The Rat and the Bat [LRK & Silvio Leon]
Jul 23, 2020 23:31:52 GMT -5
mystifyingoracle, Jon Willis, and 1 more like this
Post by Lab Rat King on Jul 23, 2020 23:31:52 GMT -5
WE HOPE YOU MADE OUT YOUR LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT.
“Oh, shut-up. If this doesn’t go well, you can put me back together, right?”
LISTEN, WE CAN ONLY WORK SO FAST. IF HE PULLS YOUR HEAD OFF, IT’S BEEN NICE KNOWING YOU, SILVIO LEON. YOU WERE AN EXCELLENT IHOP.
“Ha ha ha HA, Spooky! Vote of confidence accepted and appreciated!”
SECURITY SAID HE WAS IN THE PARKING LOT, RIGHT?
“...Yeah...”
THE REST ROOM IS NOT THE PARKING LOT.
“Just want to make sure I don’t have any more scaredy-pees to take before I meet the guy.”
Silvio sighed heavily, pacing in front of the restroom sinks and running a hand distractedly through his hair. When he’d seen the Chaos 96 card, he was half certain he’d somehow miraculously gone through early menopause. He’d watched the man who called himself the Lab Rat King take apart every person he’d gotten into the ring with. First Adrienne, and then both Willis and Quinn in the last show.
And it wasn’t just that he’d won the match. He’d been mean about it.
Every step Silvio took as he moved into the hallway and toward the facility’s parking lot conjured an image of King brutally punishing both of the opponents in his last fight. Kohaku had made it feel like he and Silvio were one mind fighting with two bodies when they’d been matched against the Family. And that was to say nothing of just how personable the foxy fellow was outside of the ring. Clicking with someone so instantly and completely was rare in general, let alone in this setting. It was the meal that was all dessert.
Now Silvio had King to team with.
King who, as the tattoo artist emerged from the building proper, was pacing in a tight circle like an aggravated tiger in the parking lot. Compulsively, Silvio took a Jolly Rancher from his hoodie pocket, unwrapping it and popping it in his mouth to try and combat the dry knot forming in his throat.
No, you listen to me for once, asshole. It’s a tag team match. Not a free-for-all.
“RRRRGH I DON’T CARE! RIP AND TEAR, RIP AND TEAR!”
Do you want to win this thing or not? Do you want to go back to sleeping on cardboard behind the bar? Do you want to make it easier for Rose and his dogs to find you?
“QUIET, LITTLE MAN! LET THEM TRY!”
The mutant snarled at himself, turning another tight corner into his borderline-frantic circling; he was dressed in dusty grey camo cargos and a black tank that barely contained the mass of his torso. Both hands came up to his head, scratching angrily like he was ready to claw something out of his own skull; the bruises of the triple threat still lingered, making the discolouration in his skin seem worse in the light.
WE CANNOT BELIEVE YOU’RE GOING TO GET TO DIE TWICE BEFORE YOU’RE THIRTY.
Pointedly ignoring the cosmic entity’s snark in his head, Silvio continued his approach. His slow, measured, hopefully non-threatening approach. The nerves were singing through his whole body at such a cacophonous volume that he barely registered the pleasant tingling dancing over his skin. He wasn’t sure yet if raising his voice or making a physical gesture would be the best approach. Instead, he continued to watch carefully, waiting for some lull in the man’s rant that might be an opening for...conversation? A powerbomb onto asphalt? Ranting at increased intensity?
Why are you making this so damn difficult? I’m not gonna go back to stealing and running because you can’t reign in your temper.
“I STAYED ALIVE THIS LONG.”
You survived this long. We weren’t living. This is the closest we’ve come to that as far as I can remember--no thanks to you.
King still hadn’t noticed the approaching company; however, his sharp pacing began to slow, hands dropping away from his head. He growled, glaring at the space in front of him, fingers curling into shaking fists.
“IT’S A THANKLESS JOB BUT SOMEONE’S GOTTA DO IT.”
Silvio remained quiet as he continued closing the distance between them, but his eyes narrowed, tuning into the thread of the big man’s ravings. It was like listening to one side of a phone conversation. A sudden twinge of self-consciousness made him grimace. While he wasn’t as intense as King, Silvio had the stark realization that that’s probably what he sounded like to anyone else when he was talking to Big Boss Spookitude.
He wasn’t sure how he felt about having that in common with Zane.
As Silvio approached the Lab Rat King, the massive mutant slowed almost to a stop with his back turned, apparently still oblivious to the breach of his solitude (so much as he could ever be alone). He rocked his weight haphazardly from one side to the other, fists down at his sides, the strength of his grip making violet veins stand out stark against the skin of his arms. The Oracle could still hear him growling.
“You shut up. Go to sleep! Let me throttle them all.”
You’re not throttling anybody--
“Shhhh!!”
King held up a hand in a silencing gesture; if he could still grow body hair, it would have been standing on end on the back of his neck. Like a vigilant predator, he looked over his shoulder, making sudden and extremely direct eye contact with Silvio Leon.
The Oracle felt both brilliant for relieving his bladder prior to meeting with Zane, and idiotic for even attempting to approach his new tag partner in the first place. He wasn’t sure if averting or maintaining eye contact was the smart move in this situation, but with King’s gaze laser focused on him, Silvio didn’t think he could have looked away if he wanted to.
YOU SHOULD HAVE DONE THIS SOMEWHERE WITH WITNESSES.
