Hyorinmaru
Sit Upon The Frozen Heavens
RPs due Oct 2nd 11:59 pm EST
**NO EXTENSIONS**
**NO EXTENSIONS**
R-Awakening Mayhem Championship: Harald Var Krigare (c) vs PC Stevie Broon
- Thread starter Hyorinmaru
- Start date
- Status
PC Stevie Broon
In...
Tough Shite
In...
Tough Shite
Ah sat in the cafeteria at work, mag head dipped in mah hands and a migraine that would give painkillers a headache. Since the realisation that Big Janice was, in fact, behind the whellie bin racket, ah had buried mahself in a shallow grave I'd Southern Comfort. Ah just couldn't believe it. Big Janice was the criminal mastermind and had set me up for a doin'. But for what? That's what made mah head hurt the most. Too many questions and not enough answers.
Since that night, Big Janice had merself scarce. Maybe she had twigged that ah was onto her but she had stopped picking up overtime and avoided me at all costs. Of course, as much as I was sure that Big Janice was involved in all of this, I couldn't confront her yet. What if this had all been a massive misunderstanding?! Ah had to get more answers and this headache was about as useful as a roastin' Mars Bar.
The Mayhem Championship match against Harald Var Krigare couldn't even console me now. Annie Holloway had found me out last time, the news that Big Janice may be related to Shug The Gun still playing on mah mind like Elton John playin' a fucking Piano. Just when ah thought things had been better for me - that ah was finally finding a new lease of life after getting the boot from the force! Harald Var Krigare represented a more surreal challenge and a more difficult one too. He was an absolute unit, nae doubt about it. He was also the Mayhem Champion and it was gonna take all my guts, heart, experience and determination to get that belt from away from his grasp.
Beyond that, ah was leaving for R-Awakening tomorrow morning. Ah had asked for a shift swap fae Boaby a couple of says ago to get a jump on mah training over there. There was no doubt that ah was gonna need it and-
Boaby: Stevie?
Baby burst into the canteen like a bairn announcing it's birth to the world - just as annoying and needy as the latter.
Boaby: See that shift swap you needed? Can't do it, sorry. Big Mark from head office is coming in tomorrow and I need all hands on deck.
Wi' that, Boaby turned on his heels and left me, mah dreams and preparations in ruins.
Stevie: Guess ah'm wingin' it after all!
Dan Severn's Moustache
Patent Pending
A blood-red, brown-haired goliath stormed through the WZCW backstage area, in pursuit for one man and one man only. A man on a mission, Harald found his target, Leon Kensworth and took a deep breath, attempting to compose himself, before approaching his acquaintance. He wished to keep the conversation somewhat civil.
Harald: Leon, we need to talk.
Leon: Talk? Talk about what?
Harald: About the bullshit you let Sasuke get away with uncontested. You let him strong-arm you.
Leon: It’s an interview, Harald. You’ve badmouthed plenty of others, I see no reason to make exceptions for your opponents.
Harald burst into hysterical laughter at Leon’s startling display of ignorance.
Harald: You just don’t get it, Leon. I’m not blaming Sasuke, I’m not going to lose sleep over the opinions of someone who can’t even get my name right. I mean, VON Krigare? Does he think I’m German or something? I expect better of someone like Kagura to associate with him, but it’s her albatross.
Leon: So what are you complaining about?
Harald: I’m complaining about you giving the unsubstantiated lies of a spin doctor credibility. I understand you’ve got to keep interviews polite, but that doesn’t mean blindly agreeing to lies spread about a friend.
Leon: What lies?
Harald: The falsehood that I somehow don’t care about the Mayhem championship. The falsehood that I’m just here to chase glory for my own self-gain. The weight of this responsibility has crushed many strong men and women in the past, and I’ve vowed to myself come hell and high brine that I will shoulder this.
Leon: You speak as if it’s a burden.
Harald craned his neck around, no longer amused by Leon continuing to miss the point. He found an object to swiftly take out his physical rage upon, kicking a foldable chair across the corridor.
Harald: Of course it is! You saw what I had to go through to claim it at Kingdom Come. The toll it puts on you, the target it places on the back of your head. And yet, the championship is seen as a carnival sideshow, the division viewed as freaks and misfits, beneath the rest of the roster, left to tear one another’s throats out, in a glorified fight club.
Leon: It is about status then.
