Post by Matt Knox on Nov 8, 2023 8:27:23 GMT -5
The Crazy act has always been one of the thinner veneers, hasn’t it?
Countless coworks of mine either in or in need of therapy that try to use these scars of theirs that we sometimes can’t see as shields. Blowing a molehill to the size of a mountain, painting it blackand surrounding the summit in a thick veiling black cloud of doom that makes you feel foolish for even indulging the thought of someday penetrating those clouds.
I’ve pierced your veil before, Maxwell.
Literally and figuratively…well, literally figurative? You get what i’m saying. Not only have I beaten you, i’ve made a career of beating men like you. Hell, you just beat my cousin who is a prototype for men like you.
A Cousin who i’ve beaten more than once. A monster thats always just been kind of a man to me.
And you barely survived him.
So I implore you, Maxwell.
Do Not Lie to Yourself.
And do not Lie to us.
“And So, if you fine folk elect me to be your new sheriff I swear I will bring order, and justice back to these streets! I will say No More to the senseless violence! No more to your businesses going up in flames! No more bullyin’ and belligerents from them folk hidin in plain sight callin’ themselves a Cabal!”
The scattered the applause of the half filled tavern didn’t exactly inspire a whole lot of hope, but what the heck did around here anymore? The man some called Raven struck a match on the heel of his boot in the back of the room, bringing the flame up to light the end of a cigar he puffed to life while Ziggy carried on with his campaign speech.
The fact that anyone had turned out to even risk being caught publicly opposing Alexander Marshall was a miracle unto itself. In the wake of the chaos to prevent Larry’s bid for the office, all hell had broken loose. The Cabal made their move and now Terry Marshall was off the board. Some folk believed him dead, others believed him simply gone for good now.
The man who lost his town, and then surrendered it to the very same man what took it to begin with. Tragedy and reality all rolled int’a one truth.
Fellers like Terry were never goin’ to last around fellers like his brother.
Another thoughtful puff on the cigar, his thoughts distracting him to the point where he failed to notice the ominous shadow that slowly came to tower over him. Long and stretching across he floor of the tavern. Some who had noticed the hulking figure clutched onto loved ones or gasped in fear. As it stopped before him, a gruff voice filled his ears.
“Raven..”
Matthew looked up, tipping his hat back to more easily see the figure before him. One eye obscured by an eyepatch, his mouth with a bandana and a hat slung low over his brow. All in black with stringy black hair hanging down over an overcoat made up of at least three different bears, a sawed off double barrel hung lazily from his hip.
“Cousin Tom.” He replied, expression emotionless even as Ziggy had seemingly taken pause to take in the sight of the hulking monstrosity, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I’ve come with your hatchling….she’s outside. Seems to think our interests align..” The eye narrowed “I disagree.”
“And I expect no less from you. Please, take me to her.” He turned as Cousin Tom began to head to the exit, giving young Ziggy the ‘okay’ signal and motioning for him to keep his speech going, capped off by an encouraging thumbs up as he trailed behind the monster.
The cool air outside was a welcome change from the sweltering interior of the tavern. It didn’t take long for her to enter his purview. Striking glasz eyes identical to his own, blonde hair slicked back not unlike his own but adorned in decidedly less pricy attire. A duster over a black shirt, white suspenders and ranch jeans. Although it would appear she’d spent a high priced bounty’s whole scalp on the boots.
Most striking though, were the dual Colts with scorpions emboldened in pearl handles.
“Ronnie, you really ought’a write before droppin in on your old dad like this.”
“Ain’t here for you,” she corrected while exhaling the smoke from a marijuana cigarette, flicking the roach into the street “I’ve finally come for the son of a gun.”
“What you mean?” He asked, eyebrow quirking
“Vaughn.” She answered with a glint of excitement in her eye “‘Nother state got a bounty on him from back durin’ President Welsh’s administration. It’ll hold up, and it pays for a body.”
“He ain’t alone though, Ronnie.” He cautioned with a hint of worry in his voice, the show of emotion drawing a gruff chuckle from Tom who kept his silent observation.
