| Fire.; with guests | |
|---|---|
| Tweet Topic Started: Jun 2 2016, 04:08 AM (32 Views) | |
| Kilminster | Jun 2 2016, 04:08 AM Post #1 |
|
《《( ( O ) )》》 《《( ( O ) )》》 They’d carried her through the sea of the EWA roster on that shield through the winding halls of the back to an awaiting ambulance and paramedics. She was done. Her career was over and his was not. One burden lifted from his shoulders, and yet such fitting end for a warrior like her. He gave her respect she deserved, just as he always promised he would, even after the divorce, and just as his students had. It hurt to watch them load her up surrounded by EMTs and EWA suits with clipboard and tablet computers documenting everything. Strangers. She’d passed out just as they got to the curtain and nobody would know for sure what was wrong until they got her back to the hospital. He’d given her what she wanted, so there was no regret on his part, but still an inescapable and innate sadness which gripped his throat and his stomach in a death clutch, rendering him mute. A tap on the shoulder from Shaun drew his attention then, his student pulling an envelope from his pocket. He knew her better than anyone and that handwriting on the envelope was unmistakably hers. Sighing, he nods to his proteges before heading back to the locker room to get cleaned up. Damn woman and her schemes. It was thankfully quiet and empty when he got there, taking a seat on the bench to open the envelope and read the letter from his ex-wife. ![]() Sitting down, alone on the pine benches which still reeked of disinfectant, he tore the tape from the wrists of his gloves and pulled them off, launching them across the room and at the bleached white wall in front of him. Blood oozed through tens of cuts, sweat pushed its way through thousands of pores but, from just two points, something new joined the mix. His hands covered his face, his palms blocking out the light as he bends almost double, his elbows stopping against his knees as his chest heaves. The door opens and hands reach out to pat his shoulders and rub his neck. It’s Shaun and Jurgen, but he can barely feel them, he barely heard them enter. His eyes stream but his jaw clenches tight, defiantly refusing to let out the all-encompassing moan which seems to shudder every bone and fibre in his body. He knows that if his mouth dared open, he’d either roar or sob uncontrollably and neither would change things. She’s gone. Jada’s gone. It’s what she wanted, but he fired then metaphorical bullet that ended it all. His eyes close tightly as he forces himself to his feet, Shaun and Jurgen stepping back from him as he blindly walks into the shower, turning it on full heat and feeling the scorching water run all over him, the steam burning his closed eyes as he washes away the blood and the sweat and the feelings. His shorts channel the water down onto and into his wrestling shoes, but he doesn’t care about that. He doesn’t care about anything. She’s gone. 《《( ( O ) )》》 《《( ( O ) )》》 They’d been able to fix his face up with band-aids and surgical glue, but there was no mistaking that he’d been through an epic battle with an unforgiving and unmerciful opponent inside an unforgiving and unmerciful structure. It had been a fight for survival and one he’d won, that his body and his career had survived, but more so than his looks, something else had not quite. More painful and deeper than the cuts across his brow or the bruises along his jaw, something in his chest ached beyond the merely physical, an ache so intense and nauseating that it stopped him sleeping. He had always been regimental about his rest, knowing the importance of sleep and general “downtime” to his muscle recovery and he’d oftentimes credited that with his consistently miraculous recoveries from some of the toughest matches in the business, so to be laid atop the sheets of his bed, unable to stop the aching or the thinking was more than a little frustrating to him. The heat had forced him to strip down and sleep in just his boxer shorts, the high window barely allowing any cool air into his room and the fan set tactically above it seemed only to whip around the same hot air and make it hotter still. Upon his bare chest lie the four most important things to him - just four in the whole world. The list of names he’d written weeks ago in black Biro, thick red felt lines now drawn through the names Chip Masters and Jada Kaine but plenty more yet to be thusly scored. The faceplate of the old EWA World Heavyweight Championship belt which had been discarded and burned, half-melted by the ingrate Chris Kage and which he had retrieved to love once more. A picture of himself and Jada from a time he wasn’t sure of - the two of them sat laughing backstage at an old SHOOT Project show, surrounded by friends - Jonny Johnson, Ron Barker, Thomas Manchester Black, Kaz Sato, Ainsley Lake and a few others. Jonny is wearing the World Championship and Osbourne himself is wearing a belt, but from the angle of the picture and his fuzzy recollection, he can’t remember if it was the Iron Fist or Laws of Survival or Rule of Surrender Championship. Lastly, the letter from Jada. He can hear the distant thumping and half-muffled moaning of Jurgen’s conquest in his adjacent room, the privacy shattered by walls which had proved to be all-too-thin, but he’d heard Shaun and Jurgen discussing the challenge they found in making their conquests as loud as possible, so the walls mattered little when considering what that 280lb beast was doing to a 150lb damsel. He can hear the