Post by Furious Julius Fairweather on Sept 10, 2021 16:38:56 GMT -5
Detroit, Michigan - The palatial estate of Project: Honor’s Bad Motherfucker
Despite a relatively short time in the business, professional wrestling had been good to the man known as Julius Fairweather. Along with the revenue from his exclusive show and the various advertising and merchandising opportunities he’d entered into because of it, Julius had finally been able to buy the home of his dreams. The five-story urban home had everything he had ever wanted, while also affording him the opportunity to give his mother the home he felt that she’d always deserved. Not only did Momma Fairweather have a floor of the building all to herself, but Winston Winfield had also called Casa de Fairweather his home prior to his untimely demise. Having lost all of his material possessions in the most recent stock market crash along with a messy divorce, Winston literally did not have a pot to piss in when Julius found him sleeping in one of the city’s many alleys. After cleaning him up, getting him sober, and providing him with employment, Julius went one step further. He gave Winston a home.
Looking upon the situation from the outside, one might have assumed that Julius was taking advantage of the man; that providing him with employment and a residence gave him the freedom to verbally ridicule the man that fans had come to know as Winston Winfield. While Julius would often entertain himself by putting the middle-aged man in awkward situations or by comically cutting him off in mid-sentence, their life at home was often one that general audiences were not privy to. Much like Julius’ mother, Winston had an entire floor of the luxurious urban home to himself, which he regularly shared with the young, blonde twins, Bambi and Candy Swallows. He also had a private study, decorated as if it belonged in an old English manor, which Julius himself rarely entered. So while their public antics may have bordered upon the comically cruel, Julius respected Winston’s privacy when they were away from the cameras as he would any member of his extended family. While never publicly admitted, that’s exactly what Winston was to Julius and his mother. He was a member of their family.
Within that private study that even he had previously shied away from, Julius could not help but feel a pang of guilt. Along with his mother, the Swallows Twins, Winston’s ex-wife, and her current boyfriend, Joey Fatone, he sat in one of the room’s many overstuffed chairs, awaiting the reading of his deceased friend’s last will and testament. Winston’s personal attorney was as much a stranger to Julius as the former Mrs. Winfield, and having them sitting amongst Winston’s personal belongings left Julius feeling like a betrayer to the man’s deepest secrets. Uncomfortable to say the least, Julius shifted in his chair as he eyed the man sitting behind Winston’s desk, and he silently wondered if the lawyer had Winston’s best interests in mind.
“Thank you all for gathering here today. I’d also like to extend a special thank you to Mr. Fairweather for opening his home to us, as it was Winston’s request that the reading of his will take place in this, his private study.”
“...motherfucker…”
Julius fumed under his breath, knowing full well that Winston was aware of how he felt about welcoming strangers into his home. In death, it would seem, the old man was getting the last laugh at Julius’ expense.
“Before I proceed with the reading of the will, Mr. Winfield recorded a personal message to be played for his closest friends and family upon the event of his untimely demise. If there are no objections, I’ll play that video now…”
Julius looked around the study as his mother reached over from her chair to squeeze his hand. The Swallows Twins were still overcome with emotion, and if Julius had difficulty understanding their relationship with Winston when he was alive, he was even more confused now that Winston was gone. As for Winston’s ex-wife, her own emotions were clearly being put on display to show everyone how deeply she cared for her estranged husband. In Julius’ mind, he hadn’t seen such bad acting since watching 21 Slam Street with Christian DeMarco and Indy Darling. As Julius took notice of these reactions, the lawyer pressed some buttons on a remote control, bringing the self-recorded video of Winston to life on the big screen TV that hung over the mantle of the study’s fireplace.
The old man was dressed in a wine-colored bathrobe as he gently held a smoking pipe in his hand. He was seated in the same chair that the lawyer was occupying, and as he began to speak, Julius gave the old man’s voice his full and uninterrupted attention for the first time since they had met.
“My dearest friends and family, I am recording this message in July of 2021, as I prepare to embark on a quest to save the life and reputation of my employer, Julius Fairweather. By sheer happenstance, I have uncovered a plot against him, and despite my best attempts, he is unwilling to entertain the notion that anyone other than Mr. James Edgebrook could be behind his recent troubles. I assure you, that is not the case. As I will be pitting myself against some unscrupulous individuals without Julius’ knowledge, I understand that there may be a certain level of danger involved. While I hope that I am able to fully uncover the plot and prevent it with the aid of Julius’ estranged father and his team of retired mercenaries, I recognize that nothing in this life can be guaranteed. It’s important for you all to know that I have undertaken this responsibility with clear eyes and a full heart. While some may suggest that these attributes ensure that I cannot lose, I am fully aware that is not a definite outcome. Should the worse come to pass, it is also important that none of you blame my demise on Julius, especially Julius himself.”
On the video, Winston pauses to take a puff from his pipe, then gives his viewers a comforting smile as he exhales.
“I was once a man who relished in excess. Money, women, drugs, and alcohol were my vices during the height of my success. To say that I was well off would be an understatement. Instead of sharing my success with the less fortunate, I used it to acquire more for myself. Then, due to my own foolishness and greed, I lost it all. When I reached my lowest point, even my wife abandoned me. I was living in a cardboard box, begging for pennies so that I could live out my days in a drunken stupor. That’s where Julius found me. Somehow, he saw beyond the filth and recognized a man in desperate need of help. He pulled me from that gutter, cleaned me up, gave me a job, and welcomed me into his own dysfunctional, yet loving, family. For that, I am eternally grateful and prepared to do everything in my power to return the favor.”