“And neither am I..” She bit back, motioning to Tom “He’s worth all of them guns, and two of the orange one. Now I need to know, will you ride with us? We can end this tonight.”
“It won’t be the right way, Ronnie.” He countered, lowering the cigar and motioning behind him where the speech carried on “I’m throwin’ my lot in with the kid. Putting a new, better figure in the Cabal’s place. Teach ‘em hope is still alive.
You can help. Both of you. We could use the help”
“That ain’t help, Raven….” Tom chimed in “It is a half measure…”
“One I ain’t takin.” Ronnie interjected as he went to reply, she shook her head at her father “You change your mind…we’re movin’ on him at his office tonight. I hope I see you there.”
Nitwit, was it? Well, that was decidedly underwhelming. So to say it was on brand for you. See its not that I don’t think you’re good, Maxwell. No, quite the opposite. You’re a threat. You’re violent, you’re unwell, and you’re willing to go to a lot of places no one else will.
And you put value in diving to those depths.
Depths I live in.
See, your big accomplishments since coming here have been huge. Mac Bane, Supreme Machine? One of them is a legend around these parts, the other is a legend around most any part you care to saunter through. They’ve both been champions, they’ve ended careers, they’ve left bodies in their wake.
And they’re both bodies that have been in my wake.
You upset Mac at a PPV.
I Knocked him out with a roundhouse kick and took his world title.
…and there was the whole thing with my old tag partner.
You filled Tom with thumbtacks.
I locked him in a car and lit it on fire.
Your gold is little more than yellow tin in my hands, Maxwell. Its no wonder you’ve grown so bitter of me. Twitter obsessed nitwit. The guy Terry kept in the main event instead of you. The guy who pinned Larry and earned another shot at taking the heart straight from the Cabal’s chest.
God, it must piss you off that i’ve earned another shot before you’ve earned one, eh?
Of course…why wouldn’t it? You’re cookie cutter, like I said. You think that your obscene personality entitles you to shots you don’t deserve. Maybe on some level you believe you intimidate your way into these shots? I don’t know, I don’t exist on the same wave length of fools.
“I’m just sayin’, we let this happen. And then you lean into it. Deputize ‘em both. Use Tom as muscle and Ronnie’ll be a fine gun until she gets restless for the range.”
“Mister Knox…Sir…respectfully, I just think it runs against the whole reason I went along with this whole crazy sheriff idea”
“My Crazy Sheriff Idea..” The words came out with a rougher edge than maybe he had intended, but he did nothing to correct them or change the way they changed the room’s energy, “All due respect son, i’m going to expect you to adhere to some of my wisdom for the kindness I'm doin’ you.”
Outside, a distant ruckus caught his attention but he quickly tuned it out, focusing on the biting wit that the young candidate fired back.
“What kindness?” Ziggy asked, exasperated “I lost my job at the docks for bein’ publicly opposed t’all this. My wife left with the kids cuz she don’t feel safe. I’m carryin’ a gun everywhere now cuz–”
He raised his voice as he cut back in, half from irritation and half from the returning noise pollution of a ruckus that seemed to grow closer.
“Because you’re going to be the sheriff”
“If I win.”
“When you win you yellow bell–” He slammed his hand on the table between them, knocking the bottle of whiskey over as he stood “What in the name of God has got everyone so Gosh Dang wor–” he spoke as he strode to the front door of the tavern, throwing it open and watching the hordes of people running in one direction.
He stepped out onto the wooden sidewalk, looking around. He turned to Ziggy and waved him out “C’mon future Sheriff, time to earn that tin star!” Ziggy stood, the both of them pulling their iron fom the holsters and running against the crowd, their footsteps echoing off the wooden surface of the sidewalk.
As they rounded each corner, their pistols lowered before being pointed back to the heavens, keeping everyone as safe as they could be given the situation. Eventually, they came across a cricle of people surrounding what sounded like a wounded animal, something huge and letting out a hellish sort of pained bellow. Matthew holstered his pistol, moving to the circle and shoving his way to the front.