Swallowing around that now candy-flavored lump in his throat, Silvio held his hands up placatingly and offered Zane a shaky smile.
He squeaked on his first attempt to talk, cleared his throat, and tried again.
“U-uh...hi! I’m Silvio. We, uh...ha! We got paired up for the next card. I thought maybe we could...talk? About it?”
There was a deeply unsettling beat of silence.
King’s amber eyes, sunken in pits of shadow, narrowed ever so slightly; a low growl bubbled in his throat. He began to turn around, taking a slow, advancing step toward the unfortunate intruder.
No. Don’t hurt him. Don’t you goddamn dare.
“YOU DON’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO!”
The mutant’s words could almost be taken for being directed at the young man in front of him, rather than being addressed internally. He started to reach for the front of Silvio’s shirt--
“I said no, you stubborn bastard!”
King stopped, his outstretched hand shaking, fingers twitching from some unseen effort. The voice that came out of him was… different. A lot lower. He wasn’t shouting; it was controlled, husky with vocal abuse. And his eyes… their wild glare was gone. Instead, they were wide with apprehension.
He abruptly lowered his hand, the bulk of his chest swelling with short breath brought on by a rush of adrenaline.
“I said… don’t hurt him.”
HUH. SO, YOUR LIFE REALLY DOES FLASH BEFORE YOUR EYES RIGHT BEFORE YOUR DEATH.
Heart thundering in his ears as he gaped up at Zane, Silvio’s instincts had just started to clamber for, ‘fight,’ or, ‘flight,’ as the big man reached toward him. Before he could clench his fists or high tail it out of the parking lot, however, the Lab Rat King’s voice shift cut through his thoughts like a needle screeching across a record.
“I...wasn’t...going to hurt you?” he said, blinking in confusion. “I…”
Silvio glanced over his shoulder to see if the Lab Rat King was addressing someone else in the parking lot.
“Who are you talking to? Are...I can’t believe I’m asking this,” Silvio snorted with a nearly delirious little laugh, “but are you okay?”
For a moment, King just stared at him in perhaps the deepest confusion possible for a person to exhibit. It was… suddenly very quiet. At least, for him. The silence was deafening. His brow was heavily creased, eyes searching, the tip of his tongue testing the edge of the healing cut on his lower lip.
“Yeah… I mean no, not really.”
He touched his throat with a calloused hand, taking half a step back; he glanced around for a second as though disoriented, focusing forward on Silvio again after assuring himself of his surroundings. When he spoke again, it was that same low, steady tone as before, this time tinged with caution.
“... You can hear me?”
“Yeah, I can hear you fine,” Silvio replied, his heartbeat beginning to slow. “I mean, you kind of...it seems like you probably have a sore throat from all the yelling.” He fumbled for a moment in his pockets before finding another hard candy and extending it. “Lozenge?”
As the adrenaline rush began to ebb, it’s frantic urgency was beginning to be replaced with something else. Something similar to what Silvio felt when he stepped into the ring.
King glanced briefly at the candy and shook his head, as if the concept of it was absolutely alien to him in the moment. Everything was. He felt as though he’d just been dropped like a stone back into the real world after a years-long sleep paralysis nightmare.
“You can hear me,” he repeated, a little more firm. Bewildered, he kept a hand on his throat, looking at his other hand…. Curling his fingers, one by one. Letting them relax.
“I got the wheel back,” he murmured, turning his hand over before lowering it. “He’s not in control. I can’t even hear him anymore. How…?”
ISN’T HE A TOOTHSOME MORSEL.
With the sheer pants-shitting terror of the possibility of Zane murdering him gone, Silvio could feel it humming through his veins. That ecstatic light, the heightened awareness, everything around him taking on a semi-surreal quality; the by-product of Spooky’s little feasts of madness.
“I...uh...I don’t...know? Exactly?” he stammered, pocketing the candy again. Shaking his head, his brow knit, concern began to creep in at the edges of his thoughts. In spite of everything, standing there in the lot, King looked vulnerable; bewildered. Maybe even a little scared.
BOY SCOUT.
“Hey...you...do you wanna get outta here? Maybe try and carry on this conversation somewhere else? There’s a diner nearby. If you’re up to it. My treat.”
Despite King’s disoriented confusion, his base-level needs had certainly not been silenced. The moment Silvio said ‘diner’, the mutant was insistently reminded by the acidic churning and gnawing in the pit of his gut of his ongoing, insatiable hunger.
It hit him a bit harder than it usually would; while normally he would never show weakness, he grimaced now, clearly more exhausted and in more pain than his stubborn mental guardian would ever demonstrate.
“Sure,” he sighed, sounding distracted. He kept looking at his hands, rolling his fingers and thumbs, throat working. “Sorry, I… it’s… it’s been a while.”
“It’s okay,” Silvio assured him, gesturing for Zane to follow. “Don’t worry about it right now. Let’s get you sat down with some coffee and a meal and we’ll take it at your pace.”
He stuck close to King as they walked, afraid of what might happen if the distance between them became too great. The cosmic entity attached to him was pleased at the little snack Zane was providing, and Silvio had to take care not to...well...let on that he was essentially high in public. Eventually the pair came to a greasy spoon, the hostess gaping openly at the odd pair they made before ushering them to a booth. Taking a seat on one side and ordering coffee for both of them, the tattoo artist spared a glance up at his partner and raised a brow.
“You um...gonna fit over there okay, or should we ask for a chair?”
