| Running the Path #2; featuring Kilminster and Johanssen | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: May 11 2016, 04:59 AM (21 Views) | |
| Sinclair | May 11 2016, 04:59 AM Post #1 |
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《《( ( O ) )》》 《《( ( O ) )》》 So I was ten on April 10th 2002, my Dad died on June the 14th and by the time there’d been a bit of back and forth and arguing and negotiating between Momma and Grandma and then Nan and Granddad on his side, it was August before I was put on a plane and sent to England. Momma and Grandma didn’t want me to go, but with Dad dead and obviously not paying in to help feed and clothe me, they couldn’t afford to give me everything they wanted to. Grandma had been sick for years, even before Grandpa had died, but I don’t know what with. She needed a stick to walk and was always coughing as if she smoked, even though she didn’t. Grandpa had a good job and bought their house and so they didn't have a mortgage or anything anymore. I think he’d worked on a farm, but I’m not sure. When he died, Momma and me moved in with Grandma because she was too sick to work and the money Grandpa left behind wasn’t much. Momma had two jobs and Grandma looked after me most of the time, but Momma was always sure to spend as much time with me as she could. She was always tired. Sometimes she’d just fall asleep and I’d sit next to her and fall asleep too. One night, I woke up and I heard Grandma and Momma talking. Momma was crying. She really didn’t want me to go. Grandma was telling her how good England would be for me, how the education and opportunities were better. Then she said Momma could afford to give up one of her jobs and take it east and maybe find herself a new man. Momma got upset and angry. They argued and screamed and shouted and, eventually, Momma ran up the stairs and saw me and Grandma came to chase after her and she saw me too and then they both knew that I knew Grandma didn’t want me anymore. I never forgot that. I never wanted to. I barely spoke to Grandma after that and I knew it upset her, that she wanted me to forgive her, but I couldn’t. If I’d been staying in Kingston, I guess, maybe over time, I could have forgiven her but I wasn’t staying and there just wasn't enough time to let it go. It hurt me and I wanted it to hurt her too. If anything, it helped me in England. I arrived in August, in the middle of the school holidays and I didn’t go outdoors much. I was stuck in a house where the Summer wasn’t as hot as our Spring and with family I never knew, parents to a man who was my Dad, who I barely knew. They were so old and I just didn’t know what to say or do. Momma phoned me every night. I spoke to Momma for hours. I think Nan and Granddad paid the phone bills for Momma. At the end of the call, she’d always hand the phone over to Grandma and I’d always hang up before I said anything. I’d always listen for her to say my name and then I just disconnected. When I laid awake in my room, at night, thinking about how I didn’t fit in in England, I’d think about home… about Kingston… and about how much I missed Momma and I’d start to get upset and then I’d remember what Grandma said and I’d remember that I’m not wanted there. I let myself cry. I let myself get angry. Sometimes, I let myself punch the walls or the doors until I was crying because my hands hurt and not because of what she said. The more I thought about how I wasn’t wanted there, the more I didn’t want to be there. It hurt me and I wanted it to hurt her too. If anything, it helped me in England. 《《( ( O ) )》》 《《( ( O ) )》》 It’s been a long old fuckin’ time since my mind was cast back there. Too long, maybe, or not long enough - I’m not so sure. Still, reminiscing about it all beats the shit out of thinking about speeds and distances, pace-times all all the other shit you’re supposed to think about when you’re running. When Osbourne brought in that cardio coach for Jurgen, he was telling him all kinds of shit about how he should be thinking about every single step he takes - how his heel should hit the ground, how the balls of your feet should follow through, how to measure stride. Fuck that. I told him to keep putting foot A in front of foot B quick enough to start sweating and hold that speed and just let your mind take you on its own merry little ride. Yeah, I can honestly say I don’t think too much about the big move from Kingston. I don’t actively avoid it, but I guess I did a pretty fuckin’ good job boxin’ it all up years ago and saw no need to go sticking my nose in it all. It wasn’t an easy time and I didn’t help myself by getting so angry. Now I’m a bit older, I know Grandma was trying to make Momma see that she could have a life of her own and have a little bit less stress without struggling to feed me. It’s not that she didn’t want me, it’s that she was trying to make the best of a right shitter of a situation. It didn’t end like that, thank fuck. I was ten and it was easy to be angry because it gave me something constant to cling to, something that made sense. It took me years to really get past that, but I did. She didn’t die thinking I hated her. I am glad of that. 