His stomach dropped.
There, on the ground, alive but paralyzed by pain was Cousin Tom. His body reduced to a pin cushion. Knives, shards of glass, a pool cue, and what looked like an army bayonet sticking out from numerous parts of his body that was now more red than anything else. Matthew dropped to his knees next to his kin, placing a hand on his shoulder drawing the one good eye to him.
Only one word passed between them.
“Who?”
A wheezing breath, a groan, and then it came out in a guttural growl. “Stone.”
The feller who’d come to take out Larry…He was probably pissed he got thwarted.
“Which way?” Tom lifted one bloody arm, motioning toward the sea
He was making sure no one else could get Vaughn. Why else would he get in the middle of this? Why he’d head to the docks….well…
He were crazy…
Wait…
“Christ…Ronnie…” the thought shook him, immediately passing his lips. He stood, wheeling to Ziggy “Go find her. She’ll be headed ot the Sheriff’s office. Get her to call the plan off.” He snatched someone in the cirlce “Get this man Gosh Dang doctor!” he ordered before shoving him away, and moving back out through the crowd.
“What about you?!” Ziggy replied.
“I’m goin’ to find this bastard and take him off the board.”
He wouldn’t profess to be a good man to anyone. Nor would be profess to be doing absolute right. But he had thrown in his lot with idealism, and restoring Terry’s vision even if Terry had gone blind to it himself.
One moment of weakness, and budging on those newfound morals had god moving with an impressive speed to punish his hubris.
Now he had to match the speed to destroy the tool so the bastard could never use it to harm him, or anyone else again.
The reality is that you’re a nobody with a .500 record who acts crazier than he is because its the only way he can get the attention he so desires.
Which I suppose is hilarious coming from the guy who makes silly cowboy movies to cover up for his otherwise dull personality.
The difference though, Maxwell? As has been shown time, and time again?
When I am called on my bullshit, and the universe goes for my throat to shove me back in the line I continuously step out of? I’m good enough to defy it and keep blazing the path I have chosen.
While you?
You’ll always just be another crazy guy in the looney bin.
I am Raze. I am Ruin. I am the Raven.
I’ll see you’re 999.
Because I’m batting 1.000
Countless coworks of mine either in or in need of therapy that try to use these scars of theirs that we sometimes can’t see as shields. Blowing a molehill to the size of a mountain, painting it blackand surrounding the summit in a thick veiling black cloud of doom that makes you feel foolish for even indulging the thought of someday penetrating those clouds.
I’ve pierced your veil before, Maxwell.
Literally and figuratively…well, literally figurative? You get what i’m saying. Not only have I beaten you, i’ve made a career of beating men like you. Hell, you just beat my cousin who is a prototype for men like you.
A Cousin who i’ve beaten more than once. A monster thats always just been kind of a man to me.
And you barely survived him.
So I implore you, Maxwell.
Do Not Lie to Yourself.
And do not Lie to us.
COLD SNAP: THUNDERHEAD
EPISODE 0005
1,000
The scattered the applause of the half filled tavern didn’t exactly inspire a whole lot of hope, but what the heck did around here anymore? The man some called Raven struck a match on the heel of his boot in the back of the room, bringing the flame up to light the end of a cigar he puffed to life while Ziggy carried on with his campaign speech.
The fact that anyone had turned out to even risk being caught publicly opposing Alexander Marshall was a miracle unto itself. In the wake of the chaos to prevent Larry’s bid for the office, all hell had broken loose. The Cabal made their move and now Terry Marshall was off the board. Some folk believed him dead, others believed him simply gone for good now.
The man who lost his town, and then surrendered it to the very same man what took it to begin with. Tragedy and reality all rolled int’a one truth.
Fellers like Terry were never goin’ to last around fellers like his brother.
Another thoughtful puff on the cigar, his thoughts distracting him to the point where he failed to notice the ominous shadow that slowly came to tower over him. Long and stretching across he floor of the tavern. Some who had noticed the hulking figure clutched onto loved ones or gasped in fear. As it stopped before him, a gruff voice filled his ears.
