Post by King on Nov 4, 2024 5:59:42 GMT
We're off to never-never land
Take my hand
We're off to never-never land
Take my hand
We're off to never-never land
We're off to never-never land
We're off to never-never land
We're off to never-never land
As Metallica's "Enter Sandman" repeats and fades out, Stephen Terrella sits up from the weight bench located in a small outbuilding behind his house. Heavy breathes carrying a tinge of odor from the dirt of the desert itself bring oxygen deep into his lungs. Stephen slides his hand across his damp head, contemplating both the past events and the road that lies ahead.
That fucking bastard, Stephen thought as he reaches for a cheap bottle of water, now knowing Knight has a partner for Survival of the Fittest. Nick Knight was as stubborn as he was foolish. Now Terrella was going to have to push.
This wouldn't be the first time Stephen and Nick had gone to war. In previous years, Nick was part of a faction that termed it a revolution. He has always appeared to be an idealist. That's partly why Terrella has always despised him. On the surface, they seem similar, but at their core, they are very different individuals.
Stephen has always focused on what he wanted. The end always justified the means. After all, what war has ever been won without bloodshed and cunning? Stephen didn't need to prove anything to anyone. As long as he had what he wanted, the views of others were inconsequential.
Stephen rises up off the bench, making his way to a stack of weight plates close by. Taking a twenty-five-pound Olympic style plate in each hand, he returns to the bench. Bending down, he leans the one in his right hand against his leg so that he can fix the one in his other hand on the bar. With that done, he bends down once more to pick the other plate back up, feeling a slight ache in his back as he does.
The pain simply didn't matter.
He pushes on to the other side of the bar to add the weight. There is a brief moment when he pauses to think, How the fuck do I get rid of this guy? Every time he comes back, and every time he tries to fuck up the shit I worked for.
Knight (with RAM alongside) was on a mission to ensure Savage By Nature didn't win the Tag Team Championships for a second time as a unit. To Terrella's ear, Knight's voice carried the same zeal on this mission as it did when Knight was working tirelessly to defend the Invictus Championship at a record pace, thereby trying to make Terrella's reign with that belt an afterthought. It was Knight that cuffed one of Terrella's hands to cost him that championship, a fact not forgotten.
Taking a step back, Terrella studies the now four hundred fifty pounds of weight racked on the bench. It would be an advanced level lift; more than he had ever done before.
Not this time. Fuck both those cocksuckers, Terrella thought to himself. Knight didn't pick that kid for his skills, couldn't have. Kid ain't got his fucking head on straight.
Terrella sits down on the bench, moving his shoulders to loosen them up. He feels that familiar ache in his back again. Shrugging off his body's screams, Terrella leans back, places both hands on the bar, readying himself as he stares at the ceiling in thought. That little fuck up means something to Knight, has to. Maybe the way to break Knight is to break that fucking kid this week, let him live with that shit. Even if he shrugs it off, they ain't going to let him in that cage without a partner.
Terrella inhales a massive breath and lifts the bar off the rack, easing the weight down to his chest. This is the point where the weight feels heaviest. His muscles strain under the immense amount of weight as he forces the bar upward. He successfully pulls off five repetitions before racking the bar with a heavy clank.
"Baby," Portia says, leaning against the doorframe of the building as she pokes herself halfway in, "how much longer are you going to be? If we're going to shop before the club opens later, we need to leave soon."
Terrella sits up, wincing. "Not long."
Portia walks in, making her way over to Terrella. She rubs her hand over his upper back, having seen all the plates on the bar. "You're pushing yourself too hard. I want Vivienne's head just as bad as you want Knight's, but--"
"I need to be ready for the cage in a few weeks," Terrella tells her as he rubs at his head. "Before we get there, I got to be ready for this week. Cyrus ain't small, babe. Rest of our team is."
Portia leans over, kissing his head. "You will be. We'll figure it out. Now come inside with me. I'll fix your back before we go."
Terrella nods.
Five hours later, Stephen Terrella and Portia enter their club, the Black Sands, to find an early crowd that is rather thin. Terrella carries a large bag at his side as they make their way through the club with ease due to the light turnout so far. Approaching the bar, they meet up with the Black Widow, who is smoking a cigarette while staring into a half empty glass of vodka on the rocks.
"Hey," Terrella says, causing the Black Widow to turn around just in time to see him toss the back up on the bar. "Got you something."
"What the fuck is this?" The Black Widow brings the bag closer to her. She holds her cigarette in her mouth as she reaches into the bag, pulling out a shoebox.
"Portia helped pick those out for you. They're black. It's nothing fucking weird. Just open the shit," Terrella tells her.
The Black Widow removes her cigarette from her mouth. "Yeah, it is fucking weird that you two are buying me shit, but whatever."
