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Just Visiting; II, Battlelines
Topic Started: May 24 2016, 02:23 PM (34 Views)
Azrael Goeren
The MegaStar
Well?

It’s...a lot.

Damn straight it is. This is for protection.

Protection?

From some of the people in here. I know how prison works. I spent some time in the slammer myself. The ol’ iron pokey. Das Vergewaltigung Stadt. It changed me. I became a hardened, institutionalized criminal. Every night I still have nightmares about the walls closing in on me, the cold showers, having to fight and claw each and every day just to survive.

How long were you in jail?

About two hours. Parking ticket.

Out of everything you’ve done, you’ve only been in jail for two hours because of a parking ticket?

Worst two hours of my life.

Didn’t you once run over a guy with your car on national TV?

It wasn’t my car, it was a rental. You think I would ever willingly drive a PT Cruiser, even to commit vehicular homicide? And secondly, great lawyers, corrupt judges and non-extradition policies were my best friend, kleiner falke.

There is no way I’m going to eat all of this.

You don’t eat it. You barter with it. This is currency to you now. This keeps the Jared Fogles off your back, if you know what I mean.

Yeah.

Do you get it?

Yeah, I got it.

To stop the butt sex stuff, I mean.

GOD, Dad! I got it!

We open up inside the Visitor’s Room of the Baltimore Juvenile Justice Center where Azrael Goeren sits on a concrete slab, wearing a dark navy suit and a Sinnocence t-shirt underneath the sports jacket. He seems fairly casual about his presence here today, leaning back ever-so-slightly with one leg resting over the other. His son Max is a stark contrast to his father’s loose demeanor. Max is wearing the orange jumpsuit of a prisoner here at the Center and he’s currently fidgeting with his fingers as he still has yet to make eye contact with his father.

Azrael showed up, completely unannounced, only a few short minutes ago and sent Max’s world into a tailspin. Considering earlier in the day Max had his sister Grace pay him a visit, the last 24 hours has been a frantic emotional rollercoaster to say the least. Max is currently incarcerated in the facility after stabbing a classmate nearly to death after daily bullying in the cafeteria. One day he hopes to leave this place and rejoin society. His sister is pushing for him to join her one day in the ranks of the EWA.

What his father wants is completely unknown to him.

Like with Grace, Henrik Goeren was never there for Max’s childhood. He never attended birthday parties or Little League games or was there for first words or the first day of school. He would show up in Max’s life late at night where he Max’s mother would argue about the right to see him.

His mother.

The light in Max’s life, extinguished by a horrible lump of twisted, cancerous cells.

Without her for the last year, he’s been lost. She was his guiding light, his protector and closest friend.

He wouldn’t be here if she was still alive. That he knows for certain.

Sitting on the table between the two Goerens is a MASSIVE amount of candy and soda that Azrael had purchased from the two machines that sit in the Visitor’s Room. Goeren had a maintenance worker pop open the sides of the machines and pilfered the goodies with two hundred dollars as payment. Azrael casually digs through the massive pile of preventive-prison-rape-candy and pulls out a Three Musketeers bar, turning it over between his fingers.

I was always partial to these. I doubt Monsieur Dumas would have appreciated his characters being turned into nougat mascots, but hey...we all have to make a living somehow. At least he didn’t live to see them be in that horrendous movie with Leo. THAT was an abortion. When I think Musketeer, I think of John Friggin Malkovich in leotards. Give me a break…

You’re thinking about Kit-Kats now...

JA! A horrible pun! I love it! You definitely get that from me.

Don’t remind me.

The two go silent for a few seconds, prompting Azrael to smile over at his oldest son.

This is nice.

Me? In prison?

Juvenile Correction Facility.

Whatever.

That’s not what I mean. I mean us just talking. Father and son. We’ve never done that.

You never wanted to.

Sure I did.

You never showed it.

I tried. But your mother was smart enough not to let me near you when I was...battling...my demons.

She was smart like that.

Ja. She really was.

Azrael notices it right away, the pained look in his son's eyes the moment he brought up his mother. This would typically be the case where he would crack a joke or try and deflect the conversation to a lighter subject. A defense mechanism he learned at a young age. This is not the time to run away from those harsh, exposed nerves. Ignoring it never works. That is one thing that he knows all too well.

I miss your mother.

Max’s lip starts to quiver. There is nobody else in this Visitor’s Room. He could easily cry right now and be okay. There is no need to keep being tough when you’re all alone. But Max is suddenly bolstered by a memory of what his sister told him earlier in the day. He doesn’t want to give this...man...any sense that his words are getting to them.

