Kael Sera Sera

Whatever Will Be, Will Be

 

“And so, whenever I am displeased you must strike the Despondence Gong thus alerting everyone within earshot of my unhappiness.” 

 

Max’s voice rang out like a dull bell as he picked up a small mallet striking the center of a large brass gong with a sad face in the middle of it. A loud, booming metal boom emanated from the gong and carried through the air around Maximillian Kael as he closed his blue eye and nodded his head solemnly. 

 

Standing in front of the Prime Minister of Maxopotamia was a young man who looked to be in his late teens dressed in an overly ornate blue and red medieval tunic and cloak with a large floppy blue and red hat regaled with bright feathers from various exotic birds. The young man looks familiar but different, his vibrant blue eyes watching Max’s every move with unrivaled excitement, a toothy smile stretched over his face that widened based on his increased breath.

 

“Yes! Yes I understand Lord Kael! Give.. give to me!” the young man’s voice was soft yet somehow shrill, cutting straight past your ears and stabbing you right in the brain. There was a hint of aristocracy to it, not quite a full english accent but caught somewhere in between that and an American East Coast accent. He stretched out his arms toward the mallet, his fingers wiggling and gripping greedily toward his desired object akin to a small baby demanding his binky. 

 

“Remember my Herald, this is a great responsibility, manning the Gongs of Kael. Each gong in the collection has been handed down over the past two days in the glorious tradition of me so.. You know.. Don’t fuck it up.” Max said, his blue eye looking down at the young man before him before handed over the striking mallet. “Though being that you are Cecilworth’s 4th Cousin removed I know you understand the sacred importance of Tradition, Bentley.”

 

As if triggered like a trained pet the young man snapped to attention at the sound of his name, his hands clutching the mallet to his chest as he looked back up at Max.

 

“Sub-Marquis Bentley Tennyson Farthington-Primrose, Son of Lord and Lady Chadwick Coward Farthington-Primrose of the Terst’Eaterst Estate and the new Herald to Prime Minister Maximillian Kael, First Of His Name, Long May He Maim!” The young man screeched at Max like a howler monkey before his wild eyes scanned the collection of various gongs Max had dragged out locating one with a large smiley face on it before striking it.

 

GOOOOONG!

 

Bentley hopped up and down with excitement as the Joy Gong was struck while Max simply nodded enthusiastically, happy to see his Herald was catching on quickly to all of the duties Max assumed Heralds needed to know. 

 

“Good! Goooood!” Max exclaimed, his hands rubbing against each other as a sharp, toothy grin spread wide like cream cheese over a fresh bagel. “I will have to remember to send a thank you note to the Farthington Family to entrusted me with one of their youths as well as gifting me a fine learning Herald. My own son is a bit of a disappointment but you? Oh boy.”

 

Shaking his head Max reached into the back pocket of the track suit he was wearing and retrieved a small black book with the words “owners manual” on it, his fingers flipping over the pages a few times.

 

“So it says here you eat lunch at exactly 12:13 pm which consists of.. Hmm.. A protein, a starch and debasement of humanity. Debasement of Humanity?” Max’s eyebrow arched as he thought about what that could mean.

 

“Oh Bentley loves Debasement of Humanity! Daddums and mum-mum used to hire day laborers and allow me to scream at them during lunch to get out all of my extra energy because mum-mum says that Gram-Gram Farthington and Papa Farthington share the same branch of the family tree.” The slightly detached looking Bentley says as he begins swinging the mallet in his hand around while making lightsaber swishing noises. 

 

“Must be a sturdy branch.” Max said in a dismissive manner as he stepped back from the mallet swinging teenager. Bentley was definitely enthusiastic and with his recent departure from OCW, monday nights had become considerably lonely. Having a Farthington around, even if it wasn’t Cecilworth, would at least keep Max’s spirits up. “I don’t have any day laborers but we’ll see what we can scare up for you.”

 

Max spun around and started to make his way upstairs followed in tow by the young Farthington-Primrose who had a slightly more difficult time climbing the stairs due to his outrageous Herald uniform. Reaching the top of the stairs Max pushed the door open as he arrives in what looks to be the gym floor of Five Time Academy. With Refueled being so close Max hadn’t chanced flying backup to Arkham and instead remained in Tampa. Instead he had been staying at Mike’s academy using his office as a sort of makeshift hotel room which had not gone unnoticed by the staff. 

 

“When I defeat Halitosis, and mark my words now that my focus has returned specifically to… to..” Max’s expression becomes darkened and miserable, as though he didn’t particularly like what he was about to say. “..High Octane Wrestling.. I can’t just sit around here and let that Lee’s mad scheme go unsullied. I shall redouble my efforts to prove that High Octane Wrestling is burnt to the ground and all the unworthy..”

 

Max paused as he spoke the word unworthy, his blue eye narrowing as he stopped mid step heading toward the offices on the far side of the Five Time Academy gym. He canted his head to the side and turned, his blue eye scanning his Herald with a sour expression. 

 

“Lord Kael? Is everything.. Is everything copacetic?” The young Farthington-Primrose preened, a look of excitement washing over his face. “Or perhaps they are Disheartening?”