He continues to smile on the television screen as he takes another puff from his pipe, his blue eyes staring directly into Julius’ soul.
“It’s been an honor and a pleasure making the most of my second chance with all of you by my side. Until we meet again...be cool or be gone.”
The lawyer ends the recording following Winston’s parting message, one which Julius himself had become known for using. Then, turning to face those few gathered in the study, he produces a piece of paper from his open briefcase.
“I will now proceed with the reading of the will, unless of course, any of you need a moment to collect yourselves…”
While most of those gathered remain silent, Winston’s ex-wife quickly chimes in.
“That won’t be necessary. Just get this over with.”
The woman’s apparent greed forces Julius’ anger to rise, but a squeeze from his mother’s hand keeps him from speaking up.
“Very well then…”
Placing a pair of reading glasses over his eyes, the lawyer begins to read from the paper in front of him.
“To my beloved Bambi and Candy; I had assumed that long nights of passion were behind me, but the two of you brought new joy into my life and re-ignited the fire in my loins. Knowing that you are financially stable under the care of our mutual employer, I bequeath upon you something more personal; several canisters of my cryogenically frozen sperm are available to you at the Detroit Fertility Clinic. I hope that this parting gift will provide you both with the children we practiced conceiving over the past several months.”
A bewildered Julius glances at Bambi and Candy as they hug each other and try to hold back their tears.
“To the saintly Momma Fairweather; I had assumed that long nights of passion were behind me, but along with Bambi and Candy, you brought new joy into my life and re-ignited the fire in my loins. Ours was a love that had to be hidden away from the world, but I am eternally grateful that we were able to explore it in my private study, the rooftop pool, the family dining room, the kitchen, and in the back seat of Julius’ golden Cadillac…”
As waves of disgust begin to wash over him, Julius feels his mother release his hand in order to wipe away her tears. The disturbing revelation begins to sink in, and Julius finds himself muttering quietly...
“...what...the...fuck…”
“To you, I bequeath our private video recordings along with my personal collection of leather outfits and accessories, so that you might remember me fondly for the rest of your days.”
“...aw hell no…”
Despite Julius’ visible feelings of illness, the lawyer continues.
“To my ex-wife and her new boyfriend, Joey Fatone; I hate you both with all of my being. I wish nothing but the worst upon both of you. However, I am not without some kindness and decency. While I bequeath nothing to that soul-sucking bitch I was married to for 30 years, I do have a special bequeathing for Mr. Fatone. To you, I bequeath my position as Julius Fairweather’s personal ring announcer and manservant. I am well aware that your career as a musician is over, and that my ex-wife has burned through my prior wealth that she took in our divorce. In exchange for you seeing the error of your ways and breaking up with that bitch, I hereby assign my lifetime contract with Mr. Fairweather over to you. I sincerely hope that his harsh tongue and demanding ways make a better man out of you as they did for me.”
Julius slowly turns his head to look across the study, his dumbstruck expression mirrored as Joey Fatone stares back at him.
“Lastly, to my best friend and employer, Mr. Julius Fairweather; There is little that I can leave you that you do not already have. I will assume that my relationship with your mother comes as a surprise, to which I personally take great joy in. While you did indeed save me and give me a second chance, you must understand that I never claimed to be a strong man, and that your mother was simply too much woman for me to deny. As I imagine your shocked expression while writing this, I am smiling from ear-to-ear. Just know that despite our carnal impulses, I had nothing but the best of intentions when it came to your mother. I only wish I had been around long enough to legally become the father you have so desperately been seeking. Having said that, allow me to pass on the words you so desperately need to hear from your father figure…”
Julius’ body tenses as he prepares himself for the worst.
“I swear, if he wrote ‘who’s your daddy’ I’m gonna snap like a motherfucking Slim Jim….”
“You may be a bad motherfucker, but you are still a good man. I’m proud of you, Julius. Any father would be lucky to have a son like you.”
The words come as much of a shock to Julius as the revelation about his mother’s sexual escapades.
“Also, I bequeath to you my private stash of Earl Green herbs and my personal pipe. They are locked away in my private safe along with my great grandfather’s journal, which contains clues and maps regarding his lifelong search for the missing Commandments that Moses hid away from the rest of the world. Feel free to keep that as well. If anyone can find them, it’s you."
"P.S. Your mother has the combination to my safe. It would be best if you let her open it in private.”
After several minutes of confused conversation, arguing, and confessions, the official reading of the will reaches its conclusion. Winston’s ex is the first to leave, storming out of Julius’ house following Joey Fatone’s immediate declaration that their relationship is over. The Swallows Twins follow shortly thereafter, the Detroit Fertility Clinic as their apparent destination. Finally, the lawyer leaves as well, his own fee devouring what little wealth Winston had accumulated during his time as Julius’ assistant. As his mother begins her search of the Winston's safe, Julius excuses himself from the study, finding his newly appointed assistant, Joey Fatone, waiting for him in the adjoining hallway.