King’s posture changed as he followed; his normally intimidating lumbering had been replaced with hunched shoulders and a sense of unease. He didn’t seem to notice or care about the way strangers were staring at him, but he certainly looked a bit lost and unsure.
“It’s fine,” he said quietly; he was able to sit in the booth easily, but the mass of his upper body took up most of his space and he sort of set his elbows on the table and leaned forward out of instinct. His eyes were down, still watching his hands move. His hands, moving of his own volition.
“... You don’t have to go out of your way for me, kid.”
God… he felt so out of place. Suddenly vulnerable. Even though he hated riding shotgun in his own body, it allowed him to just tune out of the world whenever he wanted… withdraw. Now he couldn’t.
“... Sorry if he… if I threatened you. Back in the parking lot.”
“You’re my partner, for however long that might be. That means I gotta look out for you. Besides, uh, the contents of my stomach might have made a daring bid for freedom before I tried talking to you. I could do with some food. And I’m a pro-wrestling tattoo artist - I’ve been on the receiving end of tough language before. Nothing I wasn’t prepared for.”
The waitress returned shortly with coffee, water, and menus for the pair. After thanking her, Silvio proceeded to doctor up the brew with copious amounts of cream and sugar.
“I’m just glad we can have a conversation. When I saw the card, I figured management had lost it. I guessed right about you and Mitch being pitted against each other after what happened at 95, but I didn’t figure they’d make it a tag match.”
It was like Zane had transformed into a totally different person. It wasn’t just his voice and manner of speech - the way he held himself, the way he moved, the look in his eyes. But maybe that wasn’t too far from the mark.
He’s not in control. I can’t even hear him anymore.
The last thing Silvio wanted to do was pry, though. If Zane wanted to tell him, he’d do it in his own time.
“BLT sounds good. They do great shakes here, too. You want one?”
“Sure,” King answered, with that same air of distraction; he reached for the coffee, drawing it up to his lips, just breathing in the scent of it. He took a black mouthful, enjoying the opportunity to taste and savour something without just… pouring it down his throat, like it was nothing but fuel.
He sets the mug down slowly, expression thoughtful. It was hard to think past his hunger, and the craving for meat definitely hadn’t gone away or even dulled… he just wasn’t screaming about it out loud anymore. That was nice.
“... Mitch Hart… broke a beer bottle over my face.” The thought came to the surface as though he was remembering it from a half-forgotten dream. Everything was a blur, like he lived in a fog that even now he couldn’t quite clear from his head. Was he sure he wasn’t asleep right now? Was he sure this was real?
He blinked, looking up at Silvio with a knit brow. “Why did he do that?”
“You don’t remember?” The younger man’s tone was more one of concern than incredulity. “You, uh...you had a match with Jonathan Willis and Zephyr Quinn. You picked up Willis and threw him into the crowd. Mitch happened to be sitting there in the front row. That meant he also happened to be on the business end of all 172 pounds of former champ coming at him like a howitzer shell. Guess he took that personally.”
As the waitress returned, Silvio put in an order for a BLT and butterscotch shake.
Zane opened his mouth to reply, but paused in the presence of the waitress; he cleared his throat, avoiding eye contact as he ordered three bacon cheeseburgers (“Yes miss, fries with all of them”), and after a pause of consideration of Silvio’s earlier words, a vanilla shake.
“... I know I was in a triple threat match against Zephyr Quinn and Jon Willis,” he acknowledged after the waitress left, rubbing his forehead in mild frustration. “I just don’t remember any of the details. It’s not really my job to remember things. I usually can’t remember where I was three days ago.”
“Not your job?” Silvio echoed. “Wait, so you’re telling me you don’t remember anything before you got here?”
He’d wondered if Zane’s whole escaped science experiment schtick was genuine or not. Once upon a time he might have scoffed at the very premise, but ending up as a ritual sacrifice to a cult of suburbanites had a way of expanding one’s notions of plausibility. Reflecting on King’s behavior and promos and the undeniable high he was experiencing courtesy of Zane’s madness, Silvio felt his blood run cold. What had happened to the Lab Rat King?
No.
What had someone done to him?
The mutant across from Silvio sighed, offering a noncommittal shake of his head.
“Only in the most vague terms,” he explained, keeping his voice down. He didn’t like eavesdroppers; he really, really wasn’t used to being heard. “I remember the place I came from… I remember being on a train. Sleeping in back alleys… I know the clothes I’m wearing are stolen. I remember signing my contract here… but mostly, I remember the fights.”
He grimaced, touching the back of his neck where it connected rather brutally with the steel guard rail, courtesy of Jon Willis.
“At least my body sure likes to remind me about the fights… and it’s all he wants me to remember. He--god, I’m sorry, Silvio.”
He took a mouthful of coffee to give himself a moment to compose, closing his eyes.
“Really, I’m sorry. This is probably freaking you out. I’m not exactly the most stable person.”
“Hey, hey, don’t apologize.”
Grinning lopsidedly, Silvio leaned back and gestured to himself.
“You think anybody with this many tattoos and piercings doesn’t walk on the wild side now and then?”
He reached out a hand across the table to Zane. Something solid. Someone to confirm this was real.
“None of what happened to you is your fault. And my tolerance for weird shit is pretty damn high. Don’t be afraid of talking about it to me if you need to get it out. I’m not going to judge you for any of it. You’ve obviously been through a lot. No need to add to the pile.”
None of what happened to you is your fault.
