Post by Deleted on Jul 13, 2020 6:07:04 GMT -7
“Meticulous”
(Off Camera)
The Yorkshire Terror, CCM, was not really one for weights or squats. He wasn’t overpowering any bigger dudes, heck, he likely wasn’t overpowering half the women either. Preparation for matches, for the diminutive dickhead involved tape. Lots of lots of tape.
CCM was kicked back in his hotel room, watching one of Luther Thunder’s most recent championship matches from a year or so ago. Pretty heavy, hard hitting action, the Brit’s eyes are focused on the match while his father sat there on a lounge chair next to him with a bottle of wine.
WMD: He doesn’t look that big to me, You got this kid.
CCM grunted.
CCM: Elephants don’t look that big to you, dad. Besides, size isn’t everything.
WMD chuckles.
WMD: You keep telling yourself that, kid. Try telling that to an elephant.
CCM squawks.
WMD: Well have you seen the size of their EARS man?! They can hear a snake’s fart in Egypt with those flappers. Besides all you gotta do is train, train and train. Like me.
Yorkshire Terror arches a brow.
CCM: I haven’t seen you in the gym ONCE, when do you supposedly train?
His father looks sincerely insulted.
WMD: I’m working out right now, check out these curls.
He picks up his bottle of wine and takes a swig from it before letting out a delighted groan.
CCM: Ah yes, the Justice Deville training regimen. Fair play.
The young(ish) Brit shakes his head, before peering at the TV.
CCM:Hey dad, I think I’m onto something. Can I put a hold on you, real quick?
The big Brit shrugs.
WMD: Do the thing, if you got the guts, mate.
CCM kips off the couch, going behind the lounger, where he locks a wristlock variant on the big man.
WMD: Is that supposed to... OW!!!
CCM crunches his fingers in the hold, causing the big man to roar and get up, damn near spilling his vino.
WMD: THAT HURT YOU LITTLE SHIT!
He yells, swinging his arm wildly, proceeding to fling his kid backfirst into the wall.
CCM: ....ow…
Snarling the old man points at his son.
WMD: You shut your mouth, usually I get paid to do shit like that!
CCM: ..you are my dad though..
WMD: Too bloody right, why do you think I’m not charging you for it?
Yorkshire terror groans as his dad stands there watching his kid in pain.
WMD: Well?
CCM: Well what? Aren’t you gonna help me up?
Winston tilts his head, arching those gray brows of his, deeper oomf in his voice.
WMD: WELL?
CCM: ..thanks Dad.
With a laugh the big man walks over and yanks his kid up.
WMD: There you go kiddo, just because I’m your papa doesn’t mean I can go easy on you. You could end up straying away to some bad paths in your life and grow up to be a complete tosspot.
CCM: grow up?! HOW OLD DO YOU THINK I AM?!
WMD: How old do you think I AM?!
CCM: WHY do you always answer questions with other questions?!
WMD: Why don’t you think before you speak, it’s really hurtful you know!
CCM: Gee sowwy if I hurt your feelings you big dumb..OWH!
His dad had just smacked him upside the head.
WMD: I got more of those lined up if you don’t learn to respect your father. Look, the trick with big opponents is..
CCM:..the bigger they are the harder they fall... yeah yeah I know..
WMD: NO!
He shakes his head.
WMD: The bigger opponents don’t expect to do a lot of work, especially against the smaller guys. You see most pro’s assume it’s all in the looks and promoters like the big monsters and such..so what you do is you outwork him. This Gunther Blunder of whatever his name is..he wouldn’t be able to last 5 minutes in the ring with you, if you keep him moving.
CCM: ..this isn’t Looney Tunes man, I’m not gonna roadrunner away from him all match long.
WMD: ..then expect the anvil to land on your stupid head. I’m helping here! This is golden knowledge.
CCM couldn’t help but wonder if his father’s knowledge of how to beat a big man came from his own multiple L’s over the years, but decided not to poke the bear. His head was sore enough as it was. Grumbling, he sat back down.
CCM: Great, I missed the finish with all that fannying around. Meh.
He clicked off the TV.
CCM: I’m bored of wrestling tapes. Wanna grab some dinner?
WMD: Not really hungry, kid.
CCM sighed.
CCM: Wanna go to the pub?
His dad polishes off the bottle in record time.
WMD: ..not really but what kind of a father would I be if I turned down something you insisted.
He’s heading for the door already when his poor son tries to step in.
CCM: I didn’t actually--
WMD: You insisted son, besides. You are paying for it anyway. All this knowledge isn’t for free.
CCM: WHAT?!?
WMD: You are the one who just got signed to a lucrative contract in SRW aren’t you.
CCM grumbled.
CCM: I thought you weren’t charging your own kid..
His dad smiled.
WMD: Yeah, for that throw..first time is always free, that’s how you lure the suckers in.
CCM: ..suck..wait a minute I’m your son!
His dad’s already out the door as his voice booms from the hall.
WMD: Yeah, that’s another lesson. Don’t trust people in the bloody wrestling business, you are paying for that too!
CCM mutters to himself.
