Post by SYREN IS BEST on Mar 7, 2014 19:45:27 GMT -5
Scott Syren sits at his destroyed kitchen table, polishing the One True World Title Belt with an old t-shirt. He balances a can of Kent Industries Silver Cola between his knees. Duck Dynasty is on the TV, but only because nobody can find the fucking remote.
At the end of the day, maybe Scott Syren is just a regular guy after all, prone to laziness and contradiction and vanity like the rest of you.
Then again, probably fucking not.
LilJungleMan searches for the remote. He is digging through a stack of German fuck videos on VHS. It seems everything that gets lost around here is found under a stack of fuck videos. The men converse as they go about their routine housework.
“I don't know, man,” says LilJungleMan. “This just isn't the same as the OCW I remember. I mean there's a goddamn alien on the roster.”
Syren stops polishing the belt. He raises his head to shoot the little brown wizard a confused look. “There have always been aliens on the roster. Shit, aren't you from Venezuaguay or Papau New Indonesia or something?”
“I mean alien-aliens. That Pryde guy.”
Syren roars with laughter. “Pryde isn't a fucking alien!” He takes a mouthful of Silver Cola, then laughs again just so he can do a hilarious spit take. He repeats the process three more times, until his entire body, the remains of his kitchen table, and the One True World Title Belt are all covered in the disgusting, barely-carbonated sugar-water. He goes back to polishing the belt. The chemicals in the Silver Cola lend it a wondrous luminescence.
LilJungleMan politely waits for Syren to staahhp it. “I dunno, man... I'm pretty sure he is an alien.”
Syren shakes his head. “No. I know exactly what Pryde is. More importantly, I know exactly who. The clues weren't exactly subtle.”
“Okay, smart guy, who the fuck is he then?”
“I think we'll just let that remain a secret for now. Maybe out of respect... or maybe just so I have some ammunition in the ol' blackmail tank for a rainy day.”
“He's The Big Bifford, isn't he?”
“You think whatever you want, man. I just hope he doesn't become another enemy... I've only been back for a couple of weeks and already the opposition mounts... Johnny Riot... all the dumpy fucks in this battle royale... The so-called Great One... Triple M...”
“How exactly is Triple M your enemy?”
“Because of his name.”
“What the fuck does his name have to do with anything?”
“An interesting inquiry, idiot. As it is, I'm always against any alliteration.”
LilJungleMan rolls his eyes—what else can one do in the face of such razor wit? “Hey, I found the remote!” It was, of course, under the stack of fuck videos. LilJungleMan, in a frenzy to remove the retarded hillbillies from the screen, flips to a shitty regional sports channel that inexplicably plays OCW promos almost all the time. Even more improbable, the channel is currently airing promos by all of Scott Syren's battle royal opponents back-to-back-to-back...
[THIS RP HAS BEEN EDITED DUE TO TIME CONSTRAINTS. WHILE I WOULD LIKE TO SPECIFICALLY RESPOND TO MY OPPONENTS' MATERIAL, IT IS ALL SO WEAK AND VANILLA THAT IT WOULD ONLY BRING DOWN THE HIGH LEVEL OF MY OWN ART TO REFERENCE YOURS IN ANY WAY. PLEASE BE ASSURED THAT SCOTT SYREN IS WATCHING, AND ASSUME THAT HE HAS BRUTALLY SERVED EACH ONE OF YOU IN TURN. I KNOW THAT IS GOING TO BE DIFFICULT GIVEN THE EXTREME LACK OF IMAGINATION EVIDENCED BY YOUR RPS, BUT PLEASE TRY. THANKS FOR YOUR UNDERSTANDING. AND NOW, BACK TO SCOTT SYREN'S TRAILER...]
When we cut back to Syren and LilJungleMan, they are in the middle of a barely-coherent tangent about “psycho wrestlers” which has been triggered by watching a Sean Fuller promo.
“Look at me!” shouts LilJungleMan. “Look at what a crazy psycho I am!” He goes over to a wooden box under a window. The box is marked “JUNGLEMANZ SHRUNKEN HEAD KILN” in blue crayon. LilJungleMan pulls out a half-cured human head and starts gnawing at the jerky-like meat. He cackles insanely through a mouthful of hair and flesh and coagulated blood.
