Post by Tytus Rost on Oct 27, 2024 22:06:23 GMT
The dry Texas wind brushed against Tytus Rost’s face as he strode through the open fields surrounding his ranch. It had been a long time since he’d felt the quiet peace that came from being back home, a welcome break from the chaos of arenas and matches. The relentless grind of the road had worn him down more than he cared to admit, but here in Fort Worth, among the familiar sights and sounds of his land, he felt a sense of clarity that was hard to find anywhere else.
This week, he found himself paired with Warren Kidd—Warren Harper to most. It was a pairing that made little sense to him, especially given that he hadn’t crossed paths with Warren in almost a year. But in Tytus’s eyes, a match was a match. He wasn’t the type to question management’s choices or try to get into their heads. His focus was on the fight, on the battle that lay ahead. And if they wanted him to team with Warren, then so be it. He’d treat it like any other bout, bring the same intensity, the same grit.
After all, Billie Parris and Phillip DeForrest weren’t exactly the kind of opponents that would make headlines. They were two of the better graduates from the Development Center, but still wet behind the ears despite their time up on the main roster. A big deal in the little pond was the Performance Centre, but they weren’t exactly ready to face seasoned competitors like himself and Warren. Tytus knew their type well—hungry, eager to make an impression, and too often lacking the experience to back up their ambition. He respected their drive, but respect alone wasn’t going to keep him from tearing through them when that bell rang.
As he thought about the upcoming match, a small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. Tytus wasn’t here to play down to his competition. Whether he was facing Development Center graduates or established champions, he approached every fight with the same relentlessness. There was no "taking it easy" in his world. His goal was to dominate, to crush any opponent who dared step into the ring with him. Billie and Phillip were going to find that out the hard way.
The late afternoon sun cast a warm glow over the ranch as Tytus walked up the dirt path leading to the main house. He could already see Berrick leaning against the old oak tree by the porch, arms folded and watching him with a grin that spoke of years of camaraderie and mutual respect.
“Berrick,” Tytus greeted, his voice low and steady, with just the hint of a smirk.
“Thought you might’ve forgotten where home was, big guy,” Berrick replied, chuckling. “Heard about your match. You and that Harper kid. Sounds like a walk in the park if you ask me.”
Tytus just nodded, letting the silence hang in the warm Texan air. The truth was, this match wasn’t about the competition. It was about staying sharp, keeping the momentum going, and proving to himself that he still belonged in that ring.
As he stood there, his boots digging into the familiar Texas soil, he felt a renewed sense of purpose. This wasn’t the end—it was just another step forward, another handhold on his climb back to the top.
This week, he found himself paired with Warren Kidd—Warren Harper to most. It was a pairing that made little sense to him, especially given that he hadn’t crossed paths with Warren in almost a year. But in Tytus’s eyes, a match was a match. He wasn’t the type to question management’s choices or try to get into their heads. His focus was on the fight, on the battle that lay ahead. And if they wanted him to team with Warren, then so be it. He’d treat it like any other bout, bring the same intensity, the same grit.
After all, Billie Parris and Phillip DeForrest weren’t exactly the kind of opponents that would make headlines. They were two of the better graduates from the Development Center, but still wet behind the ears despite their time up on the main roster. A big deal in the little pond was the Performance Centre, but they weren’t exactly ready to face seasoned competitors like himself and Warren. Tytus knew their type well—hungry, eager to make an impression, and too often lacking the experience to back up their ambition. He respected their drive, but respect alone wasn’t going to keep him from tearing through them when that bell rang.
As he thought about the upcoming match, a small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. Tytus wasn’t here to play down to his competition. Whether he was facing Development Center graduates or established champions, he approached every fight with the same relentlessness. There was no "taking it easy" in his world. His goal was to dominate, to crush any opponent who dared step into the ring with him. Billie and Phillip were going to find that out the hard way.
The late afternoon sun cast a warm glow over the ranch as Tytus walked up the dirt path leading to the main house. He could already see Berrick leaning against the old oak tree by the porch, arms folded and watching him with a grin that spoke of years of camaraderie and mutual respect.
“Berrick,” Tytus greeted, his voice low and steady, with just the hint of a smirk.
“Thought you might’ve forgotten where home was, big guy,” Berrick replied, chuckling. “Heard about your match. You and that Harper kid. Sounds like a walk in the park if you ask me.”
Tytus just nodded, letting the silence hang in the warm Texan air. The truth was, this match wasn’t about the competition. It was about staying sharp, keeping the momentum going, and proving to himself that he still belonged in that ring.
As he stood there, his boots digging into the familiar Texas soil, he felt a renewed sense of purpose. This wasn’t the end—it was just another step forward, another handhold on his climb back to the top.
Well howdy there pardner.