Post by King on Mar 4, 2021 0:35:39 GMT
Stephen Terrella sits on the couch in the privacy of his own home, partaking in a cold beer while watching a little Spring Training baseball action on television. Portia stands in the kitchen, clad in nothing more than one of Terrella's t-shirts that is quite a bit more than a few sizes too large for her small frame. She is scrolling through some destinations in London on her phone, having just poured herself another glass of wine.
"I'm excited for this tour," Portia says, walking into the living room of their home, where she seats herself on the couch next to Stephen. She slides her phone onto the table in front, but keeps the wine close.
"Same, but twelve hours on a fucking plane is going to suck," Terrella grumbles. "What the hell you do, though? If it makes you happy, babe, you know I can't be pissed about it. I love you, and I want you to have every experience you've ever dreamed of."
"I love you, too, baby. It's important to me that you enjoy this with me, though."
"I will," he tells her. "You know how I fucking am about traveling, is all. The guy who said it's the fucking journey and not the destination was full of shit. It's one hundred percent the fucking destination. He probably never flew on planes completely beat to shit, then had to go out there and try and wrestle. We'll settle in, I'll get my body right, and it'll be fucking good."
She leans into him, and he wraps an arm snugly over her shoulders on the back of the couch. Walking her fingers up his bare chest, she says, "I'll take care of you. This is a big opportunity for you, too. At the end of this trip my man is going to be vying for a chance at the World Title at a major pay-per-view."
"Not going to lie, I got some nerves about this shit. Not the match itself. I like that fucking physical shit, and the fucking chaos in a match like that," he says, quickly rubbing at his chin. "It's the what the fuck comes after part if I don't win that fucking bugs me. That'll be the third time I've had a chance at any title shot, and the third time I come up short if I fucking don't win. Shit like that, it sticks with you. If not here and now, when does a guy like me get a fucking World Title shot?"
"Baby, stop, relax. Don't forget you are getting a Television Title shot" she says, attempting to reassure him. "You're going to win the Roulette, too. There's not a fucking doubt in my mind of that."
"I appreciate you saying that, babe. I do," he says, taking her free hand in his. "Anything can fucking happen in these matches, though. Hell, I got knocked out of the TV title battle royal by two fucking guys teamed up, and those motherfuckers ain't friends. They made an alliance of convenience. Being the biggest fucking guy in the fight, you end up a target. I'm sure there will be fucking guys in there like Lockwood, Harper, Gilmore, Blake and Jacobsen. Those are guys that have been to the fucking mountain top already. They know what it takes to get there."
"I don't doubt my fucking ability to hang with those guys," he adds, "but one bad break here, then when is it our time again? Guys like Verona don't want guys like me doing TV appearances and media relations for their company. I have to fucking take the opportunity here because that shit won't be handed to me later, that's for damn sure. I'm forty-two years old, so I'd rather not fucking wait until the next Roulette for another chance, ya know? That's a year we could be raking it in fucking gone by."
"Hey," Portia says, "baby, listen to me for a minute- block that shit out of your mind. Caleb Lockwood carried that belt and he's not exactly refined. The guy is half deranged. Go in there and just do your best and whatever happens, happens. I will always love you no matter what. You don't have to be a World Champion. If this is bugging you though, what can we do? What do you feel like would improve your chances?"
He leans forward slightly, grabbing a beer off the table in front. After a drink he says, "I should probably fucking learn a second finisher. I read the rules and I can't tap motherfuckers out in this, so the one I got is kinda fucking useless here. Might be good to catch some people off-guard and shit, too?"
"So let's do that then," she says.
"I want to try and bulk up some more, too. I'm going to start eating heavy and training heavier," he mentions. "A couple months here, I've come to realize how fucking fast some of those guys are. Faster than I thought they'd be. I'm not getting any younger or any faster, and that shit ain't my game. So I'm going to have to take it up a notch with my fucking power, smother these guys more and wear them down."
"I'm onboard, baby," Portia tells him. "I'll help you in any way I can. You're always telling me you'll do whatever it takes to make me happy. I want you to be happy, too, with everything. That includes what you do professionally."