Harald: Yes, but not just my own. I hate this idea, this framing device that I’m somehow selfish for wanting better for the division, just because I’m the champion and I intend to stay champion. Unlike Tony Mancini or Randy Studd, I accept that I have responsibility with this championship, and I will stake out any opportunity to make the Mayhem division mean more, hence why I gave Kagura everything I could, and I can accept my loss as a learning experience. As champion, it is my duty to lead this crusade and offer my services, and this is what people like Sasuke miss. If I were selfish or gluttonous, I wouldn’t be as pissed off as I am with you for swallowing such obvious bullshit.
A heavy sigh came from Leon, as he cast an apprehensive gaze towards the ground, nervously shuffling his feet. He need to let something off his chest.
Leon: Look, Harald, can I tell you something as a friend, with zero filters?
The Lion from the North rolled his eyes.
Harald: You have more filters than a teenager’s Instagram account, Leon.
Leon: Thing is, I don’t think Sasuke was entirely wrong. I really do get the impression from you that you feel entitled to a reward, that you transcribe these folklores of good faith for your actions, when you should own that you act in your own self-interest. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, everyone in this company does it, and it’s obvious you’re talented. But I think you’re lying to everyone, most of all to yourself.
The eyes that once rolled bulged frantically in disgust at this revelation, a fury shared between them.
Harald: So you doubt me as well?
Leon: No, I’m trying to help you. As an honest friend.
Harald: No, screw you. You don’t get to call me a friend anymore. You let Sasuke talk shit about me, and then you accuse ME of being the problem. You don’t defend your friend, you just twist the knife deeper, because you’re too much of a sackless coward to stand up for something. You think you can get away with doubting me because you think you can keep everyone happy, but the truth is, I’m not going to stand for it. I’m not going to call someone a friend who doesn’t have a bone in his spine.
Harald marched away from Leon with great haste, towards the fire exit into the unknown streets. As he departed, Leon looked despondent, inhibited by despair and regret.
Leon: Harald, please, wait!
Harald calmly turned around to see Leon eye-to-eye one more time.
Harald: I’ve waited enough. You think I’m full of shit when I speak about the things I care about. I will not stand by someone who feels that way about me. I hope you choke on the vomit that comes out of your mouth.
Leon: Harald!
A visible tear appeared in Harald’s eye, his very being wrenching in pain as he struggled not to burn one of his few bridges, trying to find some reason to stay. But a sense of self-pride overwhelmed him once more, compelling him to leave the arena and Leon, distraught and aghast.
The tenth finished can of cider hit the backseat of the car, casually thrown by its occupant and driver Harald Var Krigare, as he blankly stared at the ever-approaching fog engulfing his vehicle, singing along without rhythm or indeed coherency to the Megadeth playing in his car. Despite his clear inebriation and the deteriorating conditions, Harald refused to surrender, accelerating through the dark country lane with zero pause. The risk was non-existent at this time of night.
Especially for a man with little more than mayhem on his mind.
Nobody else seemed to get it but him. Jacob was spineless, more concerned with petty diplomacy and timidity to stand for a cause. Leon was a fence-sitter obsessed with his image above all else. Even Imogen, who Harald thought would offer a change of pace, was crippled by the accepted conventions of society. They allowed doubt to manifest, and like a self-fulfilling prophecy, the fear of consequences overwhelmed them, limiting their true potential, their true splendour.
Harald turned to observe the aluminium mountain behind him. Truthfully, he didn’t adore the taste of alcohol; it took the apple flavour of a sweet cider to cleanse his palette, but it wasn’t about that to him. It was about tearing down the boundaries to his true self, a means of uncovering the truth, the real him, a route to his deep sub-conscious, his unobscured desires and dreams. Harald had felt as his dependency on alcohol became more essential, so too did the true nature of his undertaking.
It helped him understand who he was without any filters inhibited upon him by societal constraints. There wasn’t any triumph in playing entirely by the rules, and allowing authority to crush him beneath its cruel, sadistic boot. And PC Stevie Broon represented that roadblock in his unrestrained turbulence like no other.
Broon was just a professional doing his job, Harald kept telling himself. Maybe there was a good-natured person behind the badge, someone who strived for the best that security could offer. Even in his drunken stupor, Harald could tell there was more to the police officer than a strict killjoy who sought to put an end to spontaneity as he knew it. Law and balance had its merits and nuances.
