Post by Jet Somers on Nov 5, 2011 0:08:58 GMT -5
You come to sore all over. After Battleground, you hadn't thought
you'd have to worry about this much wracking pain for at least
another month.
Even after your return on Synergy in a match featuring seven
other skilled monsters, you had felt better than ever. Your
continued ability to silence the naysayers by cooperating with
people you were supposed to hate was simply hilarious. You had
walked out on a cloud of elation.
---------
Jet speeds down the deserted interstate at three in the morning.
He didn't partake of the libations, of course, but Ol' Bob had
insisted on his attendance at the celebrations of the Human
Resource Department. The nightclub had practically exploded at
their entrance.
Pierce had effortlessly gathered a following during his beeline for
the bar, and spent the entirety of the night regaling his captive
audience with tales both tall and (mostly) true. He hadn't
completely forsaken Jet, even declaiming for a gorgeous club goer
the size of Jet's, er, sword, after catching her eyeing The Wild
Card during a recap of the night's earlier victory. Jet had politely
rebuffed her approach.
Ryder hadn't bothered with explaining his career, exploits, or
successes to anyone. He had simply shuffled out to the dancefloor
and randomly started banging his pelvis against the posterior of
any girl who was unlucky enough to not be paying attention when
he stalked up to her from behind. His exertions didn't go entirely
unnoticed, however, but the girl he had set his sights on refused
to leave with him unless he could provide a wingman to entertain
her equally intoxicated, if slightly less attractive bestie. His
begging was nearly drowned out by Swedish House Mafia, but Jet
still refused to do him the solid. Ryder had to content himself with
dancing with the one girl for the rest of the stay, determined to
change her mind using that one damning technique that all
females ate up: undivided attention.
----------
"Fun night?" the familiar voice asks your prone body. "Living
weapon, yeah. Living crash test dummy is more like it."
His mirthless chuckle enrages you, and if you could move right
now, you'd rocket up from the floor and put the over the hill has
been right back on the shelf.
----------
When they had finally left, it was mostly in silence. Pierce still
exuberant, a victory in his back pocket, and six or seven phone
numbers in his front breast pocket. Ryder frustrated, possibly with
blue balls, running his fingers through his glorious new locks and
glancing around the outside of the building for any stragglers who
might be frustrated enough with being denied entry to leave with
a premiere club guest. Jet bored, ready to get some rest. He had
made an appointment with The Dragon's Cave just before the
match to renew his membership. Alex had wanted to talk to him
first, and Jet would need his wits about him if he was going to
defend his actions of late to his closest friend.
The HRD had parted ways with barely a word.
----------
"Just lie there, Jet," Ichabod's voice is cold, commanding. You
don't want to obey, but you body won't respond just yet.
"I think I've proven before that I can hurt you without ending your
career, so no need to worry. You'll be fine, in fit shape for your
match against Tyvola Monday night."
Oh god, he's monologuing, you think.
"I've always been a fan of symbolism, you know," another flat
chuckle, "But I think my demonstration fell a little short tonight.
You see, when you come up against the barricade that is Tyvola in
around a month, what he's going to do to you will probably end
your career."
----------
Instead of taking the turn toward the apartment, Jet had
continued toward the on ramp for the interstate. He knew that
the incredible high he had felt after Synergy had left him with
energy to burn, and the dissappointing club scene had done little
to burn him out. No, heading home now would lead to a night of
pacing, tossing and turning, and leave him groggy tomorrow. If all
went as planned, he would be training within an hour of waking
up.
A quick drive in the dark would help clear his mind.
----------
"I have to commend what you've done, you know," Ichabod
allows.
He is actually golf clapping...
"Siding with the enemy to get you ahead. I could have never seen
you do that with the Covenant. Honestly, though, that people
didn't see this coming is a little silly. Didn't you side with Twisted
for quite some time, only to turn around and steal the crown from
Donovan Hastings? That's the kind of cerebral chess playing one
doesn't see often; playing from the pawn's position. But I saw it."
"What...?" is all you can manage.
"Oh Jet, once again I'm called on to save you from yourself. I'd call
myself your guardian angel if it didn't associate me with religion
and make me feel like I'm identifying with that thug Ezekiel Pax,"
Ichabod spits on the floor in disgust, "Put simply, you've embraced
the darker side of you, the darker side of this business, and
hopped on a rocketship ride to immortality. While congratulations
are in order, you've aimed your vessel right into the black hole
that is Tyvola, and you're going to be crushed."
"No..." you want to rage at this bastard. You've marched into war
all alone for so long and managed to remain above the
competition, why shouldn't you be able to do it with a small army
at your back?
