Post by Donnie Harris on Jun 6, 2024 1:19:47 GMT -5
-Danger felt so good. The win against Damage, putting BRADDOCK down: those two things were what made the night much better than just a simple victory. It even tasted good, ignoring the faint taste of iron from the blood seeping from his gums after the shots around the mouth; Damage punched with potatoes, not fists.
Then again, the cut sustained across his forehead was enough to at least warrant a hospital visit: six stitches; not bad, could have done a lot more and much better than that, but Damage was too concerned with Trickle.
As Donnie laid in the bed while they sewed him back up, thinking about the last time he was in the hospital for stitches, and there were more stitches sewn in than now, his phone, which was hampered by being in the hospital, went off: a new voicemail and a bunch of notifications from the site formerly known as Twitter. He waited until the nurse was finished and he was bandaged up to listen in; the voicemail was from the booker.-
(Booker)
Hey Donnie, listen up. You’ve been on a tear and we need you to keep up the pace. You’re on for the next Danger before Revival and, to keep you looking strong, we got you facing Je$TyR SeRyOuS. We think he’s going to keep you looking hot and competitive, especially building up to your match for the World Title. Win or lose, the people are going to be excited for it. Oh, and it’s an Asylum match: steel cage, weapons on the mesh; good times. Call it your match with BRADDOCK the first time, but with slightly less going on. Okay, take care and good luck!
-Donnie just blinked. Sure, he had seen the clown’s work remotely, but he didn’t really pay much attention to it. After all, he was dealing with other loudmouths like Davenport, but now, they’re putting this former midcard champ in the main event with him, and it was another cage match? How is that keeping up the pace? How is essentially the same match keeping him hot and competitive? How dare they say good luck when pro wrestling... well, everyone should know by now.
Regardless of everything, Donnie knew he still had to show up, still had to give it everything he had, despite his displeasure. He had to do it, at least for the newest signee to EPW and someone that still held a special place in his heart.
Sarah was going to be in the battle royal with the ladies, and her confidence wasn’t the greatest, especially with the idea of multi-person matches. Donnie knew he would want to meet her in Louisville, talk to her, get her ready. He didn’t even know what her wrestling gear looked like, and he wanted to make sure it matched the woman she is.
A tough badass, straight out of the Marines and ready for combat in the squared circle.
She changed, but so did he, and the changes weren’t bad. They grew up. They were practically kids when they started dating; he was still under the influence of his father, both in the abusive ways he trained him and the expectations for perfection. The strength in Sarah: no one would have tolerated Donnie’s distance and distraction. Mercifully, they left each other; luckily, they found each other anew. Then again, they tried to keep in touch, because they both knew the other for the better things.
The way he felt, seeing her again was a shot of adrenaline to the heart, enough to revive him.
But enough about trivial things that may not have a snowball’s chance in Hell: Donnie wasn’t a good man, so he’ll choose to be a great wrestler.
And it was well on its way, wasn't it? Currently PWA’s Streaming Service champion, former OCW Blue and EPW Anarchy champion, chasing Clyde Newton for the EPW World Title: in addition to Most Improved Wrestler accolades in OCW Red and being that guy to be in the mix with everyone everywhere, Donnie was no slouch. Even when competing at Dystopias or Technical Difficulties, Donnie didn’t restrain himself or hold back. Everyone set in that ring across from him, be they ally or enemy, needs to be prepared for war, as the bell is the first shot across the bow, that warning shot to commence hostilities. Violence is the only answer.
Ironic, then, that Donnie is being placed in this match with Je$TyR, after what the clown has done in EPW: not fucking much. Sure, he held a belt and he jabbers on and on like he’s got a screw loose.
Watching his promos was like an anxiety attack wrapped up in a baaaaaaaaad trip. Shooting black bears, threatening Taylor Mayde with them, constantly screaming when he thinks he has said something either clever or funny: Jerry Seinfeld, eat your heart out. Or, in this case, would it be Kramer? Who knows anymore? Well, Je$TyR might, because he’s the one doing it.