Those words resonated in his head for a while; he slid his elbows forward to allow Silvio’s hand to touch his forearm, only flinching slightly, but forcing himself to relax. Maybe he just wasn’t accustomed to non-violent contact… at least he wasn’t seeing things again.
“... I’ll keep that offer in mind,” he said at last, looking up. There was that distant and tired look in his eyes, but also a sense of a developing trust. “If I can ever remember the rest of it.”
King sat up a bit, getting more comfortable in the booth seat; he curled his fingers into his fist, looking down at the shape and size of it with a thoughtful frown.
“... I feel like you deserve an honest self-appraisal here,” he started, letting out a slow breath. “I can’t… I can’t really control him. The Big Guy. I don’t really know what’s going to happen in that tag team match. I can’t promise he won’t just do what he wants… and I don’t know if I’ll ever have this much autonomy again. But I can say this… I will do everything I possibly can to keep him from hurting you. You’re a good kid… and hell. I wanna win this thing too.”
Silvio smiled at that, glancing up as the waitress returned with their food. The rich scent of French fries, bacon, and the sight of milkshakes topped with whipped cream and gleaming red cherries made his mouth water. Thanking their server, he started in on his meal.
“If that’s the best we’re able to do under the circumstances, I can’t ask for anything more. I’ll definitely have your back through all of this.”
He snorted, grinning around a mouthful of food.
“I mean, jeez, of all the people they could have put together.”
Sobering a bit, he swallowed and looked up at Zane again.
In the light of the cosmic entity’s consumption, King had taken on an otherworldly purple glow. His violet veins made a lacy webwork that traced across his skin. It was like wrought iron that had been worked in neon and liquid amethyst. It brought out the flashing amber of his eyes like baleful twin stars.
Realizing he was staring, Silvio shook off his reverie and exhaled at length.
“...If...you wanna clear your head again, maybe pay me a visit. Who knows? Maybe we can figure out a way to make your lucidity a little more permanent.”
While King did catch the younger athlete staring, he didn’t pay it much mind; he was used to it, for whatever the reason happened to be. Usually it was bewilderment or terror. Even after being able to speak like a civil human being for a little while, it wouldn’t have surprised him to learn that instinct was still present.
“I’ll keep that offer in mind too,” he said, picking up one of the burgers; the smell of it alone was enough to make his guts wrench, and before he could help himself he’d taken three enormous bites out of the thing, eating like a starving dog.
Zane’s appetite wasn’t shocking to Silvio - everyone he knew with a physique like the Lab Rat King’s was typically hungry and cold all the time. Not wanting to interrupt him, the artist focused on his own meal.
DO YOU THINK HE’D BELIEVE YOU IF YOU TOLD HIM? YOU’VE NEVER TOLD ANYONE ABOUT US BEFORE.
That was true. Silvio had never had a reason to do so previously, but the entity had never actually helped anyone like this before. If anyone on the roster would take him seriously, it would probably be King. Still, if he was the person Silvio would finally divulge all of this to, now was not the time. The poor guy was going through enough as it was.
A jag of guilt moved through him.
While he hadn’t gone into everything explicitly, Silvio had read between the lines enough to guess King was going to go right back to where he’d been in the parking lot once they parted ways. Stuck with, ‘The Big Guy,’ in charge.
“Hey...where are you staying right now? You have a place, right?”
Halfway through his second burger, King reluctantly stopped scarfing down calories to answer, only pausing long enough to wash down the last bite with about a third of his milkshake.
“I found a cheap motel nearby,” he replied, wiping his mouth on the back of his wrist and clearing his throat. “It beats sleeping outside, and the guy running the place doesn’t really ask questions. Probably because he thinks I’ll knock his teeth down his throat, by the looks of me.”
He shrugged, picking up the burger again. “I don’t need much. I’m happy enough for the bed and the roof… and the quiet, honestly. It’s noisy enough just being awake.”
“Well, if you ever need a place to crash, I have an apartment above my tattoo parlor. There’s enough room if you don’t mind sleeping on the couch.” He shook his head with a sardonic smile. “Feels like everybody on the roster is living hand to mouth.”
Zane looked surprised at the offer, but a second pass thinking about it eliminated that feeling; he didn’t know much about Silvio, but he knew he was a decent guy who made friends easily and seemed to genuinely care about people. That was enough, really.
Finished wolfing down his second burger, he moved on to the third with a nod, swallowing before speaking. “We’re all fighting for our own reasons. Some for fun. Some for glory. Some of us are just trying to survive. That’s how it’s always been.”
How it’s always been? Why did he say that?
A brief flicker of confusion crossed his face again, but he let it go, sighing and focusing on finishing his meal.
“You’re not paying for all this, by the way. Don’t even think about it.”
Of course, if this well-meaning dumb kid tried to foot the bill for his absurd caloric intake, he’d be sure to give him a free sample of what would happen to him if they ever found themselves in opposite corners of the ring.
Silvio laughed, leaning back in his seat and tapping his hand on the tabletop. “Okay, okay! Last thing I wanna do is argue with you. But we should try to get together again and discuss tactics a little closer to go time. From the sound of it, this is your first time out in a while, so let’s leave work talk for another time.” He sipped his shake and relaxed in the booth seat. “Sound good?”
Zane stared for a moment, blinking slowly; was being around this guy really the reason he was able to pull himself out of the fog like this? He couldn’t think of any other reason. If it was some kind of miracle, he wasn’t about to question it, whatever the truth was. The result was the same--for just a few moments of his day, there was nobody screaming about blood, meat, or bones… and his hands were his own.