《《( ( O ) )》》 《《( ( O ) )》》 Wearing a baggy black t-shirt pulled-on hastily atop his MMA shorts after his own training, Osbourne Kilminster watches from outside the ring, looking up as he wipes his face with a towel, he studies the movements of the two men in the ring. Shaun bounds about, light as ever on his feet, flashes of white tights where his legs should be as he navigates his way around and between the powerful strikes and clinch attempts of the much bigger man, of Jurgen - black and silver the colours of his biker shorts and boots. As Shaun bobs and weaves between intermittent punches, chops and grasping fingers, he sees his opening. Waiting half a second longer than Jurgen or even Osbourne expected, he leaps high into the air and tags Jurgen’s chin with three light punches - left, right, left - and drops feet-first to the canvas. Jurgen takes a step back, almost in slow motion as Shaun flicks his feet in the air and drops back onto one hand, wheeling his legs like a cartwheel to tag Jurgen’s jaw with his patented Capoiera kick. Smiling from the sidelines, Osbourne walks away and leaves Jurgen to pick himself off the ring-ropes and look down at the man a good six inches shorter and nearly sixty pounds lighter. What in the fuck was that? New Superman Punch? Thought this was a light session to get you ready and keep you on your toes, not an excuse for you to take cocky cheap shots like an asshole! Oi, calm the fuck down, mate. The fact you got caught just shows you how fuckin’ fast I am, so this is working. Besides, don’t you get comin’ the big “I am” with me, all high and fuckin’ mighty when I’ve had more than my share of you chucking me around like a rag doll. I’m the one with a match coming up, not you, so you want to keep your shit in order. Jurgen clenches his jaw and takes a step in toward Shaun, emphasising the downward angle he has to crane his neck at to look him in the eye. Raising an eyebrow and licking his lips, Shaun glares right up at him. Osbourne told me to be ready for anything and I’m making sure that I am! You want to be a bit more careful how hard you go sparring because, when it ticks around to my turn, I can go just as hard and how would the little jumping bean do then? Is that a threat, cunt? ENOUGH! Both men step back from one another, the resounding voice throughout the facility stopping them in their tracks - their words and damn near their breathing. Shaun sniffs and thumbs his nose as he takes a step back away from Jurgen, not taking his eyes off him for a second. Osbourne leaps up onto the ring apron in a single bound and ducks under the top rope to enter the ring and stand between them, throwing his towel so it hangs upon the turnbuckle as he looks each man in the eye and shakes his head. I get it, the whole rising tension. It’s a response to stress and it’s a natural escalation because you’re both primed and ready to go at a moment’s notice. That makes you WANT it and you have to learn when to amp it up and when to reel it in. Now isn’t the time to be losing it, not with eachother. Look, it’s not my fuckin’ fault if he can dish it but can’t take it. You’re a pipsqueak pencil-neck asshole and you think bouncing around’s going to keep you alive! So, fuckin’ what? Because I haven’t got shoulder up to my fuckin’ ears, you think you’re better than me? Funny that, because I’m not the cunt crying about a few love-taps.! I SAID ENOUGH! Shaun shakes his head and flares his nostrils as his hands rest on his hips, Jurgen instead dropping his gaze to his own boots. Osbourne shakes his head again, sighing with disappointment and reaching out to place a hand on each of his students shoulders. Look, there’s a lot going on right now. Shaun, you’re more than ready for the Heart Attack Kid. Jurgen, we’re just waiting for the riggt moment to slip you off the leash and let them all see what you can do. It’s about patience and about being very, very specific where we direct our energy. Looking about at the empty facility, Osbourne shrugs his shoulders and returns his attention to his prize students, his best friends. Maybe we need to get some new people in here, some fresh blood. It miggt be the only way to keep you two alpha dogs from tearing eachother apart. I’ll look into it, see who we can bring in. Invite-only, not just anybody off the street. In the meantime, just realise that patience is the key. It took me a long time to learn and accept it, but that's just how it is. Patting their shoulders, Kilminster takes his leave, his back turned but his ears most definitely open as he departs the ring and vanishes up the stairs to the shower and bedrooms. As they hear his door closing, Shaun and Jurgen slowly and reluctantly look up at one another. It’d be nice to have other people here. New training partners, new conversations. It’ll be nice to not have everything around here be all about how the sun shines out of your ass. Shaun’s jaw drops as Jurgen sneers and steps over the top rope, jumping down off the apron and heading up the stairs toward his own room, the only space in the whole facility where Shaun has no need, cause or right to enter. Left alone in the ring, he drops down and sits cross-legged, sucking in a deep breath through his nose and expelling it through his mouth, his eyes closed and his mind swirling with juxtaposed thoughts about a hundred different things all at once. So much happening, so much confusion. He sought calmness. He just needs to wet his toe. It can’t be easy watching your career take off while he’s still sat waiting for his to happen. I know. That’s why I’m not angry. Shocked as fuck, but not angry. Shaun’s eyes don’t open and he doesn’t move an inch as the disparate voice of his mentor reaches and engages him. Slowly, Osbourne descends the stairs one more and slides into the ring, plucking his previously discarded towel from the turnbuckle as he regards his meditative disciple. Jurgen has a way of feeding from his own frustrations, but they have a way of eating at him. I’ve seen it before, in others, and it usually leads to them snapping, one way or another. I should have let him enter the Warrior’s Trial so he could see for himself how he wasn't ready, but I was worried he’d get hurt. Now, he feels held-back, under-appreciated and it could be a matter of time before his feelings of resentment cause him to blow up or just leave and seek his fortune elsewhere. Nobody wants that. Of course we don’t. I need to find a way to challenge him. I need to find a way for him to cut his teeth, but I need to see the lay of the land in sofar as how the EWA’s going to play out for us. Can’t do that ‘til Battlelines. I know. Pacing back and forth, Osbourne