Post by cyriddle on Oct 2, 2021 22:09:05 GMT -5
“Mutha fucka.” The deepest English accent Cyrus Riddle had verbalized in a considerable amount of years sounded like a foghorn within the confines of the DeLorean that he and Cashe had just used to time jump to an unknown destination. However, the location of their position was not to be a mystery for long, as Cy lifted his head up from the steering wheel after smacking his forehead on it upon colliding with a back alley dumpster. Cashe looked at him, mouth covered by his hand, laughing in the meantime. “Ohhhh shiiiit! HAHHAHA, damn Skittles.
Riddle glared at Cashe with curiosity, his furrowed brow indicating mass temporary confusion. “Cashe?”
It only made sense once Cy looked at the time stamp on the dashboard of the car, with the epiphany smacking him like a ton of bricks. “Fuckinell, you look like Vin bloody Diesel! You bald fuck, I forgot you didn’t have hair once.”
Cashe checked himself out in the mirror for a few minutes, looking at his own reflection with utter surprise. “Aww man, this is some booshit! At least I don’t have frosty tips and electric shock.” Riddle looked at his own reflection following Cashe’s description of himself, holding his head in his hand. “Spike hair… frost tips… it’s two thousand four. I look like a vanilla twat. Let’s get the fuck out of here and find some normalcy.”
Riddle exited the car quickly, followed by Cashe. As they begin to look around and figure out where they are, Riddle takes another look at the time stamp. With the date of July 9th, 2004, and accompanied by the smell of salt water in the air and distinct Cuban music playing on the block, Cy’s heart dropped.
“I know where we are. Miami, today is the day she died.”
Having told Cashe the story before, he understood what Riddle meant immediately. His eyes got big and he shook his head. “What are we gonna do then? Endgame style? Change the alternate timeline?”
Riddle looked forward blankly, as if in deep thought to himself. He shook his head subtly, and as he began to speak, his words were cut off by a deep growl coming from the air around them, as if a surround sound had been installed in the sky.
“It’s time boys! Freddy’s waiting! Come to Biscayne, and feel the pain!”
“Whack ass rhyme.”
Riddle shook his head at Cashe, who obviously focused on the wrong matter at hand. He then motioned to him and they took off from the alley, finding themselves mere blocks from Biscayne Boulevard.
“We are ending this dream rubbish once and for all, yeah? I don’t care what we have to do or if I have to sacrifice this version of myself for it. Luckily I came prepared.”
“Ah fuck, I should have brought some marshmallows, huh? Stay puft!”
Cy managed to crack a smile, nodding in agreement just before placing something into his mouth and under his tongue. As they reached Biscayne, he stood there waiting for them. Freddy, gloved claw on his hand, ugly ass sweater covering burnt flesh, and a smile that would make Thunder Knuckles look like Jason Momoa. But Riddle was all but smiling, as Freddy was not alone. Wrapped up in his arm by her neck was Victoria Macaya, his deceased ex, but looking very much alive, aside from the empty eyes and sewn mouth features she exhibited as a ghost to Cy in Kim’s house.
“I figured we could relive this day in a new way! The greatest nightmare, the best hell. Cyrus Riddle revisited the history of death! Wanna watch?”
“Fuck off.”
Freddy laughed and tilted his head, taking the claw and slicing it into Victoria, who instead disappeared into ash. Freddy looked shocked in return, then approached Cy slowly.
“You got me the first time, but don’t forget, nobody holds me as guilty as I do. I’ve lived that moment everyday since it happened, so cut the” (Cy points at Cashe who yells out BoooSHIT).
Cashe then joins Riddle, taking an opposite side so now the two men are circling Freddy.
“You made my girl want Riddle in the future! You fucked with sleep, you fucked with my boy’s suave nature… and most importantly… you fucked with our high.”
Cashe yells out, deep from his chest, and in some form of dream bending magic he transforms back into his current reality form, full with sunglasses and beanie. Riddle looks down at his hands, happy to see his tattoos once more as they have broken another barrier together, as a team.
“Seems like someone is losing control, aren’t they? On top one minute, performance issues the next.”
Riddle’s smug scoff at Freddy enraged the nightmare killer. He lunged at Cy, forcing his claws into Cy’s chest, but they went right through without even breaking the skin, showing signs of lost power.
“Need a light, bitch?”
