Post by kadenkeene on Nov 6, 2006 18:27:42 GMT -5
"So you're Francis' new boy..."
He could feel their eyes upon him even before one of them spoke; he could smell their colognes, the oil in their leathers. His own eyes weren't even opened yet, but he knew he had visitors. In the last vestiges of slumber, he could feel his eyes trying to force their lids open, and go for the door to his bedroom. That sense--the extra one he had gained since his change--sounded like an air raid alarm in his head.
Kaden toyed with the idea of faking sleep for a few more moments, to gauger the nature of his guests, but they would see through it, if they were who he thought they were. Slowly, he opened his eyes, to the growing smiles of the three men surrounding his bed. They were men, or at least still appearing so, and not of the kind that seemed to associate with Francis.
"Wakey, wakey, eggs n' bakey!" One of them said. The others chuckled, snorted.
"Who the hell are you," Kaden offered, not letting a muscle move other than the ones behind his orbs. The three shifted their glances among themselves. The one who had done all the talking would speak again. He must have been the leader. The Alpha.
"I love wrestling, Kaden. Watch it every week. PCW for life," He said, rounding the frame of the bed and taking a seat on the edge. "I like you, too, but I think you're too cocky for your own good. You gave that match with the Champ away, you know?"
Kaden stayed stoic. "What do you want?"
"Imagine my surprise when I saw my very own Father standing on stage! Crazy, right?"
Kaden's heart jumped into his throat, his stomach fell. This man claimed blood with Francis, but he saw no resemblance to the slick monster. This man was short, pale. His nose was upturned and his face round. Unless his mother was a bulldog, Kaden couldn't imagine that he was of Francis' seed. Still, he stayed his opinion.
"After that, it was pretty easy to put the pieces together, know what I mean? Pops ain't been around much lately, and the buzz was that he had been busy spreading his filth around again. And you, my famous friend, are the proof."
There was an unmistakable hint of disdain in his voice when he spoke of his Father. It was not lost on Kaden, even with his mind still fogged from the remnants of sleep. Another aspect he cursed, that he knew would come to harm him later...awaking from sleep was much harder now, for whatever reason. He would ask Francis later.
Then, as he looked at his visitors, the thought crossed his mind, if only for a moment: Would there be a later?
The vocal one got up with a grunt, knees popping, and rejoined his posse. One of them stuffed their hands into the pockets of their leather jacket, and Kaden knew there would be no violence today. The leader laughed.
"You scared?" He said.
"Should I be?" Kaden said.
They all laughed. Clearly, they had hoped he would show his nerves. They were no better than thugs, Kaden knew this now. They got their kicks cheap, from things as simple as a screaming woman, a crying baby, a supposed tough-guy showing his belly. Kaden didn't want to have to take on three men in his state, as they were clearly like him, but he wouldn't allow them any more cheap laughs at his expense.
"No, pal. You're safe. We have a bond, you and me."
Kaden cocked an eyebrow. "Excessive love of all things leather?"
The smiles fell from their faces like rain from a storm cloud. Their noses flared and their lips puckered.
"Funny! No wonder he likes you so much. But let's get something straight, huh? Don't fuck with us. We aren't like your little fagot wrestling fuck-buddies. I don't wear spandex when I kick ass, and I ain't got no problem snuffing you out right now, got me?" He spat.
"But you won't..." Kaden said, and held his breath. It was now, or never.
None of them budged. One of them glared holes through him with beady little eyes, but none of them moved. The leader sucked his teeth.
"Lucky for you that we've got bigger problems. You can act as tough as you want, but we both know you hate him as much as we do. If you're interested in talking, drop by sometime."
They filed out, slamming the bedroom door behind them. Kaden could hear furniture move as the three guests marched through the living room. He wanted to stop them, ask just where they wanted him to come, but as he pushed himself up in the bed, something fell from his chest.
It was a card. On the front, an advertisement for some rave, with a list of the DJs would be attending. On the back, an address. Above it, a name.
Marty Moss.
Kaden fell back to his pillow, and threw his hands over his face. Drama was a constant in his life lately, and it wasn't limited to the ring anymore. Francis had made it clear that he was not just a mentor, or an agent; Random vampires came into his room at all hours of the night; he had fucked over his best friend; and he had one of the most brutal, dangerous, and easily losable matches in wrestling coming up on Tuesday.
A frustrating concept, for sure. He had thought Lantlas for gone when that final bell sounded on Sunday, but the pudgy prick who called himself the boss thought better of it. Lantlas would lead a team of PCW heroes and legends against a team thrown together out of nothing more than their common yearn for the championship newly held by one of the darkest characters the place had ever seen.
Dark? Kaden laughed at that. Grimm was a strange man, for sure, but Kaden had seen real dark; the pitch-black of an underground society. Grimm was rainbows and hugs compared to some of these dregs.