“No way!” yells Syren. “I'm the biggest stereotypical psycho in the OCW!” He punches himself in the head a bunch of times and growls like a dumbass. “Oh no! Somebody make the voices stop! I'm so craaaaaaazy! Hashtag L-O-L!”
“No!” counters LilJungleMan. “I'm the biggest psycho! Look how insane and edgy I am!” He takes a knife from the kitchen counter and jams it through his hand. He stops laughing and begins to scream in very real pain.
“Woah... I think maybe you took it too far.”
“Fuck! Ouch. You think?” LilJungleMan gets to work trying to remove the knife from his hand. Thankfully, he is skilled in various majicks: both the wizardry practiced in the realm of L'Ardanth and the dark arts of the witch doctors of his home country. He has the knife removed and the wound well on its way to healing in no time.
Typically late to the party, Berta stumbles out of the bathroom and shouts, “Yeah! And I'm Sean Fuller's stereotypically blonde, over-hot wife! Actually I can't even remember if I'm Fuller's wife, or TGO's, or Pryde's, because, hey, we're all basically the same fucking person! Look at what a weak, dumb slut I am! Look how I only exist for the sake of pleasing and propping up my man!”
Giggling, Berta prances over to Syren and tries to start sucking his dick.
Syren groans with disgust and pushes the transvestite's head away. “Does everything have to be an excuse to try to suck somebody's dick?”
“Yes,” Berta answers honestly.
Syren suddenly notices that Scoot Time isn't there, so he says, “I've suddenly noticed that Scoot Time isn't here.”
LilJungleMan and Berta look around. Neither of them had noticed.
“Well,” says Syren. “That's fucking weird.”
“I have an idea,” says Berta. “Let's do a huge amount of drugs and see if that helps us figure out where he might have gone off to.”
“I think I could get into that,” agrees Syren. “Just make sure we don't do too many, or we might see the roadrunner or some shit.”
They all laugh at the absurdity of such a thing, because they are neither pussies nor children. They can handle their drugs like men. Their only concept of “too many drugs” is if somebody dies of an overdose... and even then, its really only a waste if they die before their buzz peaks.
LilJungleMan suggests, “Maybe we should all change our names to 'Doobie' and shit first, and instead of saying 'let's do some drugs' we can use super-cool inside slang like 'you guys wanna ride the white tiger?' so everybody knows how hip and totally into drugs we are.”
Then they all laugh some more, because that is also stupid.
Syren gets a tackle box out from under the sink. He rummages through his collection and ends up taking out six oxymorphone tables and twice that number of 30 milligram adderall. He also takes out a short golden pen, which he breaks down into an extremely classy sniffing-straw.
LilJungleMan, as if by magic, has produced some very smokable marijuana from the folds of his wizard's robe and is rolling it into a joint of impressive dimensions.
Berta, for his part, is cooking up some foul-looking concoction in a huge-ass spoon. Knowing him, it is probably a classic gutter speedball of cheap, low-purity heroin and even lower-grade coke. “I only have one needle,” he mutters. “Hope nobody minds sharing.”
“Party foul!” yells Syren.
“What?”
“You can't shoot up! Don't you know that’s how people get addicted to this stuff?”
Berta stares at his rusty, bent-up rig in disbelief. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. If you just stick to sniffing and smoking all your drugs, there are no negative side effects.”
“Huh! I never knew that.”
“That's because I'm lying.”
So they all laugh and do their drugs. LilJungleMan decides to shoot his share of the speedball directly into his dick, and the needle breaks off in his urethra, but whatever, that's living on the edge. They all get remarkably high, but they don't feel the need to spend an hour talking about how high they are because they're adults.
Clubbin' Man bursts through the door, Kramer-style, and he's all like “DUDE, YOU NEED TO COME WITH ME RIGHT NOW!”
Syren groans, but obliges. As the two dudes exit, Berta gets down on his knees and tries to help LilJungleMan remove the needle fragment from his dick (orally.) Syren and Clubbin' Man go out to Clubbin' Man's convertible LeBaron and speed away...
* * *
Meanwhile, in L'Ardanth...
Due to the time difference between realms, several L'Ardanthian years have passed since Scott Syren's absence. The keep at Graxis is the last human stronghold. Goblins have taken over all other parts of the realm.
In the depths of the keep, the Princess Zadarax huddles with her pitiful crew of survivors.
“Where has our champion gone?” she cries.