As he tried watching this stuff, watching these promos and trying to figure something, ANYTHING, out, Donnie just turned the TV off, finished his double-Jack and Coca Cola and held his head in his hands.-
)Donnie Harris(
What do they really expect me to do with this guy?
-Donnie grabs a pair of Tylenol from the steadily emptying bottle and swallows them with water. It was a fucking headache having to listen to this incoherent rambling, but he was far from mad. The characters that wrestlers played, Donnie now adapting to and adopting his own, were surreal to think about, but this one, this chaos-laden wannabe was more nails on a chalkboard than legitimate barn-burning threat.
But he tried, and he tried hard. He needed to poke holes in the clown’s game, see what he was missing, but it was hard to say. The chaotic nature and otherwise random bullshit that was the Je$TyR promo was summed up into one question: what the actual fuck?
It was infuriating to even watch his match with Justin York back from two months ago. It was a standard match, but it didn’t help that the damn guy tried, or threatened to try, assaulting a random security guard prior to the match, work or no work. One slip of the hand, one slip of the mind, and that guy, actor or not, would be in a stretcher or a bodybag. Je$TyR took the character way too seriously, and it was bound to get someone, especially the clown himself, hurt. Sure, Donnie was guilty of wanting to cave the face of a security guard in, especially in the aftermath of Damian Calaway’s match against him, where Donnie lost, fooled by a planted referee that counted the three.
Yeah, Donnie is still very bitter about that little... occurrence.
Then again, whenever Donnie was at the losing end, something that people like fucking Alexander Davenport like to pick on, it was always something else, someone else, robbing him of a close victory. Hell, even getting beaten by BRADDOCK for the world title back at And Justice For Brawl wasn’t clean, given all the moving parts and warm bodies involved. Donnie getting otherwise knocked out, it wasn’t a fluke, as BRADDOCK would end up beating him again at other shows, but it never felt good, never felt right; it always felt like Donnie could have done so much more. AJFB was the only place where he did put it all out there for the world title.
Now, it had to be different. It had to change. Donnie had to keep his head down; focus on the changes and improvements that had to be made in the moment, in the now, so that he would be prepared well past the Asylum match at Danger.
Donnie had to be the exact same man he was when he first started, just with the renewed sense of self and vigor that therapy has allowed him. Donnie had to go back to being a bruiser, a brute; someone who had more interest in pounding out a victory, rather than wrestle.
Donnie had to be the Eliminator he should have been when he started in OCW, and he needed to bring it into EPW. It was probably the only way he could be a champion again.
Then again, when EPW was OCW Blue, he won the Anarchy title by being like he was now. He was friendly, but he worked himself to a froth, like a dog running around in the heat of the summer sun. Donnie was out to make sure others were okay before him, willing to assist them, train them, work them to the same fervor to insist upon and ensure their survival, rather than their success. He knew that, if they were to face him, they would need those survival instincts, as there was no way in heaven or hell that he would take it easy on them, let alone anyone.
Even if it was Sarah.
As Donnie made his way to the gym, dressed to impress as few people as possible in a loose-fitting t-shirt and a baggy pair of athletic shorts, Avenged Sevenfold starting his warmup routine, as he never had music play on anything but shuffle (gotta keep things interesting and as unique as possible), his mind was on the match he had with Damage.
Damage is, and was, the more powerful man; it comes with the leverage that being as close to 7 feet of height will allow. Thinking about the match, the cut beneath the stitches started to ache, but Donnie chose to blame the elevated pulse rate that came with the workout, as he was always one to warm up with a heavy dose of calisthenic cardio. He knew he was bleeding a bit under the fresh bandage, but he ignored the sting of sweat seeping into the stitched up laceration.
Thankfully, Donnie’s left arm wasn’t as sore as it was after Damage locked in the Kimura, since the big man had little experience on locking in the real deal; the forearm’s bones can snap without much pressure, but only when done correctly.