looks down at Shaun, a picture of serenity, his breathing timed and perfect, his hands resting comfortably on his knees and his eyes resting just closed, but not tightly so. Your next match is a big one, Shaun. It’ll be the first time you’ve been in the ring with someone like yourself since Shinya… someone… Fast. Someone fast, but not like me. Nowhere near. At his fastest, I could beat him without breaking a sweat. Maybe. Maybe you are just that damn fast, but never let that be the only thing you grow to rely on. It’s a great tool to have, a devastating weapon, but it’s only one thing in the armoury. A smile paints its way across Shaun’s lips as his eyes slowly open and focus on Osbourne, who stops dead in front of him and crouches down to his level. Do you tell the fuckin’ fencing gold medallist to pick up a broadsword or do you recognise that he can cut and thrust his way through anybody faster than you can see? If he wanted to, he could probably give the heavier steel a double-handed swing, but would you tell him to do that instead of putting trust in his instincts and his skills with his own weapon? Would you? This isn’t fencing and we’re not comparing the advantages of a rapier over a claymore. This is about recognising that being able to come at someone from above isn’t always going to be enough. A trump card, maybe. A “special move”, maybe. If I had a pound for every high flyer who got themselves broken in half by a strong guy who managed to pin them down and twist their limbs… if I had a pound for every time one of them tried a stupid stunt and got it wrong and cost themselves a match, if not their health... But they’re not me. What they don’t get and what you don’t seem to fully appreciate is I can come at them from any fuckin’ angle I like and the best bit is I’m not some 150/160 lettuce leaf - I’m 225 and if I decide I WANT to take someone down and snap them in half, I can and I will. You should know that. You taught me all that. You know my memory is better than anybody’s, so don’t talk down to me like I’m some green rookie cunt. You know better than that because you know me better than that. Nodding, Osbourne raises an eyebrow and ever so briefly smirks before his expression returns to one of much more seriousness, his eyes narrowing. You’re growing some balls, Shaun. I like that, the confidence, but just remember who you’re talking to and don’t ever try cutting a fucking promo on me. Winking at Shaun, Osbourne takes his leave again, ducking under the top rope and hopping down from the apron. He takes a moment to stare into the ring at Shaun before turning away and vanishing up the stairs. Fuck. 《《( ( O ) )》》 《《( ( O ) )》》 We hear it before we see it, and when we see it, we barely can. Beneath a dim, blue-filtered spotlight, water trickles down a stone facade into a tiny pool surrounded by tiny wind chimes. The artificial structure appears to be fashioned from real stone, the wind chimes dangling from sticks set into the stone to represent trees. Kneeling before it is a man in a pale blue hooded top, the hood pulled up over his head and his eyes transfixed on the water feature. it’s such a fuckin’ shame you couldn't get the job done properly, Kid, I mean… our match is going to be really special but it could have been on a whole other fucking level if you’d got your act together and taken Dietrich out by yourself, taken his title and then had that on the table for our match. Yeah, it might be your fault the shit hit the fan and Napalm pissed all over your parade, but just think how much more this could have been. It’s going to be… exemplary… but it could have been epic. Pulling back his hood, he turns to face us, licking his lips. Yeah, it looks a bit shit that you get back in the winner’s circle by way of a count-out because of interference, but that's just the way it is, sometimes. I bet you’re at home right now counting your blessings that you got through without Dietrich stretching your asshole in the middle of the ring, but the way everyone else looks at it is that you fluked your way through and only got half a foot in the circle. That makes it easier for me because, really, it’s just a matter of stamping your toes hard enough that you jump right out all by your fuckin’ self. It’s that you leapt up but you’re only precariously balanced on the edge of the cliff-face and it’ll take one little nudge to send you into free-fall all over again… ...and I’m just the cunt to do it. Shrugging, Shaun smiles and shakes his head. I can’t shake it out of my mind that Osbourne once said guys like you and me were the future of this business, that one day it’d be us and the likes of us hustling for the biggest prize there is. I guess the future came faster than he fuckin’ figured, because here we are, faced-off in a tournament where only one of us can progress. The thing is, Kid, the flame that burns brightest burns out the quickest and you burned so fuckin’ blindingly bright when you rocked up, but where are you now? Coasting, drifting, slowly taking on water. I may have been slower to gain traction, but what I have got is steadfast and built on a legacy of longevity. At the top of the plinth is only room for one man. One MAN. Not a Kid. Shrugging, Shaun takes a moment to consider the implications of victory over the illustrious Heart Attack Kid. Best case scenario for you is to put up a good fight so people remember you as the Kid who tried hard and gave all he had. The best you can do is put on a show, bust out everything you have in the tank and hope it impresses someone enough to believe in you, to keep you around. I’m not fuckin’ around. I’m not in this for second place. I’m not about to lay back and let you take what I want. Sorry to break it to you, Kid, but this’ll be the second time you’ve crossed The institute… and it'll be the last. 《《( ( O ) )》》 《《( ( O ) )》》 |
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10:52 AM Jul 11