In the plains surrounding the keep, the goblin hordes take their time building siege towers and artillery machines...
* * *
Clubbin' Man drags Syren into some shitty gymnasium. A bunch of hillbillies are cheering and chugging beer. There is a shitty wrestling ring erected on the gym floor.
“Oh fuck,” Syren complains. “Why in fuck's cunt did you bring me here? You know I fucking hate wrestling.”
“Just wait, you have to see—wait, what?”
Before Syren has to explain how much he hates wrestling, he is saved by the bell. Well, not an actual bell, but by like, you know, some other shit changing the focus of the scene. By which I mean the arena lights go down and some horrible Nickleback song begins to play over the shitty public-school budget P.A. System.
The ring announcer calls out, “Welcome to the Eastern Midwest Independent Wrestling Developmental League house show MAAAAIN EVENT! First, from some shitty place, introducing... JOHN RIOT!!!”
John Riot walks down to the ring. He looks like a total douche.
“Damn,” Syren notes. “This guy looks exactly like Johnny Riot. It's fucking crazy, right?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Clubbin' Man agrees. “But this isn't what I brought you here to see. Just watch.”
The music mercifully dies out. John Riot stretches on the ropes. Suddenly, the song “Good Time” by Owl City and Carly Rae Jepsen begins to play.
Syren laughs. “What dickhead has this song for their entrance music?”
The song continues until we notice that it is a slightly re-mixed version. The vocals have been re-recorded, so that instead of “It's always a good time”, the hook is now “It's always a SCOOT TIME!”
Syren's face gets all furious. “I better be in the throes of a major drug hallucination. How dare he return to the ring without my blessing?!”
It turns out he is not. Scoot Time comes down to the ring, skipping and high-fiving fans. He gets in the ring, smiling widely, and gives the crowd a thumbs-up. He gets a very modest smattering of applause.
The bell rings, and Scoot Time and John Riot begin a very shitty, very predictable series of wrestling moves.
“I can't allow this,” Syren says. He glares at Clubbin' Man. “Let this be a lesson to any of you if you ever think about stealing my thunder.”
Syren rushes down to the ring. Scoot Time has just leveled John Riot with a clothesline and is playing to the crowd opposite Syren. He does not see his master approaching him from behind.
The crowd explodes when they recognize Syren. Scoot Time, believing the applause is for him, gets all jacked up and begins to jump up and down.
Syren motions to the crowd for silence by running his thumb across his throat. This only encourages half of the crowd to cheer louder. The other half of the crowd turns on him with violent booing. The third half of the crowd shows some fucking respect and shuts up.
Syren unceremoniously levels Scoot Time with a punch to the back of the head. Scoot is knocked unconscious or possibly dead. Syren drags him back to Clubbin' Man's car.
* * *
Back at the trailer, in the dark hours of the middle-night, Scott Syren feels the first soft edges of drug detox. It gives him an empty, introspective feeling. He is the only one still awake, except for Scoot Time who has been chained outside as a form of punishment. Syren walks over to his armor and begins to put it on, piece by piece, starting with the chest plate.
As much as he wants to get back to his normal life, the armor calls to him. He must be what he has become. Somehow, he must be both the Champion of L'Ardanth and the One True OCW World Champion. There is no choice.
“Mia Stone... Bobbinette Carey... someday, you foul bitches may rise through the ranks of the OCW. But any such rise will not commence while you're in the same ring as me.”
Tomorrow morning, he boards a plane for Shreveport. The next step in the most triumphant of all returns in the history of wrestling approaches. He buckles the iron greaves to his legs.
“Sean Fuller... you would appear to be the most dangerous in this match. But it is your apparent unpredictability that will be your very downfall. I need only present you with the appearance of an opening. Your violence will compel you to make a rash move, and you will fall right into whatever trap I decide to set for you.”
He straps the metal bracers to his forearms. Outside, Scoot Time can be heard howling at the moon; the sound is thick with sorrow and remorse.
“That leaves The Lost Soul... many have paid the price for underestimating TLS. I have witnessed this with my own eyes. Know that I will afford you no such advantage... but know also that my respect for you will not stop me from crushing you, as I have crushed so many other respected wrestlers before you.”
Syren puts on his helmet.
“And so the legend continues.”
He finishes by buckling the One True World Title Belt around his waist.