She didn’t miss you. She told me that. She was glad when you stopped calling.

Henrik smiles. He sees more of his own faults and frailties in Grace than any of his children, but Max surely has his temper. He knows how to cut to the core with brutal efficiency.

I don’t blame her in the slightest if she really felt that. Evelyn put up with my lifestyle far longer than any of the others did. Out of all of them, she was the only one I ever really loved.

She never loved you back.

Just because you’re pissed doesn’t give you an excuse to be an idiot, mein kleiner falke. Of course she loved me.

How do you know? Because she told you? She was probably just lying to you.

Nein. It was because she didn’t have to tell me. When someone says that they love you over and over and over again that usually means they’re hiding something from you. Just a tidbit of wisdom for any future relationships you might have. But when they do the little things like crawl into bed next to you without saying a word or kiss your bloodied forehead even though it looks like raw meat...that’s true love. Remember that.

Max goes silent once again.

Mein Gott, I’m totally parenting right now! This is amazing! Let’s not ruin this moment, sit on my lap and I’ll tell you a story about lumberjacks.

Shut up.

Max, I am serious about one thing. I want you to know that I loved your mother very much. When she passed, I stayed in bed for a whole week eating nothing but tequila worms and drinking furniture varnish.

You’re exaggerating again.

Not by much, that’s the fucked up part. Oh fuck, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be swearing around you.

I’ve heard worse in here.

I’m sure you have. That’s probably the reason you have that makeshift bedspring shiv in your right pocket, hmm?

Max goes quiet, his hands subconsciously dropping from the table and moving to his pockets to keep his weapon protected. How in the world did he know? How could he have possibly known?

I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Were you planning on using that little number on someone in here? Probably a good thing I dropped by when I did, ja?

Silence.

Do me a favor and slide it over to me right now, son. I’ll get rid of it before the guards see.

The entire time Azrael is speaking, his face is as joyous and enthusiastic as it is when he’s in an EWA ring. Nobody would ever suspect he’s talking about anything more serious than the weather. Reluctantly, Max slides his hand into his pocket and retrieves the weapon, sliding his hand against his father’s and passing it over.

Good boy. I don’t want to see you in here any longer than you need to be.

Max slumps back down on his slab and exhales loudly, still not making eye contact with his father.

I don’t blame you for wanting this for protection, but I have a feeling that you weren’t going to use it to defend yourself now, were you?

I...I…

You wanted to use it on someone else. Someone in here. Maybe a guard. Maybe me.

I just...I don’t know what I...God. God I’m fucked up. I’m fucked up. I'm so fucked up.

No, you’re not. You’re just confused. Max, you’re not alone. Not anymore.

What do you mean?

I can’t even begin to understand what you’ve been through since your mother passed. It took me a long time to get over that myself, and only recently have I found someone I...well, no need to get into that now. I just want you to know that I was afraid to see you after it happened and for that I truly am sorry.

You were afraid to see me?

Yes. I realize how horribly pathetic that sounds; for a father not wanting to take care of his own son because of fear, but that's exactly the type of man I was. I would have only made things worse for you if I was in your life considering the lifestyle I used to live. Your mother knew that better than anyone.

But I’m clean now.


The younger Goeren raises an eyebrow.

Well, as clean as I can be. But I’m control. For the first time in my life, I can say that with a straight face. It’s very liberating, like a new edible speedo fresh out of the box.

A faint smile comes across Max’s lips, but he quickly extinguishes it.

I know that your sister has been trying to get to you, Max. I know she was here earlier to see you.

How did you know?

Heh. Grace is a conniving, vindictive and spiteful young woman...but she’s still not very smart to the world. Her and Gates are still using the company airfare allotment to fly first class and Frau Vandervort was nice enough to clue me in on this booked flight when we last chatted.

She’s not going to like it that we are talking. She told me not to talk to you. She cares. She cares. She’s...

She’s lost, Max. She’s so lost. Unlike you, she never had a mother who had the capacity or morals to raise her right. She was abandoned and turned into what she is today by years of neglect and abuse. That fault falls firmly on my shoulders.

She wants you to give up your life for the sake of destroying mine, but I know for a fact that when I die she will move her hatred over to someone else. Without that blackness filling her soul, she has nothing. I don’t want to see you go down the same path. You are a better person than her, Max. You’re a better person than me. I wanted to come here today because I want you to know I’m done running from my responsibilities to you, to Grace and to everyone else.

You are never alone, kleiner falke. I’m here for you. Now and forever.

Please.

Forgive me for being me.


There is a strange presence behind Azrael’s eyes. A look of desperation. He’s pleading with his son at the same time as he is confessing his sins. This has been a long time coming and another step towards rebuilding so many damaged lives.

