Cort's Journey pt. 5: The Monastery!

[Cort Marshall]

The car idles at the end of a secluded forest road.

 

Tsewang: We can go no further. From here, on foot.

 

Cort extricates himself from the car, groaning and massaging his back.

 

Cort: Doesn’t ride like a Mercedes, that’s for sure.

 

His partner in literal crime turns to him and motions with his hand for Cort to follow. He does so, and they proceed into the deep forest.

 

An hour later, Cort slaps a bug off of his shoulder, sweating profusely.

 

Cort: I hate to ruin this wonderful family vacation with an overused trope… but are we there yet!?

 

Tsewang: Not even close.

 

Cort grumbles but continues on as night falls over the near-jungle they find themselves in.

 

Another few hours and Cort is still staggering through the foliage, slapping branches away like a fat man slaps away his doctor’s warnings about eating Chik-fil-A for lunch every day.

 

Tsewang is much less put-upon, clearly used to making these difficult treks. He motions for Cort up ahead.

 

Tsewang: We’re close.

 

A few more meters and the jungle suddenly opens up, revealing a large complex of buildings. It’s too dark to really see any details.

 

Teswang: Welcome to the monastery. Our stronghold. I will bring you to rest… you can train in the morning.

 

~~~~

 

The sun rises over an unknown region of Tibet, lancing through a window to awaken the sleeping #Murrican, Cort Marshall. He groans, but it’s no use; he has to get up eventually. So, he does. Unfortunately, moving brings all the bruises that set in during the night to life.

 

Cort: Oof. What a vacation.

 

Mulling over his choices a bit, he eventually decides to fully get up and explore the place he’s found himself in. The hallways are quite simple, barren even; just worn and dirty stone, or old wood with faded paint. Here and there, though, you can see colourful tapestries or rugs that indicate this place was once much better appointed. Men and women dressed the same as Tsewang pass by, nodding politely at their… now quite smelly houseguest.

 

The courtyard is where the real action is. Thirty or more of the disciples are arranged around the grounds, doing exercises, sparring--unarmed and with weapons--or standing silent, perhaps in prayer. Though large in number, the inhabitants are dwarfed by the buildings around them; in daylight, the true size of the monastery is revealed. As Cort stares, one of the robed men approach him.

 

???: Impressive, no?

 

Cort looks at his new conversation partner.

 

Cort: It is.

 

The man stares into the middle distance, fondling his rather stereotypical stringy moustache.

 

???: It was once the greatest temple in all Tibet… but the people were driven away, and it was forgotten. Now, we, like our ancestors, have been driven away from where we practiced. Into hiding, in the place where we first began. Full circle. Like many things.

 

Cort takes a second look at the man, seeing a resemblance… something about the head. Remove the mustache and...

 

Cort: Hold on a second. You look a lot like B17.

 

???: Ahh, B17. He was a good student. Nice and resilient. If you know what I mean.

 

Cort: I hope I don’t. But that means you’re...

 

???: Yes! Master Big Head Gay Man, most sought-after martial arts teacher in all of Tibet.

 

Cort: Uh-huh. Listen, I gotta ask about the name.

 

BHGM: What about it? It was my father’s name, and my father’s mother’s name before that. And before that, my father's mother's sister's dog.

 

Cort: Your father’s… mother’s… nevermind. How are people supposed to find you out here?

 

BHGM: It was not always like this. I was a public figure! Music videos, talk shows, branded merchandise, exercise tapes, the whole shebang! But then… the government came down on us like a you-know-what into a you-know-where. Suddenly my students were being told, in no uncertain terms, that my teachings were FORBIDDEN! And I myself was on the run.

 

Cort: Why would they do that?

 

BHGM: I suspect the government had been infiltrated.

 

Cort: Infiltrated? By reptilians!?

 

BHGM shakes his head.

 

BHGM: No, silly American, reptilians don’t exist. By the scourge that is Kasstianity!

 

Cort: But that’s just a weird cult made up by an egotistical wrestler, there’s no way a pro wrestler could POSSIBLY have influence in government.

 

Cort stares at the camera like in The Office.

 

BHGM: That is what they want you to think, my friend. The truth is, Kasstianity is more dangerous than anyone can imagine. It must be stopped, or else the world will be in peril! Wrestling games will be good again! Cities will sink into the ocean, and giant scorpions will arise from the depths! Trump will get another term! Cats and dogs living together, total anarchy!

 

Cort: You’re telling me the future of humanity is doomed to giant undersea scorpions because a guy does a good rassle.

 

BHGM: Yes. That’s pretty much it.

 

Cort: First of all, I don’t believe you. Secondly, is this something I can really solve by punching?

 

BHGM wags a finger.

 

BHGM: Maybe, maybe not! That is why you are here, no?

 

Cort nods.

 

BHGM looks him up and down before doing a full circle around Cort, poking here and pinching there.

 

Cort: What on earth are you doing.

 

BHGM: Measuring girth.

 

Cort: Hwhat?

 

BHGM: … of your spiritual energy. Chi.

 

Cort: Okay, fine. How does my spiritual gas tank read.

 

BHGM: Meh. Not good, not bad. Midcard at best.

 

Cort winces.

 

BHGM: But I may still have something to teach you. A weapon, in the fight against injustice. But training will not be easy. You must accept that you will have to stay here until you have truly learned the ways! And you will not contact your lawyers after the fact.

 

Cort: I can’t afford lawyers.

 

BHGM: Then welcome to the dojo!