. Of that, William was positive.
Wild carriage rides through Hangtown's wax museum. MY wax museum. A staged battle between arachnid and beast! The Bear and the Black Widow. And then...STOMP! STOMP! STOMP!
Horse-drawn wagons? STOMP? Stomping?
Tick tock, tick tock.
William bolted upright. “SHIT!”
Ruth would be most displeased with Sadistic's late arrival. After all, there were some very select customers that would be awaiting their very own batch of fine wine. In Hangtown, missed quotas would simply not be tolerated. In a frenzy, Sadistic pulled a stained shirt over his hairy, muscular upper torso before scrambling out the door. He didn't grab no shoes or nothin', Jesus. He ran for his life!
* * *
Ruth had been most displeased with his late arrival, but he'd still gotten in a hard day of grape stomping. While Phinehas busied himself with the reaping of the crops and probably some bee agitation, the other Dillingers had done a formidable job of juicing some ripe Kentucky grapes. And even though he had the responsibility of representing the Black Hand in a six-man tag match at Return to Glory the Fifth against Eira and the Psychedelics, he also had the responsibility of keeping Hangtown in order.
Today's forecast: Stomped grapes with a good chance of irony.
Have you ever seen a sheriff in Hangtown? No. Ever bother wondering why?
The last remnants of light clung to the mighty Ohio River as the sun slowly submerged beneath the landscape. The meager Black Hand Bottling storehouse watched it all. Somewhere in the shadows, Phinehas and William were also watching. And waiting.
Tick tock, tick tock.
Somewhere, anywhere, when N. Saniti and Kelli Starr weren't worried about the immortal Rasputin, they were probably trying to steal a kiss in a janitor's closet. And Eira, that trollop, was most likely ravishing her masked beast lover, Murdoc. But Sadistic knew something he shouldn't...
“This is it,” exclaimed the ruffian with surprise. “From 1994! Aged twenty years! The good stuff.”
“Shut up er they're gunna hear you!” Two undesirables had made the conscious decision to “borrow” from Black Hand Bottling. Anything to keep a buzz going, I suppose.
Scurrying back into town with a few bottles tucked under each arm, the Hangtown patrons would surely have themselves an eventful night. Likewise, Return to Glory would be an eventful night. The Black Hand had found themselves opposition. Three combatants obstructing their divine plan. At Return to Glory, the proverbial thorns would be removed from their figurative side. The Magician, the Candy Girl, and the Trollop. Sadistic's face had taken a beating over the last two shows. First, Murdoc had punched his mouth loose with a chained fist. Then, Kelli Starr had loosened a couple of his teeth with a Candygram.
Trotting back into town, the pair of heathens hunkered down behind a church to enjoy their booty. The first goon, fashioned with untamed mustaches, triumphantly popped the cork to one of the bottles and took himself a long pull before wiping his mouth with the back of his fist.
“Yowee! They ain't lyin' when they say that's some-uh-the best wine around,” he declares, his drunkenness evident in his speech. His partner snatches the bottle and takes a few swigs himself for confirmation's sake.
While the Black Hand had been present, they had yet to make their presence felt. Return to Glory would showcase a return to form for William, Phinehas, and Michael. It had been far too long since Sadistic had dined on human flesh, and the tandem of Starr and Eira might prove too appetizing to ignore. And while technically the Black Hand would be facing three opponents, and Eira wouldn't dare admit it, she knew all too well that it would be four souls that would suffer in the ring...
“What in tarnation is going on out here?!” The priest was anything but happy as he burst through the back door of the church. Oddly enough, the church was filled with townsfolk on a Saturday night. Noticing the bottles of wine, the priest's brow lowered. “Sinners. I take it you'll be attending the sermon first thing in the morning rather than nursing a hangover from that filthy drink?”
“We suggest you git back inside if you knew what was good fer ya, bible thumper,” the two goons approached the black-clad priest with bad intentions on the brain. “We drink what we want, when we want.”
Just as the priest was about to respond, something grabbed his tongue. There, standing behind the petty thieves in the darkness, was Billy Sadistic. The religious man's face went pale and even in their drunken stupor, the ill-willed idiots realized that something was amiss.
Tick tock, tick tock.
Slowly turning an about face, one man dropped his bottle of wine to the ground. Glass broke. Precious wine was wasted. Ruth would be most displeased. All of that hard stomping for naught. Sadistic slowly tilted his head, examining the men as a bear would before stomping out a black widow. The priest was rendered absolutely speechless. Without missing a beat, the priest snatched the remaining bottle of wine away from the fool and chugged the rest before scurrying back into the church. An ominous beat had started inside the church as Sadistic peered down at the wasted drink on the ground.
*STOMP* *CLAP* *STOMP* *CLAP*
“One of these days, God will cut you down,” offered the Sadistic One as he stepped towards the men.
“W...we din't mean nuthin' by it. Honest.” The petty crooks began to back away from the Phenom.
“Well, you've spilled our hard work all over the ground. Now I must spill something in return.”
* * *
Sadistic had never claimed to be an honest man, but if you ask him, he had nothing to do with those bodies found floating face down in the mighty Ohio. Probably just too much drinking if you ask him. This is Bourbon Country.
And while Michael Solomon might implore you to trust him, Sadistic would do no such thing. After all, William didn't even trust himself.
Oh yes, the grapes, they are a' coming.
*STOMP* *CLAP* *STOMP* *CLAP*
Nex Addo