faint mechanised whirring of a treadmill like a whiny guitar set over the pounding drumbeat of fast feet and he knows from that that Shaun is downstairs busting out his cardio, already training hard for a match against him, his own mentor. That draws half a smile from him as he picks up the pile from his chest and places it all on the bedside cabinet next to him. The dim lamp just about yellows everything in an almost sepia tone, like faded amber, but only within a short radius. It’s too hot tonight and he has too much to think about. Too much to do… 《《( ( O ) )》》 《《( ( O ) )》》 Given how many times he’d visited various hospitals, you’d think he’d grow accustomed to them, or at least more tolerant, but such is not the case and behind his mirrored aviator sunglasses, Osbourne struggles to hide his contempt for the location. Not the milling doctors and surgeons and nurses, nor even the patients themselves but the very specific concept of this being a house of weakness, that the weak and the ill and the infirm come here, congregate. He hated being brought to the hospital, mostly for stitches of gluing or stapling, but sometimes for surgery and it was a time costly not to his business but his pride. In the old days, he’d patch himself up or have a doctor on retainer to fix him up, but this modern age of insurance and culpability had changed all that. Even now, as a visitor, he hated it, but he has his reason to be here. Running his hand over his freshly cut high-and-tight hair, he reaches down to brush invisible creases from his white t-shirt and his black jeans. The white helped with the heat, but he felt almost camouflaged with the glaring striplights and white tiles, like he might just be sucked up into the fabric of the place. “She’ll see you now,” whispered the nurse as she passed, her heels clicking on the tiled floor, vanishing into the distance as Osbourne stands from the cheap plastic stacker chair and cracks his neck from side to side. The door in front of him beckons, but he hesitates. A hard lump forms in the back of his throat and its twin materialises in the pit of his stomach as he reaches for the chrome handle and opens the cheap pine veneer door. It slams shut behind him, carried by his own momentum and only on the peripherals of his sensory awareness. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” it? They’d given her a private room, though someone else had clearly been here with the amount of flowers and balloons decorating the room. Nearly the entire roster had come out to watch them battle it out, it made sense she’d get gifts from well-wishers. She turns her gaze to the door and smiles weakly. “Oh yeah, a whole day or so.” Her wrist has been immobilized by a thick cast, cuts along her hairline and across the bridge of her nose glued shut. The blankets pushed down to her waist reveal her torso wrapped in bandages. Jada reaches out to him with her good hand, wincing slightly as she gestures to the chair nearest the uncomfortable hospital bed. “You all right?” Smirking slightly, he pulls off his sunglasses to reveal the bruises, welts and various cuts across his brow and jaw-lines, some around his eyes still covered by band-aids. Some crazy bitch picked a fight with me. You should see the state of her though. Real mess. Slowly squatting down into the chair, he reaches out and rests his hand on her leg, albeit covered by the over-abundance of blankets that hospitals are so fond of. They looking after you? The weight of his hand is a comfort, the smile growing stronger. ”Best as they can. I’ve got a shattered wrist, three broken ribs, cracked vertebrae...and one fuck of a concussion. And you know, pretty much half blind. I am a real mess.” Her tone stays light, joking with him. She doesn’t want him to feel guilt or remorse over what happened, not when she was the one that wanted it. She lets out a sigh, reaching down as best she can to wrap her good hand around his and squeeze it tightly. I’m guessing Shaun actually did give you my letter?” You make it sound like there’s some doubt he would. You know, through everything, they’ve never had a bad word to say about you. In their own way, they’re probably as loyal to you as they are to me. Yeah, he gave it to me. I read it. Now, I’m here. Locking his fingers with hers, he can feel his eye twitch and blinks quickly to rebuild the dam holding back months of pent-up feelings from just about every discernible point on the human spectrum. “I wasn’t sure what to think anymore. I know they’re endlessly loyal to you, but with the divorce and all...” She’s quiet for a moment, heaving out a sigh before looking back up to him. “I’m sorry.” It’s not hard to detect the small amount of trepidation in her voice, though the contact with him does much to keep her grounded. She feels like an idiot and rightfully so, but she got what she wanted. He’s got nothing standing in his way anymore, especially not someone who could easily toy with his emotions...though she’d tried hard not to do such. Jada looks over to his beaten and bruised face, laughing softly,“Fuck, even with all the bruises and cuts you’re still hot.” She needs to laugh, but it doesn’t last long. She shouldn’t feel so goddamn nervous around him, but she does. He read the letter. He’s here now. She still isn’t exactly sure of what to think. You know I had to end it when it became all about us fighting week in and week out. I couldn't do it. I couldn’t bring myself to switch every day from husband to opponent and back again. I guess some people do, some couples do… but not