Always Climbing

Mountains, bro.

They're big, awe-inspiring, and absolutely beautiful to look at.

But they’re beatable.

If you keep going, and going, and going, you’ll get to the top. You might need a few breaks, a sleep, maybe even a cookout to celebrate the occasion? Hotdogs perhaps?

Point is… plug away.

You’ll get there.

That’s you, to me, Kerry K.

My fuckin’ Mount Kerrybrojaro.

The setting is deep in the beautiful, historic heart of the Alsatian gemstone city, Strasbourg. In front of the picturesque Palais des Fêtes, it’s a scene put together with hues of extravagant power and shades of excessive wealth. The black and white theme displays that this isn’t just another party - but it’s a fucking GALA event. It’s quite apparent from the easy-to-spot blockhead stiffs with earpieces and nighttime sunglasses standing at the entrance and throughout the perimeter that there’s a heightened sense of security as well.

“I wonder if they’ll have any doggies in there, bro…”

Crash sits in the back of a black box van in his absolute most favorite thing to wear in the world - a three piece tux - with tortoise-shell eyeglasses. His curly red locks are put into a short bun. Not the most complete disguise but it certainly covers the ‘fish out of water’ approach. From the front, Jacque LaRoque peers back with a shrug.

“I doubt zese people ‘ave ever ‘ad an ‘otdog before, monsieur. Zey strike me more as… zauzage people.”

Big Bro’s got a point. If I go in there, woofin’ down doggies like a real man, I’ll blow my cover. I guess I’ll have to stomach some… fuckin’ sausage tonight…

PRIME’s favorite hotdog glutton shudders at the thought of potential run-ins with Liverwurst or, Jim Kelly forbid, Knockwurst! Broque stops scanning the crowd and slaps his brother’s arm.

“What’s wrong wiz sausage?”

In that exact moment where things could definitely get off track, the side door whips open and steals every ounce of attention any of these idiots have to offer. It’s Violent Purple, heels on, little black dress, and looking every bit the part of undercover stunner in a blonde Bob wig. Crash averts his gaze, biting down on his fist like an unripened mango, trying his fuckin’ best to stay on task.

“Number Twelve, give me strength….”

Broque and Jacque give VP a once over before giving Crash a glance. Their eyes and Crash’ sweaty brow say it all.

TOO FINE, BRO! UUUUUNFAAAAAIR!!!

Purps flashes a small smirk, doing her best to take it as a compliment and, most importantly, a sign that her assigned idiot is starting to take things more seriously. That sentiment lasts a brief moment before she catches a glimpse of Crash, briefly mistaking him for someone she doesn’t want to punch in the face immediately. That sentiment quickly washes away but not before the Hot Dog Hero spots a soft, tender glint in her eyes. VP cracks him in the shoulder before he can explore that topic.

“Lookin’ good, dummy. Ready to do this?”

Work… she means doin’ work stuff. It’s way too early to be thinkin’ about swappin’ Strasbourg Smoochies, homie.

I don't know about your legacy, Vae Victus, or what in Jim Kelly’s red and blue kingdom makes you think your last name makes a damn difference to me, brosaki.

The only thing I know and care about you, KK, is that you're in my fuckin’ way.

PRIME. Max Kael’s devious bullshit. Violent Purple’s heart and/or affection, bro. Now the Emerald Apex…

Constant mountains, bro. Always climbing.

“Say, bro. Lemme bend your ear for a sec?”

Violent Purple’s eyes dart from Crash to the doorman and then back to her partner. The guy shrugs in both of their directions.

He taps the clipboard, “Unless you’re on the list, I can’t-”

Crash is quick to close the distance between them and lower his voice to a soft, yet strong, whisper.

“You see that fiery little flower behind me? I knew the minute I met this woman, I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her…”

Dude, undercover work is so much easier when you don’t have to lie about it! 

The pause gives Purps some time to actually process Crash’ words. For the first time in a long time, she’s not ready to set the world on fire. She stops rage-staring at the doorman and his dumb clipboard, turning her focus to the moron running his mouth to keep their covert operation in play but also… unleashing total honesty at this stranger.

Crash turns back with a giant smile, wrapping his arm around the man’s shoulder, and locks eyes with VP. She breaks her focus, flashing a wide smile at the guard, and waves her hand.

“I didn’t get tickets because, honestly, I was nervous she wasn’t gonna say yes.”

