HALLOWEEN KNIGHT
AND
TRASH MAMMAL
AND
JUAN TOTHREFOR
ARE
TR1CK OR TR4SH
IN
You Should Try Grindr
-=-=-=-=-
???: So, what exactly are we doing here, again?
???: Ain’t that the question of my life.
???: Hush, amigos. Trust me, I have a plan.
???: Famous last words.
It’s a pale afternoon amongst the fairgrounds, as our intrepid heroes stride - one confidently, the other two less so - across the well-kept grass and fields of a local park in a mostly unimportant town. The dazzling and undefeated trio of Tr1ck or Tr4sh, led by the ever numerical Juan Tothrefor, sauntered through the grass, as Halloween Knight and Trash Mammal glanced quizzically at their surroundings.
Tents, stalls, booths and attractions, dressed in flowery streamers and banners. Signs with words with unnecessary Es at the tail end - Trash Mammal wondered how to steal them all. People everywhere, dressed in their finest medieval cosplay garbs, from the knights in shining, if slightly rusted, armor, to the buxom wenches serving what generously passed for ale and mead, to king and queens and dukes and jesters and one guy in a dragon onesie. Yes, it was Ye Olde Renaissance Faire, a shining beacon of cosplay enthusiasts and curiosities of a highly specific fantasy timeframe. Pausing before his friends, Juan Tothrefor spread his arms out, gesturing thematically and dramatically to his surroundings.
Tothrefor: Amigos, I present to you - The Local Renaissance Faire! Now, I bet you’re wondering why we’re here today.
Knight: We literally told you that exact thing not thirty seconds ago.
Mammal: I mean, we can kinda connect the dots, I suppose.
Knight: Yeah. Is this some sort of ‘The Coven Are Cosplay Witches’ kinda thing?
Tothrefor: Nope! Even better! You there, jester!
A man in a jingly jangly jester outfit, with more bells than stitches in his outfit, shambled towards them, with the kind of jig one has upon realizing there were ants in their pants and they had the taste of human flesh.
Tothrefor: Could you direct myself and my friends towards Booth 13?
Jester: Hark! Ye curiosities, with ye exotic garments, fair tidings to ye and merriment! The foundation of which you seek may be located a mere journey down yonder, down the cobbled path. Tis in the same direction of Ye Olde Gentlemen’s Clubbe, a lark’s cry past the medical tent. Verily, if ye have met the stables and the mighty steeds within, then forsooth, ye have gone too far, and must turn back, lest ye wish to embark on a crusade with the mighty Paladins of Yore.
Mammal: Why’s he speaking like an asshole?
Knight: It’s a thing here, don’t worry.
Mammal: I’m worryin’, Knoight.
Nevertheless, the less enthusiastic members of TxT followed Juan deeper into the fair, carefully stepping past the crowds of cosplayers and fairgoers, as they approached Booth 13. Juan paused before it as he waited for his fellows to catch up, though Knight was somewhat distracted by a fairgoer assuming he was a rather casual Lich and wanting a selfie, and Mammal was somewhat distracted by not really wanting to be here. Shortly, they joined Juan outside of Booth 13, where they gazed at the dangling sign, and let out a sigh.
YE OLDE BLACKE SMITHE’SE
Knight: It’s the extra Es that get me. It’s just- Mammal, can you steal some of those superfluous Es or something?
Mammal: Way ahead of you.
Knight: Juan, why are we outside of a blacksmiths booth?
Tothrefor: Because! You, me, us all… We have an axe to grind.
Juan gestured to the booth again, to the signage, to the hanging weaponry, making several ‘eh??? EH????’ vocal noises in some vain attempt to seek approval on the wordplay.
Knight: … I don’t get it.
Tothrefor: An axe to grind! Like, complaints to make, fits to throw! It’s wordplay!
Knight: Yeah, I get that, but… I don’t get it. Trash?
