Post by synn on Sept 5, 2023 23:00:26 GMT -5
A knock on her door startled her out of her deep thought.
She looked towards the door. This was an isolated road side hovel, there was no way anyone knew she was here. There was no way Brooke was back with the shopping list she had given her yet. The items she had put on that list, it would take the blonde all day to find them if she could at all.
She did it on purpose.
She needed to be alone.
The weight of being OCW Champion was weighing heavy on her. She had read the social media, even when she promised herself she wouldn't. She knows that his belt she had won fair and square, that she had beaten Easton Alexander not once but TWICE. People were saying she shouldn't have had a one-on-one, that there should have been a tournament of sorts, that SYNN should had had to "earn it" like anyone else.
Beating Easton is an accomplishment, even though she made it look easy. It's not. He is worth his weight in stones, despite what EVERYONE says about him. Yet, she's the bad guy, right?
The knock happened again, more forceful this time.
With an audible UGH she got up and walked over to the door. She opened it without checking the peephole.
What if it was a murderer?
God she hoped it was.
To her disappointment it was a young kid, who looked as though he had been crying. He had a flier in his hand with a picture on it.
"E---exxx----excuse me miss....I am looking for Donnie.......have you seen him?"
She did a bit of a double take. Was this a joke? A set up? A prank from her opponent this week?
She motioned with her index finger to see the flier the kid was holding, and he handed it over. It was moist from the tears. Someone about that made her feel good, even though she didn't want it to.
On the flier was the picture of what appeared to be a raccoon. His name was Donnie, and he has gone missing. Any information, or if you have seen Donnie, to please call the number listed.
"So, you're missing your rodent, eh?"
The kid didn't seem amused.
"HE'S A RACCOON!"
SYNN turned and looked over his shoulder at the pop bubbling in the small, peeling-wallpaper kitchenette that the roadside provided. She always got a room with a kitchen, so she didn't have to leave until it was time to go to the arena.
"And when is the last time you've seen him?"
"Yesterday he got out! He always come back whenever he runs away but this time he didn't!"
There was a blush under the smudged face paint.
There was a blush under the smudged face paint.
"No idea, kid. But let me hold onto this and if I see him, I will be sure to call the number."
"Okay," the kid sniffled.
Just then Brooke's car pulled back into the stone and dirt lot. It kicked up a cloud behind it as she shifted gears. Her low profile tires weren't built for this terrain. Her "rich people" sports car wasn't designed to drive where the poor people live.
She had a grocery bag in her arms as she walked up to the room. SYNN always had a room on the first floor, too, which Brooke was thankful for. She tried to part as close as possible to the door. Not that she didn't trust her friend but, just in case.
The kid had moved on and was knocking on other doors in the almost-condemned complex.
"What's that all about?" Brooke asks.
"Kid lost his raccoon", Synn says as she shows her the picture. "Names Donnie."
"Ew. About both. But, poor thing, he looks pretty shaken up."
"Happens. Donnie's are a dime a dozen. The next time a raccoon wanders into his yard it'll be like it never happened. Nothing special. New Donnie, same rodent."
She ushered Brooke inside.
"Did you get everything?"
"Your list was ridiculous."
"That isn't an answer to that question."
"No."
"Oh well, we'll make it work. Come in, sit, sit."
She ushered Brooke back inside and shut the door. Darkness enveloped them again.
"I hope you're hungry."
"Starving."
Brooke sat down and SYNN walked over the to the pot. SYNN took the ladle and pulled a figure out of the pot, slapping it down on the dirty plates she provided. It was a raccoon.
Brooke gagged. "What the HELL is that?"
"A raccoon" she said as if it were obvious. She began to attempt to cut into it with a butter knife.
Brooke put a hang up to her face, trying to hold the puke back. "Is....is that that kids rac---"
"I never can tell them apart."
As Brooke sat there, a bit miffed that she drove halfway across town, twice, to pick up supplies that SYNN wasn't even using, she finally had had enough.
"I'm not doing this anymore." She said.
"We need to get you out of the house. You can't just sit here in the dark, alone, eating roadkill and wallowing in......whatever it is you're wallowing in."
SYNN stopped chewing and looked up at her blonde friend.
"Wallowing?" she said between chews, "whose wallowing?"
Brooke took the rest of the rodent and tossed it away, grabbing SYNN by the wrist.
"Come on......we're going shopping.....I'll drive."