The guard’s guard is broken, shown with a bright smile, and looks back and forth. His mouth opens when VP presents the fake ring she put on for this exact purpose. It’s another new twist to Crash though so even his reaction is authentic.

“Congratulations, monsieur! Madmoiselle!”

VP jumps into Crash’ arms, her focus still on the guard. The Hot Dog Hero catches her strong but somewhat smaller frame in his arms. One lands on the small of her back, the other under her arm.

This chick is trying to distract me now, I swear…

“Oh my God, isn’t he just so cute?” 

She thinks I'm cute!

VP turns to face Crash, so close they can feel each other’s heavy breaths, and runs her hand over his face and hair. He smiles at the guard, selling the act even further, before back at Violent. She kisses him on the cheek and sends his heart rate into orbit. She smiles back at the guard but Crash can’t take his eyes off her.

The fuck is goin’ on here? Is this what… focus up, bro.

“So what do you want me to do?”

Perfect timing to bring Crash back to Earth from his interstellar romantic daydreams. It gives him a chance to smile, eye the situation a little bit more, and come up with some semi-believable bullshit to get their asses through the door.

“She’s always wanted to go to one of these things. Just let us in, snag a glass of champagne, check it out, be out in fifteen minutes. Think we could come to an… agreement?”

The guard notices a thick wad of Euro bills in his new friend’s hand. They exchange a nod of understanding. VP giggles as the cash passes hands and does a little clap while Crash leads her through, holding her hand and checking the area to see if anyone is watching him. VP pats the guard’s chest.

Just like James fuckin’ Bond, bro.

“Thank you, like, sooo much!”

The pair make their way into the greater ballroom area with all sorts of exhibits and shit that smart, fancy types know all about. The types of things UN Couth used to be able to teach her niece about. That’s where VP’s focus flips back to the mission. She snags her hand away from Crash’s secure grip.

Oh, yup, back to normal.

“We need to find Max.”

Wait, what?!

“Max is in ze building? You know zis for sure? Do you zee ‘im?”

Broque chimes in through the earpiece with little resistance. Purps turns to face Agent Hot Dog to help him contain whatever outburst he’s about to unleash.

“Why didn’t you didn’t tell me he was here, Purps?”

Crash is able to whisper-yell at VP who seems to be holding the cards close to her exquisite chest. Crash does his best to stifle the anger on his face but he can’t hide it all. The best solution? Snag some of the champagne flutes drifting by him, tossing one back in a swift motion. He offers the other to Violent.

“It would have clouded your head and… we needed to get in.”

Ouch, bromeo!

The Northern Light leers at Purps, who returns the expression but with a little pouty lip gesture to drive it home. She only cares about one thing - getting to Max and taking him off at the knees. The corner of her mouth kicks up a little at the end, hoping Crash can drop the whole romance angle and get his head in the game. Before they both lose theirs.

Fuck it. 

“Alright, lady. What’s the play here?”

She nods towards the staircase with a group of heavily-guarded, important-types gathering at the top. The majority are wearing Russian flag pins and some even don militaristic uniforms with Russian insignia. Crash and Purps exchange a glance of concern. Unsure what the fuck is going on, it becomes pretty clear when they look back to see Maximillian Wilhelm Kael shaking hands and rubbing elbows with said Russian bigwigs.

Russians? What in the Hell is Max getting himself into? What is he getting us into?!

The group of nefarious characters turn towards a big pair of double doors, filing in with Max being the last. He turns over his shoulder, straightening his suit jacket, before assuring himself he’s in the clear to go conduct some sort of evil deed. Crash throws his hands up, sure that pursuit might come with dire consequences the likes of which Purps’ auntie knows all too well, and turns to the door.

“Now what?"

VP grips his sleeve, pulling him close to her side, while maintaining her eyes on the target.

“We have to get up there. Whatever that shitweasel is up to… it’s gotta be big.”

Jeeeeesuuuuuus

“Alright, no sweat. I can totally…”

She offers the Northern Light the hardest eyeroll in history before starting for the stairs. He racks his brain for a few exhausting seconds but realizes the best ideas he’s got come with a heavy amount of climbing and backflips.

Way too obvious, Broryshnikov. Oh, shit.

VP’s taken this chance to approach the staircase, twirling her hair and batting her eyes. She collects the group of guards in her palm and leans forward.

“Hi boys.”

Rut ro.

“I was just in the ladies’ room and saw two girls… well, for lack of a better term, going at it. I just wanted to let somebody know just in case you get any… complaints.”