But an overactive superego put an anchor on the true potential of men and women throughout history. King Carolus may have been controversial, but he didn’t allow himself pause to appease those around him. Allowing Stevie Broon victory and the Mayhem championship would be antithetical to both of their individual values; it certainly wouldn’t help Harald, and it wouldn’t teach a man like Broon a thing. He had his burden in providing justice to his local community; the disorder from the Mayhem championship would incise the police constable like a lance through the heart. It was for the best that Harald prevent his victory at all costs.
Harald gazed at the passenger seat, the Mayhem championship draped across it with a strange delicacy. There was little sense in fighting against the chaos the championship craved anymore. It was like demanding decorum in an asylum or asking for a mature and nuanced political discussion on Twitter. Fighting against it would drive a man to depression and then, total insanity.
Total insanity like accelerating at one-hundred and eighty miles per hour on a country road.
Harald slammed on the vehicle’s brakes, but to his horror, nothing happened. He frantically stamped his foot down, attempting to stop the vehicle in vain. Panicking, Harald violently swerved the steering wheel, attempting to halt his car with force, completely neglecting Newton’s third law.
A horrendous cacophony ravaged through the silence of the night, as the Swedish-made Volvo spiralled out of control, rolling with great vehemence and little regard for its occupant, bouncing and colliding repeatedly off the concrete, shattering the glass that surrounded its outer perimeter. The wheels span wildly still, desperately attempting to maintain traction, but instead rolling unopposed through dead air. After half a minute of havoc, the upside-down carcass of the car came to a halt, the car alarm pleading the forces of gravity for a reprieve, which it provided. A steady trickle of blood flowed from where that had once been a front windscreen.
Delirious and only barely conscious, Harald was nonetheless lucky to be alive. He pawed at the remnants of the car door to escape what by all accounts should have been his tomb. The door held steady, opposing Harald’s weakened pushes, before he exerted his weight against it, freeing himself from the wreck he had created. As he clambered, physically wounded from his ordeal, he saw that the situation he found himself in was even worse than he had imagined.
The brake cables had been eviscerated, in an act of deliberate sabotage.
Someone wanted him dead.
Before Harald could even begin to comprehend the magnitude of this revelation, a police car had turned up behind him, and two officers had exited the vehicle. In what seemed like an instant to Harald, he had been breathalysed, placed in handcuffs and placed under arrest for driving under the influence, the whole thing feeling as systematic as a dystopian autocrat’s secret service riding themselves of another threat.
Out of the fire, into the inferno would have been the quip Harald would have mustered, had he the capability to remotely comprehend the flash of events that had transpired.
Someone wanted him dead.
"Someone to see you."
The booming loudspeaker awoke Harald from his slumber, his body aching profusely and his cuts stitched carelessly. He found himself in a prison cell, the bleak grey of the stone walls making them seem all-encompassing, as if they continued forever to Harald. He looked through the bars housing him to see a familiar face, grimacing back at him.
Jacob: You lied to me, Harald. You said you’d stop drinking.
Harald lifted himself from his bed, suddenly feeling a wave of remorse.
Harald: I can’t, Jacob.
Jacob: I also know you were drinking with Imogen at the bar the other day. You let that succubus tempt you.
Harald: No, Jacob, it’s alright. Don’t blame her.
Jacob: I’m blaming you! You betrayed my trust. You undermined my faith in you. And I warned you what would happen if you didn’t stop drinking.
Harald: What was that?
Jacob: You don’t even remember, do you? Maybe you killed enough brain cells to forget, maybe you didn’t take what I had to say seriously in the first place, it doesn’t matter. I’m done with you, Harald. I’m done being your agent.
Like a cannonball this struck Harald.
Harald: Jacob…Jacob…settle down, please.
Jacob: Don’t tell me to settle down, you prick! Your entire life is what needs settling down as it stands right now. You think because you’re a WZCW champion and going to appear in a big movie that you can just behave as you like, that you’re untouchable, and don’t have to answer for the ones who care for you the most. I’m going to prove to you that you can’t.
Harald: You’re going to leave me to make a point?
Jacob: It’s not about me, it’s about you, Harald. You have no idea how much this hurts me to do this, but I’ve made my decision, and I warned you this was the end-goal of your continued self-destruction. And still, you persisted.
Harald: If it hurts you, why do it? Why do this, Jacob, why do this for me?
Jacob: Because…because I care about you, Harald. I want what’s best for you, and you deserve what is best for you.