“Raven..”
Matthew looked up, tipping his hat back to more easily see the figure before him. One eye obscured by an eyepatch, his mouth with a bandana and a hat slung low over his brow. All in black with stringy black hair hanging down over an overcoat made up of at least three different bears, a sawed off double barrel hung lazily from his hip.
“Cousin Tom.” He replied, expression emotionless even as Ziggy had seemingly taken pause to take in the sight of the hulking monstrosity, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I’ve come with your hatchling….she’s outside. Seems to think our interests align..” The eye narrowed “I disagree.”
“And I expect no less from you. Please, take me to her.” He turned as Cousin Tom began to head to the exit, giving young Ziggy the ‘okay’ signal and motioning for him to keep his speech going, capped off by an encouraging thumbs up as he trailed behind the monster.
The cool air outside was a welcome change from the sweltering interior of the tavern. It didn’t take long for her to enter his purview. Striking glasz eyes identical to his own, blonde hair slicked back not unlike his own but adorned in decidedly less pricy attire. A duster over a black shirt, white suspenders and ranch jeans. Although it would appear she’d spent a high priced bounty’s whole scalp on the boots.
Most striking though, were the dual Colts with scorpions emboldened in pearl handles.
“Ronnie, you really ought’a write before droppin in on your old dad like this.”
“Ain’t here for you,” she corrected while exhaling the smoke from a marijuana cigarette, flicking the roach into the street “I’ve finally come for the son of a gun.”
“What you mean?” He asked, eyebrow quirking
“Vaughn.” She answered with a glint of excitement in her eye “‘Nother state got a bounty on him from back durin’ President Welsh’s administration. It’ll hold up, and it pays for a body.”
“He ain’t alone though, Ronnie.” He cautioned with a hint of worry in his voice, the show of emotion drawing a gruff chuckle from Tom who kept his silent observation.
“And neither am I..” She bit back, motioning to Tom “He’s worth all of them guns, and two of the orange one. Now I need to know, will you ride with us? We can end this tonight.”
“It won’t be the right way, Ronnie.” He countered, lowering the cigar and motioning behind him where the speech carried on “I’m throwin’ my lot in with the kid. Putting a new, better figure in the Cabal’s place. Teach ‘em hope is still alive.
You can help. Both of you. We could use the help”
“That ain’t help, Raven….” Tom chimed in “It is a half measure…”
“One I ain’t takin.” Ronnie interjected as he went to reply, she shook her head at her father “You change your mind…we’re movin’ on him at his office tonight. I hope I see you there.”
Nitwit, was it? Well, that was decidedly underwhelming. So to say it was on brand for you. See its not that I don’t think you’re good, Maxwell. No, quite the opposite. You’re a threat. You’re violent, you’re unwell, and you’re willing to go to a lot of places no one else will.
And you put value in diving to those depths.
Depths I live in.
See, your big accomplishments since coming here have been huge. Mac Bane, Supreme Machine? One of them is a legend around these parts, the other is a legend around most any part you care to saunter through. They’ve both been champions, they’ve ended careers, they’ve left bodies in their wake.
And they’re both bodies that have been in my wake.
You upset Mac at a PPV.
I Knocked him out with a roundhouse kick and took his world title.
…and there was the whole thing with my old tag partner.
You filled Tom with thumbtacks.
I locked him in a car and lit it on fire.
Your gold is little more than yellow tin in my hands, Maxwell. Its no wonder you’ve grown so bitter of me. Twitter obsessed nitwit. The guy Terry kept in the main event instead of you. The guy who pinned Larry and earned another shot at taking the heart straight from the Cabal’s chest.
God, it must piss you off that i’ve earned another shot before you’ve earned one, eh?
Of course…why wouldn’t it? You’re cookie cutter, like I said. You think that your obscene personality entitles you to shots you don’t deserve. Maybe on some level you believe you intimidate your way into these shots? I don’t know, I don’t exist on the same wave length of fools.