“Soooo...I guess I’m your new right hand man. Anything you need, all you have to do is ask. I can carry your bags, wash your laundry, cook your meals…”
“That’s for damn sure. If there’s one thing you know, it’s food. Fatass motherfucker...”
Desperate to please his new employer, Fatone ignores Julius’ comment and continues to speak on his willingness to do whatever is asked of him.
“...I can book your hotels and make travel arrangements. Anything you need, Mr. Fairweather. I’m your guy….”
“Shut the fuck up, Fatone! I just found out my dead employee was almost my daddy, that he was diddling every woman under this roof including my momma, and that he may have been hanging onto the archeological discovery of the motherfucking millennium! On top of all that, I need my mind and body focused on Collision Course and Night of Honor! If you really want to be of any use, get a camera set up in the study as soon as my momma is finished! The only thing that can balance out my motherfucking spirit right now, is to verbally eviscerate an opponent!”
A short time later, Julius finds himself in the seat behind Winston’s desk; the very same spot where he had recorded his final message for his friends and family. As the video begins, Julius remains silent, his wide eyes glaring forward at the camera as if he is in a staring contest for his very life. He leans back in the chair, his hand resting around a glass of Hennessy on the desk’s surface, as he slowly cocks his head to one side.
“It’s all about a legacy. About what we leave behind after our spirits depart from this mortal coil. Some may try to argue, claiming it’s about the here and now. They may claim that it’s all about what they can attain for themselves while they’re living. Big houses, fine cigars, vintage cars, and all of that other shit. Sure, those things are nice to have, but they don’t mean a goddamn thing when you’re six feet under or your charred remains are on some motherfucker’s mantle. Houses crumble, cigars burn away, and cars will gather rust. They’re fleeting, just like us. So when I tell you that it’s all about a legacy, you’d better believe I’m speaking the motherfucking gospel.”
Julius straightens his head, his eyes still focused directly on the camera.
“I ain’t saying it’s about that title that Elena DeDraca wears around her pretty waist, at least not directly. Something like that can leave a legacy in its own way, but even that can pale in comparison to what matters most. Those firing synapses in the brains of motherfuckers who knew us, those little things called memories, that’s the legacy I’m talking about. Until recently, I didn’t give that shit much thought. I was more of a ‘here and now’ kind of guy. Then something happens that makes you sit up and take notice; something that makes your life flash before you in the blink of an eye. Anyone who’s been in a bad car accident might be able to relate. Anyone who’s had a motherfucking gun pointed at their head definitely knows what the fuck I’m talking about.”
Julius rattles the glass in his hand, sending the ice cubes swirling around in the rich, golden alcohol.
“It’s not unlike what an alcoholic might call 'a moment of clarity'; when you realize that all the zeros in your bank account and all the cars in your garage don’t mean a motherfucking thing. I’ve had my moment of reflection, and you can bet your ass that I came out the other side with a different perspective. No, I haven’t found Jesus and I sure as hell didn’t see the light. I simply realized what kind of legacy I want to leave behind when I’m gone. I have a clear path, a motherfucking purpose you might say. Hell, I’ve already been walking on that motherfucker without even realizing it.”
“In our business, events come and go, but the really big ones, the ones that make you feel it deep in the pit of your stomach, those motherfuckers are rare. Night of Honor and all of the major shit going down with it over the next couple of weeks, that’s the kind of big event I’m talking about. This is the kind of event that can cement a motherfucker’s legacy long before death comes knocking on his door. It’s a special kind of show where someone can put on the performance of their life, where they can live forever simply by refusing to give up, where they can become immortal by being the baddest motherfucker on the card.”
“Heading into Night of Honor, I’m fortunate to have been with Fallout since day one, so I know what kind of major happening this is gonna be. Someone like my opponent, who’s been here for a cup of coffee, may not have a full grasp of exactly what it is he’s walking into. That ain’t a knock on Syndicate, it’s just the cold, harsh reality of how shit is. That ain’t unlike how shit went down in our brief exchange on motherfucking Twitter. He was pointing out my shortcomings, or at least what he perceived as my shortcomings in his compacted view of the bigger picture. It can be a little difficult for a verbally gifted motherfucker like myself to properly respond in a couple hundred characters, so now that the floor is mine, allow me to retort.”
Julius keeps his eyes focused on the camera as he raises his glass to his lips. As if he’s determined to keep his eyes on an opponent, he doesn’t even blink as he takes a sip and swallows. Still holding the glass aloft, he continues...
“I had my first match in professional wrestling in January. We’re talking 8 motherfucking months ago. I may have had a few dances in other combat sports that didn’t work out for one reason or another, but I was practically a pro wrestling virgin when that bell rang. Then, not only did I have my cherry popped, but I damn near had my skull broken as well. Needless to say, I lost. That’s the one part of this story that a motherfucker like Syndicate can relate to. Just to make him more familiar with yours truly, I’ll even point out that I lost a couple more times. Despite those losses, I was opening up some motherfucking eyeballs. The right people were starting to recognize what they had in Julius Fairweather, and once I found my footing and turned my fortunes around, I found myself in a Prime position.”
He pauses again, allowing himself a slight grin upon the utterance of his pun. The smile is fleeting to say the least.