Harald: Then stand by me. We can work together on solving this. Nobody has to leave anyone.
Jacob: No, Harald. I gave you a chance, and you persisted still. You only care when your back is against the wall. You need to actually learn that your actions have consequences.
Harald: How are you helping me then? You’re deserting me, in my hour of need.
Jacob: I know I am, which is why it hurts so much to do this. But if I let this slide, nobody wins.
Harald: Everybody wins!
Jacob shook his head, visibly upset at Harald’s desperation.
Jacob: If you taught me anything, it’s not to be so blindly optimistic. And I can see that you were right about that now. For both our sakes, I’m resigning with immediate effect.
Harald: Please Jacob…please reconsider.
Jacob: I’m sorry, Harald. I can’t.
Harald: Then at least pay the bail. For the sake of old times.
Jacob simply turned and walked away, leaving Harald behind.
"Bail’s been paid, paperwork’s been filed. You’re free to go."
A few hours had passed, as the prison doors once housing him slid open. As Harald walked out, he saw another familiar face.
Harald: Leon?
Leon: I’m here to pick you up for your match tonight.
Harald: After all I said?
Leon: Let’s just say it’s what friends do.
Harald smiled and walked away with Leon, with his brief experience in prison having taught him one thing.
Fuck the police.
And fuck Stevie Broon.
Harald: Leon, we need to talk.
Leon: Talk? Talk about what?
Harald: About the bullshit you let Sasuke get away with uncontested. You let him strong-arm you.
Leon: It’s an interview, Harald. You’ve badmouthed plenty of others, I see no reason to make exceptions for your opponents.
Harald burst into hysterical laughter at Leon’s startling display of ignorance.
Harald: You just don’t get it, Leon. I’m not blaming Sasuke, I’m not going to lose sleep over the opinions of someone who can’t even get my name right. I mean, VON Krigare? Does he think I’m German or something? I expect better of someone like Kagura to associate with him, but it’s her albatross.
Leon: So what are you complaining about?
Harald: I’m complaining about you giving the unsubstantiated lies of a spin doctor credibility. I understand you’ve got to keep interviews polite, but that doesn’t mean blindly agreeing to lies spread about a friend.
Leon: What lies?
Harald: The falsehood that I somehow don’t care about the Mayhem championship. The falsehood that I’m just here to chase glory for my own self-gain. The weight of this responsibility has crushed many strong men and women in the past, and I’ve vowed to myself come hell and high brine that I will shoulder this.
Leon: You speak as if it’s a burden.
Harald craned his neck around, no longer amused by Leon continuing to miss the point. He found an object to swiftly take out his physical rage upon, kicking a foldable chair across the corridor.
Harald: Of course it is! You saw what I had to go through to claim it at Kingdom Come. The toll it puts on you, the target it places on the back of your head. And yet, the championship is seen as a carnival sideshow, the division viewed as freaks and misfits, beneath the rest of the roster, left to tear one another’s throats out, in a glorified fight club.
Leon: It is about status then.
Harald: Yes, but not just my own. I hate this idea, this framing device that I’m somehow selfish for wanting better for the division, just because I’m the champion and I intend to stay champion. Unlike Tony Mancini or Randy Studd, I accept that I have responsibility with this championship, and I will stake out any opportunity to make the Mayhem division mean more, hence why I gave Kagura everything I could, and I can accept my loss as a learning experience. As champion, it is my duty to lead this crusade and offer my services, and this is what people like Sasuke miss. If I were selfish or gluttonous, I wouldn’t be as pissed off as I am with you for swallowing such obvious bullshit.
A heavy sigh came from Leon, as he cast an apprehensive gaze towards the ground, nervously shuffling his feet. He need to let something off his chest.
Leon: Look, Harald, can I tell you something as a friend, with zero filters?
The Lion from the North rolled his eyes.
Harald: You have more filters than a teenager’s Instagram account, Leon.
Leon: Thing is, I don’t think Sasuke was entirely wrong. I really do get the impression from you that you feel entitled to a reward, that you transcribe these folklores of good faith for your actions, when you should own that you act in your own self-interest. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, everyone in this company does it, and it’s obvious you’re talented. But I think you’re lying to everyone, most of all to yourself.
The eyes that once rolled bulged frantically in disgust at this revelation, a fury shared between them.
Harald: So you doubt me as well?
Leon: No, I’m trying to help you. As an honest friend.