Donnie had done it correctly once before; he swore off of it unless in desperation, so it only performed it once more.
The Oklahoma Stampede slam was a cute touch though: shades of older, former wrestlers that Donnie had once watched, in the name of understanding the psychology of professional wrestling. Dr. Death was the man who made it famous; too bad he got fucked over by men who couldn’t leave well enough alone.
Trickle’s chair shot was far from painful, but it was nice to play that game with Damage, as Dick laid into him, right in the head. Down Donnie went, only for the cavalry to show up, and it was such a waste of time from that point on. Again, Donnie was furthering others’ storylines instead of focusing on what was right in front of them: Donnie Harris, one of the most dangerous men in professional wrestling, breathing down their fucking necks.
Colossus and Damage started fighting, and the referee tried to take control, and then that big pimple BRADDOCK showed up, and all bets were off. Crimson mask worn, the blood teasing to get into Donnie’s eyes, the former world champion and the present #1 contender went after each other as if the ice was down and the hockey game was on. Especially with BRADDOCK being dumb enough to go after Donnie with a back body drop, not considering that Donnie was already in this match, as worn down as he was, the Eliminator was expecting any and everything off the Irish whip; the spear was the icing on the cake, with the victory the cherry.
The weights rose and fell with each breath, Donnie’s eyes glazed over with determination and focus as he continued to replay the events of Danger in his mind, but he had to consider this new cage: the Asylum. A cage lined with assorted weapons and other menacing machinations for both he and Je$TyR to play with: as much as Donnie was excited, he was worried. He was going to take the show between the next Danger and Revival off, make sure he was recuperated and coalesced in time for one of the biggest matches in his career; he didn’t want to take any chances while giving others the spotlight.
While working out, a few of the younger gym-goers kind of gathered around him, looking at the weight he was using on the machine. Donnie kept his focus, but his ears were open.-
(Gym Rat 1)
Man, why is the weight so low? Isn’t he bigger than that?
(Gym Rat 2)
Just leave him alone, dude. If it’s how he does it, it’s how he does it.
(Gym Rat 1)
He’s going so slowly too; is he struggling? What’s going on? This guy is the #1 contender!
-Well, at least they knew who he was. Just as the whiner was about to put his finger on the next plate, Donnie releases the weight; the next sound anyone heard was a scream, before Donnie grabs the young bodybuilder by his cheap tank top.-
)Donnie Harris(
Listen up, you little fuck knuckle. I’m not here to look like I’ve been abusing steroids since I was a twinkle in my old man’s eye. I’m not interested in pure power, otherwise I’d be three more plates down.
-Donnie uses one hand to pull the weight off the kid’s finger; it was obviously broken from the first knuckle to the end of the phalange.-
)Donnie Harris(
Like your buddy said, leave well enough alone. Anyone that has chosen to poke the bear has had me to deal with, and I’ve yet to be properly beaten.
(Gym Rat 2)
He meant nothing by it, Mr. Harris.
-A couple more people see what’s going on and move in to break up the potential fight, but Donnie slowly raises an open hand.-
)Donnie Harris(
Cool your fucking jets, guys. This dumbass wanted to put his finger on the plate, and my hands slipped. RIGHT? That’s what’s happened to you, correct?
-The young man with the broken finger, choking on sobs and drowning in tears and nasal mucus, sheepishly nods.-
)Donnie Harris(
Next time you try to tell someone that they’re not doing well enough TO YOU, make sure you’re the one mentoring them. I’ve been doing this a long time, no thanks to my asshole of an old man. I’m lucky he didn’t work me to the bone like that one asshole that killed his stepson by over-working him out; considering I’m not here to put your head there now, be warned now, that if you want to judge me or my or anyone’s workout, make sure you ask their fucking permission.
-Donnie pushes him into his buddy.-
)Donnie Harris(
Get him to the hospital. Thankfully it should be a minor break, since the weight wasn’t too bad. He’ll be fine.