CCM: I wonder if I can get away with this shit when my girls grow up...
------
6:30 AM. CCM shut off the alarm that he’d muffled with a shirt to keep his girlfriend from waking. He looked over to her, sleeping. So pretty. But not what was in order for this morning.
He got dressed quietly, scribbling a quick note to ChaCha which he left on her end table, before leaving the room and heading outside. The city was quiet around this time, cool air for once too, the perfect time to freeze last night’s alcohol out of the system and get some clarity.
Making his way down the block, CCM made notes of the few people he saw in his head. Always good to be observant, besides, people were interesting. Lunatics, most of them, but interesting nonetheless. As he arrived at a local park, he sat down by the water’s edge, feeling a sense of calm.
It was all too easy to forget to keep time for oneself. Be it his father, his brainless girlfriend, his crazy best friend and her drunken hick husband... CCM’s entourage were all pretty crazy and out there. And don’t be fooled, the Yorkshire Terror could be pretty wild too... you don’t get the word Crazy put in your name Twice without having something of a mad streak. But there was another side to the man, who enjoyed the calm, quiet and serene aspects of life. These things all needed balance after all, and as a Libra, CCM was all about that.
His mind turned to Savage Thursday, his match with Luther Thunder. Jesus, way to jump in the deep end. A true beast, a man so tough he had worked as enforcer for some of the biggest corporate jerks in the industry, before powering out on his own terms and smashing opponents into oblivion/ This man had done it all, won championships, ended careers, buried people six feet underground...
And he had been there, the best seat in the house, front and center at ringside to watch it all unfold. To call those iconic moments. When many of them were replayed, it was his voice shouting in praise and adulation. And now he had to go toe to toe with the guy.
Sure, he had the scouting. He’d seen enough Luther matches to know his tendencies, his moves, even down to how Esme was likely to act at ringside. CCM was in no doubt he had the strategy to gameplan perfectly.
But actually beat him? He’s a fucking legend, man.
CCM shook his head. None of this self-doubt was gonna get him anywhere. He didn’t come back into wrestling, here into SRW to be some job guy. Yes, Luther Thunder is a tough motherfucker. But you know what? SRW was full of tough motherfuckers, of both genders, from his own ex-wife to the revered world champion Sam Tolson. He didn’t want to be here making up numbers. He wanted to win. He wanted to be a champion. He wanted to stick it to those motherfucking promoters who stuck him behind a desk instead of letting him kick ass in the ring. Those people who thought he was a sharp quip and nothing else.
He couldn’t kick their asses. They weren’t here.
The Dutch Devil’s ass would make a fine substitute.
(Off Camera)
The Yorkshire Terror, CCM, was not really one for weights or squats. He wasn’t overpowering any bigger dudes, heck, he likely wasn’t overpowering half the women either. Preparation for matches, for the diminutive dickhead involved tape. Lots of lots of tape.
CCM was kicked back in his hotel room, watching one of Luther Thunder’s most recent championship matches from a year or so ago. Pretty heavy, hard hitting action, the Brit’s eyes are focused on the match while his father sat there on a lounge chair next to him with a bottle of wine.
WMD: He doesn’t look that big to me, You got this kid.
CCM grunted.
CCM: Elephants don’t look that big to you, dad. Besides, size isn’t everything.
WMD chuckles.
WMD: You keep telling yourself that, kid. Try telling that to an elephant.
CCM squawks.
WMD: Well have you seen the size of their EARS man?! They can hear a snake’s fart in Egypt with those flappers. Besides all you gotta do is train, train and train. Like me.
Yorkshire Terror arches a brow.
CCM: I haven’t seen you in the gym ONCE, when do you supposedly train?
His father looks sincerely insulted.
WMD: I’m working out right now, check out these curls.
He picks up his bottle of wine and takes a swig from it before letting out a delighted groan.
CCM: Ah yes, the Justice Deville training regimen. Fair play.
The young(ish) Brit shakes his head, before peering at the TV.
CCM:Hey dad, I think I’m onto something. Can I put a hold on you, real quick?
The big Brit shrugs.
WMD: Do the thing, if you got the guts, mate.
CCM kips off the couch, going behind the lounger, where he locks a wristlock variant on the big man.
WMD: Is that supposed to... OW!!!
CCM crunches his fingers in the hold, causing the big man to roar and get up, damn near spilling his vino.
WMD: THAT HURT YOU LITTLE SHIT!
He yells, swinging his arm wildly, proceeding to fling his kid backfirst into the wall.
CCM: ....ow…
Snarling the old man points at his son.
WMD: You shut your mouth, usually I get paid to do shit like that!
CCM: ..you are my dad though..
WMD: Too bloody right, why do you think I’m not charging you for it?
Yorkshire terror groans as his dad stands there watching his kid in pain.
WMD: Well?
CCM: Well what? Aren’t you gonna help me up?
Winston tilts his head, arching those gray brows of his, deeper oomf in his voice.
WMD: WELL?
CCM: ..thanks Dad.
With a laugh the big man walks over and yanks his kid up.
