chronicles of d. watson // inst. two [v. declan hale]

[Deleted]

CHRONICLES OF D. WATSON // INST. TWO SURVIVALISM - - - - - - - 01 MARCH 2018 -- COMBAT SYNDICATE: NEWBURGH -- 1645 HRS “Get up.” The mat was a cold and hard calculating mistress when you truly were upon it. On television, or even in the audience, you might not realize what wrestlers were on in the squared circle, but the barely two-inch foam underneath the canvas didn’t provide as much padding on a thick piece of wood. It had give, and it allowed for some spring so you weren’t landing directly on something like cement, but when you hit it, you hit it hard. With his breath knocked out of him for what had to be the third time in a row, Dickie laid on his back, staring up at the flourescent lights of the Combat Syndicate: Newburgh . . . well, we’ll call it a “gym”. He’d been levelled -- again -- by an attempt at a hurricanrana that turned into him basically being thrown to the ground in a slam that took the breath from his lungs. For the tenth time, he was sure. Everything smarted. “If you can’t get your shit together, then you’re going to go into The Factory with your head up your ass and on the mat yourself at the end of that match. This isn’t just wrestling, Dickwad. You’ve got to be vigilant.” Finn stood over him, crossing his arms. No, the new World Champion wasn’t at all the two-hundred and sixty pound monster that most champions seemed to be with immense power and skill, but that obviously hadn’t mattered. He’d made his way to the top. Like his sister. Like everyone fucking else in their “family”. “I’m trying!” At this point, Dickie was honestly frustrated. If he couldn’t even get this right, how the hell could he capitalize? No, not every single person that wrestled in the “fam” had won their first match -- wait, they did. Even he had. But he had to prove it wasn’t a fluke. Finn snorted loudly. “Clearly, you’re not. We’ve done the same thing over and over, and you’re still fucking it up. Declan Hale is a heavy hitter, and if you’re not paying attention like you normally do, you’re going to go down in flames, kid. You’ve got to be inventive, and you need to focus and keep your eyes on him. You’ve got to figure out your opponent before he can figure you out. Out of all of them, with idiots like ‘Thadd 2 Fuckwit’, you’re clearly one of the smarter shits. Now. Get up. Let’s do it again.” He leaned down, grabbed Dickie by the back of his shirt’s neck, and tugged him to his feet. - - - - - - - 01 MARCH 2018 -- THE MANSION -- 2128 HRS  “I’m an idiot for even doing this, Lena,” he muttered. Like he had as a child, he sat on top of the kitchen counter as he watched his elder sister move across the kitchen to the freezer. “Maybe you were right. Maybe I shouldn’t be jumping into this like you all.” “Hm . . .” Elena replied, pressing her lips together as she opened the door. There was a plethora of ice packs in there -- probably for this exact use. She turned then, her normally elegant hair pulled up into a messy bun and her face devoid of the makeup she so artistically painted day in and day out, and she looked at him, waiting for him to continue as she placed the ice pack into a rolled up towel. “I mean, what do I have? I’m barely six-foot--” “You’re not even six-foot.” She interjected, handing him the ice pack. But he was so lost in his self-deprecation that he didn’t even bother holding it up to the bruise on his head, inflicted from earlier. “I’m a frickin’ lightweight.” “Mhm.” She agreed, crossing her arms as she listened to him. “Finn was right. I’m an idiot for even doing this. Hannah’ll understand, I’m sure. She’ll be happy if I quit before I even get started.” - - - - - - - 01 MARCH 2018 -- COMBAT SYNDICATE: NEWBURGH -- 1655 HRS Another fall to the mat. Another slam straight into it. Get up. Rinse. Repeat. Do the same thing over and over again. Popular fact held that Einstein said once some shit about insanity was doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. Apparently, he was insane. Every time he hit the mat, his head began to pulse harder and angrier. The entire time, Finn mocked him. He hopped about the ring, using the springboard action of the mat to bounce about, waiting for Dickie to get his shit together. When the oxygen didn't feel deprived, The Seattle Saint reached down and grabbed him for another round, tugging him to his feet. Finn had control the entire time. “Come on, Dickwad. I know you can do better than this. It doesn’t matter if Hale can endure the shit thrown at him, or if he can handle himself in that ring. But I doubt he’ll surpass you in how long it’s gonna take before both of you start getting tired. Even the most stoic of men can be brought down. He can be outgunned, if you keep him guessing.” Dickie stumbled to his feet, and found himself being thrust towards the ropes. He bounced off of them, ultimately finding himself grabbing onto it, as if it was his only remaining lifeline. “You’ve gotta be faster. Do whatever it takes to stay away from him. And when he closes in, use the reflexes you’re not showing me right now. The turnbuckles, they’re your guides. I know Aaron has been working with you for the past couple of weeks down at Steel Bones. You’ve gotta trust your instincts. Take