(Gym Rat 2)
Yeah, yeah right.
)Donnie Harris(
And thank you for the respect. Get your friend looked at and, if he’s okay on his own, I’ll be here for the next few hours. I can spot you, if you’re interested.
-He looks to the rest of the group gathered: maybe another three or four guys, varying ages between 25 and 29.-
)Donnie Harris(
Or I can teach a class? My God, there are a few of you.
(Gym Rat 1)
Wha-what about tickets to Danger? If you can set that up... sir, um, sir.
-Donnie glances at the kid whose finger he busted, and he smiles.-
)Donnie Harris(
Sure. You and your friend that’s taking you to the hospital, I’ll make it happen. Never hurts to have actual fans coming to the show, right?
-Donnie did finish the set, after all, so he gets up from the machine, wipes off the sweat and moves towards the two guys.-
)Donnie Harris(
I’ll write my cell number on a piece of paper for you, and you can text me, let me know what y’all’re planning. From there, I can hand the tickets to you directly, whether at the stadium or next time I’m here. Just need to let my boss know.
-The two amateur bodybuilders looked at each other, then back to Donnie.-
(Gym Rat 2)
I’m not actually a fan. I don’t actually care much for it. But free tickets to a show? Can’t say no to that. Hey, uh, can you help us grab our stuff? We don’t have a locker but considering the situation, we’d appreciate the assist.
-Donnie pats the guys on the shoulder and nods. The... uninjured party points to their things and Donnie, true to his own code, grabs their things and escorts them out. He writes down his phone number as they pass the front counter and sticks it in one of their gym bags, throwing their stuff into the one guy’s trunk as they get into the parking lot. Donnie heads back in after a small wave and shakes his head, the cool breeze drying some of the sweat as he gets back into the gym.
Great... now he has to start all over again.-
Then again, the cut sustained across his forehead was enough to at least warrant a hospital visit: six stitches; not bad, could have done a lot more and much better than that, but Damage was too concerned with Trickle.
As Donnie laid in the bed while they sewed him back up, thinking about the last time he was in the hospital for stitches, and there were more stitches sewn in than now, his phone, which was hampered by being in the hospital, went off: a new voicemail and a bunch of notifications from the site formerly known as Twitter. He waited until the nurse was finished and he was bandaged up to listen in; the voicemail was from the booker.-
(Booker)
Hey Donnie, listen up. You’ve been on a tear and we need you to keep up the pace. You’re on for the next Danger before Revival and, to keep you looking strong, we got you facing Je$TyR SeRyOuS. We think he’s going to keep you looking hot and competitive, especially building up to your match for the World Title. Win or lose, the people are going to be excited for it. Oh, and it’s an Asylum match: steel cage, weapons on the mesh; good times. Call it your match with BRADDOCK the first time, but with slightly less going on. Okay, take care and good luck!
-Donnie just blinked. Sure, he had seen the clown’s work remotely, but he didn’t really pay much attention to it. After all, he was dealing with other loudmouths like Davenport, but now, they’re putting this former midcard champ in the main event with him, and it was another cage match? How is that keeping up the pace? How is essentially the same match keeping him hot and competitive? How dare they say good luck when pro wrestling... well, everyone should know by now.
Regardless of everything, Donnie knew he still had to show up, still had to give it everything he had, despite his displeasure. He had to do it, at least for the newest signee to EPW and someone that still held a special place in his heart.
Sarah was going to be in the battle royal with the ladies, and her confidence wasn’t the greatest, especially with the idea of multi-person matches. Donnie knew he would want to meet her in Louisville, talk to her, get her ready. He didn’t even know what her wrestling gear looked like, and he wanted to make sure it matched the woman she is.
A tough badass, straight out of the Marines and ready for combat in the squared circle.
