AS 127 - Matt Tastic versus Mark Keaton
RP deadline is Monday the 30th of April at 23:59 PST – NO EXTENSIONS AVAILABLE
Reinstate The Fox!
Halandros Super Hair Cutting Place and Clothing, Laundry Mat and Convenience Store and Tool Shop plus Pet Supply Store now with Video Rentals……
Remarkable Mark Keaton waited in the small lobby, sitting on a cheap plastic seat trying his best to blend in with the common folk. He picked up a Reader's Digest and pretended to read it so he wouldn’t have to constantly find a place to avert his eyes away from the curious humanoids that sat in the lobby with him. One heavyset man breathed too heavily, an old woman kept shaking her head from bad nerves, he couldn’t believe he was doing this to himself for a simple trim of his beautiful golden locks, but it had to be done. He was going on television soon to do battle once more, with one of the pests from Live Mas ….the loose cannon himself, Matt Tastic.
Mark watched the hair dressers cut, snap gum and move around their customers. He had a mental bet going he was going to end up with the ugly one with a tattoo on her neck. The overly feminine man from the counter called out – Kram Notaek - it was him. He often used fake names in public to avoid unwanted attention, this was one of those times. Although simply flipping his name backward sounded stupid as hell, he would have to plan a little further ahead next time.
Mark relaxed, he got the curvy blonde hair dresser that he mentally hoped for. He smirked as she led him to the barbors chair. She started to cut his hair before even asking what he wanted, he slapped the scissors out of her hand, she grabbed his face and started to furiously neck with him right there, he could taste her raspberry gum on his tongue, she flipped up her skirt and sat on his lap, she roughly wrapped her legs around his back, he unzipped and went to town. Mark tore the rest of her dress off as she hopped furiously on his lap, moaning and grabbing at his hair, he put his mouth over her naked breast and she moaned louder. Everyone in the store stopped what they were doing and watched them in shock.
-Kram Notaek- The overly feminine man repeated, Mark snapped out of it and raised his hand as he stood up. The gruff woman with the long nose hair and neck tattoo was going to be his hair dresser today. Mark sighed as he watched the hot blonde he wanted finish with her client, a little too late and now he was stuck with this reject from The Hills Have Eyes.
“How do ya want it today mistah?” The creature asked him, he could immediately smell something awful, like she ate a shit burger before calling him over. He wanted to suggest her taking a bath but opted to be polite and go for the trim. She nodded, then reached over him to grab a spray bottle, Mark winced as one of her erect nipples scratched the back of his shoulder through her shirt. She sprayed his hair, then started cutting. He caught a new scent as she continued to cut and clear her throat, it was vodka. The woman was probably half snapped.
“So wadda ya do fer a livin fella?” It suddenly scratched out, that was 25 years of smoking too much and a hard life.
“I run a toilet factory in Calgary. Just taking a vaca.” Mark said silently, hoping his uninterested tone and subject matter would keep her from trying any more conversation topics.
Suddenly a quick pain at the top of his ear. She had nipped his ear and it started bleeding, it leaked down the lobe and started dripping on the white hair cover apron. He watched the blood in the mirror with a shocked expression. He wondered if she even noticed. She continued to hum quietly and cut the other side. Then another sharp pain on the top of that ear, she nicked that one as well and now there was steady droplets of blood falling off of that lobe. Mark blinked as some tuffs of blonde hair fell into he eyes. He was mentally controlling fits of laughter now as he couldn’t have picked a worse place for a haircut ever.
“Ah, got some hair in yer eyes dere dear, hole on a minnit, I fix dat fer ya.” The thing resembling a female said then walked away. Mark sat there, blinded by his hair, blood still dripping off of his ears. He tried blowing the hair away but it didn’t work. The woman had tied a strap around him so he couldn’t move his arms.
30 minutes later…..
The hair dresser returned, smelling of salami and cigarette smoke. She had a broom in her hands, she roughly swept Mark's face, scratching it but freeing the blonde hairs that were blinding him. He saw in his reflection that the bleeding had stopped and there was two big patches on blood on his shoulders. She was finished. He paid for the haircut and left the place.
