Post by The BombTrax on Jun 2, 2016 5:12:44 GMT
*****THREE WEEKS AGO*****
Press sat in one of the storage rooms of The Emporium on Bourbon Street, in New Orleans. He had frequented the place for several years, and was the original of Samedi’s famous VooDoo Lounges. This was the very same room that, many years ago, Press had brought Youth when the young man had been injured, and eventually died. The same room where he witnessed a miracle, and the power of VooDoo magic, when Sam and Minerva brought Youth back from the dead.
Press had always guessed that moment would eventually come back to bite them in the ass. But ten years had passed, and things were the usual. They had made the decision to move out to Vegas when things went south in New Orleans, and the rest was history. Everything was going great until this had to happen.
Youth had filled him in on the run down about Abigail. His first instinct was to cuss Youth out. How the hell didn’t he see through the glam with his ‘hunter’s sight’? He abandoned that course of action for being furious with Samedi, calling the priest up, and letting him have an earful. Sam could be irritating sometimes just by how calm he always remained, even under dire circumstances, so when he made note that he had warned him before they had gone through with the ritual, it cut extra hard on the big man’s nerves. So he did what any sensible person would do. He hung up on him in midsentence.
At the end of the day, however, Press knew that the only person he could really point fingers at was himself. He had made the decision to go through the spell that would bring Youth back from the spirit realm. He had listened to the warnings, the questions of certainty, always followed by answers from him of assurance. Now, at the end of the day, his friend was sitting across from him, hurting, because of the actions that he had taken. It was easy to say that he had no choice, but the truth was, all he ever had was choices. It’s the reason that Sam and Minerva continued to ask him over and over if he was sure.
After a while, he called up Sam and apologized, and just as irritating, the fucking Cajun humbly accepted. Press conveyed to the priest what Abigail had asked of Youth, and wanted to know if there would be any side effects. Just as with any doctor, the witch variety couldn’t be certain that there wouldn’t be any negative effects of Abigail’s spirit finally being sent on to the afterlife, but felt more than likely not.
Press didn’t much like that answer, but rarely in life was anyone ever able to guarantee a sure thing. Still, the kid wanted to give her what she wanted, but wasn’t sure he could go through with it himself, and Press felt like the most prudent course of action was to get it over with.
Just then the door swung open, and Bobby, Sam’s right hand man and student, came lumbering in carrying a large canister that looked like it may have once been an industrial sized Duke’s Mayo jar.
Press eyed the canister, then Bobby, before crossing his arms over his chest. “That it?”
Bobby nodded, eager to hand it over. “Dat’s da bulk of it. If ye wantin’ or needin’ more, I’s have to make you some fresh, which ain’t no easy ting, considerin.”
Press stood, taking the canister to examine the contents inside. One whiff damn near knocked him down, and he was quick to replace the lid before more of the pungent aroma could escape.
He nodded at Bobby, satisfied. “How much do I owe you?”
“Boss says dat’s on da house.” Bobby said sternly, obviously not agreeing with his master's charity. He turned to make his way out the door, but paused in the archway before turning to look over his shoulder. “All’s I can say is be careful Redeemer, and good luck.” He made with the sign of the cross over his chest, before disappearing back into the kitchen.
Press stared down at the canister, and shook his head. He knew what trouble it was to make, and knew exactly what it was designed to do. He was a little surprised that Samedi hadn’t charged him for it, but then it dawned on him that the priest probably felt as guilty as he did.
He wrapped the canister up in a towel lying on the bench beside him, and then made his way for the door as well. He had a few more things to prepare before he would be ready to send Abigail on her way, wherever that may be. He had to imagine that she would be rewarded for her kindness of spirit, but at the same time, she had been left behind on earth for a reason. He hoped, for all their sake's, that what she had done for Youth was enough to pay for whatever she had done in her past life.
*****TWO WEEKS AGO*****
The two men were here at the park to do some promotional work with a local Chevrolet Dealership in North Shore, and the gig paid pretty well. It was also great PR for Munin, who wanted to engrain the PAW brand in New Orleans and the surrounding areas as much as possible before they began expending their territory. There were already rumors that after Heat Stroke, PAW would try their hand at breaking out of Louisiana, especially after their huge success in Texas. Mississippi, Alabama, and Florida were all on the potential list of states to receive a visit from the Pure Amusement Superstars.
Staying true to their M.O., they had arrived at the park a few hours early so that they could stop by The Crossroads for a few drinks, and maybe some of Mama’s special gumbo. By the time they reached the curb leading up to the establishment, their stomachs were growling from the aromas that preceded them.
They entered the large wooden entrance at the same time, pausing long enough to survey the room. The place wasn’t packed like it would be later tonight, but it wasn’t slow either. A few empty tables sat scattered around the room, but The BombTrax usually preferred the bar anyways.
Just as Youth was about to take a step forward, he noticed that Press wasn’t following behind. He looked up to see the big man still standing by the entrance, his jaw set, and his eyes smoldering as he stared at a particular corner of the room. Youth followed his gaze until his own settled on the form of Lady Munin sitting at a table, with Alex Cross seated across from her. They appeared to be enjoying an appetizer or two, and Samedi stood off to the side, conversing with them casually as a good host should.
