Post by The BombTrax on Aug 6, 2016 5:38:46 GMT
SEAT OF POWER - Interlude
JACKSON POLICE DEPARTMENT
327 E Pascagoula St – Jackson, Mississippi
8/4/2016 – Directly after WICKED#16
327 E Pascagoula St – Jackson, Mississippi
8/4/2016 – Directly after WICKED#16
Press sat in the floor with his knees up in front of him and his arms draped over them, head resting on his forearms. Youth lay stretched out on a bench, his left arm casually thrown over his eyes, while the other arm dangled off the side barely grazing the floor.
The detention cell that they had been shuffled into after arriving at the Jackson Police Department was small, and could hold up to six people max. Calvin Harris, Cross Recoba, and Jack Nomad had been moved to another cell at the other end of the hall, but Recoba’s lawyer team had them sprung in all of five minutes after arriving. This left The BombTrax to sit and wait until the magistrate could see to them in the morning.
Youth rolled/scooted onto his side, putting his elbow under his head, and looked over at the big man. Press hadn’t said much since their incarceration, and it was obvious that without some prodding he wasn’t going to say anything now. Youth understood why they had to do what they did at the end of WICKED#16, just like he understood it was those sorts of actions that led to this current predicament. Though most of their messes in their other ‘job’ tended to clean themselves up, that didn’t mean they needed to draw any kind of legal attention to their comings and goings.
The outside world wasn’t ready to deal with the fact that it had demon’s running around in it, despite the overwhelming evidence left out in plain sight. People purposefully ignored that evidence, whether it was conscious or subconscious, because life was already hard enough without the fear of being devoured by a monster. Even if they saw it right in front of them, and even if he and Press were able to save them, they’d still shuffle it around in their mind in order to forget it. The police on the other hand would come up with another way of explaining it. Murder. Breaking and Entering. Assault and Battery. Take your pick.
He was as much a part of their plan to take on the Power Trio as Press was, but he knew if he didn’t breach the subject, then things were only going to escalate further.
“So, we’re in jail.” He said casually, not really knowing where to start.
Press grunted from beneath his arms, but didn’t bother to offer much more of a response. Youth’s eyes narrowed, and he adjusted his tone to match.
“This is not good.”
Press sighed this time, and raised his head, bringing his knees down so that his legs could stretch out in front of him, while he leaned his neck and shoulders back so that his head could rest against the cement wall.
“Yeah, I get that, but we’re here now, so that’s that.”
“That’s that?” Youth questioned in disbelief. He swung his legs out so that he could sit upright on the bench, and threw his hands out at his sides. “That’s all you have to say about any of this?”
Press flashed an annoyed glance in his partner’s direction. “What the hell do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know.” Youth replied testily, crossing his arms over his chest and looking out through the bars on the front wall of their cell. “Maybe I’d like to know what the plan is after this. I mean, its one thing to go out during a show and nail someone, but this whole thing between you and Calvin Harris is getting out of hand. How is this guy different than anyone else you’ve ever faced? I mean, Stevie Harris brought a fucking cult against us for crying out loud. In and out of the ring, and yet somehow we never managed to end up in a jail cell because of it. When did this go from being business to personal?”
“It IS business.” Press said exasperated, not believing that they were actually having this conversation. “What do you think happens if we let these bastards keep interfering in our matches, costing us opportunities? It was your big idea to get back in the lime light, and we’ve done a pretty good fucking job thus far, but in order to keep what we’ve earned we have to establish a few things. Namely, that we’re the baddest mother fuckers on the block, no matter how many fucking people they throw together to combat us.”
“Hey,” Youth said, throwing his hands out in front of him to pump the brakes. “I’m not saying that I don’t get it, but it just seems to me that Calvin Harris has you riled up beyond the norm. I mean, yeah, when he speaks it’s like a cheese grater scraping against the inside of your skull, but how is that any different than anyone else?”
“Because he’s so full of shit, so deluded, that it makes me fucking sick.“ Press replied, shaking his head. The last part he mutters quietly. “Somebody needs to give him a dose of reality.”
“Ah!” Youth nods in understanding. “And you think that somebody has to be you. NOW we’re getting somewhere.”
“Fuck you.”
“You see, it’s that attitude that got us put in this cell.” Youth states, wagging his finger at the big man accusingly. “You can’t just leave the Holy crusade in our other life, you have to bring it kicking and screaming into our professional life as well. I can’t believe the mighty Press is letting a thing like pride fuel his actions.”
Press’ jaw tightened, and he crossed his arms over his chest as he slowly turned to encompass his partner in his gaze. “And you, who spent months moping around the fucking apartment cause you were dealing with jealousy issues are any different? How was that for pride getting in the way of business?”
Youth’s face fell at the mention of a few months ago when he was feeling a little less than adequate about what he was bringing to The BombTrax’s table. He couldn’t deny the dig about jealousy either, as Press being the PAW Heavyweight Champion while he languished to try and find a win was a part of his problem.
“Fine!” he exclaimed after a few moments of silence, leaning back on the bench. “I guess we’re just a pair of egotistical bastards.”
“Maybe so, but we’ve earned the right. Just like up to this point, Calvin Harris has earned the right to his delusions. No one has bothered to step up to stop us, just like no one bothered to step up and stop him. Now that’s not the case. We are in direct opposition with one another, and I’ll be god damned if I’m going to see them try to walk all over everything we’ve established here from DAY ONE! That’s why this is personal. That’s why it’s so fucking important.”
