Leaving for the States
Backstage at the SWAT show in Paris, France, Tarrasque sits at his dressing room vanity table. His left arm is wrapped up and in a sling while he munches on nachos with his right hand. If he’s unhappy about being defeated by Jonnie Valentine not long ago, he doesn’t seem to show it. In fact, his understanding of what’s currently going on might be in question.
Tarrasque: Why arm wrapped? Present? Not me birthday. Present for someone else? Who want my arm?
Marcus Anderson sits at a side table, smoking a cigarette. He looks upset that Tarrasque did not win the SWAT World title and was injured in the process. He frowns, listening to Tarrasque.
Anderson: What? Present? No, man. You got hurt during the match against Jonnie Valentine. He injured your arm. Nothing serious, but it should be babied for a few days.
Tarrasque listens as he shovels a handful of nachos into his mouth with his healthy arm.
Tarrasque: What you saying. You saying me hurt?
Anderson: That’s exactly what I’m saying, man. Jonnie hurt your arm.
Tarrasque: Me am strong! Me no hurt!
Tarrasque stands up and tries to move his arm out of the sling. He suddenly winces and sits back down like a petulant child. He even has his lower lip out.
Tarrasque: Arm hurt. Me no like. Make stop! Please?
Marcus sighs, flicking ashes into an ashtray while Tarrasque continues to eat.
Anderson: I have something that will help with the pain. You sure you want it? You’ll take a bit of a nappy-nap. Alright?
Tarrasque seems to consider it for a moment before he nods his head with a sloppy grin. Drool comes off of his chin and crumbs cover his shirt.
Tarrasque: Okay.
Marcus nods, taking a syringe out of his pocket. He pushes out a couple of drops of liquid before he injects it into the side of Tarrasque’s burly neck. Tarrasque stays sitting up for only a few moments before he leans back in the chair and begins to snore loudly. Asleep while sitting up. Marcus watches him for a few minutes, seeing the beast in deep slumber. He picks up a phone.
Anderson: We’re ready for transport back to the states for our AWF match. Tarrasque is unconscious so he will need moved. I know I can’t carry him.
An hour later, Marcus Anderson leads a parade through the backstage halls. Tarrasque is on a gurney being transported by several Shocktroopers (Warhammer Corporate Security) in steel grey uniforms rather than their standard carapace armor. They load Tarrasque into the back of a troop transport truck, everyone (including Marcus) piling into the back so that they can go to the airport.
Marcus looks out through the back of the transport truck at the arena as it gets smaller and smaller. The show isn’t over yet, but Marcus and Tarrasque are finished.
Anderson: Goodbye, SWAT. Until next time…
On the plane ride back to the United States, Tarrasque wakes up in a first class seat. He looks around at a panic for a moment before he sees that Marcus Anderson is seated next to him with a bucket of steaming chicken tenders. Tarrasque reaches with both hands, remembering quickly that his left arm is in a sling. He winces and grabs the chicken with his right hand to set the bucket on his lap and begin eating. Marcus smiles warmly at Tarrasque.
Anderson: We’re going to focus on your upcoming match at AWF now. You face Rat Bastard, Sylvester Calvin, and Xiaolong for a contendership match for the XHF Phoenix title. You did well at the SWAT Rumble, now it’s time to do well here.
Tarrasque frowns as he takes several bites of a chicken strip. He chews and swallows the mouthful of meat before he begins speaking.
Tarrasque: Xiaolong. Him sound familiar.
Marcus chuckles, placing a pouch of smokeless, spotless tobacco between his upper lip and gums.
Anderson: Thought you would catch onto him. You’ve faced his teacher, father, uncle, cousin, baby sister’s dog, and so on back in Hardkore World. Crushed them each in turn. Now is your chance to shame the family further by crushing Xiaolong. What do you think?
Tarrasque chews thoughtfully on another chicken tender before smiling.