Without removing his hand from Riddle’s chest, Freddy turns to cash who has a Zippo lighter in his hand, already showing a flame. Freddy’s eyes widen, but what he doesn’t anticipate is what happens next. As he looks back at Riddle, the Englishman bites down on something in his mouth and spews it all over Freddy, clouding his vision. Cashe tosses the lighter and Freddy immediately gets set ablaze.
Suddenly, everything goes black, and Cy finds himself sitting on the couch he fell asleep on initially, with Cashe right next to him. They look at one another silently, then look at the brownies in front of them. They were on the phone before, but now sat right next to each other. Was it a dream?
]“I’m not doing drugs with you anymore.”
Riddle laughed, getting up from the couch. As Cashe shrugged him off but sat there still a little trippy, Riddle walked over to his home bar and poured himself a drink. One the walk back, he noticed something sticking out from under his couch. Slowly he crouched down, pulling out the single item that he and Cashe would find most intriguing. It was an OCW Tag Team Title, with razor claw marks across the center plate in red.
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“I remember when I was eighteen years old. My godfather brought me down to his basement, which doubled as a training room for his underground fighters. I remember being blindfolded and led down very slow, with only the sound of gagged mumbling filling the sound void. It was once I stopped, that I was given a choice.”
Sitting on a rowhouse’s concrete porch step are Jason Cashe and Cyrus Riddle. The two men, with matching hoodie on and sunglasses, look into the camera with content expressions as Riddle continues his story.
“With a gun placed in my hand and an elaborate backstory given to me for persuasion, I was given the choice to take a life or watch it be taken. Now, sparing you the detail, I will let you know that I refrained from pulling the trigger… and to this day, I wish I had. See, control is a very powerful feeling. Control is just as strong as love or hate, and it’s so addictive. To have control, to have power, over another person’s fate. That is something to behold and cherish when given. At Masters of Macabre, your fates are ours, Bourbon and TK. And with that given opportunity, we will be pulling the trigger to the guns that we have been handed.
Riddle then looks to Cashe.
“Now you boys like the rough stuff! Electric Cages and generalization trash talk. It's very entertaining! People REALLY like you! That's success to anyone placing a vote but fellas, we are far past popularity contests. Done that before and by either leaving it behind or having it stripped from us, our reputation is not a popular one. Yet we have had our successes. You say you're a true Tag Team and in this Sport, today? That is the rarity. Riddle was once in a real team. It was a long journey, great friends and now it is over. It, like the motto of the team, died because everything does! Relationships, friendships, life, success, being liked and being hated. You enjoy the ride because one day, one of you will see a field of grass that only has room for one of you. We know that from experience. It wasn't read to us, it wasn't taught in a school. First hand experience. You want to experience tooth and nail, the grimy and dirty bottom of the barrel? We have planted a garden down there, we have lived off of its land and now we aim to take the land you occupy. You have the deed to the Tag Division and we will be taking it from you in London.”
“Riddle here is Gambit with a Full House! I'm Scott Summers in a staredown. We're not Superheroes but you damn sure can point at the ground in front of us, step the fuck up and get X'd out by the Men before you! So let's make this sexy! Maybe we will come up short! Maybe Bourbon will do some craaazy sexual shit to Riddle that I can't stop.."
“The fuck…”
“There will be penetration. Someone is getting their chests opened. Metaphorically because in the history of this business, that has never happened.. So maybe we change that? Maybe this war, if you really want to call it that, is where life gets taken. 2Pac and Biggie, West versus East. Shots fired and we are all wearing vests.. Who has better aim from a distance? Who sneaks up behind the other and puts a nugget in your skull cap? Naaah! Hahahaha we won't kill you, that's your claim! We're just gonna handle them straps! Pluck em from your persons and raise them up as our music gets the crowd on their feet.. Listen, you can hear them now!”
"O-C-Dub! O-C-Dub!" Cashe mimics the sound of an echoing chant. "We don't need this to cement our place. Not on this roster or the next. We want this because it means we beat someone worth beating. Take that bow. You've earned at least that, you Bastards!"
Riddle and Cashe both stand to their feet.
“No tolerance, no mercy, no escape. London, England, home of the English Executioner, the Tao of Tits, the Cryptic Legend, the Shaman of Snatch, King of Clunge, Pharaoh of Fanny, two time Hall of Famer, Cyrus fucking Riddle. Over forty years of combined experience on this team, and over eighty championship reigns. Dead on Arrival, and we will be shooting on sight.”
