Post by Wasp on Oct 30, 2015 21:46:17 GMT -5
Wasp had always had a saying that he found to be true. “Sometimes things go well. Sometimes things go bad, but sometimes, things just go. That was where he found himself now, a position of neither good nor bad, but merely going. What was done was done, he thought to himself as he sipped at a bit of the stolen rum he had funnily enough, stolen from the sold shipment.
He hadn't felt the need to leave his apartment today, and he doubted he would for the rest of the day. Sitting on his brown, double pillow backed, couch he was alone except for a brown envelope, hanging around like the elephant in the room. He could sit there and sip rum all day, get drunk and think about how he and Tide had toppled the big man in Wasp's last match. He could sit and fret about whether or not Wayne Gretzky would manage to get into the ring behind the mask, and referee for them, but he would accomplish nothing. Indeed that was the extent of what Tide probably thought he did, but little did his partner know that he had a watchful eye, and a quicker hand.
He looked up at the television. Great, he thought to himself, noon and nothing on but the news. His eyes flicked back to the giant envelope marked “INFORMATION ABOUT SUBJECT – SARAH T. STROUD. For a man who stepped into the ring with a behemoth of a man not too long ago, and was about to fight a team who openly named themselves “Crazy”, this one envelope was certainly scaring him more then both combined.
He found himself wondering what High Tide would do in this situation, which was something six months ago he would have never done. Yet he had entered the world of crime, of freedom, of sticking it to the man as it were, and if there was anyone wise and proficient at the art of rebellery, it was High Tide. It was then it occured to him exactly what High Tide would do.
Wasp quickly downed the rest of his drink, coughing (and almost vomitting in the process, for he was not as seasoned a drinker as the illustrious “Baron of Brew”), and ripped open the envelope with his teeth like a savage hyena. First was a couple sheets of basic information which he skimmed over to make sure that his “private investigators” for lack of a better word had gotten the right person. Everything seemed to match up and his heart began to race, and not because of the sudden intake of alcohol. He turned the page and that was when his jaw dropped, his brain at a loss for thought at the first moment of viewing.
There she was, a fling once, but one that had always lingered in the back of his mind for no good reason either. He hadn't known her that well, but he had certainly liked her more than any women in the past ten years, and with High Tide as a friend, that was certainly saying something. Yet for all her stunning yet soft facial features, her shoulder length, straight blonde hair, and her rather... pleasurable body, it was not her he was looking at.
He was looking at his son.
The boy couldn't have been more then three years old, and had a crop of blonde hair, just like his mother. He still had really chubby cheeks, and seemed to be tall. The kid was smiling, that was a good thing. The photos had been candid, and the men he had hired from High Tide's contacts behind his back (on his dime too, to be truthful) had been good at their job. Yet there was one thing he wanted to know more than anything else, he thought to himself as he furiously flipped through the pages in the file. What was his son's name? This he had to know.
It only took ten minutes of flipping through the combined files that the document held until he finally found the gem of information he was looking for. His son was named Kyle. Wasp couldn't help but start to tear up, barely holding himself back from a full out sob with another sip from his replenished glass of rum.
Oh yes. Now that he knew everything was real and not just a ploy for his money, he was going to meet up with Sarah on his own terms, and he was going to figure out the validity of her claim, although in his heart he knew it to be true. He would put it off until the tag match was out of the way, but then he would go, and he'd be damned if she said no.
More importantly, he was going to meet his son for the first time.
He hadn't felt the need to leave his apartment today, and he doubted he would for the rest of the day. Sitting on his brown, double pillow backed, couch he was alone except for a brown envelope, hanging around like the elephant in the room. He could sit there and sip rum all day, get drunk and think about how he and Tide had toppled the big man in Wasp's last match. He could sit and fret about whether or not Wayne Gretzky would manage to get into the ring behind the mask, and referee for them, but he would accomplish nothing. Indeed that was the extent of what Tide probably thought he did, but little did his partner know that he had a watchful eye, and a quicker hand.
He looked up at the television. Great, he thought to himself, noon and nothing on but the news. His eyes flicked back to the giant envelope marked “INFORMATION ABOUT SUBJECT – SARAH T. STROUD. For a man who stepped into the ring with a behemoth of a man not too long ago, and was about to fight a team who openly named themselves “Crazy”, this one envelope was certainly scaring him more then both combined.
He found himself wondering what High Tide would do in this situation, which was something six months ago he would have never done. Yet he had entered the world of crime, of freedom, of sticking it to the man as it were, and if there was anyone wise and proficient at the art of rebellery, it was High Tide. It was then it occured to him exactly what High Tide would do.
Wasp quickly downed the rest of his drink, coughing (and almost vomitting in the process, for he was not as seasoned a drinker as the illustrious “Baron of Brew”), and ripped open the envelope with his teeth like a savage hyena. First was a couple sheets of basic information which he skimmed over to make sure that his “private investigators” for lack of a better word had gotten the right person. Everything seemed to match up and his heart began to race, and not because of the sudden intake of alcohol. He turned the page and that was when his jaw dropped, his brain at a loss for thought at the first moment of viewing.
There she was, a fling once, but one that had always lingered in the back of his mind for no good reason either. He hadn't known her that well, but he had certainly liked her more than any women in the past ten years, and with High Tide as a friend, that was certainly saying something. Yet for all her stunning yet soft facial features, her shoulder length, straight blonde hair, and her rather... pleasurable body, it was not her he was looking at.
He was looking at his son.
The boy couldn't have been more then three years old, and had a crop of blonde hair, just like his mother. He still had really chubby cheeks, and seemed to be tall. The kid was smiling, that was a good thing. The photos had been candid, and the men he had hired from High Tide's contacts behind his back (on his dime too, to be truthful) had been good at their job. Yet there was one thing he wanted to know more than anything else, he thought to himself as he furiously flipped through the pages in the file. What was his son's name? This he had to know.
It only took ten minutes of flipping through the combined files that the document held until he finally found the gem of information he was looking for. His son was named Kyle. Wasp couldn't help but start to tear up, barely holding himself back from a full out sob with another sip from his replenished glass of rum.
Oh yes. Now that he knew everything was real and not just a ploy for his money, he was going to meet up with Sarah on his own terms, and he was going to figure out the validity of her claim, although in his heart he knew it to be true. He would put it off until the tag match was out of the way, but then he would go, and he'd be damned if she said no.
More importantly, he was going to meet his son for the first time.