He nodded, a thin smile tugging at cracked lips.
“Sounds good.”
[written in collaboration with Silvio Leon!]
“Oh, shut-up. If this doesn’t go well, you can put me back together, right?”
LISTEN, WE CAN ONLY WORK SO FAST. IF HE PULLS YOUR HEAD OFF, IT’S BEEN NICE KNOWING YOU, SILVIO LEON. YOU WERE AN EXCELLENT IHOP.
“Ha ha ha HA, Spooky! Vote of confidence accepted and appreciated!”
SECURITY SAID HE WAS IN THE PARKING LOT, RIGHT?
“...Yeah...”
THE REST ROOM IS NOT THE PARKING LOT.
“Just want to make sure I don’t have any more scaredy-pees to take before I meet the guy.”
Silvio sighed heavily, pacing in front of the restroom sinks and running a hand distractedly through his hair. When he’d seen the Chaos 96 card, he was half certain he’d somehow miraculously gone through early menopause. He’d watched the man who called himself the Lab Rat King take apart every person he’d gotten into the ring with. First Adrienne, and then both Willis and Quinn in the last show.
And it wasn’t just that he’d won the match. He’d been mean about it.
Every step Silvio took as he moved into the hallway and toward the facility’s parking lot conjured an image of King brutally punishing both of the opponents in his last fight. Kohaku had made it feel like he and Silvio were one mind fighting with two bodies when they’d been matched against the Family. And that was to say nothing of just how personable the foxy fellow was outside of the ring. Clicking with someone so instantly and completely was rare in general, let alone in this setting. It was the meal that was all dessert.
Now Silvio had King to team with.
King who, as the tattoo artist emerged from the building proper, was pacing in a tight circle like an aggravated tiger in the parking lot. Compulsively, Silvio took a Jolly Rancher from his hoodie pocket, unwrapping it and popping it in his mouth to try and combat the dry knot forming in his throat.
No, you listen to me for once, asshole. It’s a tag team match. Not a free-for-all.
“RRRRGH I DON’T CARE! RIP AND TEAR, RIP AND TEAR!”
Do you want to win this thing or not? Do you want to go back to sleeping on cardboard behind the bar? Do you want to make it easier for Rose and his dogs to find you?
“QUIET, LITTLE MAN! LET THEM TRY!”
The mutant snarled at himself, turning another tight corner into his borderline-frantic circling; he was dressed in dusty grey camo cargos and a black tank that barely contained the mass of his torso. Both hands came up to his head, scratching angrily like he was ready to claw something out of his own skull; the bruises of the triple threat still lingered, making the discolouration in his skin seem worse in the light.
WE CANNOT BELIEVE YOU’RE GOING TO GET TO DIE TWICE BEFORE YOU’RE THIRTY.
Pointedly ignoring the cosmic entity’s snark in his head, Silvio continued his approach. His slow, measured, hopefully non-threatening approach. The nerves were singing through his whole body at such a cacophonous volume that he barely registered the pleasant tingling dancing over his skin. He wasn’t sure yet if raising his voice or making a physical gesture would be the best approach. Instead, he continued to watch carefully, waiting for some lull in the man’s rant that might be an opening for...conversation? A powerbomb onto asphalt? Ranting at increased intensity?
Why are you making this so damn difficult? I’m not gonna go back to stealing and running because you can’t reign in your temper.
“I STAYED ALIVE THIS LONG.”
You survived this long. We weren’t living. This is the closest we’ve come to that as far as I can remember--no thanks to you.
King still hadn’t noticed the approaching company; however, his sharp pacing began to slow, hands dropping away from his head. He growled, glaring at the space in front of him, fingers curling into shaking fists.
“IT’S A THANKLESS JOB BUT SOMEONE’S GOTTA DO IT.”
Silvio remained quiet as he continued closing the distance between them, but his eyes narrowed, tuning into the thread of the big man’s ravings. It was like listening to one side of a phone conversation. A sudden twinge of self-consciousness made him grimace. While he wasn’t as intense as King, Silvio had the stark realization that that’s probably what he sounded like to anyone else when he was talking to Big Boss Spookitude.
He wasn’t sure how he felt about having that in common with Zane.
As Silvio approached the Lab Rat King, the massive mutant slowed almost to a stop with his back turned, apparently still oblivious to the breach of his solitude (so much as he could ever be alone). He rocked his weight haphazardly from one side to the other, fists down at his sides, the strength of his grip making violet veins stand out stark against the skin of his arms. The Oracle could still hear him growling.
“You shut up. Go to sleep! Let me throttle them all.”
You’re not throttling anybody--
“Shhhh!!”
King held up a hand in a silencing gesture; if he could still grow body hair, it would have been standing on end on the back of his neck. Like a vigilant predator, he looked over his shoulder, making sudden and extremely direct eye contact with Silvio Leon.
The Oracle felt both brilliant for relieving his bladder prior to meeting with Zane, and idiotic for even attempting to approach his new tag partner in the first place. He wasn’t sure if averting or maintaining eye contact was the smart move in this situation, but with King’s gaze laser focused on him, Silvio didn’t think he could have looked away if he wanted to.
YOU SHOULD HAVE DONE THIS SOMEWHERE WITH WITNESSES.
Swallowing around that now candy-flavored lump in his throat, Silvio held his hands up placatingly and offered Zane a shaky smile.
He squeaked on his first attempt to talk, cleared his throat, and tried again.