Riddle rips off his sunglasses and lets his intensity pierce the viewing audience as Cashe throws up a salute in the background. October 10, Masters of Macabre, the talking stops, and the fight commences.
Riddle glared at Cashe with curiosity, his furrowed brow indicating mass temporary confusion. “Cashe?”
It only made sense once Cy looked at the time stamp on the dashboard of the car, with the epiphany smacking him like a ton of bricks. “Fuckinell, you look like Vin bloody Diesel! You bald fuck, I forgot you didn’t have hair once.”
Cashe checked himself out in the mirror for a few minutes, looking at his own reflection with utter surprise. “Aww man, this is some booshit! At least I don’t have frosty tips and electric shock.” Riddle looked at his own reflection following Cashe’s description of himself, holding his head in his hand. “Spike hair… frost tips… it’s two thousand four. I look like a vanilla twat. Let’s get the fuck out of here and find some normalcy.”
Riddle exited the car quickly, followed by Cashe. As they begin to look around and figure out where they are, Riddle takes another look at the time stamp. With the date of July 9th, 2004, and accompanied by the smell of salt water in the air and distinct Cuban music playing on the block, Cy’s heart dropped.
“I know where we are. Miami, today is the day she died.”
Having told Cashe the story before, he understood what Riddle meant immediately. His eyes got big and he shook his head. “What are we gonna do then? Endgame style? Change the alternate timeline?”
Riddle looked forward blankly, as if in deep thought to himself. He shook his head subtly, and as he began to speak, his words were cut off by a deep growl coming from the air around them, as if a surround sound had been installed in the sky.
“It’s time boys! Freddy’s waiting! Come to Biscayne, and feel the pain!”
“Whack ass rhyme.”
Riddle shook his head at Cashe, who obviously focused on the wrong matter at hand. He then motioned to him and they took off from the alley, finding themselves mere blocks from Biscayne Boulevard.
“We are ending this dream rubbish once and for all, yeah? I don’t care what we have to do or if I have to sacrifice this version of myself for it. Luckily I came prepared.”
“Ah fuck, I should have brought some marshmallows, huh? Stay puft!”
Cy managed to crack a smile, nodding in agreement just before placing something into his mouth and under his tongue. As they reached Biscayne, he stood there waiting for them. Freddy, gloved claw on his hand, ugly ass sweater covering burnt flesh, and a smile that would make Thunder Knuckles look like Jason Momoa. But Riddle was all but smiling, as Freddy was not alone. Wrapped up in his arm by her neck was Victoria Macaya, his deceased ex, but looking very much alive, aside from the empty eyes and sewn mouth features she exhibited as a ghost to Cy in Kim’s house.
“I figured we could relive this day in a new way! The greatest nightmare, the best hell. Cyrus Riddle revisited the history of death! Wanna watch?”
“Fuck off.”
Freddy laughed and tilted his head, taking the claw and slicing it into Victoria, who instead disappeared into ash. Freddy looked shocked in return, then approached Cy slowly.
“You got me the first time, but don’t forget, nobody holds me as guilty as I do. I’ve lived that moment everyday since it happened, so cut the” (Cy points at Cashe who yells out BoooSHIT).
Cashe then joins Riddle, taking an opposite side so now the two men are circling Freddy.
“You made my girl want Riddle in the future! You fucked with sleep, you fucked with my boy’s suave nature… and most importantly… you fucked with our high.”
Cashe yells out, deep from his chest, and in some form of dream bending magic he transforms back into his current reality form, full with sunglasses and beanie. Riddle looks down at his hands, happy to see his tattoos once more as they have broken another barrier together, as a team.
“Seems like someone is losing control, aren’t they? On top one minute, performance issues the next.”
Riddle’s smug scoff at Freddy enraged the nightmare killer. He lunged at Cy, forcing his claws into Cy’s chest, but they went right through without even breaking the skin, showing signs of lost power.
“Need a light, bitch?”
Without removing his hand from Riddle’s chest, Freddy turns to cash who has a Zippo lighter in his hand, already showing a flame. Freddy’s eyes widen, but what he doesn’t anticipate is what happens next. As he looks back at Riddle, the Englishman bites down on something in his mouth and spews it all over Freddy, clouding his vision. Cashe tosses the lighter and Freddy immediately gets set ablaze.