Harald: No, screw you. You don’t get to call me a friend anymore. You let Sasuke talk shit about me, and then you accuse ME of being the problem. You don’t defend your friend, you just twist the knife deeper, because you’re too much of a sackless coward to stand up for something. You think you can get away with doubting me because you think you can keep everyone happy, but the truth is, I’m not going to stand for it. I’m not going to call someone a friend who doesn’t have a bone in his spine.
Harald marched away from Leon with great haste, towards the fire exit into the unknown streets. As he departed, Leon looked despondent, inhibited by despair and regret.
Leon: Harald, please, wait!
Harald calmly turned around to see Leon eye-to-eye one more time.
Harald: I’ve waited enough. You think I’m full of shit when I speak about the things I care about. I will not stand by someone who feels that way about me. I hope you choke on the vomit that comes out of your mouth.
Leon: Harald!
A visible tear appeared in Harald’s eye, his very being wrenching in pain as he struggled not to burn one of his few bridges, trying to find some reason to stay. But a sense of self-pride overwhelmed him once more, compelling him to leave the arena and Leon, distraught and aghast.
***
The tenth finished can of cider hit the backseat of the car, casually thrown by its occupant and driver Harald Var Krigare, as he blankly stared at the ever-approaching fog engulfing his vehicle, singing along without rhythm or indeed coherency to the Megadeth playing in his car. Despite his clear inebriation and the deteriorating conditions, Harald refused to surrender, accelerating through the dark country lane with zero pause. The risk was non-existent at this time of night.
Especially for a man with little more than mayhem on his mind.
Nobody else seemed to get it but him. Jacob was spineless, more concerned with petty diplomacy and timidity to stand for a cause. Leon was a fence-sitter obsessed with his image above all else. Even Imogen, who Harald thought would offer a change of pace, was crippled by the accepted conventions of society. They allowed doubt to manifest, and like a self-fulfilling prophecy, the fear of consequences overwhelmed them, limiting their true potential, their true splendour.
Harald turned to observe the aluminium mountain behind him. Truthfully, he didn’t adore the taste of alcohol; it took the apple flavour of a sweet cider to cleanse his palette, but it wasn’t about that to him. It was about tearing down the boundaries to his true self, a means of uncovering the truth, the real him, a route to his deep sub-conscious, his unobscured desires and dreams. Harald had felt as his dependency on alcohol became more essential, so too did the true nature of his undertaking.
It helped him understand who he was without any filters inhibited upon him by societal constraints. There wasn’t any triumph in playing entirely by the rules, and allowing authority to crush him beneath its cruel, sadistic boot. And PC Stevie Broon represented that roadblock in his unrestrained turbulence like no other.
Broon was just a professional doing his job, Harald kept telling himself. Maybe there was a good-natured person behind the badge, someone who strived for the best that security could offer. Even in his drunken stupor, Harald could tell there was more to the police officer than a strict killjoy who sought to put an end to spontaneity as he knew it. Law and balance had its merits and nuances.
But an overactive superego put an anchor on the true potential of men and women throughout history. King Carolus may have been controversial, but he didn’t allow himself pause to appease those around him. Allowing Stevie Broon victory and the Mayhem championship would be antithetical to both of their individual values; it certainly wouldn’t help Harald, and it wouldn’t teach a man like Broon a thing. He had his burden in providing justice to his local community; the disorder from the Mayhem championship would incise the police constable like a lance through the heart. It was for the best that Harald prevent his victory at all costs.
Harald gazed at the passenger seat, the Mayhem championship draped across it with a strange delicacy. There was little sense in fighting against the chaos the championship craved anymore. It was like demanding decorum in an asylum or asking for a mature and nuanced political discussion on Twitter. Fighting against it would drive a man to depression and then, total insanity.
Total insanity like accelerating at one-hundred and eighty miles per hour on a country road.
Harald slammed on the vehicle’s brakes, but to his horror, nothing happened. He frantically stamped his foot down, attempting to stop the vehicle in vain. Panicking, Harald violently swerved the steering wheel, attempting to halt his car with force, completely neglecting Newton’s third law.
A horrendous cacophony ravaged through the silence of the night, as the Swedish-made Volvo spiralled out of control, rolling with great vehemence and little regard for its occupant, bouncing and colliding repeatedly off the concrete, shattering the glass that surrounded its outer perimeter. The wheels span wildly still, desperately attempting to maintain traction, but instead rolling unopposed through dead air. After half a minute of havoc, the upside-down carcass of the car came to a halt, the car alarm pleading the forces of gravity for a reprieve, which it provided. A steady trickle of blood flowed from where that had once been a front windscreen.