“U-uh...hi! I’m Silvio. We, uh...ha! We got paired up for the next card. I thought maybe we could...talk? About it?”
There was a deeply unsettling beat of silence.
King’s amber eyes, sunken in pits of shadow, narrowed ever so slightly; a low growl bubbled in his throat. He began to turn around, taking a slow, advancing step toward the unfortunate intruder.
No. Don’t hurt him. Don’t you goddamn dare.
“YOU DON’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO!”
The mutant’s words could almost be taken for being directed at the young man in front of him, rather than being addressed internally. He started to reach for the front of Silvio’s shirt--
“I said no, you stubborn bastard!”
King stopped, his outstretched hand shaking, fingers twitching from some unseen effort. The voice that came out of him was… different. A lot lower. He wasn’t shouting; it was controlled, husky with vocal abuse. And his eyes… their wild glare was gone. Instead, they were wide with apprehension.
He abruptly lowered his hand, the bulk of his chest swelling with short breath brought on by a rush of adrenaline.
“I said… don’t hurt him.”
HUH. SO, YOUR LIFE REALLY DOES FLASH BEFORE YOUR EYES RIGHT BEFORE YOUR DEATH.
Heart thundering in his ears as he gaped up at Zane, Silvio’s instincts had just started to clamber for, ‘fight,’ or, ‘flight,’ as the big man reached toward him. Before he could clench his fists or high tail it out of the parking lot, however, the Lab Rat King’s voice shift cut through his thoughts like a needle screeching across a record.
“I...wasn’t...going to hurt you?” he said, blinking in confusion. “I…”
Silvio glanced over his shoulder to see if the Lab Rat King was addressing someone else in the parking lot.
“Who are you talking to? Are...I can’t believe I’m asking this,” Silvio snorted with a nearly delirious little laugh, “but are you okay?”
For a moment, King just stared at him in perhaps the deepest confusion possible for a person to exhibit. It was… suddenly very quiet. At least, for him. The silence was deafening. His brow was heavily creased, eyes searching, the tip of his tongue testing the edge of the healing cut on his lower lip.
“Yeah… I mean no, not really.”
He touched his throat with a calloused hand, taking half a step back; he glanced around for a second as though disoriented, focusing forward on Silvio again after assuring himself of his surroundings. When he spoke again, it was that same low, steady tone as before, this time tinged with caution.
“... You can hear me?”
“Yeah, I can hear you fine,” Silvio replied, his heartbeat beginning to slow. “I mean, you kind of...it seems like you probably have a sore throat from all the yelling.” He fumbled for a moment in his pockets before finding another hard candy and extending it. “Lozenge?”
As the adrenaline rush began to ebb, it’s frantic urgency was beginning to be replaced with something else. Something similar to what Silvio felt when he stepped into the ring.
King glanced briefly at the candy and shook his head, as if the concept of it was absolutely alien to him in the moment. Everything was. He felt as though he’d just been dropped like a stone back into the real world after a years-long sleep paralysis nightmare.
“You can hear me,” he repeated, a little more firm. Bewildered, he kept a hand on his throat, looking at his other hand…. Curling his fingers, one by one. Letting them relax.
“I got the wheel back,” he murmured, turning his hand over before lowering it. “He’s not in control. I can’t even hear him anymore. How…?”
ISN’T HE A TOOTHSOME MORSEL.
With the sheer pants-shitting terror of the possibility of Zane murdering him gone, Silvio could feel it humming through his veins. That ecstatic light, the heightened awareness, everything around him taking on a semi-surreal quality; the by-product of Spooky’s little feasts of madness.
“I...uh...I don’t...know? Exactly?” he stammered, pocketing the candy again. Shaking his head, his brow knit, concern began to creep in at the edges of his thoughts. In spite of everything, standing there in the lot, King looked vulnerable; bewildered. Maybe even a little scared.
BOY SCOUT.
“Hey...you...do you wanna get outta here? Maybe try and carry on this conversation somewhere else? There’s a diner nearby. If you’re up to it. My treat.”
Despite King’s disoriented confusion, his base-level needs had certainly not been silenced. The moment Silvio said ‘diner’, the mutant was insistently reminded by the acidic churning and gnawing in the pit of his gut of his ongoing, insatiable hunger.
It hit him a bit harder than it usually would; while normally he would never show weakness, he grimaced now, clearly more exhausted and in more pain than his stubborn mental guardian would ever demonstrate.
“Sure,” he sighed, sounding distracted. He kept looking at his hands, rolling his fingers and thumbs, throat working. “Sorry, I… it’s… it’s been a while.”
“It’s okay,” Silvio assured him, gesturing for Zane to follow. “Don’t worry about it right now. Let’s get you sat down with some coffee and a meal and we’ll take it at your pace.”
He stuck close to King as they walked, afraid of what might happen if the distance between them became too great. The cosmic entity attached to him was pleased at the little snack Zane was providing, and Silvio had to take care not to...well...let on that he was essentially high in public. Eventually the pair came to a greasy spoon, the hostess gaping openly at the odd pair they made before ushering them to a booth. Taking a seat on one side and ordering coffee for both of them, the tattoo artist spared a glance up at his partner and raised a brow.
“You um...gonna fit over there okay, or should we ask for a chair?”
King’s posture changed as he followed; his normally intimidating lumbering had been replaced with hunched shoulders and a sense of unease. He didn’t seem to notice or care about the way strangers were staring at him, but he certainly looked a bit lost and unsure.