WMD: There you go kiddo, just because I’m your papa doesn’t mean I can go easy on you. You could end up straying away to some bad paths in your life and grow up to be a complete tosspot.
CCM: grow up?! HOW OLD DO YOU THINK I AM?!
WMD: How old do you think I AM?!
CCM: WHY do you always answer questions with other questions?!
WMD: Why don’t you think before you speak, it’s really hurtful you know!
CCM: Gee sowwy if I hurt your feelings you big dumb..OWH!
His dad had just smacked him upside the head.
WMD: I got more of those lined up if you don’t learn to respect your father. Look, the trick with big opponents is..
CCM:..the bigger they are the harder they fall... yeah yeah I know..
WMD: NO!
He shakes his head.
WMD: The bigger opponents don’t expect to do a lot of work, especially against the smaller guys. You see most pro’s assume it’s all in the looks and promoters like the big monsters and such..so what you do is you outwork him. This Gunther Blunder of whatever his name is..he wouldn’t be able to last 5 minutes in the ring with you, if you keep him moving.
CCM: ..this isn’t Looney Tunes man, I’m not gonna roadrunner away from him all match long.
WMD: ..then expect the anvil to land on your stupid head. I’m helping here! This is golden knowledge.
CCM couldn’t help but wonder if his father’s knowledge of how to beat a big man came from his own multiple L’s over the years, but decided not to poke the bear. His head was sore enough as it was. Grumbling, he sat back down.
CCM: Great, I missed the finish with all that fannying around. Meh.
He clicked off the TV.
CCM: I’m bored of wrestling tapes. Wanna grab some dinner?
WMD: Not really hungry, kid.
CCM sighed.
CCM: Wanna go to the pub?
His dad polishes off the bottle in record time.
WMD: ..not really but what kind of a father would I be if I turned down something you insisted.
He’s heading for the door already when his poor son tries to step in.
CCM: I didn’t actually--
WMD: You insisted son, besides. You are paying for it anyway. All this knowledge isn’t for free.
CCM: WHAT?!?
WMD: You are the one who just got signed to a lucrative contract in SRW aren’t you.
CCM grumbled.
CCM: I thought you weren’t charging your own kid..
His dad smiled.
WMD: Yeah, for that throw..first time is always free, that’s how you lure the suckers in.
CCM: ..suck..wait a minute I’m your son!
His dad’s already out the door as his voice booms from the hall.
WMD: Yeah, that’s another lesson. Don’t trust people in the bloody wrestling business, you are paying for that too!
CCM mutters to himself.
CCM: I wonder if I can get away with this shit when my girls grow up...
------
6:30 AM. CCM shut off the alarm that he’d muffled with a shirt to keep his girlfriend from waking. He looked over to her, sleeping. So pretty. But not what was in order for this morning.
He got dressed quietly, scribbling a quick note to ChaCha which he left on her end table, before leaving the room and heading outside. The city was quiet around this time, cool air for once too, the perfect time to freeze last night’s alcohol out of the system and get some clarity.
Making his way down the block, CCM made notes of the few people he saw in his head. Always good to be observant, besides, people were interesting. Lunatics, most of them, but interesting nonetheless. As he arrived at a local park, he sat down by the water’s edge, feeling a sense of calm.
It was all too easy to forget to keep time for oneself. Be it his father, his brainless girlfriend, his crazy best friend and her drunken hick husband... CCM’s entourage were all pretty crazy and out there. And don’t be fooled, the Yorkshire Terror could be pretty wild too... you don’t get the word Crazy put in your name Twice without having something of a mad streak. But there was another side to the man, who enjoyed the calm, quiet and serene aspects of life. These things all needed balance after all, and as a Libra, CCM was all about that.
His mind turned to Savage Thursday, his match with Luther Thunder. Jesus, way to jump in the deep end. A true beast, a man so tough he had worked as enforcer for some of the biggest corporate jerks in the industry, before powering out on his own terms and smashing opponents into oblivion/ This man had done it all, won championships, ended careers, buried people six feet underground...
And he had been there, the best seat in the house, front and center at ringside to watch it all unfold. To call those iconic moments. When many of them were replayed, it was his voice shouting in praise and adulation. And now he had to go toe to toe with the guy.
Sure, he had the scouting. He’d seen enough Luther matches to know his tendencies, his moves, even down to how Esme was likely to act at ringside. CCM was in no doubt he had the strategy to gameplan perfectly.
But actually beat him? He’s a fucking legend, man.
CCM shook his head. None of this self-doubt was gonna get him anywhere. He didn’t come back into wrestling, here into SRW to be some job guy. Yes, Luther Thunder is a tough motherfucker. But you know what? SRW was full of tough motherfuckers, of both genders, from his own ex-wife to the revered world champion Sam Tolson. He didn’t want to be here making up numbers. He wanted to win. He wanted to be a champion. He wanted to stick it to those motherfucking promoters who stuck him behind a desk instead of letting him kick ass in the ring. Those people who thought he was a sharp quip and nothing else.
He couldn’t kick their asses. They weren’t here.
The Dutch Devil’s ass would make a fine substitute.