She changed, but so did he, and the changes weren’t bad. They grew up. They were practically kids when they started dating; he was still under the influence of his father, both in the abusive ways he trained him and the expectations for perfection. The strength in Sarah: no one would have tolerated Donnie’s distance and distraction. Mercifully, they left each other; luckily, they found each other anew. Then again, they tried to keep in touch, because they both knew the other for the better things.
The way he felt, seeing her again was a shot of adrenaline to the heart, enough to revive him.
But enough about trivial things that may not have a snowball’s chance in Hell: Donnie wasn’t a good man, so he’ll choose to be a great wrestler.
And it was well on its way, wasn't it? Currently PWA’s Streaming Service champion, former OCW Blue and EPW Anarchy champion, chasing Clyde Newton for the EPW World Title: in addition to Most Improved Wrestler accolades in OCW Red and being that guy to be in the mix with everyone everywhere, Donnie was no slouch. Even when competing at Dystopias or Technical Difficulties, Donnie didn’t restrain himself or hold back. Everyone set in that ring across from him, be they ally or enemy, needs to be prepared for war, as the bell is the first shot across the bow, that warning shot to commence hostilities. Violence is the only answer.
Ironic, then, that Donnie is being placed in this match with Je$TyR, after what the clown has done in EPW: not fucking much. Sure, he held a belt and he jabbers on and on like he’s got a screw loose.
Watching his promos was like an anxiety attack wrapped up in a baaaaaaaaad trip. Shooting black bears, threatening Taylor Mayde with them, constantly screaming when he thinks he has said something either clever or funny: Jerry Seinfeld, eat your heart out. Or, in this case, would it be Kramer? Who knows anymore? Well, Je$TyR might, because he’s the one doing it.
As he tried watching this stuff, watching these promos and trying to figure something, ANYTHING, out, Donnie just turned the TV off, finished his double-Jack and Coca Cola and held his head in his hands.-
)Donnie Harris(
What do they really expect me to do with this guy?
-Donnie grabs a pair of Tylenol from the steadily emptying bottle and swallows them with water. It was a fucking headache having to listen to this incoherent rambling, but he was far from mad. The characters that wrestlers played, Donnie now adapting to and adopting his own, were surreal to think about, but this one, this chaos-laden wannabe was more nails on a chalkboard than legitimate barn-burning threat.
But he tried, and he tried hard. He needed to poke holes in the clown’s game, see what he was missing, but it was hard to say. The chaotic nature and otherwise random bullshit that was the Je$TyR promo was summed up into one question: what the actual fuck?
It was infuriating to even watch his match with Justin York back from two months ago. It was a standard match, but it didn’t help that the damn guy tried, or threatened to try, assaulting a random security guard prior to the match, work or no work. One slip of the hand, one slip of the mind, and that guy, actor or not, would be in a stretcher or a bodybag. Je$TyR took the character way too seriously, and it was bound to get someone, especially the clown himself, hurt. Sure, Donnie was guilty of wanting to cave the face of a security guard in, especially in the aftermath of Damian Calaway’s match against him, where Donnie lost, fooled by a planted referee that counted the three.
Yeah, Donnie is still very bitter about that little... occurrence.
Then again, whenever Donnie was at the losing end, something that people like fucking Alexander Davenport like to pick on, it was always something else, someone else, robbing him of a close victory. Hell, even getting beaten by BRADDOCK for the world title back at And Justice For Brawl wasn’t clean, given all the moving parts and warm bodies involved. Donnie getting otherwise knocked out, it wasn’t a fluke, as BRADDOCK would end up beating him again at other shows, but it never felt good, never felt right; it always felt like Donnie could have done so much more. AJFB was the only place where he did put it all out there for the world title.
Now, it had to be different. It had to change. Donnie had to keep his head down; focus on the changes and improvements that had to be made in the moment, in the now, so that he would be prepared well past the Asylum match at Danger.
Donnie had to be the exact same man he was when he first started, just with the renewed sense of self and vigor that therapy has allowed him. Donnie had to go back to being a bruiser, a brute; someone who had more interest in pounding out a victory, rather than wrestle.