Youth took in a deep sigh, and nodded his agreement, but there was still a nagging feeling at the back of his skull he just couldn’t swat away. “Ok, fine. But this isn’t good for our other ‘job’. You know, the one that we don’t want to draw attention to.”
Press nodded, conceding the point, but shrugged seconds later with no response. The two men sat in silence for the rest of the night, shifting restlessly in their uncomfortable surroundings. There wasn’t much more that needed to be said. Hopefully they would be out in the morning, and they could go home and prepare for Bad Moon Rising. Worst case scenario, they get charged and have to pay fines, maybe spend another few days in the cell. Either way, they couldn’t be held forever, and they would be out by the time August 18th rolled around. Then, they would do what they do, the only way that they can.
JACKSON POLICE DEPARTMENT
327 E Pascagoula St – Jackson, Mississippi
8/5/2016 – 9:00AM
The BombTrax were shuffled into the Magistrate’s office promptly at 9 AM. The office was set up almost like a small courtroom, with varnished wood everything, and a place where the plaintiffs could stand right in front of the elevate desk so that the presiding official could look down their noses at them. Despite its appearance, this was not a court of law, but a place where arraignments could be made, and sometimes judgements could be reached as long as the county and the offending parties were both in agreement over the terms.
Press and Youth stood there, still in their ring gear from the previous night’s escapades, with their hands clasped in front of their waists. The Magistrate was an older man, who bustled into the room with a cup of steaming coffee, and a look of overall disgust with having to start his day this early. He sat his coffee down on the desk, and plopped down into the plush leather seat, and slipped on his glasses before picking up the first case of his morning.
He read over the paper for a moment, adjusted his glasses, read some more, and then lowered the paper to look over the rims down at the two men before him.
“Wrestlers.” He said matter of factly, and both men gave each other a side long glance unsure of whether that was a statement or a question.
After a moment of silence, Youth finally decided to pipe up. “Yes, sir. We’re wrestlers with Pure Amusement Wrestling based out of Purity, Louisiana. I think there’s…..”
Just then the door off to the side burst open, and one of the arresting officers brought in a folded piece of paper, handing it to the bailiff who in turn passed it to the judge. The Judge took the paper and unfolded it. He skimmed over the contents, leaving the two men to just stand there, wondering as to what their fate would turn out to be.
Finally, he sat the paper down before him, and his face was stern and maybe even a little disappointed. “The charges have been dropped. Apparently you have some fans inside the department and some decent legal help, so you’re free to go, but let me warn you, keep your antics inside the arenas from now on, and don’t let me catch you two in front of my bench again.”
Both men nod, trying their best not to seem so pleased with the news. Once they stepped out into the hall, they exchanged grins, following the officer who had delivered their freedom to the processing counter so that they could recover their things. Once they had everything in place, they made their way out the front door into the warm embrace of fresh air and freedom.
Immediately they took stock of their car, a white 1966 Pontiac Tempest, sitting in one of the parking spaces out front. The next thing they noticed was the petite Asian female leaning against the front fender, her arms crossed over her chest, wearing the same exact thing that she was wearing last night on WICKED. The two exchanged glances before making their way down the steps, and approaching the Lady.
“You may or may not have noticed this, but I am wearing the same dress I was last night. Which means that I didn't go home last night, and that means that I did not sleep last night. I caught almost sleep on a wooden bench that may have come from the Baptist Church down the road.”
She stops her sleep deprived monolog to give both men a halfhearted glare.
“That coffee is poison...I wouldn't give it to my roses. The sheer amount of acid might kill them.”
Press couldn’t help himself from offering the woman a smile, and Youth realized this was the first time the two had been in a room together since he had told her about Press’ secret flame. The word awkward floated through his mind, but somehow that didn’t encompass the entire scope of it.
“Well, the charges were dropped. How hard was that to snag?” Youth asked tentatively, trying not to rock the boat any more than it already was.
Munin let out a sigh and relaxed her shoulders. A small hand rubbing her eyes. Eyes that had clearly been cleaned of any make up. Her hair while groomed was in a slightly messy braid. Dimly she could hear a voice screaming at her in her head. Oh, that was her voice, but she was too tired to listen to it, or to care overly much about anything.
“Well no one does the Bible belt quite like Mississippi, but then again they take their sports nearly as seriously. So it was more of a matter of tracking down and waking up all the right people than anything else.”
Clouds moved away from the sun allowing it's bright rays to shine down on the trio, and Munin discovered that yes there was something else she could curse. Press could see that the woman was exhausted, no more than they themselves were. He sighed heavily, and knew exactly what was needed in this situation.
“You know, Munin, there’s a place not too far from here where dreams can be made a reality. Most times, people look at it and they think cheap or dirty, and although it does come with it’s own unusual cast of characters, I think it’s just the thing to get us all going this morning so that we can actually make it back home.”
Munin and Youth both looked at press with questioning, if not suspicious, stares.
Press smiled, before answering what was now burning in their minds.
“Waffle House.”
The words hung there in the Mississippi air, and the thought of eggs, bacon, and waffles, but more importantly, guaranteed fresh coffee had them all drooling.
Munin was nodding before her brain even registered the movement. “I'm paying.”
Press nodded with a grin, taking the keys from her delicate hand as Youth dashed to the passenger’s side so that he could slip into the back. Munin joined him, sliding into the front, as Press fell in behind the driver’s seat. When he turned the key the Pontiac roared to life, all 280 horses revved up and ready to go. He knocked the gear shift into reverse, and once backed out, the car thundered out of the parking lot and onto the open road. Onto Glory. Onto Bad Moon Rising! Onto Waffle House!