He walked to his car, he tried to make a connection to this whole ordeal to Matt Tastic but he couldn’t, he just nodded and headed for the gym.
Join WZCW now.
Last edited by Jeff Deliverer of Mail : 04-30-2018 at 09:36 PM.
The chair shot hit me hard. Should be obvious, but I felt the need to comment. The buzzing I felt since was just non-stop. My ears don't stop ringing. When I move, I feel unbalanced. I have no idea how long it's been since I got hit. Hours? Days? Am I in the future? Well, I'm definably not in the past. But.... where exactly am I? It's all dark. I guess I should try to open my eyes.
I........ Holy shit, I must be on meds or something. I get out of bed. But I turn around and I realize. There is no bed. There is no room. There is no hospital. I'm getting off rubble. I look around, words don't come out of my mouth. I can't process what the hell goes around me here.
Matt: I..... I got nothing. The fuck is going on here?
Granpa: You took a nap. A very long nap.
Right away I turn around and look at him. Just sitting on rubble. A different mound of rubble. Granpa. I don't know how, but I'm almost sure this is all done by his damn cane which he has in his hand.
Matt: So what did you do this time?
Granpa: Snap my finger. Nothing actually. This is all your doing. Years and years of work. Your world is now rubble. Broken. Crumbled. Orange judging by the odd sunset. You've coasted for so many years. The world just wasted away.
Matt: This sounds like one very silly metaphor. I won't lie. Not your best.
Granpa: Oh, trust me. I'm not trying to teach you any lessons here. This is all you.
I have no idea what he means. But this place is dusty. It's a mess. There's just the two of us. I don't see any people here. And I doubt they would come by. I have no idea what this is. But I should ask.
Matt: The last thing I remember is asking to face Mikey at Kingdom Come. Next thing I know, I got really mad and I got hit by a chair.
Granpa: Well, something had to stop you. You were wrecking everything.
Matt: You're saying this was all me? I mean, I know I have a penchant for flipping tables but trashing the world like this is a bit much, no?
Granpa: You have a temper.
Matt: I want to get back to form. Steady success. That's all I wanted. And three assholes decided to butt in. I'm not even sure who hit me. I think it was Triple X. But my mind is a total blur right now. I can't get rid of Mark Keaton. He's like a damn pimple on my back I can't reach.
Matt: But looking around now...... This..... This has to be a damn dream. I'm probably still knocked out or something. I still have 2 more rounds to go. I want Mark Keaton. I'm going to kick his head in and then go after the son of a bitch cutting me off from Mikey.
Granpa: So Mikey is your ultimate goal? You're still hung up on fighting your best friend instead of standing by him?
Matt: Well of course. What the hell is the point of standing by him? What good is a tag team match in this day and age? The tag team division is as dead as this illusion. Or dream. I don't know. Mikey is the end-game. That's what I know. That's what I want. And I intend to get what I want. I will push away anyone who stands in front of what I want. You saw it at Ascension.
Granpa: More people showed up, going after your precious Mikey. You're gonna have to do better than challenging him to a match you still don't have. He doesn't seem too cooperative as far as facing you. But teaming up?
Matt: Granpa, I am not teaming up with him. I just did that. It did nothing.
Granpa: Hm. Weird. You don't want to team up with him. He doesn't want to face you. I sense a lack of consent. I suggest making up your mind.
Matt: And get what out of it?
Granpa: You keep wanting a match with him. You say it's to go back to being a success if you beat him. But what if you don't win? What then? What if you win? What guarantees that you then win that Elite title you want so bad? Maybe what you want doesn't come from a victory. Maybe it comes from a sense of unity. Of comfort.
Matt: The only comfort I need is beating the people getting in my way, Granpa.
Granpa: Oh, you'll come around. But for now, wake up. Concussion's over.
And just like that, I woke up. On a normal bed. In the hospital. I looked to the side. And I see a flower on a pot. And a bag of food from Taco Bell.
Granpa: Mikey legt that for you. After keeping an eye on you until I got here.
Matt: Really? I take it that was a bonus.
I point to the window.
Matt: Another gift?
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