me. Part of me wishes I could and part of me’s glad I couldn’t, but I don’t know where that leaves me or where it leaves us now… His words trail off with his thoughts, a million of them colliding painfully behind his eyes as he tries hard to keep a fix on hers, but his jaw clenches as his eye begins that familiar twitch again. He diverts his attention out of the window at the parking lot, trying to shake the tail of thoughts among the moving cars and pedestrians. What did you want that letter to change? “Honestly, I was just hoping you wouldn’t hate me for forcing your hand.” Coming back into the business had cost her far more than she realized she wanted to pay. “I don’t blame you for ending it, it hurt like fuck...but I know why you did it.” She squeezes his hand again, urging him to look at her. Jada knows better than any other when he’s got so much emotion roiling through him. “It was more an explanation of sorts, I just wanted you to know why I’d been so hellbent on getting you in the ring. I didn’t know if you’d ever talk to me again, but I held out some sliver of hope that you would. I just needed to stop and you were the only one I trusted--” His ex-wife paused again. “I sound like an idiot, I know that. I just don’t want to lose you permanently. Even if we can’t be what we were, I still want you in my life.” Turning back to look her in the eye, he squeezes her hand back, even tighter than before. So you’re definitely out of the game… for good? “Looks like it.” Jada bites her lip, half-smiling. “It was fun while it lasted, but...even if I were fully healed, no one’s going to sign a half-blind crazy bitch.” He nods. Her logic is impeccable. If her eye is that bad then, in all likelihood, nothing can be done for it. The Japanese surgeons who took first crack at it told her there was a chance her cornea would degrade over time, especially if she continued taking heavy blows to the head and she smiled and said “ok” in the right places but everyone knew she wouldn’t stop. She sold a house to fund the surgeries, not just any house but a really nice getaway on the quays in Florida - spent all that money and still ended up half-blind. She was right, no respectable promoter would sign her now, but he couldn't help but remember when she talked him into signing up with an underground no-holds-barred outfit in Russia and how that had turned out. You know what I mean. OUT out. No more, not anywhere in the world? “I don’t want to be in it anymore. Anywhere in the world.” She locks her eyes with his, ”Unless it’s helping you teach some rookie how to fall properly at the Institute, I’m out for good.” He runs his tongue along the sharp points of his canines and slumps back in his chair, his hand still tightly grasping hers as he maintains his fix on her eyes. If I never have to look at you again and wonder why or when you want to come and try to kick my ass again, then we’re halfway to seeing what happens in the future. No Stacy, no Azrael, no Allison. Just… we can just try and see what happens, right? “I’d like that.” She murmurs, giving him a warm smile meant only for him. “I never want to be at odds with you again. Not like that.” But I’ll never let you forget I beat you. Winking to her with a smile, he can’t help but feel slightly more positive about the future with the Valkyrie back in the fold to whatever extent, even if she can’t literally fight by his side anymore. Some things are meant to be. 《《( ( O ) )》》 《《( ( O ) )》》 As the driver pulls up outside the facility which doubles as his home, Osbourne jumps out of the back and slams the door behind him, signalling the driver of the blacked-out SUV to pull away, tyres crunching over gravel as it vanishes off. The roller doors are open, affording him a view right into the building, but fortunately not so many others as the trees lining three walls and then the trees circling the parking lot tend to obstruct most potential viewpoints, a factor he’d given a great deal of consideration before purchasing it. In a previous life, it had been a garage for Semi trucks, but now reborn as a well-equipped and, more recently, well-frequented training facility for elite combat sports athletes and enthusiasts. The parking lot is atleast half full and, as he looks in through the huge open doors, he can see twenty or so people milling about - lifting weights, working the bags, hitting the treadmills but more specifically catching his eye are those in the ring, a crowd of five or six and, among them, a certain individual worthy of his attention. He runs his fingers along the length of his beard and flexes his traps as he considers his move, the chromed reflective lenses of his aviator sunglasses glinting as he looks down to his feet and back up again with newfound purpose in his clenched jaw. Striding forth, gravel grinds under his boot heels as he marches in through the doors with a determined pace, stopping just inside. SHAUN SINCLAIR! Everything stops. The clanging of weights, the whirr of the treadmills, the dull thumping of the bags, the slapping of the grappling mats but, most importantly, all conversation dies in an instant and silence descends, a silence which could be broken by a pin dropping. In the ring, Shaun emerges from the small crowd, stepping forward in baggy pastel red shorts and a white t-shirt dripping with sweat. SHAUN SINCLAIR! I HEAR YOU WANT A PIECE OF ME! 《《( ( O ) )》》 《《( ( O ) )》》 |
![]() |
|
| 1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous) | |
| « Previous Topic · The Warrior's Den · Next Topic » |








10:51 AM Jul 11