Delirious and only barely conscious, Harald was nonetheless lucky to be alive. He pawed at the remnants of the car door to escape what by all accounts should have been his tomb. The door held steady, opposing Harald’s weakened pushes, before he exerted his weight against it, freeing himself from the wreck he had created. As he clambered, physically wounded from his ordeal, he saw that the situation he found himself in was even worse than he had imagined.
The brake cables had been eviscerated, in an act of deliberate sabotage.
Someone wanted him dead.
Before Harald could even begin to comprehend the magnitude of this revelation, a police car had turned up behind him, and two officers had exited the vehicle. In what seemed like an instant to Harald, he had been breathalysed, placed in handcuffs and placed under arrest for driving under the influence, the whole thing feeling as systematic as a dystopian autocrat’s secret service riding themselves of another threat.
Out of the fire, into the inferno would have been the quip Harald would have mustered, had he the capability to remotely comprehend the flash of events that had transpired.
Someone wanted him dead.
***
"Someone to see you."
The booming loudspeaker awoke Harald from his slumber, his body aching profusely and his cuts stitched carelessly. He found himself in a prison cell, the bleak grey of the stone walls making them seem all-encompassing, as if they continued forever to Harald. He looked through the bars housing him to see a familiar face, grimacing back at him.
Jacob: You lied to me, Harald. You said you’d stop drinking.
Harald lifted himself from his bed, suddenly feeling a wave of remorse.
Harald: I can’t, Jacob.
Jacob: I also know you were drinking with Imogen at the bar the other day. You let that succubus tempt you.
Harald: No, Jacob, it’s alright. Don’t blame her.
Jacob: I’m blaming you! You betrayed my trust. You undermined my faith in you. And I warned you what would happen if you didn’t stop drinking.
Harald: What was that?
Jacob: You don’t even remember, do you? Maybe you killed enough brain cells to forget, maybe you didn’t take what I had to say seriously in the first place, it doesn’t matter. I’m done with you, Harald. I’m done being your agent.
Like a cannonball this struck Harald.
Harald: Jacob…Jacob…settle down, please.
Jacob: Don’t tell me to settle down, you prick! Your entire life is what needs settling down as it stands right now. You think because you’re a WZCW champion and going to appear in a big movie that you can just behave as you like, that you’re untouchable, and don’t have to answer for the ones who care for you the most. I’m going to prove to you that you can’t.
Harald: You’re going to leave me to make a point?
Jacob: It’s not about me, it’s about you, Harald. You have no idea how much this hurts me to do this, but I’ve made my decision, and I warned you this was the end-goal of your continued self-destruction. And still, you persisted.
Harald: If it hurts you, why do it? Why do this, Jacob, why do this for me?
Jacob: Because…because I care about you, Harald. I want what’s best for you, and you deserve what is best for you.
Harald: Then stand by me. We can work together on solving this. Nobody has to leave anyone.
Jacob: No, Harald. I gave you a chance, and you persisted still. You only care when your back is against the wall. You need to actually learn that your actions have consequences.
Harald: How are you helping me then? You’re deserting me, in my hour of need.
Jacob: I know I am, which is why it hurts so much to do this. But if I let this slide, nobody wins.
Harald: Everybody wins!
Jacob shook his head, visibly upset at Harald’s desperation.
Jacob: If you taught me anything, it’s not to be so blindly optimistic. And I can see that you were right about that now. For both our sakes, I’m resigning with immediate effect.
Harald: Please Jacob…please reconsider.
Jacob: I’m sorry, Harald. I can’t.
Harald: Then at least pay the bail. For the sake of old times.
Jacob simply turned and walked away, leaving Harald behind.
***
"Bail’s been paid, paperwork’s been filed. You’re free to go."
A few hours had passed, as the prison doors once housing him slid open. As Harald walked out, he saw another familiar face.
Harald: Leon?
Leon: I’m here to pick you up for your match tonight.
Harald: After all I said?
Leon: Let’s just say it’s what friends do.
Harald smiled and walked away with Leon, with his brief experience in prison having taught him one thing.
Fuck the police.
And fuck Stevie Broon.
- Status
Similar threads
- Locked