“It seemed like I had the world at my fingertips; like I was the chosen one who was going to lead Fallout through its first year. Then Drago Santiago shut my ass down like a Chipotle with a rat infestation. I was talking trash and being more flamboyant than James Brown on a bottle full of Molly, but all that did was help knock my ass back down to the bottom of the card. I failed to win the Prime Championship in glorious fashion, and that shit has stuck with me ever since. So when you claimed that I failed to win a Legacy Title shot and I responded by telling you I was picking my spot, you seemed to think I was talking jive. Nah, motherfucker. Unlike some of your previous opponents, I actually know what the fuck I’m doing.”
“I ain’t ready for Elena DeDraca or that Legacy Championship. I ain’t even gonna sugar coat that shit, cause she’s a bad bitch. She might just be the single best competitor in the business today. Now some jackoff like you, who’s been to a few other places and found some level of success, may not realize just how deep the waters of Project: Honor can be. Somewhere underneath all that stringy hair of yours, you might actually think you’ve got a chance in hell at being the face of this motherfucking company. Let me lay it out straight for you, Syndi. You don’t. You’re shooting for the motherfucking stars like there’s a rocket strapped to your ass, only that rocket was cobbled together by the dumbest motherfucker in your Junior High Science class.”
Taking his time getting his message across, Julius takes another sip, his eyes as cold as the ice that brushes against his lips. As he pulls the glass away, he lets out a satisfying 'ahhh' before continuing.
“So while you were having delusions of grandeur, I kept my eyes on an attainable prize. I cashed in my Ascension championship for a shot at the Prime, because as much as I dig Jason Long, I can recognize a wounded animal when I see one. I’ve fought by that motherfucker’s side and with the exception of Pyro, he’s the only motherfucking dude on Fallout that comes close to being a friend. Still, he’s pulling triple duty all over the globe inside of a wrestling ring after having his guts spilled all over the floor. He was ripe for a motherfucker like me to walk into Night of Honor and relieve him of that beautiful gold belt.”
“Then you had to go and fuck up my plans.”
Julius places the glass of alcohol back on the desk, then leans forward with both forearms pressed on its surface.
“All you had to do was beat Jason for that shot at Elena you so desperately wanted. You could have main evented Night of Honor and lost to her in spectacular fashion, while I worked my ass off earlier in the show to finally get my hands on the championship that eluded me those many months ago. Instead, you lived up to what we’ve seen out of you in Project: Honor so far. You came up short. You let yourself down, and without even knowing it, you fucked with my shit.”
“So now we both get to watch Jason and Elena from the sidelines, biding our time and waiting for our shots. Yeah, we get to throw down against each other too. It didn’t have to happen, and if you were half as good as you say you are, it wouldn’t be happening. But it is. I’m missing out on my opportunity to finally become The Prime Champion at the biggest show of the year, on the biggest stage I’ve ever fought on, because your dumb ass couldn’t put down Jason when he was at fifty percent. Journalists like James Edgebrook might be out there thinking this shit between us isn’t personal. Well, allow me to correct them. You made this shit personal by fucking up your own golden opportunity and costing me a shot at fulfilling my motherfucking destiny in the process. You made this match, Syndi. You made this personal without even having a clue. You dug your motherfucking grave, and I’m going to bury you in it.”
He pushes himself back from the desk, crossing both arms in front of his chest as he leans back.
“While you’ve been out there being DeMarco’s favorite runner-up, I’ve been building a win streak that not many others can pull off. In singles matches, multi-person clusterfucks, and tag team contests, I’ve been out there working my ass off to stay relevant while you’ve failed your way up the card like some trust fund baby who can’t be allowed to lose on his own merits. You thought you were better than Elena. You weren’t. You claimed to be better than Jason. You aren’t. You’re probably even saying that you’re better than me. You won’t be. Whether it’s by knock out or tap out, I’m ready to continue blazing the trail I’ve been on over the past few months. I know what kind of legacy I want to leave after I’m dead and gone. The real question is; do you? Better figure it out soon, Syndi, cause I got my shovel and I’m fixing to cover up your stanky ass at Night of Honor. The only tragic thing about it, is that you brought it on yourself.”
“Like I said, it’s all about what you leave behind. In Syndi’s case, he’s leaving behind a whole bunch of unrealized potential, a pocketful of almosts, and a lot of could-have-beens. He ain’t got nothing to bequeath upon the fans of Project: Honor but the fading memory of someone who couldn’t get the job done when the pressure was on. As for me? I haven’t even won my first championship yet, and I’m already leaving behind a legacy of being a smart-mouthed, bad-assed, motherfucker. I’m the reason why people will be tuning into our match and why they’ll be glued to their screens the next time the Prime Championship is on the line. I’m the Weatherman who predicted that storm on the horizon. I’m the Shepherd protecting the weak from the fire and fury of Fallout. I’m the Gatekeeper who keeps over-inflated egos like Syndi’s in check, and I’m the Iceman who doesn’t feel bad about doing it. I am inevitable, and you're just temporary.”
Julius leans forward once again, this time to pick up the remote for his camera.
“I’m making sure you’ve all got something to remember me by, but the only thing I have to bequeath at Night of Honor is a first-class ass-kicking that Syndi will never forget. Until then...be cool…”
His eyes narrow as he allows himself a mischievous smile, the remote now aimed straight ahead.