"I suppose you think Robert Ooley has some miracle plan that's
going to help you tear down the mountain of a champion? I mean,
we have seen how successful his schemes agaisnt JoJI have been
in the past, right? No, what you don't realize is that you have thus
far only flirted with the dark side. Handed the power to actually
seize control of the crown in any way you could possibly come up
with, you decided to do the noble thing and ask for a simple one
on one match. Gone is the chance to put Tyvola in chains and
have Pierce and Ryder beat on him with lead pipes before you pin
him for a one count, all of which would be perfectly legal according
to the rules you could have set up. So much for Ooley's influence
saving your stupid ass."
"Tyvola isn't just a freak of nature, he's a force of nature. He
barely exerts any energy in defending his throne, let alone much
attention. He bats down challengers with one hand while he's
scratching his ass with the other. And you? Why, you only marred
up his goddess twice, insulted him on countless occasions, and
made a flippant snap decision challenge that doesn't even begin
to measure up to the complexity you could have made him face.
I'm not talking about making rules most people don't expect him
to understand... he clearly is far more intelligent than your
viewers give him credit for... I'm talking about impossible odds."
"Tyvola is a wall you're about to come up against doing eighty
miles per hour, and just like tonight, you're going to crash and
burn."
----------
Out of the city lights, out of the stream of traffic that, even at this
hour of the morning hasn't ceased, and Jet immediately feels his
nerves begin to let go. He leans back in his seat and sighs, a
content smirk settling on his face. He dims the lights and sets the
seat back a few clicks. As he eases the accelerator on his brand
new Escape up past the accepted speed limit, he is slowly able to
relax...
----------
"You feel that? That burning sensation inside your gut? That's
hate, my naive young friend. If you're going to make it through
Horizons, I suggest you learn to start stoking that fire. If you
want to have any hope of walking out of that show the champion,
hell, of walking out at all, you're going to have to spend the few
weeks you have left taking him apart."
"How..?"
"The same way you take down any great wall: one brick at a time.
Are you ready to really embrace that dark side?"
----------
He is nearly dozing when the springloaded wall leaps up to
headlight height out of the road. The Escape slams into it doing
slightly better than seventy five, and inertia shoves Jet out
through the windshield to land thirty feet from the second totaled
energy efficient vehicle of his professional wrestling career.
you'd have to worry about this much wracking pain for at least
another month.
Even after your return on Synergy in a match featuring seven
other skilled monsters, you had felt better than ever. Your
continued ability to silence the naysayers by cooperating with
people you were supposed to hate was simply hilarious. You had
walked out on a cloud of elation.
---------
Jet speeds down the deserted interstate at three in the morning.
He didn't partake of the libations, of course, but Ol' Bob had
insisted on his attendance at the celebrations of the Human
Resource Department. The nightclub had practically exploded at
their entrance.
Pierce had effortlessly gathered a following during his beeline for
the bar, and spent the entirety of the night regaling his captive
audience with tales both tall and (mostly) true. He hadn't
completely forsaken Jet, even declaiming for a gorgeous club goer
the size of Jet's, er, sword, after catching her eyeing The Wild
Card during a recap of the night's earlier victory. Jet had politely
rebuffed her approach.
Ryder hadn't bothered with explaining his career, exploits, or
successes to anyone. He had simply shuffled out to the dancefloor
and randomly started banging his pelvis against the posterior of
any girl who was unlucky enough to not be paying attention when
he stalked up to her from behind. His exertions didn't go entirely
unnoticed, however, but the girl he had set his sights on refused
to leave with him unless he could provide a wingman to entertain
her equally intoxicated, if slightly less attractive bestie. His
begging was nearly drowned out by Swedish House Mafia, but Jet
still refused to do him the solid. Ryder had to content himself with
dancing with the one girl for the rest of the stay, determined to
change her mind using that one damning technique that all
females ate up: undivided attention.
----------
"Fun night?" the familiar voice asks your prone body. "Living
weapon, yeah. Living crash test dummy is more like it."
His mirthless chuckle enrages you, and if you could move right
now, you'd rocket up from the floor and put the over the hill has
been right back on the shelf.
----------
When they had finally left, it was mostly in silence. Pierce still
exuberant, a victory in his back pocket, and six or seven phone
numbers in his front breast pocket. Ryder frustrated, possibly with
blue balls, running his fingers through his glorious new locks and
glancing around the outside of the building for any stragglers who
might be frustrated enough with being denied entry to leave with
a premiere club guest. Jet bored, ready to get some rest. He had
made an appointment with The Dragon's Cave just before the
match to renew his membership. Alex had wanted to talk to him
first, and Jet would need his wits about him if he was going to
defend his actions of late to his closest friend.
