Post by Zack Fantana on Dec 7, 2018 18:40:32 GMT -5
It was another day in paradise.
With rain pelting his shoulders, Zack Fantana skulked through the parking lot of the motel and shoved his key card into the reader. There might have been a reason he hadn’t yet checked out of his motel room on the outskirts of Munich and it certainly wasn’t the ambience. The place was so neglected that Zack figured he could probably profile its last murder victim based solely on the still vivid blood stain on the carpet near the bathroom door.
So what was keeping him in Munich? He had no more obligations to fulfill in Germany and the next Valor Pro event would be in Copenhagen, over 500 miles away. To say he was fraught with grief over Zachariah Krähe’s hospitalization after the events of Blitz 5 would be an overstatement. This was, after all, the same man who’d accepted a bribe to sabotage Fantana’s career only two weeks prior; Zachary and Zachariah weren’t exactly friends. And yet it was there in that same seedy motel room that Fantana found himself occupying the night after the show. And the next. And the next.
So if it wasn’t grief, what was this feeling eating at him? Guilt? Regret? Even if he wasn’t ready to reconcile with either of those feelings, there were no other discernible reasons for him to stay. The fact of the matter was that this someone to whom Zack felt he owed an explanation, and yet--
“Can I help you find anything?”
Zack was jolted back to reality as the clerk approached him. He nodded his head, realizing that he must have been staring at the greeting card display for ten minutes now.
He stammered, “Uh, do you have anything that says, ‘Sorry I cracked your head open with a folding chair’?”
With a look of concern, the clerk pulled a ‘Get Well Soon’ card with a picture of a cat off of the rack and pushed it into Zack’s chest. Zack flipped it open and on the inside, it read ‘Hope you’re feline better’.
“Yeah. Guess that’ll do.” Zack snapped the card shut and followed the clerk back to the checkout counter.
“Is that all?” The intonation of her voice suggested a certain level of judgement that Zack didn’t care for.
“Yes. Oh, uh, no, this too.” He plucked an uninflated yellow balloon with a frowning face from a box on the counter and handed it to her. She rolled her eyes and fixed it onto the helium tank behind her, inflating it and handing it over to him before checking him out.
“Have a nice day,” she said after the transaction without a hint of a smile and Zack was on his way again, lumbering out of the gift shop and plodding into the hallway. According to the nurse, Krähe’s room wasn’t far away. For some reason, Zack’s steps were getting heavier. His demeanor mirrored the balloon’s face looming over his shoulder.
Upon reaching his destination, Zack took a beat to sign the card and tuck it away inside the envelope. Sure enough, there was nothing left to do but pull the lever on the door. He nudged it with his elbow and spun into the room.
“Jesus fuck.” The frowning balloon floated to the ceiling as Fantana covered his mouth upon the sight of Zachariah Krähe lying incapacitated on the hospital bed, restraints on either side of him. Zack had heard stories, but this--
“What have I done?”
Noticing Zachariah beginning to stir, Fantana edged closer to the bed, knowing he’d have to face the music sooner or later. Krähe was, of course, slated to be the guest referee for Zack’s match against Cross Recoba at Blitz 6, but Zack thought that was a pretty optimistic assignment by VPW management at this point. Krähe didn’t look like he’d be able to count to three, much less walk to the ring.
“You awake, buddy?” He placed the card on the stand beside the bed as if that might soften the blow of twelve steel chair shots.
At the words Krähe let out a sigh, and gave Zack a blurry look. Shockingly Krähe didn't look overly shocked to see him.
“This...is starting to feel like a Christmas special, which ghost are you past, present, or future?” The words were more of a hoarse grumbled than his usual smooth tone. It seemed to be just getting worse with each visitor.
Seemingly not expecting a reply to the question he continued with another world weary tone.
”Why can't I have drug induced dreams of Pamela Anderson making balloon animals like everyone else?” The last of this was mumbled, while his eyes close...too heavy to keep open long.
“Pamela Anderson?”
The docs must have had him on something really strong to knock his brain back into adolescence.
“Come on. With a face like…” Zack paused, his eyes drawn to Krähe’s face, which was still bandaged and quite swollen. “You could do better than Pamela Anderson.”
He turned away, looking at the door.
“Oh, and I brought you a balloon.”
Fantana walked back toward the door whence he came and snatched the string out of the air, bringing it back over to present to a delirious Krähe.
“It’s not an animal; it’s a balloon person and it’s made of synthetic materials just like Pamela Anderson.”
Tying the string onto the head of the bed, Fantana waited awkwardly for Zachariah to reply. When he didn’t, Zack tried to change the subject.
“So... has Cross visited?”
Krähe pulled his mind away from thoughts of Pamela Anderson trying to use her boobs as a flotation device to focus on Zack's voice...or at least try to focus.