Berta pops out of the bedroom, looking hungover and shitty. “Who the fuck are you talking to out here?” He notices Syren in full armor. “You realize they aren't going to let you wear that shit on the plane...”
“God dammit.”
At the end of the day, maybe Scott Syren is just a regular guy after all, prone to laziness and contradiction and vanity like the rest of you.
Then again, probably fucking not.
LilJungleMan searches for the remote. He is digging through a stack of German fuck videos on VHS. It seems everything that gets lost around here is found under a stack of fuck videos. The men converse as they go about their routine housework.
“I don't know, man,” says LilJungleMan. “This just isn't the same as the OCW I remember. I mean there's a goddamn alien on the roster.”
Syren stops polishing the belt. He raises his head to shoot the little brown wizard a confused look. “There have always been aliens on the roster. Shit, aren't you from Venezuaguay or Papau New Indonesia or something?”
“I mean alien-aliens. That Pryde guy.”
Syren roars with laughter. “Pryde isn't a fucking alien!” He takes a mouthful of Silver Cola, then laughs again just so he can do a hilarious spit take. He repeats the process three more times, until his entire body, the remains of his kitchen table, and the One True World Title Belt are all covered in the disgusting, barely-carbonated sugar-water. He goes back to polishing the belt. The chemicals in the Silver Cola lend it a wondrous luminescence.
LilJungleMan politely waits for Syren to staahhp it. “I dunno, man... I'm pretty sure he is an alien.”
Syren shakes his head. “No. I know exactly what Pryde is. More importantly, I know exactly who. The clues weren't exactly subtle.”
“Okay, smart guy, who the fuck is he then?”
“I think we'll just let that remain a secret for now. Maybe out of respect... or maybe just so I have some ammunition in the ol' blackmail tank for a rainy day.”
“He's The Big Bifford, isn't he?”
“You think whatever you want, man. I just hope he doesn't become another enemy... I've only been back for a couple of weeks and already the opposition mounts... Johnny Riot... all the dumpy fucks in this battle royale... The so-called Great One... Triple M...”
“How exactly is Triple M your enemy?”
“Because of his name.”
“What the fuck does his name have to do with anything?”
“An interesting inquiry, idiot. As it is, I'm always against any alliteration.”
LilJungleMan rolls his eyes—what else can one do in the face of such razor wit? “Hey, I found the remote!” It was, of course, under the stack of fuck videos. LilJungleMan, in a frenzy to remove the retarded hillbillies from the screen, flips to a shitty regional sports channel that inexplicably plays OCW promos almost all the time. Even more improbable, the channel is currently airing promos by all of Scott Syren's battle royal opponents back-to-back-to-back...
[THIS RP HAS BEEN EDITED DUE TO TIME CONSTRAINTS. WHILE I WOULD LIKE TO SPECIFICALLY RESPOND TO MY OPPONENTS' MATERIAL, IT IS ALL SO WEAK AND VANILLA THAT IT WOULD ONLY BRING DOWN THE HIGH LEVEL OF MY OWN ART TO REFERENCE YOURS IN ANY WAY. PLEASE BE ASSURED THAT SCOTT SYREN IS WATCHING, AND ASSUME THAT HE HAS BRUTALLY SERVED EACH ONE OF YOU IN TURN. I KNOW THAT IS GOING TO BE DIFFICULT GIVEN THE EXTREME LACK OF IMAGINATION EVIDENCED BY YOUR RPS, BUT PLEASE TRY. THANKS FOR YOUR UNDERSTANDING. AND NOW, BACK TO SCOTT SYREN'S TRAILER...]
When we cut back to Syren and LilJungleMan, they are in the middle of a barely-coherent tangent about “psycho wrestlers” which has been triggered by watching a Sean Fuller promo.
“Look at me!” shouts LilJungleMan. “Look at what a crazy psycho I am!” He goes over to a wooden box under a window. The box is marked “JUNGLEMANZ SHRUNKEN HEAD KILN” in blue crayon. LilJungleMan pulls out a half-cured human head and starts gnawing at the jerky-like meat. He cackles insanely through a mouthful of hair and flesh and coagulated blood.
“No way!” yells Syren. “I'm the biggest stereotypical psycho in the OCW!” He punches himself in the head a bunch of times and growls like a dumbass. “Oh no! Somebody make the voices stop! I'm so craaaaaaazy! Hashtag L-O-L!”
