LIVE FROM THE OLIVE GARDEN AT CLUB MARAUDER: THE LAST SUPPER

[HiroShinMozas]

The Da Vinki twins stood in the doorway of a private back room of Club Marauder, laughing to one another at some stupid joke that was stuck in their heads from a Tik Tok long since recorded. They were seemingly standing guard, but as a man walked towards them, their attention was shifted from laughing to acting as serious as was possible for them.

"Oh, hello! Are you the guy we have been waiting for?" Chris asked, looking blankly at the smaller man. "Yeah, are you...DA MONEY?" The Voros twins laughed with their arms up, and in a quick motion opened up the door for the man as they followed him in. "It's Cash, not money. Louie Cash. You two may have the look, but there aint much going on upstairs. Just the way I like it."

Louie and the Voros Twins made their way towards a large line of tables, set up like an assembly line. There were thirteen mostly filled seats set up, with Nicky Delabonte Jr. in the middle. The Da Vinkis and Louie would take their seats, and from left to right, seated were Patrick Voros, Chris Voros, Louie Cash, Roberto Mendez, "Screwdriver" Jerry McGwire, and then an empty seat. This led to Nicky, and directly to his left Staff Member Russo, Mick Foley, Palmer Cannon, Michael Tarver, Neil F Sexton, and finally Mark Laundre at the other end. There was a slight commotion among everyone, many wondering why they were gathered here to begin with. Several baskets of dry never-ending breadsticks were being carried over by workers, as well as endless pastas and salads.

Nicky would tap his glass, clearing his throat and commanding attention. He adjusted the tie of his Armani suit, looking for once as though he was indeed the CEO of MMI. Things had changed for him recently, after a strange event at the previous MMI charity event he found himself more compelled to lead by example as the top dog in the biggest company in the professional wrestling business. He looked around at the gathering of friends and colleagues that he had arranged, finally as Neil finished slurping up some fettuccini Nicky found a good window to address the group.

"I just uh...I just want to thank all of you for coming. Friends, allies, investors and more. A lot has gone on in our line of work the last year, and perhaps most importantly is that Palmer Cannon was able to secure the usage of MMI-funded automatic referees to the WWF:G. The wrestling landscape will once again be changed by our illustrious organization, and I feel that if my father were here right now, he'd be incredibly proud of the progress I've made in serving as a leader."

Nicky would lift up his deep red wine and took a sip, glancing to his right at the empty seat. It was strange that he was getting started without everyone being here, but nobody felt the desire to question what exactly was going on with that. They were more so interested in the delicious Lasagna, Fettuccini Alfredo, and Five Cheese Ziti al Forno that the Olive Garden was so famous for -- and considering the two dozen empty plates that accumulated from the time Nicky cleared his throat to now, it shouldn't be too surprising to anyone why there was an Olive Garden within MMI's headquarters to begin with. Nicky would be handed another basket of breadsticks, and the last Marauder would grasp it tightly, his face growing slightly red as it seemed he was holding his tongue as well. He placed the breadsticks in front of Russo, and let out a sigh.

"We aren't here just to discuss the many recent successes of Midnight Marauders International, but also...because I have troubles I'd like to share with my closest confidants. Verily, I say on to all of you...one of you shall swerve me."

The silence that Nicky managed to create with his words were given up to whispers, as the dinner guests all looked around at one another, questioning who could possibly be the one that would swerve Nicky. How did he know? What did it mean, what swerve was this? Who was the devil in the details here? Nicky would take a single breadstick and break it apart, handing piece by piece to each guest. The air grew thick and the vibes were no longer vibing. This was becoming uncomfortable.  

[Vic Venom]

"....S...S...s...SS.....SWERVE?!!!!!"

Laundre is the first to break the silence. He starts hyperventilating, rocking back and forth in his chair. Neil F. Sexton rushes over, patting the gentle giant on the shoulders as he makes a pitched wheezing sound. Reaching into his pockets he produces a pill bottle, shaking it near his ear as the tormented expression on the Nigerian's face turns into a happy smile.