All the guards turn to one another, stupid smiles stretching over their stupid faces, before a mad scramble takes place like in a Looney Toons bit. Fighting for position, they scramble away in a tizzy.

Well, hot damn, Purps.

Crash’ head turns as the guards go piling by him. VP unclinks the metal clasp on the velvet rope. Crash knows the sound, turning back with an impressed grin. She bows.

“After you, dear.”

Crash sticks out his arm, selling that this is an authorized entry, as she takes it.

“I ever tell you how fuckin’ impressive you are?”

Ut oh, bro! I’m gonna get punched in the dick for that one.

The Buffalo Kid braces for impact. His eyes slam shut, ready for the lightning quick and thunder heavy fist to the family jewels he knows only this beautiful bitch can deliver.

Where is the hurt?

Crash opens his eyes to see VP’s fixed on him. They’re not angry eyes, mind you, but soft, appreciative eyes. VP scans the room, her eyes darting to the left and the right, up the room, down the other side. Anywhere and everywhere other than at Crash's face. Probably a threat assessment, right?

Probably, bro.

"..ireallyappreciateyoudoingthis.."

It's in one breath, low, barely a whisper. Crash probably heard it wrong.

Probably.

"..uh.. I didn't catch tha-"

"I FUCKING AP-" Violent begins loudly before catching herself. She takes a deep breath and finally, after quick look around, looks into Crash's eyes.

"Look, I appreciate you doing this, okay? That's all I wanted to say, okay?!"

BROOOOOOOOOOO

Her head dips again, with that same soft body language that throws Crash off like a strike being called a ball. He’s not sure if that’s a good thing, or bad, but knows that he’s not seen this side of Violent Purple. It’s… delightful.

Is this part of the cover? It looks super fuckin’ real, bro. No way… she’s just playin’ with me.

“I’m not very good at… feelings… so if you-”

That train of thought goes off the rails when the door opens and a stern fist to the ribs stops the Hot Dog Hero from getting deep. Purps’ attention shifts instantaneously into the room where Max is seen taking a seat amongst a plethora of Russian diplomats, oligarchs, and Generals. The Buffalo Kid muffles out a chuckle of defeat. He can see the lust for revenge in her eyes.

I guess I don’t have a chance against Max after all.

“Thank you, Comrade Kael. We’re just glad to have been able to be a part of this arrangement.”

This is when Crash catches that this is getting serious, again. He knew it all along but, shit, man. All these touches and touchings and cheek kisses, it’s becoming more like a trial of attrition instead of a simple recon project. Purps leans closer to the door, pulling her phone out, and hits the record button. He dips in behind her, slightly taller, and watches through the crack of the door and her pristine, powerful, pretty shoulder that glistens in the hallway light like a sweaty can in the fading sun.

Dude. Focus, broseph!

“When do you expect this project will be complete, Comrades? Kael Corp is anxious to resume operations with haste! We simply need to know our timeline to get back to business.”

One of the guys in a suit stands up. His Russian flag pin suggests he’s one of these diplomat types. That means he’s got some weight and, the fact that he stands up to speak, he’s ready to show he has some say in the final word of said arrangement.

“Comrade Kael… it is with great honor that you have chosen the Motherland to continue your quest for greatness. I assure you, every man at this table is marching along the same path. Together… glory will be ours.”

He pulls up a map with a series of black Xs with red arrows pointing to Russia. The table erupts in thunder, startling even Comrade Kael, as they all begin to laugh and smile while slamming the table with closed fists.

“Yes, yes, comrades! We have relocated every resource Kael Corp has to offer out of the danger zone… and to the new home! To Mother Russia!”

They hoodwinked him, bro!

“See, Purps? Max didn’t wanna do any of this.”

Crash's hand slaps across the small of Purple's back. It's basically the butt, everybody paying attention knows it but technically HR can't do anything about it because there aren’t any cam…er…uhh…s?. Both grin at the thought of it though it's the sound that grabs everyone's attention.

Purple looks back at Max.

Max locks eyes with Crash.

Crash catches himself straight up grabbing VP’s butt as Max and Crash look at Violent Purple. Their mouths move in unison.

"..shit."

Max picks up his chair and throws it at Violent. It's pointless, she's twenty feet away and he throws it five feet.

“You fucking moron…”

She goes for the nuts but certain dude instincts give him the cosmic ability to dodge said nut shots. She jumps off when they hit the floor, Crash still holding her hand. The tension of her hoping to exact revenge in this very moment and his grip, not ready to let her fall to the same fate her aunt did come to a standstill.