The HRD had parted ways with barely a word.
----------
"Just lie there, Jet," Ichabod's voice is cold, commanding. You
don't want to obey, but you body won't respond just yet.
"I think I've proven before that I can hurt you without ending your
career, so no need to worry. You'll be fine, in fit shape for your
match against Tyvola Monday night."
Oh god, he's monologuing, you think.
"I've always been a fan of symbolism, you know," another flat
chuckle, "But I think my demonstration fell a little short tonight.
You see, when you come up against the barricade that is Tyvola in
around a month, what he's going to do to you will probably end
your career."
----------
Instead of taking the turn toward the apartment, Jet had
continued toward the on ramp for the interstate. He knew that
the incredible high he had felt after Synergy had left him with
energy to burn, and the dissappointing club scene had done little
to burn him out. No, heading home now would lead to a night of
pacing, tossing and turning, and leave him groggy tomorrow. If all
went as planned, he would be training within an hour of waking
up.
A quick drive in the dark would help clear his mind.
----------
"I have to commend what you've done, you know," Ichabod
allows.
He is actually golf clapping...
"Siding with the enemy to get you ahead. I could have never seen
you do that with the Covenant. Honestly, though, that people
didn't see this coming is a little silly. Didn't you side with Twisted
for quite some time, only to turn around and steal the crown from
Donovan Hastings? That's the kind of cerebral chess playing one
doesn't see often; playing from the pawn's position. But I saw it."
"What...?" is all you can manage.
"Oh Jet, once again I'm called on to save you from yourself. I'd call
myself your guardian angel if it didn't associate me with religion
and make me feel like I'm identifying with that thug Ezekiel Pax,"
Ichabod spits on the floor in disgust, "Put simply, you've embraced
the darker side of you, the darker side of this business, and
hopped on a rocketship ride to immortality. While congratulations
are in order, you've aimed your vessel right into the black hole
that is Tyvola, and you're going to be crushed."
"No..." you want to rage at this bastard. You've marched into war
all alone for so long and managed to remain above the
competition, why shouldn't you be able to do it with a small army
at your back?
"I suppose you think Robert Ooley has some miracle plan that's
going to help you tear down the mountain of a champion? I mean,
we have seen how successful his schemes agaisnt JoJI have been
in the past, right? No, what you don't realize is that you have thus
far only flirted with the dark side. Handed the power to actually
seize control of the crown in any way you could possibly come up
with, you decided to do the noble thing and ask for a simple one
on one match. Gone is the chance to put Tyvola in chains and
have Pierce and Ryder beat on him with lead pipes before you pin
him for a one count, all of which would be perfectly legal according
to the rules you could have set up. So much for Ooley's influence
saving your stupid ass."
"Tyvola isn't just a freak of nature, he's a force of nature. He
barely exerts any energy in defending his throne, let alone much
attention. He bats down challengers with one hand while he's
scratching his ass with the other. And you? Why, you only marred
up his goddess twice, insulted him on countless occasions, and
made a flippant snap decision challenge that doesn't even begin
to measure up to the complexity you could have made him face.
I'm not talking about making rules most people don't expect him
to understand... he clearly is far more intelligent than your
viewers give him credit for... I'm talking about impossible odds."
"Tyvola is a wall you're about to come up against doing eighty
miles per hour, and just like tonight, you're going to crash and
burn."
----------
Out of the city lights, out of the stream of traffic that, even at this
hour of the morning hasn't ceased, and Jet immediately feels his
nerves begin to let go. He leans back in his seat and sighs, a
content smirk settling on his face. He dims the lights and sets the
seat back a few clicks. As he eases the accelerator on his brand
new Escape up past the accepted speed limit, he is slowly able to
relax...
----------
"You feel that? That burning sensation inside your gut? That's
hate, my naive young friend. If you're going to make it through
Horizons, I suggest you learn to start stoking that fire. If you
want to have any hope of walking out of that show the champion,
hell, of walking out at all, you're going to have to spend the few
weeks you have left taking him apart."
"How..?"
"The same way you take down any great wall: one brick at a time.
Are you ready to really embrace that dark side?"
----------
He is nearly dozing when the springloaded wall leaps up to
headlight height out of the road. The Escape slams into it doing
slightly better than seventy five, and inertia shoves Jet out
through the windshield to land thirty feet from the second totaled
energy efficient vehicle of his professional wrestling career.
x2