Mammal: Y’know, there’s nothing in the Secular Spectacular rulebook that says I have to keep you two as partners for the trios title shot. I’m jus’ sayin’, I could make some phone calls and team with… I dunno, Undisputed Alliance instead.
Tothrefor: They won’t take you and you know it. C’mon, guys, just follow my lead and hear me out. I think this’ll be a good way to bring the team together and really bring out the validation.
Knight: Are we not already validated?
Mammal: I don’t think our parking is validated.
Knight: Shit.
Tothrefor: Never mind that! Just follow me in and hear me out.
With a sigh and a groan, Halloween Knight and Trash Mammal nevertheless followed Juan Tothrefor into Booth 13, whereupon they immediately felt intimidated by the strong, burly blacksmith, slamming at a sheet of metal with a hammer.
Mammal: Fuck, that’s intimidatin’.
Tothrefour: Now, here me out-
Mammal: No, what is this? An axe to grind? Seriously? Did you drag us here to create an entire backdrop over a pun? Is the entire basis of your idea revolving around wordplay? Christ, Juan. We have a trios title match coming up, I risked my ass to secure it for us, and this is your big fuckin’ plan?
With a loud bang, the surly blacksmith slammed his hammer on his desk, narrowly missing crushing Mammal’s fingers.
Blacksmith: You.
Mammal: Me? Or the royal ‘you’?
Blacksmith: You protest. You grumble. You moan. Despite everything going your way, you do nothing but complain. When you’re not needlessly inserting yourself into things that do not concern you, when you’re not dragging attention to yourself like a narcissistic primadonna, you’re complaining.
Knight: Sounds like someone we know.
Mammal: Yeah this feels like the royal ‘you.’ I’m this close to calling up Men Out Of Time, Juan, I bet Stu knows how to count.
The blacksmith grabbed a trio of blunt handaxes, sliding them pointedly towards the trio with a grunt.
Blacksmith: You have an axe to grind.
Tothrefor: See, he gets it.
Blacksmith: Get grinding.
Tothrefor: That’s what I like about you, amigo, y-
Blacksmith: Get. Grinding.
Tothrefor: Yes sir.
With varying levels of enthusiasm, the trio each collected a handaxe, and approached a set of bench grinders. As the blacksmith supervised, quietly assisting them in getting in position and angle, TxT leaned into their axes, grinding away, as their minds began to wander.
Juan pressed his axe down on the grinder rhythmically. He thought about his main connection to the FWA other than his partners - Johnny Johnson. He had been waiting for months for a chance to stand up to him and prove his worth. When the time finally came, he was unable to overcome ‘The Legend’. It was because of this disappointment he felt that he needed to bring his amigos to a place like this, where they could work out their worries and concerns. He knew that it was important not to let these things fester inside of you. Someone else that Juan knew subscribed to that same philosophy was Trixie Bordeaux.
Like Juan, she had also recently suffered a devastating setback. Her loss in the #1 Contender’s Match had hit her hard, and she made sure to let everyone know that she was not pleased about it. Allowing oneself to express disappointment was something that Juan believed to be a good thing if done in a healthy manner. But shouting, swearing and blaming others? That’s a sign of weakness as far as Juan Tothrefor was concerned. Juan knew that he needed to improve for the next time he stood face to face with Johnny Johnson. If Trixie would rather dwell on defeats and refuse to accept her own faults instead of looking at herself in the mirror to identify areas for self improvement, Juan knew that she would never get to where she wanted to be. Juan was going to show his growth, when he and his amigos win championship gold. That’ll give Trixie something to actually moan about.