He could feel their eyes upon him even before one of them spoke; he could smell their colognes, the oil in their leathers. His own eyes weren't even opened yet, but he knew he had visitors. In the last vestiges of slumber, he could feel his eyes trying to force their lids open, and go for the door to his bedroom. That sense--the extra one he had gained since his change--sounded like an air raid alarm in his head.
Kaden toyed with the idea of faking sleep for a few more moments, to gauger the nature of his guests, but they would see through it, if they were who he thought they were. Slowly, he opened his eyes, to the growing smiles of the three men surrounding his bed. They were men, or at least still appearing so, and not of the kind that seemed to associate with Francis.
"Wakey, wakey, eggs n' bakey!" One of them said. The others chuckled, snorted.
"Who the hell are you," Kaden offered, not letting a muscle move other than the ones behind his orbs. The three shifted their glances among themselves. The one who had done all the talking would speak again. He must have been the leader. The Alpha.
"I love wrestling, Kaden. Watch it every week. PCW for life," He said, rounding the frame of the bed and taking a seat on the edge. "I like you, too, but I think you're too cocky for your own good. You gave that match with the Champ away, you know?"
Kaden stayed stoic. "What do you want?"
"Imagine my surprise when I saw my very own Father standing on stage! Crazy, right?"
Kaden's heart jumped into his throat, his stomach fell. This man claimed blood with Francis, but he saw no resemblance to the slick monster. This man was short, pale. His nose was upturned and his face round. Unless his mother was a bulldog, Kaden couldn't imagine that he was of Francis' seed. Still, he stayed his opinion.
"After that, it was pretty easy to put the pieces together, know what I mean? Pops ain't been around much lately, and the buzz was that he had been busy spreading his filth around again. And you, my famous friend, are the proof."
There was an unmistakable hint of disdain in his voice when he spoke of his Father. It was not lost on Kaden, even with his mind still fogged from the remnants of sleep. Another aspect he cursed, that he knew would come to harm him later...awaking from sleep was much harder now, for whatever reason. He would ask Francis later.
Then, as he looked at his visitors, the thought crossed his mind, if only for a moment: Would there be a later?
The vocal one got up with a grunt, knees popping, and rejoined his posse. One of them stuffed their hands into the pockets of their leather jacket, and Kaden knew there would be no violence today. The leader laughed.
"You scared?" He said.
"Should I be?" Kaden said.
They all laughed. Clearly, they had hoped he would show his nerves. They were no better than thugs, Kaden knew this now. They got their kicks cheap, from things as simple as a screaming woman, a crying baby, a supposed tough-guy showing his belly. Kaden didn't want to have to take on three men in his state, as they were clearly like him, but he wouldn't allow them any more cheap laughs at his expense.
"No, pal. You're safe. We have a bond, you and me."
Kaden cocked an eyebrow. "Excessive love of all things leather?"
The smiles fell from their faces like rain from a storm cloud. Their noses flared and their lips puckered.
"Funny! No wonder he likes you so much. But let's get something straight, huh? Don't fuck with us. We aren't like your little fagot wrestling fuck-buddies. I don't wear spandex when I kick ass, and I ain't got no problem snuffing you out right now, got me?" He spat.
"But you won't..." Kaden said, and held his breath. It was now, or never.
None of them budged. One of them glared holes through him with beady little eyes, but none of them moved. The leader sucked his teeth.
"Lucky for you that we've got bigger problems. You can act as tough as you want, but we both know you hate him as much as we do. If you're interested in talking, drop by sometime."
They filed out, slamming the bedroom door behind them. Kaden could hear furniture move as the three guests marched through the living room. He wanted to stop them, ask just where they wanted him to come, but as he pushed himself up in the bed, something fell from his chest.
It was a card. On the front, an advertisement for some rave, with a list of the DJs would be attending. On the back, an address. Above it, a name.
Marty Moss.
Kaden fell back to his pillow, and threw his hands over his face. Drama was a constant in his life lately, and it wasn't limited to the ring anymore. Francis had made it clear that he was not just a mentor, or an agent; Random vampires came into his room at all hours of the night; he had fucked over his best friend; and he had one of the most brutal, dangerous, and easily losable matches in wrestling coming up on Tuesday.
A frustrating concept, for sure. He had thought Lantlas for gone when that final bell sounded on Sunday, but the pudgy prick who called himself the boss thought better of it. Lantlas would lead a team of PCW heroes and legends against a team thrown together out of nothing more than their common yearn for the championship newly held by one of the darkest characters the place had ever seen.
Dark? Kaden laughed at that. Grimm was a strange man, for sure, but Kaden had seen real dark; the pitch-black of an underground society. Grimm was rainbows and hugs compared to some of these dregs.