“...or be gone.”
*Click*
Despite a relatively short time in the business, professional wrestling had been good to the man known as Julius Fairweather. Along with the revenue from his exclusive show and the various advertising and merchandising opportunities he’d entered into because of it, Julius had finally been able to buy the home of his dreams. The five-story urban home had everything he had ever wanted, while also affording him the opportunity to give his mother the home he felt that she’d always deserved. Not only did Momma Fairweather have a floor of the building all to herself, but Winston Winfield had also called Casa de Fairweather his home prior to his untimely demise. Having lost all of his material possessions in the most recent stock market crash along with a messy divorce, Winston literally did not have a pot to piss in when Julius found him sleeping in one of the city’s many alleys. After cleaning him up, getting him sober, and providing him with employment, Julius went one step further. He gave Winston a home.
Looking upon the situation from the outside, one might have assumed that Julius was taking advantage of the man; that providing him with employment and a residence gave him the freedom to verbally ridicule the man that fans had come to know as Winston Winfield. While Julius would often entertain himself by putting the middle-aged man in awkward situations or by comically cutting him off in mid-sentence, their life at home was often one that general audiences were not privy to. Much like Julius’ mother, Winston had an entire floor of the luxurious urban home to himself, which he regularly shared with the young, blonde twins, Bambi and Candy Swallows. He also had a private study, decorated as if it belonged in an old English manor, which Julius himself rarely entered. So while their public antics may have bordered upon the comically cruel, Julius respected Winston’s privacy when they were away from the cameras as he would any member of his extended family. While never publicly admitted, that’s exactly what Winston was to Julius and his mother. He was a member of their family.
Within that private study that even he had previously shied away from, Julius could not help but feel a pang of guilt. Along with his mother, the Swallows Twins, Winston’s ex-wife, and her current boyfriend, Joey Fatone, he sat in one of the room’s many overstuffed chairs, awaiting the reading of his deceased friend’s last will and testament. Winston’s personal attorney was as much a stranger to Julius as the former Mrs. Winfield, and having them sitting amongst Winston’s personal belongings left Julius feeling like a betrayer to the man’s deepest secrets. Uncomfortable to say the least, Julius shifted in his chair as he eyed the man sitting behind Winston’s desk, and he silently wondered if the lawyer had Winston’s best interests in mind.
“Thank you all for gathering here today. I’d also like to extend a special thank you to Mr. Fairweather for opening his home to us, as it was Winston’s request that the reading of his will take place in this, his private study.”
“...motherfucker…”
Julius fumed under his breath, knowing full well that Winston was aware of how he felt about welcoming strangers into his home. In death, it would seem, the old man was getting the last laugh at Julius’ expense.
“Before I proceed with the reading of the will, Mr. Winfield recorded a personal message to be played for his closest friends and family upon the event of his untimely demise. If there are no objections, I’ll play that video now…”
Julius looked around the study as his mother reached over from her chair to squeeze his hand. The Swallows Twins were still overcome with emotion, and if Julius had difficulty understanding their relationship with Winston when he was alive, he was even more confused now that Winston was gone. As for Winston’s ex-wife, her own emotions were clearly being put on display to show everyone how deeply she cared for her estranged husband. In Julius’ mind, he hadn’t seen such bad acting since watching 21 Slam Street with Christian DeMarco and Indy Darling. As Julius took notice of these reactions, the lawyer pressed some buttons on a remote control, bringing the self-recorded video of Winston to life on the big screen TV that hung over the mantle of the study’s fireplace.
The old man was dressed in a wine-colored bathrobe as he gently held a smoking pipe in his hand. He was seated in the same chair that the lawyer was occupying, and as he began to speak, Julius gave the old man’s voice his full and uninterrupted attention for the first time since they had met.
“My dearest friends and family, I am recording this message in July of 2021, as I prepare to embark on a quest to save the life and reputation of my employer, Julius Fairweather. By sheer happenstance, I have uncovered a plot against him, and despite my best attempts, he is unwilling to entertain the notion that anyone other than Mr. James Edgebrook could be behind his recent troubles. I assure you, that is not the case. As I will be pitting myself against some unscrupulous individuals without Julius’ knowledge, I understand that there may be a certain level of danger involved. While I hope that I am able to fully uncover the plot and prevent it with the aid of Julius’ estranged father and his team of retired mercenaries, I recognize that nothing in this life can be guaranteed. It’s important for you all to know that I have undertaken this responsibility with clear eyes and a full heart. While some may suggest that these attributes ensure that I cannot lose, I am fully aware that is not a definite outcome. Should the worse come to pass, it is also important that none of you blame my demise on Julius, especially Julius himself.”
On the video, Winston pauses to take a puff from his pipe, then gives his viewers a comforting smile as he exhales.
“I was once a man who relished in excess. Money, women, drugs, and alcohol were my vices during the height of my success. To say that I was well off would be an understatement. Instead of sharing my success with the less fortunate, I used it to acquire more for myself. Then, due to my own foolishness and greed, I lost it all. When I reached my lowest point, even my wife abandoned me. I was living in a cardboard box, begging for pennies so that I could live out my days in a drunken stupor. That’s where Julius found me. Somehow, he saw beyond the filth and recognized a man in desperate need of help. He pulled me from that gutter, cleaned me up, gave me a job, and welcomed me into his own dysfunctional, yet loving, family. For that, I am eternally grateful and prepared to do everything in my power to return the favor.”