A somewhat reluctant Black Widow removes the lid from the box, revealing a new pair of black boots. "Boots?"
"Yeah, we know you slipped on the ropes the last time you were in the ring, and we just thought..." Portia trails off with her thought, noticing how agitated the Black Widow looks amidst all of this.
"My boots are fine; I fucking like them." She pauses momentarily, taking a drag off her cigarette. "I didn't just slip, either. Eternity is different. You didn't see what I saw."
"I know that bitch is crazy, but it's mind games, B. She's just fucking with you." Terrella leans against the bar, calling for a beer from the bartender.
"I know when someone is trying to fuck with my head. This isn't it." The Black Widow downs a large swallow of her vodka.
After Stephen cracks his beer, Portia grabs hold of his arm. "She bleeds, right? We've seen it."
"I never said she wasn't human." Annoyed that was even applied, the Black Widow looks away as she takes another drag from her cigarette.
"Look," Terrella says, rubbing at his head, "we don't have to figure out what she is. Whatever happened, it fucking happened. We just got to figure out what we're going to do this week teaming with them. As bad as I want to hurt Knight, and as much as Portia wants to see Vivienne suffer... we could throw them to the wolves this week, walk out."
The Black Widow turns her head forward, blowing a cloud of smoke into the air. "That's a stupid idea. Four on two; Knight, RAM, Cyrus and Vivienne would walk out of this match almost as fine as we would."
"Wait, so you actually want to team with them?" Portia seems almost baffled.
"Yeah, why not. They can hold their own and we don't have to be friends." The Black Widow drops her cigarette into the small amount of alcohol left in her glass. "Plus, the closer you get, the more you learn."
The Black Widow hops down off her seat, grabbing the boots. She holds them up. "Thanks though. I'll keep these, just in case I get blood on my others."
Without another word, the Black Widow walks past Stephen and Portia on her way out.
Portia turns to Stephen, asking him: "Do you think she really saw what she says she saw?"
"Fuck if I know," Terrella says with a slight move of his head. "But I don't feel like pissing her off, so I'm not bringing that shit up anymore. This team with Bella Morte is going to be a fucking shitshow, though."
"What do we do then?" Portia asks.
"It'd have been a hell of a lot fucking easier to get Cyrus, Vivienne, Knight and Marshall in the parking lot after the show. But I guess we'll just do it in the ring." Terrella rubs at his chin, contemplating his next move.
Take my hand
We're off to never-never land
Take my hand
We're off to never-never land
We're off to never-never land
We're off to never-never land
We're off to never-never land
As Metallica's "Enter Sandman" repeats and fades out, Stephen Terrella sits up from the weight bench located in a small outbuilding behind his house. Heavy breathes carrying a tinge of odor from the dirt of the desert itself bring oxygen deep into his lungs. Stephen slides his hand across his damp head, contemplating both the past events and the road that lies ahead.
That fucking bastard, Stephen thought as he reaches for a cheap bottle of water, now knowing Knight has a partner for Survival of the Fittest. Nick Knight was as stubborn as he was foolish. Now Terrella was going to have to push.
This wouldn't be the first time Stephen and Nick had gone to war. In previous years, Nick was part of a faction that termed it a revolution. He has always appeared to be an idealist. That's partly why Terrella has always despised him. On the surface, they seem similar, but at their core, they are very different individuals.
Stephen has always focused on what he wanted. The end always justified the means. After all, what war has ever been won without bloodshed and cunning? Stephen didn't need to prove anything to anyone. As long as he had what he wanted, the views of others were inconsequential.
Stephen rises up off the bench, making his way to a stack of weight plates close by. Taking a twenty-five-pound Olympic style plate in each hand, he returns to the bench. Bending down, he leans the one in his right hand against his leg so that he can fix the one in his other hand on the bar. With that done, he bends down once more to pick the other plate back up, feeling a slight ache in his back as he does.
The pain simply didn't matter.
He pushes on to the other side of the bar to add the weight. There is a brief moment when he pauses to think, How the fuck do I get rid of this guy? Every time he comes back, and every time he tries to fuck up the shit I worked for.
Knight (with RAM alongside) was on a mission to ensure Savage By Nature didn't win the Tag Team Championships for a second time as a unit. To Terrella's ear, Knight's voice carried the same zeal on this mission as it did when Knight was working tirelessly to defend the Invictus Championship at a record pace, thereby trying to make Terrella's reign with that belt an afterthought. It was Knight that cuffed one of Terrella's hands to cost him that championship, a fact not forgotten.
Taking a step back, Terrella studies the now four hundred fifty pounds of weight racked on the bench. It would be an advanced level lift; more than he had ever done before.