The two say nothing to each other for what seems like an eternity but in reality is only a few seconds. Azrael still is hoping that it’s not too late for his son. Whatever force that runs the universe, please help him he’s not alone.

Then it happens.

For the first time since his father arrived, Max looks up and right into his eyes.


Mom loved you. And I still do too.

Azrael stands up and nods over towards the solitary guard in the Visitor’s Room for approval. The guard returns the nod as Azrael slides over to the slate bench his son his sitting on and hugs him tight.

You’ll do your time and you’ll get out of here. You’ll go to college, you’ll have a big family and you’ll be the best Goeren out of all of us. I just know it.

I’ll try...Dad.

No son. You will.

***********************

You know what’s great about this sport?

We’re all in it for the same reason.

Don’t let anyone bullshit you. We share a brotherhood or sisterhood or human bond with one another that transcends our profession.

It’s kinda like being in the marines. Just without guns. Thank God. I wouldn’t trust half of the locker room to even know which end is the business end of a gun, let alone effectively fire one at a target.

But you always hear soldiers talk about how even after floating back into civilian life, they always have that bond they forged in battle with every other soldier wandering around in khakis and polo shirts out there.

That’s what being a wrestler is all about.

You don’t do it for the money or the women or the access to unlimited cocaine from Rico down at the MGM Grand in Las Vegas...you do it because you desperately want to know that your name will live on forever after you die.

Normal people do it by having kids and watching them grow up to be astronauts or erotic video performers for Schadenfreude.com.

Us fucked up weirdos do it by seeing who can cause the most bloodshed and chaos amongst our peers.

I’ve made peace with the idea that I’m probably going to die each and every time I step through those ropes. When you’ve got as many enemies as I have right now, you never know when the next attack might be the one that puts you in the ground. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to allow it to be this Battlelines against three men who don’t give two shits about leaving any legacy behind other than who can piss all over the EWA with the most forceful stream.

Now I’ll be the first to admit, I made such a rookie mistake against Kage and Haven last week I really should have my head examined. I fell into the trap that allows The Youth to still run rampant in this industry.

I took the Youth lightly.

I thought my hetero-lifemate and I would have no problem extinguishing the dying embers of The Youth and rip away the last remnants of respectability and legitimacy they had left. I thought I could be the one who would stomp out their smoldering pile of ashes for good.

For a brief moment, I did just that. I tore the EWA World Title away from Chris Kage and achieved something I’ve been working a long time for.

Only to have it in turn taken away from me.

Call it hubris. Call it flying too close to the fucking sun.

Whatever it was, it did not make me weaker. It did not slow down my drive or make me want to run away with my tail between my legs like the Youth may have expected.

It only made me want to right the wrong and carve my god-damned name on that title the second I legitimately pry it from The Youth’s grubby little hands. Out of all the drugs I’ve taken and all the horrific things i’ve done, holding that title belt was the highest high I’ve ever achieved.

Call me a fucking addict again because I want that belt so badly I will do absolutely everything I can to get my fix.

I’ll work with good ol’ Milk & Cookies herself. I’ll work with Old Man River. Both of them know they can’t trust me, and with good cause. If we win this match at Battlelines, we officially become competitors for the ultimate high and I won’t let them stand in my way anymore than I’ll let Kage do it.

Never trust an addict, kiddies. I may have traded one fix for another, but I’m still the same degenerate sleazeball I’ve always been.

What I want is the EWA World Heavyweight Championship.

The Youth are hoarding it from me.

Haven? Robertson? Kage? In the immortal words of the great Hunter S. Thompson...you can turn your back on a person, but never turn your back on a drug.

You’ve got my drug. My legacy. My lasting promise to the band of brothers we find ourselves enlisted with.

Give it back.

You have one week, gentlemen.

Final payment is eventually due in gold.

But for this match, I’ll take it out of your flesh.


***********************

Max stretches out on the bunk in his room, flipping through the pages of the Edgar Allan Poe book that his father left with him. He finds the short story titles alone fascinating, it’s going to take him quite some time to get through everything.

He glances beside his bed, seeing a huge stack of books that were also given to him by his Dad along with a note he slipped him before he left.


“Something to pass the time with before you fly away. See you again next week, kleiner falke”

Little eagle.

His mother always called him that too.


Max! Max!

The younger Goeren glances up from the pages of Poe with a smile on his face.

Yes?

You have a visitor.

Another one?

Yeah. You’re pretty popular these days. Looks like your sister is back again.

Max smiles. His eyes move back down towards his new book.

Tell her I’m not here.
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