Youth groaned internally, knowing that the day was about to take a turn for the worse. The Big Guy behind him, the current PAW Heavyweight Champion, had a thing for the boss lady, Lady Munin. She was clueless of course, but that didn’t change the fact that the feelings were there, and at times, especially when it came to the mushy stuff, Press reverted to what he liked to term, ‘school yard tactics’.
After a few more moments of intense scowling, Press turned to look at Youth, who grinned sheepishly. This elicited a nostril flare from the big man, and he stalked past his partner towards the bar. Youth followed, taking a seat beside his partner, and wondering what was about to happen next. It didn’t appear anyone at the table noticed their entry, so maybe out of sight, out of mind was the best he could hope for.
“I’d like two shots of Jameson, and two large mugs of whatever’s on tap.” Press casually requested to the bar tender, resting his elbows on the table.
Youth raises an eyebrow, and said, “Leading off with the hard stuff out of the gate, eh? I thought maybe a few beers, and then we'd jet.”
Press grunted in acknowledgement, though Youth knew that he hadn’t heard him. He kept his eyes forwards, watching the bartender pour the shots first, and then fill the two mugs.
When everything was set out in front of him, Press produced a fifty-dollar bill, tossed it on the table, and then spoke up once more. “The Jameson is for the table over there where Sam is talking to the couple. Set both glasses down in front of the toe-headed guy, and tell him….” Press pauses for a second, a wicked smile spreading over his face. “’Bottoms up.’”
Youth’s eyes went wide as the bartender loaded up the two shot glasses onto a tray, and passed it off to a server with the instructions. He knew that Alex Cross had been suffering with sobriety issues. Hell, the entire world knew it after his sloppy performance at WICKED#7, where he came down to the ring drunk against Johnny Raike. But more than any of that, he knew the links that Munin had went to help Alex through his rehab, and that she was going to be furious.
Press spun around in his seat, and leaned his back up against the bar, the same wicked grin still plastered across his face. Youth didn’t even turn around, didn’t want to see it, was damn sure wishing that he had enough time to exit the room before it happened.
The server stopped at the table and placed the two shots in front of Alex Cross who looked down at them in confusion. Munin wore a similar expression, and Samedi sighed heavily, before informing the server to take the drinks away. The server asked Samedi a question, and then pointed over at the bar towards The BombTrax. All three heads swiveled that way, and Press met them with an almost cheerful expression, raising his mug of beer into the air to salute them.
Alex Cross immediately stood, sending his chair skittering down to the floor. Samedi intervened, placing a firm hand on Alex’s shoulder to keep him from making a mistake inside of his bar. However, it wasn’t really Alex that Samedi should have been worried about, but the five foot two firecracker that was accompanying him for lunch.
Munin shot out of her chair, and quickly navigated the room, a feat to be sure considering the heel’s she was wearing. When she came to a stop in front of Press, her cheeks were flustered, her eyes narrowed, and her jaw set. If looks could kill, Press would have been dead, but he bore the withering stare with a cool, calm, collected, expression.
“What do you think you were doing?”
Each word was measured and precise. To the untrained ear the small woman could have been asking about the weather. There was an undercurrent though, a hint at the vicious thing hiding behind a civilized mask. An animal that's cage had been purposely rattled.
Press fell back in mock dismay, placing his hand over his heart in a false display of shock. “Me? I was just welcoming Alex back to the fold.” He paused, his eyes narrowing. “I thought you’d be pleased.”
Youth could be seen beside the big man sinking lower and lower on his stool, trying to be completely still and silent so that perhaps no one would notice him.
Munin's own eyes narrowed and her rage at his words was near palpable, a current that practically vibrated the air. “I am many things Preston, but I am not an idiot. So do not try to play me as one.”
Press chuckled now, slipping off his stool to tower over the woman. He nudged Youth with his arm, and then playfully turned back to Munin. “Sheesh, kid, you ever here the like. You try and do something nice for someone, and you get the riot act. Well if Alex doesn’t want the drinks, that’s an easy enough fix. Tell him to flush them.”
Youth sighed even heavier now, spinning around on his stool, and dully staring at Munin. “Hi, Munin.”
Munin's heavy gaze landed on him with residual heat. “What was that?”
Press shook his head in disgust, the personal problems of the past few weeks boiling over into one venomous attack.
"What the fuck is your problem? Isn't all of this shit you've cooked up going exactly according to plan?"
He stepped past her as if he were about to exit, without giving her any explanation. Munin didn't even bother to watch him leave. In all honesty she was overly tempted to chuck the shot glass at Press's thick head.
Instead she kept her eyes on Youth, much to his discomfort. “Have I somehow treated either of you unfairly? Demanded more then you were able, or willing, to give? If so...now is a chance to say something."
Youth shook his head regretfully, looking around the room where all eyes were now on them. "No, Lady, now is not the time, but we do need to talk. I'll set it up. For right now though, I have to go do the friend thing."
With that he hopped of the stool, and hurried to catch up with Press just before he disappeared through the door.
Munin looked after them with more confusion than rage at this point. After pausing to look at the shot for a moment she downed it. There was really no need to pour out good whiskey after all.
FOR THAT CONVERSATION LOOK FOR PRESS’ RP LATER IN THE WEEK!
