Post by FDJ on Mar 16, 2019 0:58:51 GMT -5
Frank Dylan James has been in a foul mood for a couple of days now. He’d lost his Strong Style Grand Prix Heavyweight title to Mushigihara and outside of a couple of spurts here and there, it’d been downhill ever since. He’d won the Maximum*Japan World Tag Team titles alongside his Ghost Army cohort Go Gensai, but he’d not even made the semi-finals in the Strong Style Grand Prix back in the states…
He and Go had wrought seven shades of havoc in across both blocks of the tournament, but in the end, Go had advanced to the Elimination Stage while Frank had been relegated to the token trainwreck match in the middle of the card.
That’s what had been eating at him for a while now, no matter the brutality he brought to the table, he still felt like he was stuck right square in the middle of the pack. Throw on top of that that he and Go had then gone and lost those very same Tag Titles to a couple of guys who couldn’t stand each other and the Appalachian Apocalypse had been chewing metal and spitting nails.
Tonight, in Athens, Frank had near single-handedly beaten both Mushigihara and his regular tag partner David Troy, a World Champion in his own right, and he’d done it without wasting a whole lot of time. Afterward, as David Troy was being attended to by youngboys and trainers, the Mastodon of the Mountain turned his affronted eyes on the latest of the rotating crew of random tag team partners he’d been saddled with and chased him back up the entrance aisle with violent intent.
Umetaro, the partner in question, had the good sense and the speed to keep him just out of reach of the West Virginia Whack-Job. He’d ran through the makeshift media room just outside of the lockerrooms and escaped Frank’s wrath for this night by the sheer luck of the Hillbilly Jesus finding himself in front of a few cameras and waving cellular devices and deciding to make a statement rather than continue after his erstwhile partner and committing the kind of crime that would very likely get him kicked out of the country and not invited back.
“Ain’t nobody safe.”
He snorts.
“Don’t nobody believe me ‘till it’s too gyatdamn late.”
Paint-encrusted eyebrows furrow above darting, twitchy eyes. Frank is some kind of deranged and carries a violent air about him; that he speaks calmly and with intent rather than shouting incoherently is outright terrifying.
“David Troy found out tonight…”
The Hulking Hillbilly chuckles. His chest is a hamburger meat casserole of bluish-purple welts where he’d absorbed a series of bludgeoning chops from the God Beast only moments ago. A bit of dried blood clings to a small but discernable laceration right in the epicenter.
“He’s gon’ find out again in Spain. Him and that fat fuck an whatever dumb bastard has the bad luck of drawin’ ‘em as partners is gonna catch another ol’ fashioned country ass-whippin’ on the way to me gettin’ that big sum’ma-bitch in the ring one more time, one on one, and snatchin’ that goddamn Japanese Heavyweight Title right off’a his fat shoulder.”
His eyes, wide with fury, narrow just a bit.
“Nobody’s fuckin’ safe. Not nobody!”
The outburst is somewhat reserved, making it all the more unsettling.
“Ghost Army is Legion.”
One last uncomfortable pause.
“Ghost Army is Atrocity”
Frank sneers a broken-toothed grin behind that usually unruly beard.
“Nobody. Is. Safe.”
End.
He and Go had wrought seven shades of havoc in across both blocks of the tournament, but in the end, Go had advanced to the Elimination Stage while Frank had been relegated to the token trainwreck match in the middle of the card.
That’s what had been eating at him for a while now, no matter the brutality he brought to the table, he still felt like he was stuck right square in the middle of the pack. Throw on top of that that he and Go had then gone and lost those very same Tag Titles to a couple of guys who couldn’t stand each other and the Appalachian Apocalypse had been chewing metal and spitting nails.
Tonight, in Athens, Frank had near single-handedly beaten both Mushigihara and his regular tag partner David Troy, a World Champion in his own right, and he’d done it without wasting a whole lot of time. Afterward, as David Troy was being attended to by youngboys and trainers, the Mastodon of the Mountain turned his affronted eyes on the latest of the rotating crew of random tag team partners he’d been saddled with and chased him back up the entrance aisle with violent intent.
Umetaro, the partner in question, had the good sense and the speed to keep him just out of reach of the West Virginia Whack-Job. He’d ran through the makeshift media room just outside of the lockerrooms and escaped Frank’s wrath for this night by the sheer luck of the Hillbilly Jesus finding himself in front of a few cameras and waving cellular devices and deciding to make a statement rather than continue after his erstwhile partner and committing the kind of crime that would very likely get him kicked out of the country and not invited back.
“Ain’t nobody safe.”
He snorts.
“Don’t nobody believe me ‘till it’s too gyatdamn late.”
Paint-encrusted eyebrows furrow above darting, twitchy eyes. Frank is some kind of deranged and carries a violent air about him; that he speaks calmly and with intent rather than shouting incoherently is outright terrifying.
“David Troy found out tonight…”
The Hulking Hillbilly chuckles. His chest is a hamburger meat casserole of bluish-purple welts where he’d absorbed a series of bludgeoning chops from the God Beast only moments ago. A bit of dried blood clings to a small but discernable laceration right in the epicenter.
“He’s gon’ find out again in Spain. Him and that fat fuck an whatever dumb bastard has the bad luck of drawin’ ‘em as partners is gonna catch another ol’ fashioned country ass-whippin’ on the way to me gettin’ that big sum’ma-bitch in the ring one more time, one on one, and snatchin’ that goddamn Japanese Heavyweight Title right off’a his fat shoulder.”
His eyes, wide with fury, narrow just a bit.
“Nobody’s fuckin’ safe. Not nobody!”
The outburst is somewhat reserved, making it all the more unsettling.
“Ghost Army is Legion.”
One last uncomfortable pause.
“Ghost Army is Atrocity”
Frank sneers a broken-toothed grin behind that usually unruly beard.
“Nobody. Is. Safe.”
End.