“It’s fine,” he said quietly; he was able to sit in the booth easily, but the mass of his upper body took up most of his space and he sort of set his elbows on the table and leaned forward out of instinct. His eyes were down, still watching his hands move. His hands, moving of his own volition.
“... You don’t have to go out of your way for me, kid.”
God… he felt so out of place. Suddenly vulnerable. Even though he hated riding shotgun in his own body, it allowed him to just tune out of the world whenever he wanted… withdraw. Now he couldn’t.
“... Sorry if he… if I threatened you. Back in the parking lot.”
“You’re my partner, for however long that might be. That means I gotta look out for you. Besides, uh, the contents of my stomach might have made a daring bid for freedom before I tried talking to you. I could do with some food. And I’m a pro-wrestling tattoo artist - I’ve been on the receiving end of tough language before. Nothing I wasn’t prepared for.”
The waitress returned shortly with coffee, water, and menus for the pair. After thanking her, Silvio proceeded to doctor up the brew with copious amounts of cream and sugar.
“I’m just glad we can have a conversation. When I saw the card, I figured management had lost it. I guessed right about you and Mitch being pitted against each other after what happened at 95, but I didn’t figure they’d make it a tag match.”
It was like Zane had transformed into a totally different person. It wasn’t just his voice and manner of speech - the way he held himself, the way he moved, the look in his eyes. But maybe that wasn’t too far from the mark.
He’s not in control. I can’t even hear him anymore.
The last thing Silvio wanted to do was pry, though. If Zane wanted to tell him, he’d do it in his own time.
“BLT sounds good. They do great shakes here, too. You want one?”
“Sure,” King answered, with that same air of distraction; he reached for the coffee, drawing it up to his lips, just breathing in the scent of it. He took a black mouthful, enjoying the opportunity to taste and savour something without just… pouring it down his throat, like it was nothing but fuel.
He sets the mug down slowly, expression thoughtful. It was hard to think past his hunger, and the craving for meat definitely hadn’t gone away or even dulled… he just wasn’t screaming about it out loud anymore. That was nice.
“... Mitch Hart… broke a beer bottle over my face.” The thought came to the surface as though he was remembering it from a half-forgotten dream. Everything was a blur, like he lived in a fog that even now he couldn’t quite clear from his head. Was he sure he wasn’t asleep right now? Was he sure this was real?
He blinked, looking up at Silvio with a knit brow. “Why did he do that?”
“You don’t remember?” The younger man’s tone was more one of concern than incredulity. “You, uh...you had a match with Jonathan Willis and Zephyr Quinn. You picked up Willis and threw him into the crowd. Mitch happened to be sitting there in the front row. That meant he also happened to be on the business end of all 172 pounds of former champ coming at him like a howitzer shell. Guess he took that personally.”
As the waitress returned, Silvio put in an order for a BLT and butterscotch shake.
Zane opened his mouth to reply, but paused in the presence of the waitress; he cleared his throat, avoiding eye contact as he ordered three bacon cheeseburgers (“Yes miss, fries with all of them”), and after a pause of consideration of Silvio’s earlier words, a vanilla shake.
“... I know I was in a triple threat match against Zephyr Quinn and Jon Willis,” he acknowledged after the waitress left, rubbing his forehead in mild frustration. “I just don’t remember any of the details. It’s not really my job to remember things. I usually can’t remember where I was three days ago.”
“Not your job?” Silvio echoed. “Wait, so you’re telling me you don’t remember anything before you got here?”
He’d wondered if Zane’s whole escaped science experiment schtick was genuine or not. Once upon a time he might have scoffed at the very premise, but ending up as a ritual sacrifice to a cult of suburbanites had a way of expanding one’s notions of plausibility. Reflecting on King’s behavior and promos and the undeniable high he was experiencing courtesy of Zane’s madness, Silvio felt his blood run cold. What had happened to the Lab Rat King?
No.
What had someone done to him?
The mutant across from Silvio sighed, offering a noncommittal shake of his head.
“Only in the most vague terms,” he explained, keeping his voice down. He didn’t like eavesdroppers; he really, really wasn’t used to being heard. “I remember the place I came from… I remember being on a train. Sleeping in back alleys… I know the clothes I’m wearing are stolen. I remember signing my contract here… but mostly, I remember the fights.”
He grimaced, touching the back of his neck where it connected rather brutally with the steel guard rail, courtesy of Jon Willis.
“At least my body sure likes to remind me about the fights… and it’s all he wants me to remember. He--god, I’m sorry, Silvio.”
He took a mouthful of coffee to give himself a moment to compose, closing his eyes.
“Really, I’m sorry. This is probably freaking you out. I’m not exactly the most stable person.”
“Hey, hey, don’t apologize.”
Grinning lopsidedly, Silvio leaned back and gestured to himself.
“You think anybody with this many tattoos and piercings doesn’t walk on the wild side now and then?”
He reached out a hand across the table to Zane. Something solid. Someone to confirm this was real.
“None of what happened to you is your fault. And my tolerance for weird shit is pretty damn high. Don’t be afraid of talking about it to me if you need to get it out. I’m not going to judge you for any of it. You’ve obviously been through a lot. No need to add to the pile.”
None of what happened to you is your fault.
Those words resonated in his head for a while; he slid his elbows forward to allow Silvio’s hand to touch his forearm, only flinching slightly, but forcing himself to relax. Maybe he just wasn’t accustomed to non-violent contact… at least he wasn’t seeing things again.