He continues to smile on the television screen as he takes another puff from his pipe, his blue eyes staring directly into Julius’ soul.
“It’s been an honor and a pleasure making the most of my second chance with all of you by my side. Until we meet again...be cool or be gone.”
The lawyer ends the recording following Winston’s parting message, one which Julius himself had become known for using. Then, turning to face those few gathered in the study, he produces a piece of paper from his open briefcase.
“I will now proceed with the reading of the will, unless of course, any of you need a moment to collect yourselves…”
While most of those gathered remain silent, Winston’s ex-wife quickly chimes in.
“That won’t be necessary. Just get this over with.”
The woman’s apparent greed forces Julius’ anger to rise, but a squeeze from his mother’s hand keeps him from speaking up.
“Very well then…”
Placing a pair of reading glasses over his eyes, the lawyer begins to read from the paper in front of him.
“To my beloved Bambi and Candy; I had assumed that long nights of passion were behind me, but the two of you brought new joy into my life and re-ignited the fire in my loins. Knowing that you are financially stable under the care of our mutual employer, I bequeath upon you something more personal; several canisters of my cryogenically frozen sperm are available to you at the Detroit Fertility Clinic. I hope that this parting gift will provide you both with the children we practiced conceiving over the past several months.”
A bewildered Julius glances at Bambi and Candy as they hug each other and try to hold back their tears.
“To the saintly Momma Fairweather; I had assumed that long nights of passion were behind me, but along with Bambi and Candy, you brought new joy into my life and re-ignited the fire in my loins. Ours was a love that had to be hidden away from the world, but I am eternally grateful that we were able to explore it in my private study, the rooftop pool, the family dining room, the kitchen, and in the back seat of Julius’ golden Cadillac…”
As waves of disgust begin to wash over him, Julius feels his mother release his hand in order to wipe away her tears. The disturbing revelation begins to sink in, and Julius finds himself muttering quietly...
“...what...the...fuck…”
“To you, I bequeath our private video recordings along with my personal collection of leather outfits and accessories, so that you might remember me fondly for the rest of your days.”
“...aw hell no…”
Despite Julius’ visible feelings of illness, the lawyer continues.
“To my ex-wife and her new boyfriend, Joey Fatone; I hate you both with all of my being. I wish nothing but the worst upon both of you. However, I am not without some kindness and decency. While I bequeath nothing to that soul-sucking bitch I was married to for 30 years, I do have a special bequeathing for Mr. Fatone. To you, I bequeath my position as Julius Fairweather’s personal ring announcer and manservant. I am well aware that your career as a musician is over, and that my ex-wife has burned through my prior wealth that she took in our divorce. In exchange for you seeing the error of your ways and breaking up with that bitch, I hereby assign my lifetime contract with Mr. Fairweather over to you. I sincerely hope that his harsh tongue and demanding ways make a better man out of you as they did for me.”
Julius slowly turns his head to look across the study, his dumbstruck expression mirrored as Joey Fatone stares back at him.
“Lastly, to my best friend and employer, Mr. Julius Fairweather; There is little that I can leave you that you do not already have. I will assume that my relationship with your mother comes as a surprise, to which I personally take great joy in. While you did indeed save me and give me a second chance, you must understand that I never claimed to be a strong man, and that your mother was simply too much woman for me to deny. As I imagine your shocked expression while writing this, I am smiling from ear-to-ear. Just know that despite our carnal impulses, I had nothing but the best of intentions when it came to your mother. I only wish I had been around long enough to legally become the father you have so desperately been seeking. Having said that, allow me to pass on the words you so desperately need to hear from your father figure…”
Julius’ body tenses as he prepares himself for the worst.
“I swear, if he wrote ‘who’s your daddy’ I’m gonna snap like a motherfucking Slim Jim….”
“You may be a bad motherfucker, but you are still a good man. I’m proud of you, Julius. Any father would be lucky to have a son like you.”
The words come as much of a shock to Julius as the revelation about his mother’s sexual escapades.
“Also, I bequeath to you my private stash of Earl Green herbs and my personal pipe. They are locked away in my private safe along with my great grandfather’s journal, which contains clues and maps regarding his lifelong search for the missing Commandments that Moses hid away from the rest of the world. Feel free to keep that as well. If anyone can find them, it’s you."
"P.S. Your mother has the combination to my safe. It would be best if you let her open it in private.”
After several minutes of confused conversation, arguing, and confessions, the official reading of the will reaches its conclusion. Winston’s ex is the first to leave, storming out of Julius’ house following Joey Fatone’s immediate declaration that their relationship is over. The Swallows Twins follow shortly thereafter, the Detroit Fertility Clinic as their apparent destination. Finally, the lawyer leaves as well, his own fee devouring what little wealth Winston had accumulated during his time as Julius’ assistant. As his mother begins her search of the Winston's safe, Julius excuses himself from the study, finding his newly appointed assistant, Joey Fatone, waiting for him in the adjoining hallway.