Halloween Knight - the masked man of the macabre - looked at his axe, a frown forming on his face as he examined it, wondering what the hell he was doing. Don’t get him wrong, he enjoyed pointless things, he believed stupid meaningless things is what gave life meaning in a strange round about silly way. But this? Quite honestly, He didn’t need all this; He didn't have an axe. He didn’t need an axe. Why would he need an axe to grind? People don't need axes, and they certainly don't need to grind them, and they didn’t need to get into why their axes are different or what the best way to grind them is. They needed to get into what brings them together. They all love wrestling, and the love of wrestling is the most powerful force in the known universe. Passion fuels Halloween Knight. He got hit, hurt and knocked down, but again and again, passion is what keeps him coming back. And his friends? His weird, smelly, trashy lucha friends? His passion is what's going to lead us to the trio's title.
Because that’s what they had; the Coven can never understand. A point to prove, particularly Halloween Knight… The man who had been wrestling for longer then his two partners have been alive… and things have been great up until this point… but then the questions started coming… saying that he was old… he was past it… Saying that he couldn’t go anymore, because he had nothing of value anymore….. and there there was Coven, young and brash and got the world at their feet… yes he was feeling bitter, and yes he was envious of The Coven, but this team? Those titles? That was his shot… to show the world he wasn’t finished yet… That they were all wrong. The Coven? They were going to find that out first hand.
And as for Trash Mammal, his mind was elsewhere. He didn’t have much in the way of grievances - He was undefeated on FWA television, with a title shot lined up. He had more than enough to be happy about, and he didn’t care much what others thought about him. He knew his partners held their own inner turmoil, and resolved to be there for them, knowing for certain they’d be here for him when the tides turned.
Unlike The Coven, for example. For Trash Mammal, despite what one would assume, wasn’t dumb. He had a degree, for fucks sake, but you didn’t need a degree to spot the daggered glares Blair Ravenwood shot into Kleio De Santos’ back when she thought nobody was watching. You didn’t need a degree to overhear the hushed whispers, plotting against a confidant. You didn’t need to be a prophet, a soothsayer, or even a witch to see that Blair was itching to leave Kleio at the stake to be burned. The fact that Kleio alone couldn’t see it only made it more cruel. She was more than your leader, she was a loved one. A partner. A friend. And The Coven - at least Blair - could tell her heart was elsewhere, and rather than be there for her friend, her ally, her partner, the one who plucked her out of irrelevance after Ground Zero gave her the boot and after nGw equally said ‘no thanks’, Blair simply sharpened the knife and waited for the day Celestia nodded.
And that day would come, sooner rather than later. The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb, but unfortunately for Kleio the relationship between Blair and Celestia hit both of those factors. To be so willing to ditch someone who loved them, the same way they once loved her, is a cruel, heartless thing. And why? Because she’s going through a rough time, and the thirty year old child they adopted is looking like the next big deal? Petty. Surely even Trixie would realize once her train derailed, Blair would look for the next wagon to attach her and her sister to. Surely. Trash only hoped that, by beating The Coven and taking what mattered most, they’d force Blair to look into the mirror and realize what she came so close to throwing away before it happened. Force her to admit she was blinded by the trios titles, and that the ‘weak link’ was the only thing keeping the chain together.
Despite himself, Trash Mammal felt a smile crawl across his face. For everything that his friends where, and weren’t, he knew from the bottom of his heart that he could rely on them. He could trust them. And he could get through anything, as long as they were by his side.
Blacksmith: Enough.
Blinking, the trio glanced at their handaxes, as they leaned away from the grinders. The formerly blunt weapons were now sharp, the blade liable to cut and slice with a mere swing. Halloween Knight experimentally swung his axe, and tore a hole through the wall. He pretended it was like that when he got there.
Knight: So… Now what?
Pulling aside one of the tent flaps, the blacksmith nodded towards a range behind his booth, wherein several targets stood, most in the shape of an oddly familiar person.
Blacksmith: Your anger. Your fear. Your grievances.
The blacksmith gently wrapped his large, calloused man hand around Juan’s, cradling Juan’s grip on his handaxe.
