Post by Church on Nov 16, 2021 21:41:49 GMT -6
Aria Casino
Las Vegas
May 2018
A shouting match and chaos ensued at the drop of a hat, all right in the middle of the main casino floor. One man who had been approached by 4 others started waving two closed fists wildly as an outnumbered meeting immediately became an outnumbered fight. Several security guards from the far walls jump in quickly, but the tussle starts to get out of control as several passersby decide to try to break it up themselves. Surprise, ya get pissed when you end up catchin’ one in the jaw.
Spanish is being yelled between two of the men angrily, as the source of all the tension seems to stem between them. People scurry from the blackjack tables beside the scuffle, and a bit of a circle naturally forms to watch the free entertainment in the moment. Classic playground mentality. The original aggressor has the intended target in grasp, one hand at the throat and the other with a fistful of shirt. He lets go of the shirt and reaches beside him to the betting table, grabbing a handful of chips.
The moment he does, a large hand grabs hold immediately to his wrist. While the rest of the guards had arrived in an attempt to control the situation, the Director Of Security came out of the woodwork as well. It was Church, and he was pissed. The man who’s wrist Church had in sudden clutch looked up in a panic, as Church grabs him by the torso and launches him clear over the blackjack table. John, the dealer still seated there after having his game disrupted, barely tilted his head to the side; as if this exact scenario had happened before.
Church nodded at him as he spun back around and walked forward like a lion on hunt. He took a step towards the man who had been at the center of it all, who was still yelling in Spanish, but Church trusted the immediate intuition that he was not the problem here. One of the other men stepped forward, having not been restrained yet by a guard, and cocked an arm back to take a shot upward at Church. With the extension of his long arm, Church caught the arm mid-swing and held it above the man’s head for a brief moment. He stared into the man’s eyes, letting a sarcastic smirk be the only message he needed to send, before sending a left jab into the man’s throat, sending him to the casino carpet in agony. Suddenly it feels like the circle that had formed for free fighting entertainment was now just a circle around Church, as his guards had the others involved in the original fight held down.
The Spanish man over on the floor kept talking to Church, having been ignored up to this point, but now Church whips his head around to face him.
“Cállate!” Church yells with a surprisingly bitey accent thrown in. He steps towards him as the crowd around them disperses for the most part. “Fights, always fuckin’ bad for business, sorry John.” Church says out of the side of his mouth to the dealer still seated at his table. He reaches down and despite the squirms, lifts the man to his feet and dusts him off.
“¿Por qué te están peleando?” Church said through impressive Spanish.
Why are they fighting you?
The man’s eyes went wide, surprised at the behemoth of a white man using his language. He stutters over his words a bit before being able to respond.
“I-uh-uh. Ellos piensan que hice trampa.”
They think I cheated.
“Aqui? In my casino?”
“No, en Luxor.” He responded, his voice weakening but his body relaxed a bit as he finally believed that Church wasn’t about to murder him. The man that earlier had gotten tossed over the blackjack table had pulled himself up to his feet. He looked up at Church, wide-eyed, and at the slightest tilt of his shoulders to prepare for a getaway, Church reached out and grabbed him by the collar, effortlessly slamming the side of his head into the side of the blackjack table, flipping the entire thing over.
“DAMNIT CHURCH” John said, now sitting in his dealer’s chair with no table in front of him. He had worked with Church for a long time. He had earned the comfort in speaking to him that way. Church ducked his head down a bit, looking at John’s legs.
“Had to make sure you didn’t wear pajama pants to work again.” John gets up out of his chair and walks away from the table finally, Church’s joke receiving crickets. He looked over his shoulder at his guards, awaiting instructions as they continue to hold their catches in place.
“Let ‘em go.” Church commands firmly, nodding to confirm as the guards look confused but follow the order. They all leave calmly and quickly, as Church turns his attention back to his new friend, whose back is now against a pillar coming down from the ceiling.
“¿Hiciste trampa?” Church asked with a low growl.
Did you cheat?
“No. No, no.” The guy answered with a panic. Church reached out and put a hand on the man’s shoulder, dwarfing it into what looked like a Nerf football in the hand of an NFL Quarterback. Church looked up from a tilted head, locking eyes with the man.