Suddenly, everything goes black, and Cy finds himself sitting on the couch he fell asleep on initially, with Cashe right next to him. They look at one another silently, then look at the brownies in front of them. They were on the phone before, but now sat right next to each other. Was it a dream?
]“I’m not doing drugs with you anymore.”
Riddle laughed, getting up from the couch. As Cashe shrugged him off but sat there still a little trippy, Riddle walked over to his home bar and poured himself a drink. One the walk back, he noticed something sticking out from under his couch. Slowly he crouched down, pulling out the single item that he and Cashe would find most intriguing. It was an OCW Tag Team Title, with razor claw marks across the center plate in red.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“I remember when I was eighteen years old. My godfather brought me down to his basement, which doubled as a training room for his underground fighters. I remember being blindfolded and led down very slow, with only the sound of gagged mumbling filling the sound void. It was once I stopped, that I was given a choice.”
Sitting on a rowhouse’s concrete porch step are Jason Cashe and Cyrus Riddle. The two men, with matching hoodie on and sunglasses, look into the camera with content expressions as Riddle continues his story.
“With a gun placed in my hand and an elaborate backstory given to me for persuasion, I was given the choice to take a life or watch it be taken. Now, sparing you the detail, I will let you know that I refrained from pulling the trigger… and to this day, I wish I had. See, control is a very powerful feeling. Control is just as strong as love or hate, and it’s so addictive. To have control, to have power, over another person’s fate. That is something to behold and cherish when given. At Masters of Macabre, your fates are ours, Bourbon and TK. And with that given opportunity, we will be pulling the trigger to the guns that we have been handed.
Riddle then looks to Cashe.
“Now you boys like the rough stuff! Electric Cages and generalization trash talk. It's very entertaining! People REALLY like you! That's success to anyone placing a vote but fellas, we are far past popularity contests. Done that before and by either leaving it behind or having it stripped from us, our reputation is not a popular one. Yet we have had our successes. You say you're a true Tag Team and in this Sport, today? That is the rarity. Riddle was once in a real team. It was a long journey, great friends and now it is over. It, like the motto of the team, died because everything does! Relationships, friendships, life, success, being liked and being hated. You enjoy the ride because one day, one of you will see a field of grass that only has room for one of you. We know that from experience. It wasn't read to us, it wasn't taught in a school. First hand experience. You want to experience tooth and nail, the grimy and dirty bottom of the barrel? We have planted a garden down there, we have lived off of its land and now we aim to take the land you occupy. You have the deed to the Tag Division and we will be taking it from you in London.”
“Riddle here is Gambit with a Full House! I'm Scott Summers in a staredown. We're not Superheroes but you damn sure can point at the ground in front of us, step the fuck up and get X'd out by the Men before you! So let's make this sexy! Maybe we will come up short! Maybe Bourbon will do some craaazy sexual shit to Riddle that I can't stop.."
“The fuck…”
“There will be penetration. Someone is getting their chests opened. Metaphorically because in the history of this business, that has never happened.. So maybe we change that? Maybe this war, if you really want to call it that, is where life gets taken. 2Pac and Biggie, West versus East. Shots fired and we are all wearing vests.. Who has better aim from a distance? Who sneaks up behind the other and puts a nugget in your skull cap? Naaah! Hahahaha we won't kill you, that's your claim! We're just gonna handle them straps! Pluck em from your persons and raise them up as our music gets the crowd on their feet.. Listen, you can hear them now!”
"O-C-Dub! O-C-Dub!" Cashe mimics the sound of an echoing chant. "We don't need this to cement our place. Not on this roster or the next. We want this because it means we beat someone worth beating. Take that bow. You've earned at least that, you Bastards!"
Riddle and Cashe both stand to their feet.
“No tolerance, no mercy, no escape. London, England, home of the English Executioner, the Tao of Tits, the Cryptic Legend, the Shaman of Snatch, King of Clunge, Pharaoh of Fanny, two time Hall of Famer, Cyrus fucking Riddle. Over forty years of combined experience on this team, and over eighty championship reigns. Dead on Arrival, and we will be shooting on sight.”
Riddle rips off his sunglasses and lets his intensity pierce the viewing audience as Cashe throws up a salute in the background. October 10, Masters of Macabre, the talking stops, and the fight commences.