“Haven't dreamed bout im. S’pos I've had other things on my mind, but then gan I wouldn't visit someone's dreams that’d kicked me in the balls that hard.” He grinned for a moment, reliving the kick despite the pain that it caused his mouth. It only lasted a second before he was prying his eyes open to look at the balloon.
Grey eyes settled on the yellow object and the card. The surprise on his face was nearly comical, but then profoundly serious while examining the gifts.
That card and balloon were the only tokens of any sentiment in the room, and they were coming from the man that put him here. Somehow with each moment things were becoming clearer, and yet more painful as a trade off.
“This is a weird dream, but not a bad one...so thanks.” After struggling he managed to shift his attention to Zack himself. “What's on your mind Zack?”
Despite his best efforts he found himself pulled back into the pillow again, and his eyes closing. He really wanted a cigarette right now, which struck him as odd since he didn't typically smoke in his dreams.
The silence in the room had him shifting into a more comfortable position with a sigh. “Come on, out with it already. Do you honestly have anybody better than a dreaming man to purge your demons too?”
Fantana stood still with the silence only disrupted by the humming of the various medical apparatuses next to the bed.
Was Krähe was offering him an out and if so, why hadn’t he taken it? He certainly didn’t want to be here, so why weren’t his feet budging?
“Look Zach, I didn’t plan for this. I didn’t want things to go down this way, but they did. The assault… it was an act of frustration, not malice, and I sincerely hope you understand that.”
Fantana awaited a response from Krähe but the only sign of life was the twitching of his eyelids. Zack continued, though he wondered if it was all for naught - if Krähe would retain any of this.
Maybe he wouldn’t and maybe it was better that way.
“So are we good?”
The silence weighed heavy in the room as Krähe laid lifeless in the bed, but just as Zack started to shift uneasily Krähe’s voice rumbled in careful measured words. Each one seemingly taking effort as whatever drugs he was on tugged him back into unconsciousness.
“We were never bad Zack...Stop worrying about it. Change hurts, and things had to change…Besides who gives a fuck if it was malicious after what I did? Consider us...even.”
Zack smiled. Even if Krähe was forgiving him in his delirium, it felt good. It was as he’d just shrugged a substantial amount of weight off of his shoulders.
“That’s good, man. That’s real good.”
He crossed the room, back to the balloon at the foot of the bed.
“So I’ll see you in Copenhagen then?”
By the time he’d finished his question, Krähe was slipping into unconsciousness again. Zack nodded and made his way out the door.
With rain pelting his shoulders, Zack Fantana skulked through the parking lot of the motel and shoved his key card into the reader. There might have been a reason he hadn’t yet checked out of his motel room on the outskirts of Munich and it certainly wasn’t the ambience. The place was so neglected that Zack figured he could probably profile its last murder victim based solely on the still vivid blood stain on the carpet near the bathroom door.
So what was keeping him in Munich? He had no more obligations to fulfill in Germany and the next Valor Pro event would be in Copenhagen, over 500 miles away. To say he was fraught with grief over Zachariah Krähe’s hospitalization after the events of Blitz 5 would be an overstatement. This was, after all, the same man who’d accepted a bribe to sabotage Fantana’s career only two weeks prior; Zachary and Zachariah weren’t exactly friends. And yet it was there in that same seedy motel room that Fantana found himself occupying the night after the show. And the next. And the next.
So if it wasn’t grief, what was this feeling eating at him? Guilt? Regret? Even if he wasn’t ready to reconcile with either of those feelings, there were no other discernible reasons for him to stay. The fact of the matter was that this someone to whom Zack felt he owed an explanation, and yet--
“Can I help you find anything?”
Zack was jolted back to reality as the clerk approached him. He nodded his head, realizing that he must have been staring at the greeting card display for ten minutes now.
He stammered, “Uh, do you have anything that says, ‘Sorry I cracked your head open with a folding chair’?”
With a look of concern, the clerk pulled a ‘Get Well Soon’ card with a picture of a cat off of the rack and pushed it into Zack’s chest. Zack flipped it open and on the inside, it read ‘Hope you’re feline better’.
“Yeah. Guess that’ll do.” Zack snapped the card shut and followed the clerk back to the checkout counter.
“Is that all?” The intonation of her voice suggested a certain level of judgement that Zack didn’t care for.
“Yes. Oh, uh, no, this too.” He plucked an uninflated yellow balloon with a frowning face from a box on the counter and handed it to her. She rolled her eyes and fixed it onto the helium tank behind her, inflating it and handing it over to him before checking him out.
“Have a nice day,” she said after the transaction without a hint of a smile and Zack was on his way again, lumbering out of the gift shop and plodding into the hallway. According to the nurse, Krähe’s room wasn’t far away. For some reason, Zack’s steps were getting heavier. His demeanor mirrored the balloon’s face looming over his shoulder.