"S...S... BANGBANG... SW...SWER... BANG BANG.... A SWERVE?!!!"

Foley's eyes widen, his fist clenching into a ball with the sock around it. His eyes narrow at Staff Member Russo and one by one, all the patrons glances fall on the most creative man in the history of the business. His cheeks suck in, sliding a big load of lasagna down the back of his throat. Slowly his esophagus squeezes the lasagna down into his stomach, a bead of sweat rolling down his forehead. Turning towards Delabonte, he wipes his tomato sauce stained lips, brushing crumbs of alfredo from his bib as he stammers about to speak flakes of oregano stuck to his perfect white teeth--

"IT'S A PRANK GUYS!!!!"

The Voro's Twins exclaim, a visible sigh of relief exhaling through the room, cutting through all the tension. Russo puts his hand over his heart, toweling himself off as the Tik Toker's camera's catch the looks on the face of everyone in the room. Palmer Cannon is the first to break into laughter, the pits of his dress shirts stained dark from the stress. Cigar smoke rises through the room as Louie Cash, Sexton, Tarver and other join in. Slamming their fists on the table as deep, squealing monstrous laughs fill the room all of them now. They laugh and laugh and laugh, pointing their fat fingers at Delabonte howling like jackals at the junior member. Russo is the last to break into laughter, getting up and walking around the table, howling and hooting slapping his thigh as he puts an arm around the kids shoulder.

"WOW bro... That was a REALLY good one bro.. You ACTUALLY swerved ME for once bro. That's really good stuff kid. Hey everybody, let's give it up for Nick Delabonte, everyone. He's had one of the toughest jobs, and bro, you ALWAYS give it 100%. And that's what I like about this kid. Delabonte, I say this with all my heart. You're a made guy here, and no matter what you'll ALWAYS have place in this organization. To Delabonte!"

Russo raises his glass as the laughing dies down and there is a few moments of silence followed by a polite smattering of applause. "Wohoo, lets go Nicky." Mendez calls out, clearing his throat awkwardly as Palmer, Foley, Tarver and Sexton all sit on their hands. Louie Cash smiles to himself, remembering the days when the kid hung around the barbershop offering shoeshines to the real hustlers. Or taking the rats out shopping when the guys were out of town. Now he was one of them, cutting up and ribbing with the best of them. It was so nice of them to give Delabonte his little moment. Russo lowers his glass, his laughter trailing off a bit as he grips the boys shoulder giving a nod to Palmer. The network executive ducks under the table, grabbing a briefcase from under the table:

"Alright, alright. Funs over guys, seriously. We've got big things coming up at Wrestlemania, big things. Palmer has been working hard, finding a representative for the big match. Not only will this representative have the honor of demoing our new cutting edge, automated referee, but they'll also be defending the crown Jewel of Midnight Marauders International. A title passed on from our founder, may god rest his soul. Mr. Cannon, I give you the floor to announce the claimant... That is uh... Unless Delabonte has anymore bits for us, huh?--"

The entire room erupts in laughter again. They couldn't believe this Delabonte kid. No one could believe him. He was completely unbelievable as the leader of MMI and everyone knew it. All eyes return to him again, and again, their sneering faces howl goblets of spit flying out of their mouths. Russo grabs the boys shoulders, laughing along bringing him in for a hug, giving him a big kiss on the cheek.  

[HiroShinMozas]

As the bellowing beckoned through the hallowed halls of MMI's own-personal Olive Garden, Nicky found himself laughing among his cohorts just as Henry Hill had once before at a story told to him by a very Pesci-like Tommy Devito some 60 years prior. Russo rubbed the CEO's shoulders a little bit before giving the floor to Palmer Cannon -- so long as Nicky were finished delivering his news. Surely there as nothing else though, as Delabonte had merely decided he'd play a joke on his associates, friends, and business partners. There would be no swerve, there would be no more ominous placements of breadsticks in front of the man next to him, and there would be no more bible references.