TO BE CONTINUED
“What an odd couple, they say. Myself and Ms. Blakely? Oh no, noo…..Mr. Harris, the perpetual underachiever and the man who makes ‘scary’ fashionable with no real talent outside of promotional videos. Sure, he threw me around the ring like a kids doll who had fallen out of fashion, but did he win? He did not. Isn’t that what this game’s all about? Color me shocked that a ‘wrestler’ is supposed to win ‘wrestling matches’. Kon likes to cause pain, and that’s fine and dandy, but when you’re 0-32 the booboo’s you cause don’t mean quite as much, do they?
Kon isn’t top tier, he's not even MID. Just a hulking doofus meandering through the cosmos smashing things up as he goes. What purpose does he serve? (Everyone knows the Hulk is the ‘big dumb friend’ Avenger and only invited to the party when heavy lifting is involved).”
Brooke: “But when he’s not the Hulk, he’s Bruce Banner. The soft-spoken scientist with genius mental capacity—”
“He’s always the Hulk. Let’s call a spade a spade. Kon is ALWAYS the Hulk. If he had even a single redeeming quality I’d have even the smallest shred of respect for him, but he is and always will be nothing more than the big dumb doof.
That being said.
He wants us to fear him. He wants us to run away and cower in a corner. Does he pay attention to the company he’s paid by? Does he know who their world champion is? Since when has SYNN ran from ANYTHING or ANYONE? But if acting tough makes him sleep better, then why not go for the Beauty Rest Black? (Great Labor Day Sales, by the way, check ‘em out!). Keep sucking that thumb, big man. You and that Spirit Halloween funbag you call a valet. Big talk, teensy walk. You can’t hurt someone who enjoys pain.
So you probably think you’re in line for the world title, dontcha? You probably think Brit has something up her designer sleeves that pitts you versus moi for that shiny hunk of metal, yah?
I think someone else would have something to say about that.
The man who has done Joe Biden levels of nothing, yet continuously thinks he’s a pioneer. A trailblazer. A man who came here because he’d rather be a punching bag in a place he recognizes. The devil you know…….
That’s right, Donnie Harris.
The single celled amoeba with an HGH problem who couldn’t find his way out of an infant's Pack-n-Play. The muscled freak who thinks he’s a bad guy because he finally realized that he can bench 300. Donnie thinks he belongs in the title picture too, yeah?
Let me ask you something, Donald, and I ask this with the utmost sincerity and overwhelming curiosity…..
If you were bottom of the barrel over there what the hell made you think you’d float to the surface here? If you couldn’t even survive the midcard, why do you think you’d be the main event here? You forced yourself into the picture, well consider me the photo editor. I am hereby removing you, forcefully if need be.
Brooke and I have a dynamic you two can never even wish to achieve. We are the ying and the yang, polar opposites who have come together. Feed off each other. Make each other better. You two losers do nothing but compete for whose got more small dick energy. It’s humorous, actually.
Brooke: A real knee slapper.
“Yes. But watching these two grumble out ‘promos’ have my knees rather chaffed. I should probably stop slapping them.
Blondie, you and I are going to prove a point this week. We are going to show the world, and all the little girls out there watching who look up to us, that size doesn’t matter. The bigger they are, the harder they fall. We are going to show them what true heart is. True passion.
Don’t hunt what you can’t kill.
Don’t volunteer to spill blood that you are too lazy to clean up. Maybe, just maybe, you’ll have more motivation when it’s your own.
You may be big and bad in your own mirror but through my eyes you’re weak and pathetic. A little boy with a god complex. A schoolyard bully who never faced a bully of his own.
So when we step into that ring with you two muscled up jock straps, we will be the underdogs. The WORLD CHAMP will be an underdog, the last OCW PARADIGM CHAMP will be an underdog……
Because everyone cares about size.
Brookie Brooke….does size matter?”
Brooke blushes……”Er, I mean it kinda does—”
“It’s not about the size, it's how you use it!”
“I’ve never seen you talk about this stuff before–”
“Drastic times call for drastic measures! These two clowns need to realize that they are stepping into the ring with two of the best WRESTLERS in this business, and a demon they can’t begin to understand.
They can’t kill what they don’t understand.”
"Oh well, we'll make it work. Come in, sit, sit."
She ushered Brooke back inside and shut the door. Darkness enveloped them again.
"I hope you're hungry."
"Starving."
Brooke sat down and SYNN walked over the to the pot. SYNN took the ladle and pulled a figure out of the pot, slapping it down on the dirty plates she provided. It was a raccoon.
Brooke gagged. "What the HELL is that?"
"A raccoon" she said as if it were obvious. She began to attempt to cut into it with a butter knife.
Brooke put a hang up to her face, trying to hold the puke back. "Is....is that that kids rac---"
"I never can tell them apart."
As Brooke sat there, a bit miffed that she drove halfway across town, twice, to pick up supplies that SYNN wasn't even using, she finally had had enough.