“I’m just sayin’, we let this happen. And then you lean into it. Deputize ‘em both. Use Tom as muscle and Ronnie’ll be a fine gun until she gets restless for the range.”
“Mister Knox…Sir…respectfully, I just think it runs against the whole reason I went along with this whole crazy sheriff idea”
“My Crazy Sheriff Idea..” The words came out with a rougher edge than maybe he had intended, but he did nothing to correct them or change the way they changed the room’s energy, “All due respect son, i’m going to expect you to adhere to some of my wisdom for the kindness I'm doin’ you.”
Outside, a distant ruckus caught his attention but he quickly tuned it out, focusing on the biting wit that the young candidate fired back.
“What kindness?” Ziggy asked, exasperated “I lost my job at the docks for bein’ publicly opposed t’all this. My wife left with the kids cuz she don’t feel safe. I’m carryin’ a gun everywhere now cuz–”
He raised his voice as he cut back in, half from irritation and half from the returning noise pollution of a ruckus that seemed to grow closer.
“Because you’re going to be the sheriff”
“If I win.”
“When you win you yellow bell–” He slammed his hand on the table between them, knocking the bottle of whiskey over as he stood “What in the name of God has got everyone so Gosh Dang wor–” he spoke as he strode to the front door of the tavern, throwing it open and watching the hordes of people running in one direction.
He stepped out onto the wooden sidewalk, looking around. He turned to Ziggy and waved him out “C’mon future Sheriff, time to earn that tin star!” Ziggy stood, the both of them pulling their iron fom the holsters and running against the crowd, their footsteps echoing off the wooden surface of the sidewalk.
As they rounded each corner, their pistols lowered before being pointed back to the heavens, keeping everyone as safe as they could be given the situation. Eventually, they came across a cricle of people surrounding what sounded like a wounded animal, something huge and letting out a hellish sort of pained bellow. Matthew holstered his pistol, moving to the circle and shoving his way to the front.
His stomach dropped.
There, on the ground, alive but paralyzed by pain was Cousin Tom. His body reduced to a pin cushion. Knives, shards of glass, a pool cue, and what looked like an army bayonet sticking out from numerous parts of his body that was now more red than anything else. Matthew dropped to his knees next to his kin, placing a hand on his shoulder drawing the one good eye to him.
Only one word passed between them.
“Who?”
A wheezing breath, a groan, and then it came out in a guttural growl. “Stone.”
The feller who’d come to take out Larry…He was probably pissed he got thwarted.
“Which way?” Tom lifted one bloody arm, motioning toward the sea
He was making sure no one else could get Vaughn. Why else would he get in the middle of this? Why he’d head to the docks….well…
He were crazy…
Wait…
“Christ…Ronnie…” the thought shook him, immediately passing his lips. He stood, wheeling to Ziggy “Go find her. She’ll be headed ot the Sheriff’s office. Get her to call the plan off.” He snatched someone in the cirlce “Get this man Gosh Dang doctor!” he ordered before shoving him away, and moving back out through the crowd.
“What about you?!” Ziggy replied.
“I’m goin’ to find this bastard and take him off the board.”
He wouldn’t profess to be a good man to anyone. Nor would be profess to be doing absolute right. But he had thrown in his lot with idealism, and restoring Terry’s vision even if Terry had gone blind to it himself.
One moment of weakness, and budging on those newfound morals had god moving with an impressive speed to punish his hubris.
Now he had to match the speed to destroy the tool so the bastard could never use it to harm him, or anyone else again.
The reality is that you’re a nobody with a .500 record who acts crazier than he is because its the only way he can get the attention he so desires.
Which I suppose is hilarious coming from the guy who makes silly cowboy movies to cover up for his otherwise dull personality.
The difference though, Maxwell? As has been shown time, and time again?
When I am called on my bullshit, and the universe goes for my throat to shove me back in the line I continuously step out of? I’m good enough to defy it and keep blazing the path I have chosen.
While you?
You’ll always just be another crazy guy in the looney bin.
I am Raze. I am Ruin. I am the Raven.
I’ll see you’re 999.
Because I’m batting 1.000
