Saint/Tap versus Kelly/Nomad (TAG)

OOC Note:  I just want to say that Pixie wrote an epic piece and it inspired the fuck out of me.  I hope everybody enjoys this and that we've pulled off exactly what we intended by doing things the way that we have.  She helped me out with the CD Piece and I do believe that I wouldn't have put this out without reading her piece and just being sucked in.  So Shelly, stop knocking your own works because you're damn good and don't let anybody else tell you otherwise because they need to be Jack slapped.  Hmm... another signature idea.  LoL J/K.


Jack ascended the stairs to the landing of the apartment that he and Pixie shared. He still wore his clothes from yesterday and sported only a mild funk to him, having not been given the option to bath in twenty four hours. He was not too thrilled at being detained by the police at the request of the FBI agent, Prichard. He'd love nothing more than to go to the bastard's home and burn it to the ground, but there would be time enough for such things. Jack slipped the key through the keyhole on the door, gave it a twist and slipped inside the apartment.

"I'm back," He said coolie as he scanned the room, looking around for Alexandra.

She had been waiting for him on the sofa the past few hours, wondering how all of this became an issue. Seeing him enter the door, she jumped up. In a joking matter she said, "Your late. Dinner burned."  Alexandra wrapped her arms around him, a smile on her face.

Jack smirked and pulled her to him with both arms in a loving embrace.

"That's ok. I'm sure your dog found it most pleasant," He said.

"It was so burnt not even he wanted it," She said with a cute laugh while pressed against his chest, then added, "So, how much trouble are we in?"

He guided her to the couch where the two sat for a moment, one arm remaining around her shoulder. He leaned back and placed a foot on the coffee table. It wasn't there's, so who gave a fuck, right?

Jack answered her query, "Depends on whether or not Senior Special Agent Prichard is diligent enough to have every gator in the Missouri swamp's stomachs pumped to find trace evidence of your dear, departed brother. Aside from suspicion and happenstance, he really doesn't have shit on me. He's fishing and the real funny thing is," He looked directly into her eyes, "I think he has a vested personal interest."

Jack then leaned his head back, looking up at the ceiling.

"It's a shame really, because the swamp ecosystem is very good at it's job.  Even if he had been on the scene moments after everything happened, there may have been something to investigate and even then, slim chances."

"Well either way you got a safe alibi in me. He can investigate till he turns blue," She cuddled close to him, her hand rubbing his stomach. There was no worry in her voice nor showing on her face. "As far as I am concerned, my brother is missing. So I will portray my role perfectly."

He tilted his head and pecked a kiss on her forehead.

"Partners in crime, love, and everything in between," Jack gave her a smile. He still felt it odd to smile as much as he had been doing the last few months, but she made him happy. Few people could claim such a feat.

At that point, their scruffy little white dog came up and draped himself across his lap. He stared up at Jack and Jack stared back at him as if here were a curious anomaly.

"You are an odd one, pup. Most of your brothers and sisters in the animal kingdom wanna' see my throat between their teeth. You're just this chilled out little thing. I don't get it," Jack admitted to the canine presence in his lap.

"Well Nero is an odd one, or you ever seen a white doberman?" asked Pixie. She patted Nero's head softly, before putting her attention back to Jack. "I am just waiting for them to actually call me. I mean my father did, but that doesn't mean anything. He knows nothing."

Jack gave Nero a very slow, deliberate stroke across the top of his head and the doberman gave him a lick on the wrist. Jack arched his brow a bit, then shrugged and put the focus back to Alexandra.

"I wish I knew more about why a senior special agent is doing grunt work that some low level stooge should be doing. Usually if they are questioning you, it's on FBI ground and with a loaded cannon full of evidence to bury you with."

Jack played with Pixie's hair a bit, twirling a few dark strands between his fingers idly.

"They don't come to a local Sheriff's station and play twenty-one questions. I'm thinking he'll be playing a bit of a role in my life for a few months until he gets his answers or he's so stonewalled he doesn't know whether to shit or wind his watch."

Alexandra gave a small nod of agreement.

"I am certain my brother managed to piss the guy off on a personal ground and considering what he has done to me, I wouldn't be surprised if he has done the same to other girls."