"I'm not doing this anymore." She said.
"We need to get you out of the house. You can't just sit here in the dark, alone, eating roadkill and wallowing in......whatever it is you're wallowing in."
SYNN stopped chewing and looked up at her blonde friend.
"Wallowing?" she said between chews, "whose wallowing?"
Brooke took the rest of the rodent and tossed it away, grabbing SYNN by the wrist.
"Come on......we're going shopping.....I'll drive."
TO BE CONTINUED
“What an odd couple, they say. Myself and Ms. Blakely? Oh no, noo…..Mr. Harris, the perpetual underachiever and the man who makes ‘scary’ fashionable with no real talent outside of promotional videos. Sure, he threw me around the ring like a kids doll who had fallen out of fashion, but did he win? He did not. Isn’t that what this game’s all about? Color me shocked that a ‘wrestler’ is supposed to win ‘wrestling matches’. Kon likes to cause pain, and that’s fine and dandy, but when you’re 0-32 the booboo’s you cause don’t mean quite as much, do they?
Kon isn’t top tier, he's not even MID. Just a hulking doofus meandering through the cosmos smashing things up as he goes. What purpose does he serve? (Everyone knows the Hulk is the ‘big dumb friend’ Avenger and only invited to the party when heavy lifting is involved).”
Brooke: “But when he’s not the Hulk, he’s Bruce Banner. The soft-spoken scientist with genius mental capacity—”
“He’s always the Hulk. Let’s call a spade a spade. Kon is ALWAYS the Hulk. If he had even a single redeeming quality I’d have even the smallest shred of respect for him, but he is and always will be nothing more than the big dumb doof.
That being said.
He wants us to fear him. He wants us to run away and cower in a corner. Does he pay attention to the company he’s paid by? Does he know who their world champion is? Since when has SYNN ran from ANYTHING or ANYONE? But if acting tough makes him sleep better, then why not go for the Beauty Rest Black? (Great Labor Day Sales, by the way, check ‘em out!). Keep sucking that thumb, big man. You and that Spirit Halloween funbag you call a valet. Big talk, teensy walk. You can’t hurt someone who enjoys pain.
So you probably think you’re in line for the world title, dontcha? You probably think Brit has something up her designer sleeves that pitts you versus moi for that shiny hunk of metal, yah?
I think someone else would have something to say about that.
The man who has done Joe Biden levels of nothing, yet continuously thinks he’s a pioneer. A trailblazer. A man who came here because he’d rather be a punching bag in a place he recognizes. The devil you know…….
That’s right, Donnie Harris.
The single celled amoeba with an HGH problem who couldn’t find his way out of an infant's Pack-n-Play. The muscled freak who thinks he’s a bad guy because he finally realized that he can bench 300. Donnie thinks he belongs in the title picture too, yeah?
Let me ask you something, Donald, and I ask this with the utmost sincerity and overwhelming curiosity…..
If you were bottom of the barrel over there what the hell made you think you’d float to the surface here? If you couldn’t even survive the midcard, why do you think you’d be the main event here? You forced yourself into the picture, well consider me the photo editor. I am hereby removing you, forcefully if need be.
Brooke and I have a dynamic you two can never even wish to achieve. We are the ying and the yang, polar opposites who have come together. Feed off each other. Make each other better. You two losers do nothing but compete for whose got more small dick energy. It’s humorous, actually.
Brooke: A real knee slapper.
“Yes. But watching these two grumble out ‘promos’ have my knees rather chaffed. I should probably stop slapping them.
Blondie, you and I are going to prove a point this week. We are going to show the world, and all the little girls out there watching who look up to us, that size doesn’t matter. The bigger they are, the harder they fall. We are going to show them what true heart is. True passion.
Don’t hunt what you can’t kill.
Don’t volunteer to spill blood that you are too lazy to clean up. Maybe, just maybe, you’ll have more motivation when it’s your own.
You may be big and bad in your own mirror but through my eyes you’re weak and pathetic. A little boy with a god complex. A schoolyard bully who never faced a bully of his own.
So when we step into that ring with you two muscled up jock straps, we will be the underdogs. The WORLD CHAMP will be an underdog, the last OCW PARADIGM CHAMP will be an underdog……
Because everyone cares about size.
Brookie Brooke….does size matter?”
Brooke blushes……”Er, I mean it kinda does—”
“It’s not about the size, it's how you use it!”
“I’ve never seen you talk about this stuff before–”
“Drastic times call for drastic measures! These two clowns need to realize that they are stepping into the ring with two of the best WRESTLERS in this business, and a demon they can’t begin to understand.
They can’t kill what they don’t understand.”