Post by Jon Willis on Dec 22, 2020 18:39:46 GMT -5
The scene fades in several hours after Ultimate Carnage 6, to a Mexican restaurant that’s open late at night in downtown Baltimore. Three men are sitting in front of a small table, eating their food, sipping their drinks.
They are bruised.
They are battered.
They are bloody.
And they are champions.
Axton eats like a ravenous animal, scarfing down eager bites like his life depends on it. His posture is slightly hunched, his back clearly still smarting, even though the hot compress taped to it is peeking up from the back of his Rock Lobster t-shirt. His cheek is swollen and the bruise is spreading under his eye, but he doesn’t seem to care; occasionally he stops to rest his face against the cool metal of his Tag Team Championship belt which is held tight to his shoulder. It feels nice--almost as nice as having earned the damn thing. Maybe he’s still in shock from landing on his back like that, but either way, he’s happy.
All Silvio wanted was comfort food, and when the waitress had brought him his tamales, he had sworn he was about to tear up. He’s taking it a bit slower than his boyfriend, having been worked over pretty much everywhere. Feeling the weight of the championship belt (that presently has a few napkins laid atop it to avoid any inadvertent food spills) on his lap helps ground him, as does reaching over to occasionally give Axton’s hand a squeeze. The reading he’d done for his promo had shocked him in its unambiguous directness, and even now, he’s having a hard time wrapping his head around the fact that he won.
Jonathan Willis is taking small bites, his jaw still hurting. His ribs are taped up, and an ice pack has been taped to his left shoulder. His Carnage Wrestling Tag Team Championship is draped across his other shoulder. Every thirty seconds or so, Jon looks down at it, wanting to make sure it’s still there, wanting to make sure that this isn’t just another dream again. He really did it this time. Once more, he's a champion. Despite being in a considerable amount of pain, Jon smiles.
The three men finish their meals in silence, clearing their trays, sitting back down for a last cup of coffee before leaving. Jon looks at Axton and Silvio both, and thinks of everything they’ve had to do in each of their lives in order for all three of them to be right here, right now.
Jon places his hand in the middle of the table and speaks.
“For redemption. For acceptance. And for the belief that it does get better. For hope.”
Axton grins, weary but feeling so full of pride and love in the moment that he doesn’t care. He rests his hand over Jon’s.
“For sticking it to everybody who ever told us ‘no’. For all the eyes on us that look up and finally see themselves… and fuck… for love, too.”
Silvio places his hand atop Axton’s, expression stoic.
“And I’ll form the head. Go Voltron,” he says solemnly. Grinning, he continues, “Seriously, though. For switching up the script. For everyone who helped us get here. For helping others to get their chance.”
And so a pact is made. The three men look at each other and nod in agreement. They grab their championship belts. They exit the restaurant.
And they head towards an uncertain future.
But no matter what happens, no matter what this year or any years to come may take from them, they’ll always have tonight.
They’ll always have the pact.
And they’ll always have hope.
The scene fades.
They are bruised.
They are battered.
They are bloody.
And they are champions.
Axton eats like a ravenous animal, scarfing down eager bites like his life depends on it. His posture is slightly hunched, his back clearly still smarting, even though the hot compress taped to it is peeking up from the back of his Rock Lobster t-shirt. His cheek is swollen and the bruise is spreading under his eye, but he doesn’t seem to care; occasionally he stops to rest his face against the cool metal of his Tag Team Championship belt which is held tight to his shoulder. It feels nice--almost as nice as having earned the damn thing. Maybe he’s still in shock from landing on his back like that, but either way, he’s happy.
All Silvio wanted was comfort food, and when the waitress had brought him his tamales, he had sworn he was about to tear up. He’s taking it a bit slower than his boyfriend, having been worked over pretty much everywhere. Feeling the weight of the championship belt (that presently has a few napkins laid atop it to avoid any inadvertent food spills) on his lap helps ground him, as does reaching over to occasionally give Axton’s hand a squeeze. The reading he’d done for his promo had shocked him in its unambiguous directness, and even now, he’s having a hard time wrapping his head around the fact that he won.
Jonathan Willis is taking small bites, his jaw still hurting. His ribs are taped up, and an ice pack has been taped to his left shoulder. His Carnage Wrestling Tag Team Championship is draped across his other shoulder. Every thirty seconds or so, Jon looks down at it, wanting to make sure it’s still there, wanting to make sure that this isn’t just another dream again. He really did it this time. Once more, he's a champion. Despite being in a considerable amount of pain, Jon smiles.
The three men finish their meals in silence, clearing their trays, sitting back down for a last cup of coffee before leaving. Jon looks at Axton and Silvio both, and thinks of everything they’ve had to do in each of their lives in order for all three of them to be right here, right now.
Jon places his hand in the middle of the table and speaks.
“For redemption. For acceptance. And for the belief that it does get better. For hope.”
Axton grins, weary but feeling so full of pride and love in the moment that he doesn’t care. He rests his hand over Jon’s.
“For sticking it to everybody who ever told us ‘no’. For all the eyes on us that look up and finally see themselves… and fuck… for love, too.”
Silvio places his hand atop Axton’s, expression stoic.
“And I’ll form the head. Go Voltron,” he says solemnly. Grinning, he continues, “Seriously, though. For switching up the script. For everyone who helped us get here. For helping others to get their chance.”
And so a pact is made. The three men look at each other and nod in agreement. They grab their championship belts. They exit the restaurant.
And they head towards an uncertain future.
But no matter what happens, no matter what this year or any years to come may take from them, they’ll always have tonight.
They’ll always have the pact.
And they’ll always have hope.
The scene fades.