She smiles, leaning in for a quick kiss.
"So let's..."
She kisses him again.
"Figure out a plan..."
Once more she kisses him, this time longer and more passionately.
"To make you a World Heavyweight Champion."
"I'm excited for this tour," Portia says, walking into the living room of their home, where she seats herself on the couch next to Stephen. She slides her phone onto the table in front, but keeps the wine close.
"Same, but twelve hours on a fucking plane is going to suck," Terrella grumbles. "What the hell you do, though? If it makes you happy, babe, you know I can't be pissed about it. I love you, and I want you to have every experience you've ever dreamed of."
"I love you, too, baby. It's important to me that you enjoy this with me, though."
"I will," he tells her. "You know how I fucking am about traveling, is all. The guy who said it's the fucking journey and not the destination was full of shit. It's one hundred percent the fucking destination. He probably never flew on planes completely beat to shit, then had to go out there and try and wrestle. We'll settle in, I'll get my body right, and it'll be fucking good."
She leans into him, and he wraps an arm snugly over her shoulders on the back of the couch. Walking her fingers up his bare chest, she says, "I'll take care of you. This is a big opportunity for you, too. At the end of this trip my man is going to be vying for a chance at the World Title at a major pay-per-view."
"Not going to lie, I got some nerves about this shit. Not the match itself. I like that fucking physical shit, and the fucking chaos in a match like that," he says, quickly rubbing at his chin. "It's the what the fuck comes after part if I don't win that fucking bugs me. That'll be the third time I've had a chance at any title shot, and the third time I come up short if I fucking don't win. Shit like that, it sticks with you. If not here and now, when does a guy like me get a fucking World Title shot?"
"Baby, stop, relax. Don't forget you are getting a Television Title shot" she says, attempting to reassure him. "You're going to win the Roulette, too. There's not a fucking doubt in my mind of that."
"I appreciate you saying that, babe. I do," he says, taking her free hand in his. "Anything can fucking happen in these matches, though. Hell, I got knocked out of the TV title battle royal by two fucking guys teamed up, and those motherfuckers ain't friends. They made an alliance of convenience. Being the biggest fucking guy in the fight, you end up a target. I'm sure there will be fucking guys in there like Lockwood, Harper, Gilmore, Blake and Jacobsen. Those are guys that have been to the fucking mountain top already. They know what it takes to get there."
"I don't doubt my fucking ability to hang with those guys," he adds, "but one bad break here, then when is it our time again? Guys like Verona don't want guys like me doing TV appearances and media relations for their company. I have to fucking take the opportunity here because that shit won't be handed to me later, that's for damn sure. I'm forty-two years old, so I'd rather not fucking wait until the next Roulette for another chance, ya know? That's a year we could be raking it in fucking gone by."
"Hey," Portia says, "baby, listen to me for a minute- block that shit out of your mind. Caleb Lockwood carried that belt and he's not exactly refined. The guy is half deranged. Go in there and just do your best and whatever happens, happens. I will always love you no matter what. You don't have to be a World Champion. If this is bugging you though, what can we do? What do you feel like would improve your chances?"
He leans forward slightly, grabbing a beer off the table in front. After a drink he says, "I should probably fucking learn a second finisher. I read the rules and I can't tap motherfuckers out in this, so the one I got is kinda fucking useless here. Might be good to catch some people off-guard and shit, too?"
"So let's do that then," she says.
"I want to try and bulk up some more, too. I'm going to start eating heavy and training heavier," he mentions. "A couple months here, I've come to realize how fucking fast some of those guys are. Faster than I thought they'd be. I'm not getting any younger or any faster, and that shit ain't my game. So I'm going to have to take it up a notch with my fucking power, smother these guys more and wear them down."
"I'm onboard, baby," Portia tells him. "I'll help you in any way I can. You're always telling me you'll do whatever it takes to make me happy. I want you to be happy, too, with everything. That includes what you do professionally."
She smiles, leaning in for a quick kiss.
"So let's..."
She kisses him again.
"Figure out a plan..."
Once more she kisses him, this time longer and more passionately.
"To make you a World Heavyweight Champion."
Well howdy there pardner.