“Soooo...I guess I’m your new right hand man. Anything you need, all you have to do is ask. I can carry your bags, wash your laundry, cook your meals…”
“That’s for damn sure. If there’s one thing you know, it’s food. Fatass motherfucker...”
Desperate to please his new employer, Fatone ignores Julius’ comment and continues to speak on his willingness to do whatever is asked of him.
“...I can book your hotels and make travel arrangements. Anything you need, Mr. Fairweather. I’m your guy….”
“Shut the fuck up, Fatone! I just found out my dead employee was almost my daddy, that he was diddling every woman under this roof including my momma, and that he may have been hanging onto the archeological discovery of the motherfucking millennium! On top of all that, I need my mind and body focused on Collision Course and Night of Honor! If you really want to be of any use, get a camera set up in the study as soon as my momma is finished! The only thing that can balance out my motherfucking spirit right now, is to verbally eviscerate an opponent!”
A short time later, Julius finds himself in the seat behind Winston’s desk; the very same spot where he had recorded his final message for his friends and family. As the video begins, Julius remains silent, his wide eyes glaring forward at the camera as if he is in a staring contest for his very life. He leans back in the chair, his hand resting around a glass of Hennessy on the desk’s surface, as he slowly cocks his head to one side.
“It’s all about a legacy. About what we leave behind after our spirits depart from this mortal coil. Some may try to argue, claiming it’s about the here and now. They may claim that it’s all about what they can attain for themselves while they’re living. Big houses, fine cigars, vintage cars, and all of that other shit. Sure, those things are nice to have, but they don’t mean a goddamn thing when you’re six feet under or your charred remains are on some motherfucker’s mantle. Houses crumble, cigars burn away, and cars will gather rust. They’re fleeting, just like us. So when I tell you that it’s all about a legacy, you’d better believe I’m speaking the motherfucking gospel.”
Julius straightens his head, his eyes still focused directly on the camera.
“I ain’t saying it’s about that title that Elena DeDraca wears around her pretty waist, at least not directly. Something like that can leave a legacy in its own way, but even that can pale in comparison to what matters most. Those firing synapses in the brains of motherfuckers who knew us, those little things called memories, that’s the legacy I’m talking about. Until recently, I didn’t give that shit much thought. I was more of a ‘here and now’ kind of guy. Then something happens that makes you sit up and take notice; something that makes your life flash before you in the blink of an eye. Anyone who’s been in a bad car accident might be able to relate. Anyone who’s had a motherfucking gun pointed at their head definitely knows what the fuck I’m talking about.”
Julius rattles the glass in his hand, sending the ice cubes swirling around in the rich, golden alcohol.
“It’s not unlike what an alcoholic might call 'a moment of clarity'; when you realize that all the zeros in your bank account and all the cars in your garage don’t mean a motherfucking thing. I’ve had my moment of reflection, and you can bet your ass that I came out the other side with a different perspective. No, I haven’t found Jesus and I sure as hell didn’t see the light. I simply realized what kind of legacy I want to leave behind when I’m gone. I have a clear path, a motherfucking purpose you might say. Hell, I’ve already been walking on that motherfucker without even realizing it.”
“In our business, events come and go, but the really big ones, the ones that make you feel it deep in the pit of your stomach, those motherfuckers are rare. Night of Honor and all of the major shit going down with it over the next couple of weeks, that’s the kind of big event I’m talking about. This is the kind of event that can cement a motherfucker’s legacy long before death comes knocking on his door. It’s a special kind of show where someone can put on the performance of their life, where they can live forever simply by refusing to give up, where they can become immortal by being the baddest motherfucker on the card.”
“Heading into Night of Honor, I’m fortunate to have been with Fallout since day one, so I know what kind of major happening this is gonna be. Someone like my opponent, who’s been here for a cup of coffee, may not have a full grasp of exactly what it is he’s walking into. That ain’t a knock on Syndicate, it’s just the cold, harsh reality of how shit is. That ain’t unlike how shit went down in our brief exchange on motherfucking Twitter. He was pointing out my shortcomings, or at least what he perceived as my shortcomings in his compacted view of the bigger picture. It can be a little difficult for a verbally gifted motherfucker like myself to properly respond in a couple hundred characters, so now that the floor is mine, allow me to retort.”
Julius keeps his eyes focused on the camera as he raises his glass to his lips. As if he’s determined to keep his eyes on an opponent, he doesn’t even blink as he takes a sip and swallows. Still holding the glass aloft, he continues...
“I had my first match in professional wrestling in January. We’re talking 8 motherfucking months ago. I may have had a few dances in other combat sports that didn’t work out for one reason or another, but I was practically a pro wrestling virgin when that bell rang. Then, not only did I have my cherry popped, but I damn near had my skull broken as well. Needless to say, I lost. That’s the one part of this story that a motherfucker like Syndicate can relate to. Just to make him more familiar with yours truly, I’ll even point out that I lost a couple more times. Despite those losses, I was opening up some motherfucking eyeballs. The right people were starting to recognize what they had in Julius Fairweather, and once I found my footing and turned my fortunes around, I found myself in a Prime position.”
He pauses again, allowing himself a slight grin upon the utterance of his pun. The smile is fleeting to say the least.
