Post by King on May 4, 2023 9:04:16 GMT
A shirtless Stephen Terrella is seated on a weight bench, wearing a pair of black gym shorts. His torso is leaned forward a bit; with the back of his upper arm, just above the elbow, positioned against the inside of his thigh as he rattles off a set of dumbbell curls. Sixty-five pounds of weight is racked on the tiny bar, which Terrella handles almost effortlessly.
Portia hovers just behind him, watching as her fiance brings the eleventh rep of his third set up. She didn't particularly enjoy the long days Stephen would sometimes spend in the gym because she had no inclination towards athletics herself, but she did want to be in his company. Wherever one goes, the other often follows if the separation is ever going to be for more than an hour.
As Stephen completes his twelfth repetition, he glances at the camera. He brings the dumbbell halfway up, holding it without proper form now.
"You got me, Lassiter." Still clutching the dumbbell, Terrella rolls his wrist out.
"I'm man enough to admit it. I made the mistake of underestimating you. You're young, and I thought you'd fucking crumble under the pressure. I figured a guy that never made it in pro ball –never made it in semi-pro ball– he's got to be missing something inside him. In this game, I thought it'd be more of the same from you, Lassiter."
"That was my mistake."
Terrella allows his arm to drop, dumbbell still in hand. He releases the heavy metal weight onto the floor, and it falls with a clang.
"You can fight, though. You're explosive. I ain't trying to be your fucking friend, but I'll call a spade a spade. Last time out, you spiked my head into the canvas with a DDT. Then you drove your elbow into my chest. For three seconds, I couldn't get my breath, and I didn't know where I was. In this business, three seconds is all it takes. Next thing I know, bell sounds. I hear it in my ears fucking plain as day. I already know the deal before Valance says it. That moment, ain't the pain that bothers me, though. For a fraction of a second, it ain't even the loss. As I'm laying there on that canvas, it's the motherfucking embarrassment."
"I got caught, and you beat me."
Terrella balls up his fist in front of his face, avoiding eye contact with the camera for a moment by keeping his head down, and his chin tucked to his chest. "I don't think you need me to explain to you how that sat with me. If I'm wrong, the short version of it was: not real fucking well."
Portia rests her hands on top of Stephen's shoulders, doing her best to knead the muscles with her small hands before her fingers relax so that she can address the camera. "I was as stunned as anyone that you won, Eli. Congratulations, enjoy those flowers."
"Now you've got your opportunity to fight for my man's Invictus Championship, and there's nothing we can do to take that from you. This isn't an eliminator style match anymore. This is you and Stephen, one-on-one, for the gold. And I don't want to make this about me, but as you can see by the bracelets on my wrist, I like gold. I like the look of gold on myself, and I like the look of gold around my man's waist."
"So where does that leave us, Eli," Portia asks rhetorically.
"We've seen your heart firsthand, and both Stephen and I know that you're coming for what he has with everything you have. We've both seen your athleticism, and how it translates in that ring. And the whole entire world knows what a win on Friday would do for you and your career. You'd be the man to dethrone the first –and only– champion Odyssey has ever known to this point. And the people, they're begging for it. You're now their new hope, Eli."
Portia leans forward, shifting some of her weight onto Terrella's massive shoulders. "That doesn't really work for us though, Eli."
"You see, the first time Stephen and I walked through the doors of the IWF, we walked in here with almost nothing to our name. A lot of people, they may not like how we made it, but we made it. The bank account is flush with money. We're nearly ready to open our own club. And we have made names for ourselves in this world. We have the luxury of doing things our way now that the wants outweigh the needs."
"Let me tell you what I like though, Eli. I like going into a restaurant and having our meal comped because I'm on tv. I like the free shoes and handbags I get because of the name I've made. I also like disappointing all of the people that have dumped on us along the way in this journey."
"And my man here, he just likes hurting people in general. I'll even let you in on a little secret, Eli. When that chair came in the ring the last time you faced Stephen, he was going to break both of your ankles… for fun." She flashes a cruel smile.
"For all of that to continue, we want to stay on top. And your last victory, it raised the stakes because now, yeah, that position is slightly threatened. So what do you think he's going to want to do to you now, Eli?"
Terrella's eyes burn with intensity as he glares into the camera. "Two weeks, Lassiter! I've had two weeks to think about that embarrassment and that fucking loss, and I don't like fucking losing! I'm not just angry, I'm damn sure pissed off! I want to stand across from you in that ring again. I want to hurt you, boy."
Pointing to his own face, Terrella growls: "This face you see, you're going to remember it. I'm going to hand you the worst ass beatin' you've ever felt in your entire life! Bell, no bell… I don't care… that shit is only going to end when I say it's done. Right now, I'm feeling a lot like that'll only be when I look down at you and I know I've snatched your heart right out of your chest. And when I pass the medics on my way up the ramp with my woman and my title, and I walk to the back, the only thing any-fucking-body best say to me about it is thank you for not killing him."
"Elijah," Portia says, "we want you to dream big, though. Please, dream real big. Rally your fans and believe with all your heart and soul that you're leaving Houston as the new Invictus Champion."