“No!” counters LilJungleMan. “I'm the biggest psycho! Look how insane and edgy I am!” He takes a knife from the kitchen counter and jams it through his hand. He stops laughing and begins to scream in very real pain.
“Woah... I think maybe you took it too far.”
“Fuck! Ouch. You think?” LilJungleMan gets to work trying to remove the knife from his hand. Thankfully, he is skilled in various majicks: both the wizardry practiced in the realm of L'Ardanth and the dark arts of the witch doctors of his home country. He has the knife removed and the wound well on its way to healing in no time.
Typically late to the party, Berta stumbles out of the bathroom and shouts, “Yeah! And I'm Sean Fuller's stereotypically blonde, over-hot wife! Actually I can't even remember if I'm Fuller's wife, or TGO's, or Pryde's, because, hey, we're all basically the same fucking person! Look at what a weak, dumb slut I am! Look how I only exist for the sake of pleasing and propping up my man!”
Giggling, Berta prances over to Syren and tries to start sucking his dick.
Syren groans with disgust and pushes the transvestite's head away. “Does everything have to be an excuse to try to suck somebody's dick?”
“Yes,” Berta answers honestly.
Syren suddenly notices that Scoot Time isn't there, so he says, “I've suddenly noticed that Scoot Time isn't here.”
LilJungleMan and Berta look around. Neither of them had noticed.
“Well,” says Syren. “That's fucking weird.”
“I have an idea,” says Berta. “Let's do a huge amount of drugs and see if that helps us figure out where he might have gone off to.”
“I think I could get into that,” agrees Syren. “Just make sure we don't do too many, or we might see the roadrunner or some shit.”
They all laugh at the absurdity of such a thing, because they are neither pussies nor children. They can handle their drugs like men. Their only concept of “too many drugs” is if somebody dies of an overdose... and even then, its really only a waste if they die before their buzz peaks.
LilJungleMan suggests, “Maybe we should all change our names to 'Doobie' and shit first, and instead of saying 'let's do some drugs' we can use super-cool inside slang like 'you guys wanna ride the white tiger?' so everybody knows how hip and totally into drugs we are.”
Then they all laugh some more, because that is also stupid.
Syren gets a tackle box out from under the sink. He rummages through his collection and ends up taking out six oxymorphone tables and twice that number of 30 milligram adderall. He also takes out a short golden pen, which he breaks down into an extremely classy sniffing-straw.
LilJungleMan, as if by magic, has produced some very smokable marijuana from the folds of his wizard's robe and is rolling it into a joint of impressive dimensions.
Berta, for his part, is cooking up some foul-looking concoction in a huge-ass spoon. Knowing him, it is probably a classic gutter speedball of cheap, low-purity heroin and even lower-grade coke. “I only have one needle,” he mutters. “Hope nobody minds sharing.”
“Party foul!” yells Syren.
“What?”
“You can't shoot up! Don't you know that’s how people get addicted to this stuff?”
Berta stares at his rusty, bent-up rig in disbelief. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. If you just stick to sniffing and smoking all your drugs, there are no negative side effects.”
“Huh! I never knew that.”
“That's because I'm lying.”
So they all laugh and do their drugs. LilJungleMan decides to shoot his share of the speedball directly into his dick, and the needle breaks off in his urethra, but whatever, that's living on the edge. They all get remarkably high, but they don't feel the need to spend an hour talking about how high they are because they're adults.
Clubbin' Man bursts through the door, Kramer-style, and he's all like “DUDE, YOU NEED TO COME WITH ME RIGHT NOW!”
Syren groans, but obliges. As the two dudes exit, Berta gets down on his knees and tries to help LilJungleMan remove the needle fragment from his dick (orally.) Syren and Clubbin' Man go out to Clubbin' Man's convertible LeBaron and speed away...
* * *
Meanwhile, in L'Ardanth...
Due to the time difference between realms, several L'Ardanthian years have passed since Scott Syren's absence. The keep at Graxis is the last human stronghold. Goblins have taken over all other parts of the realm.
In the depths of the keep, the Princess Zadarax huddles with her pitiful crew of survivors.
“Where has our champion gone?” she cries.
In the plains surrounding the keep, the goblin hordes take their time building siege towers and artillery machines...