“Fuck, bro, really?”

The soft, tender expression washes over Crash this time. His jaw tightens. His lips purse. His eyes narrow. Violent Purple tries to break the hold but is met with stern yet wholesome force. The kind you don’t get in wrestling. The kind you barely get in a real life scenario. She looks at the grip then back at this handsome man in a tux with a passion burning in his eyes.

It is the thought that counts, bro.

Before she can close the distance Max has already escaped out a door, locking it behind him like it's a JRPG cutscene. VP is nearly in arms length of some brutal brutes so Crash jumps in front of her and pushes backward.

“We have got to go, Purps. Now.”

Without abandon, PRIME’s Hot Dog Hero grips VP by the waist, spins her around, and buttslides all the way down the railing of the fancy staircase. Fighting and refuting every step they take away from the doors is Violent Purple. She punches Crash in the ribs.

My fuckin’ ribs, bro!

I'm gonna be straight with you though, Prince Kerry… I'm here to climb mountains.

Win or lose, I'm not the one to run, son. I'm the one real fans are askin’ for at the door. The guy PRIME needs to balance the scales. 

Right wrongs.

Fight the Good Fight.

And I'm just gettin’ started.

Crash and Violent Purple burst through the kitchen doors of the Palais des Fêtes. She fights every step and even throws Judo kicks at our favorite hotdog demolisher. He simply plays laissez faire defense, dodging and dipping to not catch a fist to the face.

“Purps, we’re good.”

Okay, poor choice of words…

“GOOD!?”

Another quick jab sends Crash into Matrix mode. He shrugs, rolling his neck, expecting a fight. She backs off and superkicks a trash can.

Poor trashy can. She’s upset. She don’t mean it.

“What the fuck do you want anyway, Crash? You just followin’ me around in some long-play hopes to fuck me? You workin’ for Max?!”

She kicks at Crash but he’s ready for the turmoil and catches her succulent, savory ankle. They both pause because the grip is super sensual. He looks up with curiosity.

I mean, if the option’s on the table… NO, BRO!

“I want to help you… be happy? Fuck! I don’t know, Purps.”

She shoots daggers at Crash. His hands go up immediately.

Shit! Nononono

“No! Not fuck, I meant… fuck! I see all these other chicks but I don’t see ‘em at the same time, if the makes sense? I see you and I want to know you. Like really know you.  And then… what happened to your aunt…”

Violent Purple’s chin drops at the mere mention but Crash darts in, catching her chin with his finger, picking it up and putting on his best optimistic, honest grin. He backs up with a wave of his hands just as the thought of giving in flashes over VP’s face.

I don’t know how to say these words good, bro.

“I just… I just want help. ”

Her eyes begin to swell. She’s sure that this idiot isn’t smart enough to pull anything while she’s in this state, so it’s easier to lend her total focus on Crash’ body language.

Can’t go back now.

“I just want you to be happy. I mean... I don’t know if you were ever happy before, but I want to be the one to help you get there. I know it’s not gonna happen overnight but…  I’m like ninety-four percent sure I’d do anything for you, Purps.”

Bro, that number is waaaaay higher.

She can’t help but finally breathe by letting out a stupid, pathetic, teary, slobbery laugh at the thought of somebody willing to do all that just so she can smile. That’s never been a part of her life, not since she can remember. It’s mostly been blood and knuckles, hardly chocolates and roses. She turns around, hiding whatever it is her face is doing from Crash, who finally turns around himself.

“You okay?”

She does the female face magic tricks that help shut off the tear valves and snot pipes before turning around, doing her best to simply smile. It feels weird as fuck but she’s trying her best not to fight it. She takes a look at what might be the sweetest or dumbest man she’s met in a long time.

“Only ninety-four percent?”

Crash releases the embrace. His body posture changes, from loving to bashful. Violent notices, clutching his bicep, keeping him close.

“Purps… I suck at this. All of this. I lost to Fred Dick at 46. They’re sending me into the buzzsaw against Kerry at 48. I burst don't get why you think I can help you against Max…”

Dude, you just went like two sentences without saying bro! BRO! Is this maturity?

“But until I become a great wrestler… I'll be a great man. “

Violent Purple practically jumps into his arms. The Hot Dog Hero pauses before sweeping her to his side, dipping her like the cover of a Danielle Steele novel, locking eyes for a longing, charged pause before going in and planting a sensual, real life Strasbourg Smooch.