Tarrasque: Me am strong! Me crush him under me foot. Why him even try? Him weak. Him losed to Chef guy and then Chef guy go away. This second time Xiaolong have title and him losed. Weak. Why let him try? Him only fail again.
Anderson: Right? That’s what I’m saying. Why let him in the title scene of anything at all? Much less the Phoenix championship. Why not let him fight Copycat forever. It’ll give Copycat a chance to win at something. I mean his chances of defeating Xiaolong are pretty even at this point. But, let’s not tell Xiaolong this. You don’t want him bringing in Team Fairtex, Hired Killers, Dark Novas, Dark Stars, and Psychotic Goth all in here to defend...someone’s honor. You would be picking people out of your teeth for days. Who do we have next on the list?
Tarrasque: Rat Bastard.
Anderson: Oh that guy. The poor man’s Adkins. You would think that with Rule 18 in place that someone would tell the dude to not be cutting a promo from a strip club as something sexy might happen and get his entire promo left being smacked with a banhammer. They think I don’t know what happened to the likes of Greg Adkins here. I worked with his father and I know what went on here. They said he was injured by Eric Dane, but I don’t see a single soul shedding a single tear over the loss of Greg. That’s why I don’t understand why they would even bother to entertain someone like Rat Bastard. Even saying the name makes me think that I should probably vomit and then gargle some sanitizer just to make sure my mouth is cleansed. He’s scum of the Earth that you should scrape off of your shoe should you step on him just in case some of him gets on you. Would hate to have to throw away the shoes because of a hot mess like Rat Bastard. What do you think?
Tarrasque is sitting there eating chicken tenders with his eyes open wide when he realizes that Marcus wants his opinion for a second time. Many previous managers, even including Marcus’ father, did not ask for Tarrasque’s opinion on much of anything. He swallows his food with a smile.
Tarrasque: Rat Bastard like pretty girls. Him talk big game about Sylvester Calvin. Him ignore me. Ma am strong! Me like pretty girls, but me no lose focus on match. Me break him like dry twig. Simple. When me done him, him be Flat Bastard.
Marcus laughs, nearly spitting out his tobacco. He takes a sip of whiskey on ice that was brought to him by the stewardess and smile.
Anderson: That’s some funny shit right there, man. Flat Bastard. I don’t know if it gets better than that right there. I mean, if you slap the taste out of his mouth, will he still be up for drinking the bathwater of a sexy Velma cosplay? I think so. Nothing will really stop his perversion, short of death.
Tarrasque stops eating for a moment and cocks his head at Marcus.
Tarrasque: You want me kill Rat Bastard? In middle of ring? Me can do that.
Marcus blinks, catching up to what Tarrasque had just said. It’s been so many years since Tarrasque has been in life or death fighting that Marcus had thought that perhaps he had forgotten about that lifestyle. Perhaps not.
Anderson: No. I don’t want you to kill Rat Bastard in the ring or even out of the ring. You don’t have to kill anyone anymore. It’s not required or even remotely wanted in professional wrestling. Remember?
Tarrasque nods his head in understanding, flopping crumbs from his chin to his shirt and the floor.
Tarrasque: Me no kill. Joke!
Anderson: Oh shit. You were joking with me? Jesus, you had me fooled. What about this third person in the match with you. Sylvester Calvin. He certainly had a lot to say about everyone else in the match, but I don’t think that he had anything to say about you. That or I missed it. I mean he did spend an entire promo to respond to what that waste of space, Xiaolong, had said about him. One of the shortest promos ever, perhaps, but an entire promo. What does he have left to be able to say about you? Nothing. You know I hate seeing new guys get crushed in the ring, but it has to happen to someone doesn’t it? Maybe you can spare him some pain and flatten either Xiaolong or Rat Bastard instead.
Tarrasque: Me no care. Me break who get in me way.
Anderson: Well, we’re almost to New York City. We’ll have a brief layover there before we off again to our next destination. Then, I think it’s by car to Biloxi.
Tarrasque: Yay!