Declan down from the sky. Get him down and then apply those submissions. A well-placed guillotine choke will do more damage than trying to power him out.” Dickie exhaled as he clutched the rubber-covered steel rope in his hands, staring down at the mat outside of the ring. Sweat had begun to cover his face and his body. He was exhausted. But Finn was right. Somehow, he needed to figure out how to endure to the end. He heard the sounds of Finn’s feet hitting the mat hard, rushing him. Without thinking, he turned quickly and lifted his leg, bashing the sole of his shoe right in Finn’s face. It was the opening he needed, and he took it. He pushed off the ropes and ran for the corner of the ring. - - - - - - - 01 MARCH 2018 -- THE MANSION -- 2130 HRS “It was a lucky shot too,” he sighed, finally holding the ice pack up to his head. “What if nothing comes to me? I’m gonna be a fucking sitting duck in that ring. Hale’s pretty inventive with weapons, I heard.” Elena pursed her lips, sticking her tongue between her teeth and sucking in slightly to make a loud snap. She turned her head towards her younger brother with a mixture of irritation and slight amusement, if it were possible. “And you can’t?” “I mean, I can, but . . .” Dickie was flustered. Everything was riding on this for him. He wanted to prove he could do everything his siblings could. Maybe it was a desire to be accepted by them, to fit in with the crowd they created. “I just don’t wanna fuck this up.” “Honestly, Dickie,” she cut him off from saying anything else detrimental to his own character. “If you didn’t think you could do this, you wouldn’t be here.” Dickie went silent, staring at her. “Your girl believes in you. She knows you can do this. She’s gonna be right by your side, as will all of us if you wish us to be there. I know you can do this, and so do you, Dimitri. So what if you’re not the same height, or the same weight-class -- it doesn’t matter. You’re one of us, so be like us.” “But . . . but I’m not.” Of course, he was referring to everyone else that they considered “family”. But even that wasn’t true. Aaron wasn’t the of the same blood as Elena and Finn, and she had championships and a legacy she’d created. She was married to Finn. Even Cyrus, whom was considered family due to his status as Elena’s former husband and Izzy’s dad, had proven himself to be on top of the game. He didn’t have the same blood either. “Yes, you are.” And honestly, he was surprised Elena was even going this route. She hadn’t wanted him in the ring, and there had been one of her famous glares directed at him when he told her his intentions of being a wrestler. An ultraviolent one at that. She leaned against the counter, crossing her arms. “Be relentless. Sure, you’re not an ox and you don’t have the brute strength of a one either, but you have a brain. You can find a weakness. You can find an opening. You can endure, even if no one thinks you can.” “But what if I--” “You have weapons. Use them. It’s not a technical wrestling match. There are no disqualifications, and that crowd wants to see the two of you destroy each other. That’s all they want. If all else fails, do what you need to. Make him bleed.” Dickie looked down at his feet, staring beyond them at the floor. He hadn’t forgotten the look of pure terror on Hannah’s face that October night. She’d been so scared, and part of him wondered if it was also because he’d responded in such a violent way. “What if Hannah doesn’t . . . ?” he trailed off. Elena laughed. “Hannah loves you. I’m fairly certain you could blow up a building full of cute animals and she’d still love you.” She grabbed the side of his head, and pulled him down from the top of the counter to press a kiss to his cheek. “And that, if anything, should drive you to destroy Hale. Give her something to talk about at school. To her dad.” Dickie blanched. Hannah’s dad was, quite honestly, a dick. “Make us all proud. Destroy him. Show them all you’re not just some highflying kid. Kill him and move on.” - - - - - - - 01 MARCH 2018 -- COMBAT SYNDICATE: NEWBURGH -- 1659 HRS His foot bounced off the rope as he leaped upwards, almost launching himself towards the top of the turnbuckle. As Finn shook off his daze from Dickie’s foot launching into his face, he turned, and found himself with his “little brother” flying through the air, grabbing a hold of his face and ramming it with every piece of strength he had into the mat below them. It wasn’t even a move. It was just an all out assault from the top rope because he’d had literally five seconds to think. And it seemingly worked. He rolled over, sitting up, and exhaled as he looked at his “trainer” . . . . . . who was holding the back of his head as he slowly sat up and glanced at Dickie, but a smile crossed his face. “Yeah. Do that. Multiple times. Just let go, Dickie. Stop trying to do technical shit.” He rose to his feet, albeit slower than he’d moved before. The blow to the head must have been, for a moment, detrimental. He held his hand down for Dickie to take and pulled him upwards. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do though?” “Nah.” He shook his head. “Throw the rulebook out the window and push yourself. You’ll make us proud, kid.” Yeah. Yeah, he fucking would. END.