Stone-faced, Terrella follows up by adding: "But Lassiter, the only fucking things you're going to leave that ring with are a broken body, broken dreams and a fucking broken heart."
<Fade out>
Portia hovers just behind him, watching as her fiance brings the eleventh rep of his third set up. She didn't particularly enjoy the long days Stephen would sometimes spend in the gym because she had no inclination towards athletics herself, but she did want to be in his company. Wherever one goes, the other often follows if the separation is ever going to be for more than an hour.
As Stephen completes his twelfth repetition, he glances at the camera. He brings the dumbbell halfway up, holding it without proper form now.
"You got me, Lassiter." Still clutching the dumbbell, Terrella rolls his wrist out.
"I'm man enough to admit it. I made the mistake of underestimating you. You're young, and I thought you'd fucking crumble under the pressure. I figured a guy that never made it in pro ball –never made it in semi-pro ball– he's got to be missing something inside him. In this game, I thought it'd be more of the same from you, Lassiter."
"That was my mistake."
Terrella allows his arm to drop, dumbbell still in hand. He releases the heavy metal weight onto the floor, and it falls with a clang.
"You can fight, though. You're explosive. I ain't trying to be your fucking friend, but I'll call a spade a spade. Last time out, you spiked my head into the canvas with a DDT. Then you drove your elbow into my chest. For three seconds, I couldn't get my breath, and I didn't know where I was. In this business, three seconds is all it takes. Next thing I know, bell sounds. I hear it in my ears fucking plain as day. I already know the deal before Valance says it. That moment, ain't the pain that bothers me, though. For a fraction of a second, it ain't even the loss. As I'm laying there on that canvas, it's the motherfucking embarrassment."
"I got caught, and you beat me."
Terrella balls up his fist in front of his face, avoiding eye contact with the camera for a moment by keeping his head down, and his chin tucked to his chest. "I don't think you need me to explain to you how that sat with me. If I'm wrong, the short version of it was: not real fucking well."
Portia rests her hands on top of Stephen's shoulders, doing her best to knead the muscles with her small hands before her fingers relax so that she can address the camera. "I was as stunned as anyone that you won, Eli. Congratulations, enjoy those flowers."
"Now you've got your opportunity to fight for my man's Invictus Championship, and there's nothing we can do to take that from you. This isn't an eliminator style match anymore. This is you and Stephen, one-on-one, for the gold. And I don't want to make this about me, but as you can see by the bracelets on my wrist, I like gold. I like the look of gold on myself, and I like the look of gold around my man's waist."
"So where does that leave us, Eli," Portia asks rhetorically.
"We've seen your heart firsthand, and both Stephen and I know that you're coming for what he has with everything you have. We've both seen your athleticism, and how it translates in that ring. And the whole entire world knows what a win on Friday would do for you and your career. You'd be the man to dethrone the first –and only– champion Odyssey has ever known to this point. And the people, they're begging for it. You're now their new hope, Eli."
Portia leans forward, shifting some of her weight onto Terrella's massive shoulders. "That doesn't really work for us though, Eli."
"You see, the first time Stephen and I walked through the doors of the IWF, we walked in here with almost nothing to our name. A lot of people, they may not like how we made it, but we made it. The bank account is flush with money. We're nearly ready to open our own club. And we have made names for ourselves in this world. We have the luxury of doing things our way now that the wants outweigh the needs."
"Let me tell you what I like though, Eli. I like going into a restaurant and having our meal comped because I'm on tv. I like the free shoes and handbags I get because of the name I've made. I also like disappointing all of the people that have dumped on us along the way in this journey."
"And my man here, he just likes hurting people in general. I'll even let you in on a little secret, Eli. When that chair came in the ring the last time you faced Stephen, he was going to break both of your ankles… for fun." She flashes a cruel smile.
"For all of that to continue, we want to stay on top. And your last victory, it raised the stakes because now, yeah, that position is slightly threatened. So what do you think he's going to want to do to you now, Eli?"
Terrella's eyes burn with intensity as he glares into the camera. "Two weeks, Lassiter! I've had two weeks to think about that embarrassment and that fucking loss, and I don't like fucking losing! I'm not just angry, I'm damn sure pissed off! I want to stand across from you in that ring again. I want to hurt you, boy."
Pointing to his own face, Terrella growls: "This face you see, you're going to remember it. I'm going to hand you the worst ass beatin' you've ever felt in your entire life! Bell, no bell… I don't care… that shit is only going to end when I say it's done. Right now, I'm feeling a lot like that'll only be when I look down at you and I know I've snatched your heart right out of your chest. And when I pass the medics on my way up the ramp with my woman and my title, and I walk to the back, the only thing any-fucking-body best say to me about it is thank you for not killing him."
"Elijah," Portia says, "we want you to dream big, though. Please, dream real big. Rally your fans and believe with all your heart and soul that you're leaving Houston as the new Invictus Champion."
Stone-faced, Terrella follows up by adding: "But Lassiter, the only fucking things you're going to leave that ring with are a broken body, broken dreams and a fucking broken heart."
<Fade out>
Well howdy there pardner.