“... I’ll keep that offer in mind,” he said at last, looking up. There was that distant and tired look in his eyes, but also a sense of a developing trust. “If I can ever remember the rest of it.”
King sat up a bit, getting more comfortable in the booth seat; he curled his fingers into his fist, looking down at the shape and size of it with a thoughtful frown.
“... I feel like you deserve an honest self-appraisal here,” he started, letting out a slow breath. “I can’t… I can’t really control him. The Big Guy. I don’t really know what’s going to happen in that tag team match. I can’t promise he won’t just do what he wants… and I don’t know if I’ll ever have this much autonomy again. But I can say this… I will do everything I possibly can to keep him from hurting you. You’re a good kid… and hell. I wanna win this thing too.”
Silvio smiled at that, glancing up as the waitress returned with their food. The rich scent of French fries, bacon, and the sight of milkshakes topped with whipped cream and gleaming red cherries made his mouth water. Thanking their server, he started in on his meal.
“If that’s the best we’re able to do under the circumstances, I can’t ask for anything more. I’ll definitely have your back through all of this.”
He snorted, grinning around a mouthful of food.
“I mean, jeez, of all the people they could have put together.”
Sobering a bit, he swallowed and looked up at Zane again.
In the light of the cosmic entity’s consumption, King had taken on an otherworldly purple glow. His violet veins made a lacy webwork that traced across his skin. It was like wrought iron that had been worked in neon and liquid amethyst. It brought out the flashing amber of his eyes like baleful twin stars.
Realizing he was staring, Silvio shook off his reverie and exhaled at length.
“...If...you wanna clear your head again, maybe pay me a visit. Who knows? Maybe we can figure out a way to make your lucidity a little more permanent.”
While King did catch the younger athlete staring, he didn’t pay it much mind; he was used to it, for whatever the reason happened to be. Usually it was bewilderment or terror. Even after being able to speak like a civil human being for a little while, it wouldn’t have surprised him to learn that instinct was still present.
“I’ll keep that offer in mind too,” he said, picking up one of the burgers; the smell of it alone was enough to make his guts wrench, and before he could help himself he’d taken three enormous bites out of the thing, eating like a starving dog.
Zane’s appetite wasn’t shocking to Silvio - everyone he knew with a physique like the Lab Rat King’s was typically hungry and cold all the time. Not wanting to interrupt him, the artist focused on his own meal.
DO YOU THINK HE’D BELIEVE YOU IF YOU TOLD HIM? YOU’VE NEVER TOLD ANYONE ABOUT US BEFORE.
That was true. Silvio had never had a reason to do so previously, but the entity had never actually helped anyone like this before. If anyone on the roster would take him seriously, it would probably be King. Still, if he was the person Silvio would finally divulge all of this to, now was not the time. The poor guy was going through enough as it was.
A jag of guilt moved through him.
While he hadn’t gone into everything explicitly, Silvio had read between the lines enough to guess King was going to go right back to where he’d been in the parking lot once they parted ways. Stuck with, ‘The Big Guy,’ in charge.
“Hey...where are you staying right now? You have a place, right?”
Halfway through his second burger, King reluctantly stopped scarfing down calories to answer, only pausing long enough to wash down the last bite with about a third of his milkshake.
“I found a cheap motel nearby,” he replied, wiping his mouth on the back of his wrist and clearing his throat. “It beats sleeping outside, and the guy running the place doesn’t really ask questions. Probably because he thinks I’ll knock his teeth down his throat, by the looks of me.”
He shrugged, picking up the burger again. “I don’t need much. I’m happy enough for the bed and the roof… and the quiet, honestly. It’s noisy enough just being awake.”
“Well, if you ever need a place to crash, I have an apartment above my tattoo parlor. There’s enough room if you don’t mind sleeping on the couch.” He shook his head with a sardonic smile. “Feels like everybody on the roster is living hand to mouth.”
Zane looked surprised at the offer, but a second pass thinking about it eliminated that feeling; he didn’t know much about Silvio, but he knew he was a decent guy who made friends easily and seemed to genuinely care about people. That was enough, really.
Finished wolfing down his second burger, he moved on to the third with a nod, swallowing before speaking. “We’re all fighting for our own reasons. Some for fun. Some for glory. Some of us are just trying to survive. That’s how it’s always been.”
How it’s always been? Why did he say that?
A brief flicker of confusion crossed his face again, but he let it go, sighing and focusing on finishing his meal.
“You’re not paying for all this, by the way. Don’t even think about it.”
Of course, if this well-meaning dumb kid tried to foot the bill for his absurd caloric intake, he’d be sure to give him a free sample of what would happen to him if they ever found themselves in opposite corners of the ring.
Silvio laughed, leaning back in his seat and tapping his hand on the tabletop. “Okay, okay! Last thing I wanna do is argue with you. But we should try to get together again and discuss tactics a little closer to go time. From the sound of it, this is your first time out in a while, so let’s leave work talk for another time.” He sipped his shake and relaxed in the booth seat. “Sound good?”
Zane stared for a moment, blinking slowly; was being around this guy really the reason he was able to pull himself out of the fog like this? He couldn’t think of any other reason. If it was some kind of miracle, he wasn’t about to question it, whatever the truth was. The result was the same--for just a few moments of his day, there was nobody screaming about blood, meat, or bones… and his hands were his own.
He nodded, a thin smile tugging at cracked lips.
“Sounds good.”
[written in collaboration with Silvio Leon!]