Upon reaching his destination, Zack took a beat to sign the card and tuck it away inside the envelope. Sure enough, there was nothing left to do but pull the lever on the door. He nudged it with his elbow and spun into the room.
“Jesus fuck.” The frowning balloon floated to the ceiling as Fantana covered his mouth upon the sight of Zachariah Krähe lying incapacitated on the hospital bed, restraints on either side of him. Zack had heard stories, but this--
“What have I done?”
Noticing Zachariah beginning to stir, Fantana edged closer to the bed, knowing he’d have to face the music sooner or later. Krähe was, of course, slated to be the guest referee for Zack’s match against Cross Recoba at Blitz 6, but Zack thought that was a pretty optimistic assignment by VPW management at this point. Krähe didn’t look like he’d be able to count to three, much less walk to the ring.
“You awake, buddy?” He placed the card on the stand beside the bed as if that might soften the blow of twelve steel chair shots.
At the words Krähe let out a sigh, and gave Zack a blurry look. Shockingly Krähe didn't look overly shocked to see him.
“This...is starting to feel like a Christmas special, which ghost are you past, present, or future?” The words were more of a hoarse grumbled than his usual smooth tone. It seemed to be just getting worse with each visitor.
Seemingly not expecting a reply to the question he continued with another world weary tone.
”Why can't I have drug induced dreams of Pamela Anderson making balloon animals like everyone else?” The last of this was mumbled, while his eyes close...too heavy to keep open long.
“Pamela Anderson?”
The docs must have had him on something really strong to knock his brain back into adolescence.
“Come on. With a face like…” Zack paused, his eyes drawn to Krähe’s face, which was still bandaged and quite swollen. “You could do better than Pamela Anderson.”
He turned away, looking at the door.
“Oh, and I brought you a balloon.”
Fantana walked back toward the door whence he came and snatched the string out of the air, bringing it back over to present to a delirious Krähe.
“It’s not an animal; it’s a balloon person and it’s made of synthetic materials just like Pamela Anderson.”
Tying the string onto the head of the bed, Fantana waited awkwardly for Zachariah to reply. When he didn’t, Zack tried to change the subject.
“So... has Cross visited?”
Krähe pulled his mind away from thoughts of Pamela Anderson trying to use her boobs as a flotation device to focus on Zack's voice...or at least try to focus.
“Haven't dreamed bout im. S’pos I've had other things on my mind, but then gan I wouldn't visit someone's dreams that’d kicked me in the balls that hard.” He grinned for a moment, reliving the kick despite the pain that it caused his mouth. It only lasted a second before he was prying his eyes open to look at the balloon.
Grey eyes settled on the yellow object and the card. The surprise on his face was nearly comical, but then profoundly serious while examining the gifts.
That card and balloon were the only tokens of any sentiment in the room, and they were coming from the man that put him here. Somehow with each moment things were becoming clearer, and yet more painful as a trade off.
“This is a weird dream, but not a bad one...so thanks.” After struggling he managed to shift his attention to Zack himself. “What's on your mind Zack?”
Despite his best efforts he found himself pulled back into the pillow again, and his eyes closing. He really wanted a cigarette right now, which struck him as odd since he didn't typically smoke in his dreams.
The silence in the room had him shifting into a more comfortable position with a sigh. “Come on, out with it already. Do you honestly have anybody better than a dreaming man to purge your demons too?”
Fantana stood still with the silence only disrupted by the humming of the various medical apparatuses next to the bed.
Was Krähe was offering him an out and if so, why hadn’t he taken it? He certainly didn’t want to be here, so why weren’t his feet budging?
“Look Zach, I didn’t plan for this. I didn’t want things to go down this way, but they did. The assault… it was an act of frustration, not malice, and I sincerely hope you understand that.”
Fantana awaited a response from Krähe but the only sign of life was the twitching of his eyelids. Zack continued, though he wondered if it was all for naught - if Krähe would retain any of this.
Maybe he wouldn’t and maybe it was better that way.
“So are we good?”
The silence weighed heavy in the room as Krähe laid lifeless in the bed, but just as Zack started to shift uneasily Krähe’s voice rumbled in careful measured words. Each one seemingly taking effort as whatever drugs he was on tugged him back into unconsciousness.
“We were never bad Zack...Stop worrying about it. Change hurts, and things had to change…Besides who gives a fuck if it was malicious after what I did? Consider us...even.”
Zack smiled. Even if Krähe was forgiving him in his delirium, it felt good. It was as he’d just shrugged a substantial amount of weight off of his shoulders.
“That’s good, man. That’s real good.”
He crossed the room, back to the balloon at the foot of the bed.
“So I’ll see you in Copenhagen then?”
By the time he’d finished his question, Krähe was slipping into unconsciousness again. Zack nodded and made his way out the door.