* * *
Clubbin' Man drags Syren into some shitty gymnasium. A bunch of hillbillies are cheering and chugging beer. There is a shitty wrestling ring erected on the gym floor.
“Oh fuck,” Syren complains. “Why in fuck's cunt did you bring me here? You know I fucking hate wrestling.”
“Just wait, you have to see—wait, what?”
Before Syren has to explain how much he hates wrestling, he is saved by the bell. Well, not an actual bell, but by like, you know, some other shit changing the focus of the scene. By which I mean the arena lights go down and some horrible Nickleback song begins to play over the shitty public-school budget P.A. System.
The ring announcer calls out, “Welcome to the Eastern Midwest Independent Wrestling Developmental League house show MAAAAIN EVENT! First, from some shitty place, introducing... JOHN RIOT!!!”
John Riot walks down to the ring. He looks like a total douche.
“Damn,” Syren notes. “This guy looks exactly like Johnny Riot. It's fucking crazy, right?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Clubbin' Man agrees. “But this isn't what I brought you here to see. Just watch.”
The music mercifully dies out. John Riot stretches on the ropes. Suddenly, the song “Good Time” by Owl City and Carly Rae Jepsen begins to play.
Syren laughs. “What dickhead has this song for their entrance music?”
The song continues until we notice that it is a slightly re-mixed version. The vocals have been re-recorded, so that instead of “It's always a good time”, the hook is now “It's always a SCOOT TIME!”
Syren's face gets all furious. “I better be in the throes of a major drug hallucination. How dare he return to the ring without my blessing?!”
It turns out he is not. Scoot Time comes down to the ring, skipping and high-fiving fans. He gets in the ring, smiling widely, and gives the crowd a thumbs-up. He gets a very modest smattering of applause.
The bell rings, and Scoot Time and John Riot begin a very shitty, very predictable series of wrestling moves.
“I can't allow this,” Syren says. He glares at Clubbin' Man. “Let this be a lesson to any of you if you ever think about stealing my thunder.”
Syren rushes down to the ring. Scoot Time has just leveled John Riot with a clothesline and is playing to the crowd opposite Syren. He does not see his master approaching him from behind.
The crowd explodes when they recognize Syren. Scoot Time, believing the applause is for him, gets all jacked up and begins to jump up and down.
Syren motions to the crowd for silence by running his thumb across his throat. This only encourages half of the crowd to cheer louder. The other half of the crowd turns on him with violent booing. The third half of the crowd shows some fucking respect and shuts up.
Syren unceremoniously levels Scoot Time with a punch to the back of the head. Scoot is knocked unconscious or possibly dead. Syren drags him back to Clubbin' Man's car.
* * *
Back at the trailer, in the dark hours of the middle-night, Scott Syren feels the first soft edges of drug detox. It gives him an empty, introspective feeling. He is the only one still awake, except for Scoot Time who has been chained outside as a form of punishment. Syren walks over to his armor and begins to put it on, piece by piece, starting with the chest plate.
As much as he wants to get back to his normal life, the armor calls to him. He must be what he has become. Somehow, he must be both the Champion of L'Ardanth and the One True OCW World Champion. There is no choice.
“Mia Stone... Bobbinette Carey... someday, you foul bitches may rise through the ranks of the OCW. But any such rise will not commence while you're in the same ring as me.”
Tomorrow morning, he boards a plane for Shreveport. The next step in the most triumphant of all returns in the history of wrestling approaches. He buckles the iron greaves to his legs.
“Sean Fuller... you would appear to be the most dangerous in this match. But it is your apparent unpredictability that will be your very downfall. I need only present you with the appearance of an opening. Your violence will compel you to make a rash move, and you will fall right into whatever trap I decide to set for you.”
He straps the metal bracers to his forearms. Outside, Scoot Time can be heard howling at the moon; the sound is thick with sorrow and remorse.
“That leaves The Lost Soul... many have paid the price for underestimating TLS. I have witnessed this with my own eyes. Know that I will afford you no such advantage... but know also that my respect for you will not stop me from crushing you, as I have crushed so many other respected wrestlers before you.”
Syren puts on his helmet.
“And so the legend continues.”
He finishes by buckling the One True World Title Belt around his waist.
Berta pops out of the bedroom, looking hungover and shitty. “Who the fuck are you talking to out here?” He notices Syren in full armor. “You realize they aren't going to let you wear that shit on the plane...”
“God dammit.”