“¿Hiciste trampa? It’s not my casino, I don’t give a shit, but tell me the truth. ¿Hiciste trampa?”
Church stepped even closer.
“Di la verdad”
Tell The Truth
The man calmed down, slowly but surely, in the grip of Church.
“Ni siquiera sabría cómo hacer trampa, señor. Fue solo una buena racha. Siguió perdiendo.”
I wouldn’t even know how to cheat, sir. I was just on a hot streak. He kept losing.
Church absorbs the words, understanding them and assessing them for truth.
“Sin embargo, me reí de él cuando dejé la mesa.”
I did laugh at him though, when I left the table.
Church squints at him a bit, letting him go and slapping him on the shoulder towards the exit. The man looks around quickly and makes his way towards the exit to tend to his minor wounds. Church walks back across the casino floor, pointing at the man who is standing up once again beside the blackjack table.
“Take him to Church,” he says...two of his guards that are standing there awaiting further instruction look at him.
“We let the other guys go, Church, why keep this guy?” One of them asked. Church answered over his shoulder, not even looking back.
“He touched chips that weren’t his. And brought shit into my casino that didn’t belong here. No me gusta.”
His Spanish was sarcastic this go around, as he disappeared from the main floor and the two guards followed direction, lifting the loopy man up and walking him slowly towards the stairs. One of the guards looks up at the other.
“Did he really just say “take him to Church”?...we’re supposed to say that.”
Current Day
Ever-Given
Church sat at the edge of the cot, hands folded at his lips. Despite the conditions, he certainly did find the gentle rocking of the boat on the waves to ease his thoughts. Atleast for passing moments. He kept picturing his kids, at this point having no clue where Daddy went. And this was all for them.
Amanda had gone out to port, and Church started to worry about how long she had been gone. An hour and half? Maybe 2? It wasn’t a supply run for anything short of fresh air and relief of claustrophobia.
What was Kindo up to? What was Dukes up to? Who was even in charge at this point, what was the power play? There were so many moving parts dancing around Church’s head, and he had been relegated to a non-factor. Feeling like a prisoner of no crime at this point.
There was a knock at the door, a couple quick taps. Church looked up, confused...Amanda knows the door has no locks. She wouldn’t knock. Standing tall, he eyes the ceiling per usual to make sure he wasn’t going to catch his head. He opened the door and looked out, seeing no one. Atleast, not until he looked down.
A child stood in the hallway, swinging his arms side to side as he looked up in awe at the much taller being.
“PRIMER CAMPEON!” He said excitedly. Church looked out the hallway, side to side, mouthing a ‘what the fuck’ to himself.
“What the hell, kid? What are you doing?”
“Llevo en el barco desde Panamá, me escondo. Conocer a superhéroes de la vida real.” The kid speaks rapidly, Church trying to compute while also trying to understand the situation.
“Oye” the kid says, pulling a walkie-talkie radio out of his cargo shorts pocket. He holds it up to Church like a presented gift. Eyes wide, Church takes it quickly and examines it, giving the kid an inquisitive look.
“¿De dónde has sacado esto?” Church asked in calm Spanish.
Where did you get this?
“Blackwater, Campeon.” The boy seemed to calm down instantly to follow Church’s vibe. Church was amazed. L.A. got him a walkie talkie so the two could communicate? They were teaming together against Lazaro Vicente and Howard Black for the next ‘event’, and Jabberwock still were clearly instructed to keep the two apart.
“Thanks, kid. This is brilliant.”
“Es de la policia” The kid said, but Church already had closed the door in his face. He brought the walkie back to the cot, resuming his seated place at the end of it.
He turns it around a couple times in his hand, looking at the volume and channel knobs. It was already set to channel 3, as Church turned on the volume knob and held it up to his mouth. His finger went to click but froze in place, as his jaw dropped a bit.
Es de la policia. It’s from the police? Jabberwock??
Question answered, as a voice crackled from the walkie talkie.
“No sign of Blackwater, the bodies have been recovered. Resume positions.”
Church stared up towards the wall from behind a wall of hair.
“...holy shit.”
*Credit to J.C./McManus for the banner*