Post by Deleted on Mar 17, 2018 3:00:14 GMT
 CHRONICLES OF D. WATSON // INST. THREEWTF, MATE? - - - - - - - 05 MARCH 2018 -- THE FACTORY: BACKSTAGE Dickie leaned up against the wall, pressing his head against the cold surface and trying to figure out exactly what just happened. The very last thing he remembered was Declan's head crashing straight into his, and then, all he'd seen was darkness. Hale'd had it. He'd had him basically the whole fucking match and there'd been nothing that he could do about it And yet, here he stood, the victor. Or slumped, rather, his hand reaching up to his shoulders and removing (what he hoped was) the last thumbtack out of his skin. He'd been in fucking survival mode the whole match -- he couldn't say he'd done well, but for a first match in a rather unorthodox ring, he'd done what he could. I mean, it'd get better, right? "Mr. Watson!" He turned his head, finding himself almost face-to-face with Dick Oswald. Something was just fucking off about this dude, and he didn't just mean in the way he was being treated. The cowboy hat, the rat-like face . . . nah, there was something fishy. Completely. The man carried a nice, cold bottle of water and clapped Dickie right on the shoulder. "Good showing there!" Dickie made a face like he'd like to partially die. The thumbtacks hadn't been removed. "Are you serious?" He gasped, wincing. "Hale had that entire match." "Nonsense." He replied. "You'll do just fine here -- in fact, I hear the next card has been already scheduled. I believe you're in the main event again." Bullshit. Fucking bullshit. "You've got O'Reilly next, and I'm sure he's gonna be looking for a win after failing in his match. Keep your eyes focused, kid." Oswald handed him the water and begins walking ahead of him, an intern nearly almost at his heels. "Star of the company!" - - - - - - - 13 MARCH 2018 -- JOHN HOPKINS UNIVERSITY: DORMITORY #4654 "Isn't he that . . . guy who did that thingy to that other guy?" Hannah was bright. Much brighter than Dickie, since she was in the process of studying all of the scientific ideas about the human and animal bodies and how they processed and worked. But even so, she'd never been one to understand what was happening inside a wrestling ring of any kind. And right now, she looked horrified. "Called a piledriver, and yeah." They sat on the floor of Hannah's dorm room, their backs against the two twin beds that were on opposite sides of the room. She was sitting with her legs criss-crossed and her eyebrows furrowed, her messy ponytail held high at the crown of her head. She wasn't wearing makeup, and honestly, Dickie really didn't care. To him, Hannah was always going to be the most beautiful woman he'd ever met. Ah, young love, right? She hugged her pillow, staring at him, her lip curled up slightly. Dickie had a book in his lap, and he was reading it with an eyebrow raised and his nose curled up. Clearly, the information within didn't make sense to him, the former mass-comm major. "Okay, so . . . what is X-linked hyper-IgM syndrome?" She ran off her answer like it was the quickest thing she knew. "It's an immunodeficiency disorder where TH cells fail to express CD40L." "The fuck is CD40L?" "The fuck are you doing?" Hannah retorted and her voice partially squeaking. Dickie looked up from the book and finally realized the look of concern on her face. Hannah hated that he was doing this "sport". She hated it with everything in her, and it was readily viewable on her face. Though she supported him, though she would always do so, it didn't mean she had to like it. "He could have killed that guy, Dickie! And after last week . . ." He frowned. He'd been waiting for this. Not because he wanted to be confrontational, but because eventually, Hannah's fears always came out. It was something that they both experienced more often than they'd liked recently. "I thought you would have quit. I mean, Hale could have killed you." "Yeah, well," Dickie closed the book and set it on his lap, looking at his girlfriend. "He didn't. I'm okay. I'll be just fine. I told you all I had was a headache afterwards. And besides, I won." "It doesn't matter to me that you win. It matters to me that you're safe and--" "It's an ultraviolent environment." "Why couldn't you do something that wasn't ultraviolent-y? I mean, Finn and Elena wrestle in normal places. Why can't you?" He was slow to respond, and he closed his eyes. "Because. If I can't prove myself in the same environment they did, then I'm not going to be worth anything." She didn't reply. Hannah just stared at him. "Look. When it comes down to it, he's got what, six years of experience on me? Ryan and I are so fucking similar it isn't even funny. Watching that match like I did . . . I mean, he's fast, but so am I. He's got technique, obviously since he trained in Japan, but I've learned from the best, and I know how to block that shit. If I can get above him quick enough, if I can land some attacks on him from above, eventually, I'll wear him down. Besides, he lost last week. If I can just figure out how to get him down, I'll be fine. I'm quick at thinking. I know what to do. I just gotta be more aggressive than I was last time." "I'm more worried about you. Dickie, you're not used to this stuff. This isn't like it's a walk in the park. Look at yourself against Hale -- you started getting tired before he did." "True. But I still won." "Because someone hel-" Dickie rose to his feet then, cutting Hannah off from her words. He didn't need to hear it. He knew she worried, but it wasn't enough to make him change his mind. He was going out there. He was going to main event again. And he was going to pray to God that this time, he would be able to put his opponent down without looking like a complete fool. "I'm gonna go get us a pizza." He stated, and he looked at her knowingly, leaning down and kissing her on the forehead. "I'll be okay, Hannah. I promise." Hannah frowned, but she said nothing more. When he was headstrong, there was nothing that could change his mind. - - - - - - - 05 MARCH 2018 -- THE FACTORY: BACKSTAGE Dickie's lip curled upwards, pulling upwards just enough to show a canine and he stared in the direction of the manager as he disappears out of sight. "Star of fucking nothing." He muttered, reaching back to his opposite shoulder once more as he began walking ahead. With a small clink, another thumbtack landed on the floor, a small speck of blood on the metal. His feet faded out of focus as he walked away. Welcome to The Factory, kid. END. |
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