Not this time. Fuck both those cocksuckers, Terrella thought to himself. Knight didn't pick that kid for his skills, couldn't have. Kid ain't got his fucking head on straight.
Terrella sits down on the bench, moving his shoulders to loosen them up. He feels that familiar ache in his back again. Shrugging off his body's screams, Terrella leans back, places both hands on the bar, readying himself as he stares at the ceiling in thought. That little fuck up means something to Knight, has to. Maybe the way to break Knight is to break that fucking kid this week, let him live with that shit. Even if he shrugs it off, they ain't going to let him in that cage without a partner.
Terrella inhales a massive breath and lifts the bar off the rack, easing the weight down to his chest. This is the point where the weight feels heaviest. His muscles strain under the immense amount of weight as he forces the bar upward. He successfully pulls off five repetitions before racking the bar with a heavy clank.
"Baby," Portia says, leaning against the doorframe of the building as she pokes herself halfway in, "how much longer are you going to be? If we're going to shop before the club opens later, we need to leave soon."
Terrella sits up, wincing. "Not long."
Portia walks in, making her way over to Terrella. She rubs her hand over his upper back, having seen all the plates on the bar. "You're pushing yourself too hard. I want Vivienne's head just as bad as you want Knight's, but--"
"I need to be ready for the cage in a few weeks," Terrella tells her as he rubs at his head. "Before we get there, I got to be ready for this week. Cyrus ain't small, babe. Rest of our team is."
Portia leans over, kissing his head. "You will be. We'll figure it out. Now come inside with me. I'll fix your back before we go."
Terrella nods.
*********************
Five hours later, Stephen Terrella and Portia enter their club, the Black Sands, to find an early crowd that is rather thin. Terrella carries a large bag at his side as they make their way through the club with ease due to the light turnout so far. Approaching the bar, they meet up with the Black Widow, who is smoking a cigarette while staring into a half empty glass of vodka on the rocks.
"Hey," Terrella says, causing the Black Widow to turn around just in time to see him toss the back up on the bar. "Got you something."
"What the fuck is this?" The Black Widow brings the bag closer to her. She holds her cigarette in her mouth as she reaches into the bag, pulling out a shoebox.
"Portia helped pick those out for you. They're black. It's nothing fucking weird. Just open the shit," Terrella tells her.
The Black Widow removes her cigarette from her mouth. "Yeah, it is fucking weird that you two are buying me shit, but whatever."
A somewhat reluctant Black Widow removes the lid from the box, revealing a new pair of black boots. "Boots?"
"Yeah, we know you slipped on the ropes the last time you were in the ring, and we just thought..." Portia trails off with her thought, noticing how agitated the Black Widow looks amidst all of this.
"My boots are fine; I fucking like them." She pauses momentarily, taking a drag off her cigarette. "I didn't just slip, either. Eternity is different. You didn't see what I saw."
"I know that bitch is crazy, but it's mind games, B. She's just fucking with you." Terrella leans against the bar, calling for a beer from the bartender.
"I know when someone is trying to fuck with my head. This isn't it." The Black Widow downs a large swallow of her vodka.
After Stephen cracks his beer, Portia grabs hold of his arm. "She bleeds, right? We've seen it."
"I never said she wasn't human." Annoyed that was even applied, the Black Widow looks away as she takes another drag from her cigarette.
"Look," Terrella says, rubbing at his head, "we don't have to figure out what she is. Whatever happened, it fucking happened. We just got to figure out what we're going to do this week teaming with them. As bad as I want to hurt Knight, and as much as Portia wants to see Vivienne suffer... we could throw them to the wolves this week, walk out."
The Black Widow turns her head forward, blowing a cloud of smoke into the air. "That's a stupid idea. Four on two; Knight, RAM, Cyrus and Vivienne would walk out of this match almost as fine as we would."
"Wait, so you actually want to team with them?" Portia seems almost baffled.
"Yeah, why not. They can hold their own and we don't have to be friends." The Black Widow drops her cigarette into the small amount of alcohol left in her glass. "Plus, the closer you get, the more you learn."
The Black Widow hops down off her seat, grabbing the boots. She holds them up. "Thanks though. I'll keep these, just in case I get blood on my others."
Without another word, the Black Widow walks past Stephen and Portia on her way out.
Portia turns to Stephen, asking him: "Do you think she really saw what she says she saw?"
"Fuck if I know," Terrella says with a slight move of his head. "But I don't feel like pissing her off, so I'm not bringing that shit up anymore. This team with Bella Morte is going to be a fucking shitshow, though."
"What do we do then?" Portia asks.
"It'd have been a hell of a lot fucking easier to get Cyrus, Vivienne, Knight and Marshall in the parking lot after the show. But I guess we'll just do it in the ring." Terrella rubs at his chin, contemplating his next move.
Well howdy there pardner.