However, the reality was that something was brewing. Nicky had been having haunting dreams, moments in his day to day life that weren't there before. Perhaps, ever since the Shah had unceremoniously left his life once again, things had truly been on the ultimate downward spiral. His life had been dictated by the desire to become who he'd always heard his father was, in an attempt to not miss him as much. He had no friends his own age, and everyone in his life was merely using him to further themselves as opposed to being there for him unconditionally. It was tough, the streets were tough, the drugs were tough, the dreams were tough. The fact that he was in charge of a company that he knew was worth nothing, compared to what it was once worth, carried the weight of several billions of dollars in debt. Nicky was once content with partying away his life, wrestling on the side, and hustling like a homeless man in his vintage polar-bear fur coat -- but now he found himself hating every single little aspect of his life. Being the CEO of MMI was all he had left, and if something happened to take that from him, it would probably be his end.

He knew that those around him didn't believe in him. They were mocking him. They were planning his downfall, they were planning to swerve him. His mind instantly went to Russo, but there were several other options, just none that he could think of in the moment. His butler Roberto, his stupid assistants the Da Vinki Twins, that every-man Jerry, and especially that crooked lawyer Neil F. Sexton, who probably had been the perpetrator of it all when years ago he informed him that due to the disappearance of one man, he would take over control of MMI.

Wait a minute.

"Haha, ahhh man...no, I'm good Russo. Go ahead Palmer, who's going to be representing my...ah, I mean, OUR company at Wrestlemania? Better be someone as accurate as these referees! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

 

[Vic Venom]

"Wait?... Someone... Someone... You don't... You don't know who?!! Hey uh... Guys.. Maybe the kid was right... Maybe somebody is getting SWERVED?!!"

Russo says, patting the boy on the shoulder. He knew that deep down the kid didn't trust him, that the veterans of the organization didn't take him seriously. But if there was one thing Vince did better than anyone, it's giving the young talent a shot a carving out their own destinies. Everything up to now had been a test for Delabonte. All the gaslighting, at the big leaguing, all the bullying and kangaroo courts. All of it was to condition the young man into a fine edged blade, or tip of an exacto-knife with tape around it. Or even a broken off box-cutter piece, anything will do as long as it's sharp enough to get color.

Neil F Sexton leans over towards Palmer, coaching him up a little bit before giving him a sheet of a paper. Cannon reaches into his breast pocket of his tanned suit, grabbing a tiny pair of glasses. Putting the minuscule glasses on his nose, the glint of the hair jell on his spiked hair looks immaculate. A corporate executive the likes of which few of us have ever seen, Palmer Cannon puts his briefcase on the table.

"I've been tasked with the honor of sorting out the estate of one of our great founders, may god rest his soul. We are here regarding one of the most coveted heirlooms of the Marauder estate. A title coveted by our mortal enemies. We know the lineage, don't we? Jarel. Zarel. Snypa Rifle. Mad Dog McLennon. An unbroken chain of terrorists, mercenaries and savages. Only when our Visionary Brother took possession of this title in the year of our lord, 2008, did the world of light consume the world of darkness! And for the first time, but not the last time, we killed the territory and took its title to the grave. Yes we did, just as his successor did years later, and just as we attempted to do twice in the WWFG to... mixed results... Mixed results... But you know what I say to that Vince?!"


Vince stands up from his seated position, proudly raising his glass--

"Third times a charm!"

Cannon smiles, raising his coffee thermos to his lips, taking a sip before letting the briefcase flip open. Russo leans down over Delabontes shoulders, shaking him ecstatically--"You're a made guy now, kid." The Voros Twins appears from both sides, spraying champagne bottles on the kid. Everyone around the table gasps in shock as lightning cracks the sky outside and the belt is taken outside of the case, propped in front of Delabontes dinner plate. Camera's flash at the historic moment.--

"That's right. The third times the charm! Only this time, we won't be getting involved in office politics. We've gone after that WWFG title before and it's given us nothing but trouble. They can keep their belts, for all we're concerned. Because there's only one A champ in this company now, as far as we're concerned... And that's the man we're going to crown at Wrestlemania. That's right. The man who will defend the honor of this company and this very business, the man we'll crown as NEW PAW CRIMSON KING CHAMPION!!"