Blacksmith: The axe is a symbol of rage. Of barbarism. Of those who wish to destroy without finesse. That is a tactic that works. But, left unbridled, it is a fire that can burn you from the inside. Those who rely merely on rage, on impotence, rarely live a long life. Diving headfirst into that which troubles them so, ends with your head on a pike.
The blacksmith stared pointedly at Juan, until he nodded. The blacksmith then moved on to Halloween Knight, gripping his hand in his own and staring into his eyes.
Blacksmith: Do not misconstrue my words. Your rage is a step away from your drive, and your drive can be a gift. Too, your rage can be a gift. But what separates your rage from your drive is that one is a power, and the other is a tool. And much like all tools, the success is reliant on how the warrior wields it.
Halloween Knight stared, then swallowed once, looking away. The blacksmith then moved on to Trash Mammal, who squirmed beneath his intense gaze, as the blacksmith crushed Trash’s hands against the handle of his axe.
Blacksmith: You can let your grievances consume you, and swing wildly into the void. Or, you can utilize it, let you control your anger rather than the other way around, and use your anger, your rage, your grievances, with finesse.
The blacksmith peeled the handaxe out of Trash Mammal’s grasp, balancing it on his own palm expertly, before swinging it idly as if he were carving down a foe.
Blacksmith: You can hold it forever…
Suddenly, the blacksmith turned, and threw the handaxe at one of the targets, where the blade buried itself into the chest of one with a thick THUNK. He blinked, slowly exhaling, as he approached the target.
Blacksmith: Or, you can cast it away when your rival least expects it, allowing you to catch them by surprise with a clear mind…
The blacksmith ripped the handaxe out of the target, studying it carefully.
Blacksmith: Then, when you need it again, you can retrieve it, call back your rage… And control it, as you should.
He handed the handaxe back to Trash Mammal.
Blacksmith: You control the axe. The axe, and everything it symbolizes, does not control you. Do you understand?
The trio exchanged glances.
Juan: … Yeah. I… I think we get it.
Blacksmith: Prove it. Channel everything that is weighing down on your soul… Aim it at those who cause you to feel this way… And throw.
Juan hitched a breath, stepping forward. The target stood, some meters away. The handaxe felt heavy in his hand, and the weight of exactly why he had come here bore down on him. He didn’t know it then, but he knew it now. It was more than a pun. More than wordplay. It was a burning drive within him, something that disguised itself as a chuckle when his knuckles whitened. Juan raised his arm, his grip tightening-
When he felt another being walk and stand next to him.
Knight: We do it together.
Halloween Knight stared in determination, before Juan nodded grimly.
Knight: Juan, you were right. This dissatisfaction, it’s something we all share. Your woes, my grievances, Trash’s… stuff. It’s something we must wield together, control and leave aside together, as we do. All three of us.
There was a long pause. Halloween Knight glanced beside himself, at the pointedly empty space. He cleared his throat.
Knight: All three of us.
Trash Mammal sighed.
Mammal: I wonder if Blair an’ Celestia would be open to ditching Trixie fer me. They’re already planning to ditch Kleio, so fuck it, why not. Picture it, Trash Mammal featuring The Coven, defeat The Coven feat Trixie. What a thought, huh? I could talk ‘em into it.
Knight: Trash-
Mammal: A’ight, I’m comin’. Gawd.
The three stood together, probably too close for regulated axe throwing. But this was the end result of their axe grinding. An acknowledgement that, despite appearances, they weren’t the happy-go-lucky saps one would assume. They had their own worries and grievances, for one reason or another.
And they’d overcome them together, starting by winning the Trios titles.
Together, Tr1ck or Tr4ash raised their handaxes high, poised and ready. They collectively took a breath, focusing on the target in front of them. Time slowed to a standstill. All other sounds and appearances faded to nothing. It was just them, and the target in front of them.
Simultaneously, Juan, Trash, and Knight took a singular step forward, and threw their handaxes.
A trio of THUNKS answered them.