Her face became hard, her muscles tensed. She remained focused on Jack, rubbing him softly. She fought internally to shake off the thoughts of the past. At that point, Nero hopped off Jack's lap and headed for the kitchen where he buried his head into the food bowl, noisely crunching away at dog chow. Jack gave her a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder and then an idea hit him. A devious smile crossed his face and Alexandra could tell the wheels were working in his head.

"Something to think about.  Perhaps next time he pops up with questions, I think I may just have a few questions of my own to ask this paper badge carrying motherfucker," He said with a snicker, "I figured your brother wouldn't limit his options, but enough about him, about business, or about dealings with the FBI. You slept alone last night and that... is simply unacceptable."

Jack leaned in with a kiss upon her lips.  She wrapped her arms around him tightly, forcing herself on his lap. Her soft lips finding his again, before pulling back a moment.

"Yeah Nomad, how you gonna make it up to me? Leaving me all alone and unprotected?" she said with a coyly raised brow.

With a smirk on his face, he leaned into her and eased a hand past the waist band of her shorts as he responded, "I can think of a few ways," his lips then met hers in a rough, deeply passionate kiss....

I can hear those crickets chirping, filling the night air with their song. It's all those fuckers are good for is making noise. I had the camera on a timer so that when it came on it'd see me strolling into view and dropping a match on a large pool of gasoline and assorted junk and kindling. This far out in the middle of nowhere, nobody would give one flying fuck about a little pyromania in front of an old, burned out husk of a gas station. The fire silhouettes me in the view finder, but that suits me just fine. The vest, jeans, and boots gave me away well enough. What purpose did this fire serve? None what so ever, I just like to see things burn every now and then.

"Well well well, Tapioca fucking Joseph! Tough old bastard aren't ya?," I say with a snicker. I grip my vest with those taped fists, tilting my head ever so slightly.

"I figured sooner or later you'd want to step into the ring and try for a little payback. I know that you probably don't give one fuck about my reasons for knocking every bit of shit out of you in our first encounter. You see when you offered your hand, you broke one of my tenents; Never shake the hand of a motherfucker you never met. What kind of special do you think you are that a handshake from you means anything to me?"

I scoff at the memory of whatever sentiment he thought he was expressing.

"When you hold your hand out to a man in greeting, you are making an assumption that he's a respectable, upstanding citizen. You assume that he will take your hand and shake it firmly. You think of yourself as leading by example. Instead you get what you deserve, opening yourself up like a door and then being stepped on and used to scrape the shit off my heels as a door mat. You're not doing me any favors. You're just giving me an excuse to beat the fuck out of you."

My eyes drift briefly to the fire at my right, then back to the camera at my left. I pull a cigarette from my vest pocket and reach towards the fire. The heat's rather intense, but again, it's one of those things I just don't give a fuck about. I bring the burning tip towards my face, waving it out and then giving the filtered end a few puffs to bring the cancer stick to a nice smolder. After bellowing out a good cloud of smoke from between my lips, I turn back towards the camera.

"The thing I find most intriguing is that I'm often painted a villain and for what? For having a different point of view? For embracing what is the true nature of mankind and behaving like the animal I was meant to be? Let me tell you what my definition of evil is. Evil hides behind a smile and charm. Evil lies to you and tells you all is roses and sunshine when really everything reeks of shit and the light only hides the blackness within. Evil oppresses your freedom, holds you back, and determines what is right and wrong for you."

I pace back and forth in front of that fire, my boot heels click softly on the pavement as the smoldering cigarette dangles from my lips. I take periodic drags from it and blow the smoke from my nostrils as I continue on with those fucking crickets still singing on with their disrespectful symphony. One of the prices to pay when working in the South. The goddamned crickets...

"In the context of a straight fight, the rules about life aren't as complicated. Kill or be killed is my creed and Tapioca Joe you and the face fucked monster you call your partner, William Saint, are going to learn that first hand. You are not up against a man and a woman. You're not up against a loving couple. You're up against a pair of monsters who devour old and young alike without a single tear to shed or a solitary fuck to give. When that bell rings, it won't be Pixie's heart shaped ass that excites me, but the blood flowing from down your face. It'll be the scars I add to both yours and William's already impressive collection. It'll be how much Alexandra makes you scream when she locks you into one of her many torture holds."

I snicker a bit, imagining that big, bulbous, bald fuck, William Saint, crying like a bitch with Pixie wrapped around his neck and arm with a murderous hold of some sort.