“It seemed like I had the world at my fingertips; like I was the chosen one who was going to lead Fallout through its first year. Then Drago Santiago shut my ass down like a Chipotle with a rat infestation. I was talking trash and being more flamboyant than James Brown on a bottle full of Molly, but all that did was help knock my ass back down to the bottom of the card. I failed to win the Prime Championship in glorious fashion, and that shit has stuck with me ever since. So when you claimed that I failed to win a Legacy Title shot and I responded by telling you I was picking my spot, you seemed to think I was talking jive. Nah, motherfucker. Unlike some of your previous opponents, I actually know what the fuck I’m doing.”
“I ain’t ready for Elena DeDraca or that Legacy Championship. I ain’t even gonna sugar coat that shit, cause she’s a bad bitch. She might just be the single best competitor in the business today. Now some jackoff like you, who’s been to a few other places and found some level of success, may not realize just how deep the waters of Project: Honor can be. Somewhere underneath all that stringy hair of yours, you might actually think you’ve got a chance in hell at being the face of this motherfucking company. Let me lay it out straight for you, Syndi. You don’t. You’re shooting for the motherfucking stars like there’s a rocket strapped to your ass, only that rocket was cobbled together by the dumbest motherfucker in your Junior High Science class.”
Taking his time getting his message across, Julius takes another sip, his eyes as cold as the ice that brushes against his lips. As he pulls the glass away, he lets out a satisfying 'ahhh' before continuing.
“So while you were having delusions of grandeur, I kept my eyes on an attainable prize. I cashed in my Ascension championship for a shot at the Prime, because as much as I dig Jason Long, I can recognize a wounded animal when I see one. I’ve fought by that motherfucker’s side and with the exception of Pyro, he’s the only motherfucking dude on Fallout that comes close to being a friend. Still, he’s pulling triple duty all over the globe inside of a wrestling ring after having his guts spilled all over the floor. He was ripe for a motherfucker like me to walk into Night of Honor and relieve him of that beautiful gold belt.”
“Then you had to go and fuck up my plans.”
Julius places the glass of alcohol back on the desk, then leans forward with both forearms pressed on its surface.
“All you had to do was beat Jason for that shot at Elena you so desperately wanted. You could have main evented Night of Honor and lost to her in spectacular fashion, while I worked my ass off earlier in the show to finally get my hands on the championship that eluded me those many months ago. Instead, you lived up to what we’ve seen out of you in Project: Honor so far. You came up short. You let yourself down, and without even knowing it, you fucked with my shit.”
“So now we both get to watch Jason and Elena from the sidelines, biding our time and waiting for our shots. Yeah, we get to throw down against each other too. It didn’t have to happen, and if you were half as good as you say you are, it wouldn’t be happening. But it is. I’m missing out on my opportunity to finally become The Prime Champion at the biggest show of the year, on the biggest stage I’ve ever fought on, because your dumb ass couldn’t put down Jason when he was at fifty percent. Journalists like James Edgebrook might be out there thinking this shit between us isn’t personal. Well, allow me to correct them. You made this shit personal by fucking up your own golden opportunity and costing me a shot at fulfilling my motherfucking destiny in the process. You made this match, Syndi. You made this personal without even having a clue. You dug your motherfucking grave, and I’m going to bury you in it.”
He pushes himself back from the desk, crossing both arms in front of his chest as he leans back.
“While you’ve been out there being DeMarco’s favorite runner-up, I’ve been building a win streak that not many others can pull off. In singles matches, multi-person clusterfucks, and tag team contests, I’ve been out there working my ass off to stay relevant while you’ve failed your way up the card like some trust fund baby who can’t be allowed to lose on his own merits. You thought you were better than Elena. You weren’t. You claimed to be better than Jason. You aren’t. You’re probably even saying that you’re better than me. You won’t be. Whether it’s by knock out or tap out, I’m ready to continue blazing the trail I’ve been on over the past few months. I know what kind of legacy I want to leave after I’m dead and gone. The real question is; do you? Better figure it out soon, Syndi, cause I got my shovel and I’m fixing to cover up your stanky ass at Night of Honor. The only tragic thing about it, is that you brought it on yourself.”
“Like I said, it’s all about what you leave behind. In Syndi’s case, he’s leaving behind a whole bunch of unrealized potential, a pocketful of almosts, and a lot of could-have-beens. He ain’t got nothing to bequeath upon the fans of Project: Honor but the fading memory of someone who couldn’t get the job done when the pressure was on. As for me? I haven’t even won my first championship yet, and I’m already leaving behind a legacy of being a smart-mouthed, bad-assed, motherfucker. I’m the reason why people will be tuning into our match and why they’ll be glued to their screens the next time the Prime Championship is on the line. I’m the Weatherman who predicted that storm on the horizon. I’m the Shepherd protecting the weak from the fire and fury of Fallout. I’m the Gatekeeper who keeps over-inflated egos like Syndi’s in check, and I’m the Iceman who doesn’t feel bad about doing it. I am inevitable, and you're just temporary.”
Julius leans forward once again, this time to pick up the remote for his camera.
“I’m making sure you’ve all got something to remember me by, but the only thing I have to bequeath at Night of Honor is a first-class ass-kicking that Syndi will never forget. Until then...be cool…”
His eyes narrow as he allows himself a mischievous smile, the remote now aimed straight ahead.
“...or be gone.”
*Click*