 

“I feel like when I said unworthy it didn’t have the same punch. Like.. like I lost something in it. Unworthy? What.. what was it I used that word for? Warrent? Warren? Persacks?..” Max’s eyebrow raised as his face twisted into expressions of frustration and confusion. “Whose ever heard of a persacks? Hmm.. Ring the Perplexed Triangle.” 

 

With an excitement usually reserved for fond Christmas mornings, young Herald Bentley reached into his uniform and pulled free a purple triangle and small metal stick used to ring it. He lifted the triangle high above his head and, with a newly serious expression and unmatched zealotry played the small musical device. The ringing seemed to please Max as his smile returned and he seemed to brush off his sudden concern, once again confidently striding toward the offices.

 

“Excellent work, Herald Bentley, you’ve already proven yourself masterful at your job. You’ll go far in the lands of Maxopotamia but first and foremost.. If I can defeat the aforementioned Halitosis for the World Title that will mean he has both two wins over me and the High Octane Wrestling Championship and do you know why that is bad?” Max shouted over his shoulder as he kicked over a weight rack that happened to be in his way. He angrily stomped over it irked that it had found its way into his path even though it was he who had failed to take the paths clearly delineated on the gym floor. 

 

“Oh most reputable Lord Kael, oh most valiant and despondent, I wouldn’t dare guess what vexes a man of your intellect and bravery, me but a humble Herald and youthful ward to your most gracious excellency!” Bentley chittered out as he sashayed behind the Lord of Kaelsalvania. 

 

“Exactly! I can’t have High Octane Wrestling having a charismatic and delightful young man like Halitosi-.. Wait. What did you just say?” Max spun around and stared down at the much smaller Bentley with his cold, hard blue eye. 

 

“..that you are definitely going to defeat him for the World Title, sire!” Immediately followed by the ringing of the Perplexed Triangle. 

“Oh.. well.. Yes. Of course.” Max agreed, his smile clenched tightly on his face as he spun back around. “And of course, a necessary victory. High Octane Wrestling needs to be choked to death and the best, easiest way to do that is to hold the titles and drag them down. Normally if a man like Scottywood or Brian Hollywood managed to get control of them I wouldn’t have to worry about it.. But Halitosis? That mask wearing gold mine of charisma and glory actually runs the chance of making this company mean something. If he starts winning people… People might actually think he is legitimate. They’ll get HOPE Herald Bentley.. And I don’t want to smell that putrid smell anywhere near my dying High Octane Wrestling..”

 

Max snarled low under his breath as he considered a hopefully High Octane Wrestling. People excited to show up to events, new talent filling the locker room giving people new memories. This wasn’t going to happen again, not so long as Max had anything to say about it. His experience in OCW had shown him there were better worlds out there but ultimately.. Ultimately it was not destined to work out. At least not for him and now? Now he was stuck here, in High Octane Wrestling until such a time as it died.. And die it will.

 

“Oh yes! Yes, mi’lord, I do think you are onto something brilliant! Begging your pardon, my truly vicious and beguiling Lord Kael, may I..” His pale cheeks blush red as he pauses for a moment looking shy and doe eyed. “..ring the Blow the Rapture Whistle!?”

 

Without waiting for a response the youth reached into his pants and retrieved a long golden slide whistle, bringing it to his lips as he pulled a deep breath of air into his lungs. Just before he could blow it, however, Max’s claw like hand snaps out, seizing the musical instrument and drawing it out of Bentley’s hands. 

 

“Not yet, Bentley! We do not blow the Rapture Whistle for monologues as much as we might want too. We listen to monologues.. We praise monologues.. We might even monologue a little with the speaker but no Rapture Whistles!” He grabbed young Bentley by the eye as he waved the whistle in his face as his Herald’s face contorted into pain. “If I defeat Halitosis, that mask wearing Scion of the New Age, that money making monster of a performer, then.. I give you full permission to blow the Rapture Whistle. And ONLY then for the moment. Understand, Herald?”

 

The Generation Z Herald of Maximillian Kael looks to pout a little while in Max’s grip though he eventually, reluctantly nods his head, his lower lip stuck out rather far while his eyes seem cross, even malignant, like an angry possum with a taste for human flesh. Max finds it a delightfully endearing look and releases the boy, the slide whistle being tossed back into his arms. 

 

“Good Herald. Now.. I must retreat to my office to work out a proper game plan and introduce you to your other important duties as Herald of the Lord of Kaelsalvania. Say, do you know what social media is?”

 

“Oh yes! Yes, most fair and powerful Lord Kael, I am very active on the grams, the twitters, oh my most handsome and delightful Prime Minister I’ve even had..” He leans closer looking either way to check if anyone is watching. “..I’ve had the sexting over Kik where I got to see someones mossy bank.. Don’t tell daddums or mum-mum please..”

 

Nodding his head Max seems to ignore the vast majority of the young Farthington-Primrose has said and simply offers another sharp toothed smile followed by a pat on the back.

 

“Yes.. yes I think that will do just fine young Herald. Yes.. so you’ll be running all of my social media as I concentrate on how to destroy HOW best, no pun intended.. Which is really just my twitter so let’s get you set up..”

 

“..Oh thank-you, Thank-you oh trusting and wise Lord Kael.. you won’t regret this..”

 

…To Be Continued.

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