"Maybe Joseph, I'll destroy what's left of your ruined hips and knees and then when you crumble and fall upon them one last time... I'll make the same improvement to your face that I made to Luke Knux and just pulverize it with rapid knee shot after knee shot until you capitulate or pass out."

I step up to that camera and then drop down to a seat with my legs crossed. The camera follows me, keeping the focus purely on me. The fire went from a tall wall to a calmer burn, a few flames licking at the sky and providing just enough light to keep me lit up.

"But I do want you to know something. You see, I've never had a problem with age on anyone, persay. Some of the toughest bastards I've known are old as fuck, maybe even older than you, but trust me when I say this... You are playing a game that your body, with it's slowing reflexes and weakening, arthritic frame that constantly cracks and cricks, cannot possibly win. Now people have called you old before and I get that, but the truth of the matter is they are not wrong and neither am I."

With a lifted hand, I tap at my chin, looking away for a moment in mock contemplation.

"I know what you're thinking Joseph, 'Oh look, another young piece of shit calling me an old, wrinkled fuck. I guess I'll add another name to the list of people who have played that card and lost.' The fact of the matter is that you aren't just old, Joseph, but your body is failing. In your youth, I'm sure you'd have probably beaten the shit out of me after the first punch landed on your face all those weeks ago. That's something you're struggling with everyday Tapioca. You've had to change your style, your mindset, and even your in-ring philosophy to match the cracks and wrinkles on your skin, but I see in your eyes an angry fire of a man who suffers with the constant betrayal of the very sack of blood and flesh you were born with."

Sighing softly, I lower my hand and shake my head sadly, then look back at that camera with a smirk.

"Someday I will know your pain and smile it's black toothed grin, but May 12th will not be that day. It will not be at the Purity Arena and it will not happen at Wicked number ten. You may have the maniliest mustache since Tom Seleck, but having epic facial hair, a bad attitude, and monster that was born out of something from the Pheonix Zoo in Arizona on your side will not be enough. Your experience never taught you how to understand a motherfucker like me and those who have tried to understand me wound up falling to me in the process."

I lean towards the camera a bit.

"As for the four hundred pound Gorilla to your left, I share my sweet Alexandra's assessment. William Saint is a man that claims intelligence but so far, all I've seen is the same scarred, face fucked with a shovel looking monster motherfucker I've seen countless times in my life. I've heard stories about you, William. Stories about a man who was called a Mongrel. You wanna' know something? The Mongrel, I like. The Mongrel was a real man, not this worthless, pathetic thing who fights those nightmare urges he once embraced. This thing you have become, William. There are stories of you outplaying highschool bullies with wit and charm, but let's be honest they got to you didn't they? You cried like a little bitch as they tormented you, even though you were big enough to break their fucking neck with one clubbing blow to the head."

Looking down, I pick up a bit of gravel between my fingers and begin to toy with it idly.

"William Saint is a weak motherfucker, trying to be 'good' in a world where those who are deemed good and just by society are exceptionally good liars and charletons, hiding their skeletons better than the we mere mortals. A society that puts the deaths of the famous at a higher level of importance, rather than the deaths of real 'good' fuckers who die thousands of miles away from their families fighting wars that they are either ignorant of the true purpose, or blinded by foolish, idealistic patriotism."

With a snicker, I toss that pebble aside and look back at the camera.

"I don't support the troops as they are stupid fools going by the thousands to their deaths for ideals that aren't even worthy of the lives they throw away in service of it, but I'm amazed that with all the brainwashing the media has done to you sheep watching at home that each and every man, woman, and child watching at home would place the deaths of individuals such as Sting, Prince, and Lemmy Kilmister ahead of the death of some Jim Billy Bob Joe soldier over in Pakistan or Iraq who died for the fantasy that is your freedom."

Yeah, I'm not a Patriot and Uncle Sam can suck my big hairy ball sack. I don't give a fuck what you think. Don't like it? Come find me, I'll make you Missing Person famous!

"I don't sponsor the weak, stupid, or false. In my eyes, William Saint, you are all three wrapped up in a massive fat fuck's scarred and disfigured body. I know you're a monster and you have the power to hurt me badly if I were dumb enough to let you by making that rare misstep. Thing is, I can take pain. I can take punishment. You can throw me and Alexandra around like rag dolls, but do you know the one thing you can't do? Win. William, I'm not some weak fuck sauce like Shane Ryder from GZW. I'm not some wanna' be rocker with delusions of being some hell demon with a rock guitar. I'm Jack Nomad, a man who has the balls to call himself Hardcore and fucking mean it."

If it weren't for the view finder, I'd imagine I'd cut a pretty intense, psychotic look right now at the camera. I still find it kind of wierd having a digital mirror next to the lens, but hey, it works.

"I've been burned, stabbed, shot, hanged, electrocuted, overdosed on drug cocktails, hit by a car and a bus, and even fell through the roof of a fucking ambulance face first. I've achieved and survived more than one mortal man should endure and yet here I am, your problem of the day and if you really take all of that into account, then Joseph... William... you both should be scared shitless. Put me through a table? Fuck that tickles. The table is on fire? Oh that is so warm and fuzzy, thank you for your kindness, you shouldn't have."

I'm totally fucking around now, my derangement hanging out on display as I chuckle more. I can't help it, it's all so goddamned funny to me.

"So many times I've been called a pretender by pretenders. I'm the real McCoy with a death wish because I've become unkillable or maybe I've already died but Heaven's Gates won't open for the likes of me and I scare the fuck out of that Pussy running Hell. I think his name Stan or Lucy... Maybe Bub something, I never cared to get the bitch's name right because he isn't not worthy of me and has declined to send me the invite. I could very well be the walking dead in your midst. So has my dearest Alexandra really participated in acts of Necrophilia with a living Dead Nomad?"

A surprisingly sinister laugh pushes past my lips as I shake my head and slap my knee. I'm giddy as fuck at the thought. God, the fucked up shit that plays in my head sometimes. How I've avoided mental institutions is well beyond even my own grasp of comprehension. I clap my taped hands once, clasping them tightly together.

"So Joseph... William Saint, please give us your sad reflections on what you think I am. Tell myself and Alexandra all of what you plan to do to us in that ring and how your good intentions will triumph against our cold hard reality. Joseph, I want you to speak in that gravelled voice that moistens the panties of the ladies and raises the cocks of the gays watching at home and tell me how happy it's going to make you to step into the ring and beat my ass like a drum and make me watch as you 'try' to hurt my Alexandra."

A brief, but dramatic pause. Just because, why the fuck not, right?

"William, tell me through those broken teeth and scarred lips just how much you want to pick me and Pixie up and break us both like fine china in the hands of the bull you think you are. Promise a swift but brutal retribution because all you and your friend Tapioca Joseph have in common are threats and wishful thinking. What the Wicked Hearts offer you on the other hand is delivered with certainty. You may live past us, but should your luck hold out and you survive the match, the both of you will never be the same. You will never recover from what Pixie and I do to you. We will fight you, we will hurt you, we will bleed you, destroy you, humiliate you, and if you're lucky, we might even put you both out of yours and everyone elses collective misery."

With my head tilted forward, I stare straight into the camera with a smile one last time as I bring this long and sadly one sided verbal beat down to a close. I'm practically photogenic in the view finder, a human wolf with evil intentions just baring my teeth with a grin in preparation for the kill.

"Words are powerful when spoken with conviction and meaning, Joseph and William. Weigh your thoughts carefully before you pull the trigger and speak of me and Alexandra and make sure what you say is what you believe and not merely hot air to give you false bravado and confidence."

The smile vanishes in an instant to be replaced by a hard, somber gaze as the epitaph is given. Yeah, no fucking around. No jokes. This is the reality motherfuckers.

"Lying to yourself is the worst fucking thing you can do, especially when you're walking through the shadow of my valley, for I ride a Pale Horse and my name is Death. Do not fear evil, do not fear the end, for only in the end will you find peace and that peace comes at the price of living through hell itself at my hands. See you on May 12th at the Pure Arena where we will all learn the true nature of Tapioca Joseph and "Mongrel" William Saint as we, The Wicked Hearts, Alexandra Kelly and Jack Nomad, enact the final rights on these two miserable fucks."

With that I lean forward and flip the switch on the camera, shutting it off. I think back for a moment on what Alexandra said not too long ago in her own shoot and oh how it inspired me. She is my deadly little muse, oh how I love her. A source of strength and perhaps my only true weakness, but woes be the fool who dares to exploit that weakness for Alexandra would gut any motherfucker who tried.