Donnie had to be the Eliminator he should have been when he started in OCW, and he needed to bring it into EPW. It was probably the only way he could be a champion again.
Then again, when EPW was OCW Blue, he won the Anarchy title by being like he was now. He was friendly, but he worked himself to a froth, like a dog running around in the heat of the summer sun. Donnie was out to make sure others were okay before him, willing to assist them, train them, work them to the same fervor to insist upon and ensure their survival, rather than their success. He knew that, if they were to face him, they would need those survival instincts, as there was no way in heaven or hell that he would take it easy on them, let alone anyone.
Even if it was Sarah.
As Donnie made his way to the gym, dressed to impress as few people as possible in a loose-fitting t-shirt and a baggy pair of athletic shorts, Avenged Sevenfold starting his warmup routine, as he never had music play on anything but shuffle (gotta keep things interesting and as unique as possible), his mind was on the match he had with Damage.
Damage is, and was, the more powerful man; it comes with the leverage that being as close to 7 feet of height will allow. Thinking about the match, the cut beneath the stitches started to ache, but Donnie chose to blame the elevated pulse rate that came with the workout, as he was always one to warm up with a heavy dose of calisthenic cardio. He knew he was bleeding a bit under the fresh bandage, but he ignored the sting of sweat seeping into the stitched up laceration.
Thankfully, Donnie’s left arm wasn’t as sore as it was after Damage locked in the Kimura, since the big man had little experience on locking in the real deal; the forearm’s bones can snap without much pressure, but only when done correctly.
Donnie had done it correctly once before; he swore off of it unless in desperation, so it only performed it once more.
The Oklahoma Stampede slam was a cute touch though: shades of older, former wrestlers that Donnie had once watched, in the name of understanding the psychology of professional wrestling. Dr. Death was the man who made it famous; too bad he got fucked over by men who couldn’t leave well enough alone.
Trickle’s chair shot was far from painful, but it was nice to play that game with Damage, as Dick laid into him, right in the head. Down Donnie went, only for the cavalry to show up, and it was such a waste of time from that point on. Again, Donnie was furthering others’ storylines instead of focusing on what was right in front of them: Donnie Harris, one of the most dangerous men in professional wrestling, breathing down their fucking necks.
Colossus and Damage started fighting, and the referee tried to take control, and then that big pimple BRADDOCK showed up, and all bets were off. Crimson mask worn, the blood teasing to get into Donnie’s eyes, the former world champion and the present #1 contender went after each other as if the ice was down and the hockey game was on. Especially with BRADDOCK being dumb enough to go after Donnie with a back body drop, not considering that Donnie was already in this match, as worn down as he was, the Eliminator was expecting any and everything off the Irish whip; the spear was the icing on the cake, with the victory the cherry.
The weights rose and fell with each breath, Donnie’s eyes glazed over with determination and focus as he continued to replay the events of Danger in his mind, but he had to consider this new cage: the Asylum. A cage lined with assorted weapons and other menacing machinations for both he and Je$TyR to play with: as much as Donnie was excited, he was worried. He was going to take the show between the next Danger and Revival off, make sure he was recuperated and coalesced in time for one of the biggest matches in his career; he didn’t want to take any chances while giving others the spotlight.
While working out, a few of the younger gym-goers kind of gathered around him, looking at the weight he was using on the machine. Donnie kept his focus, but his ears were open.-
(Gym Rat 1)
Man, why is the weight so low? Isn’t he bigger than that?
(Gym Rat 2)
Just leave him alone, dude. If it’s how he does it, it’s how he does it.
(Gym Rat 1)
He’s going so slowly too; is he struggling? What’s going on? This guy is the #1 contender!
-Well, at least they knew who he was. Just as the whiner was about to put his finger on the next plate, Donnie releases the weight; the next sound anyone heard was a scream, before Donnie grabs the young bodybuilder by his cheap tank top.-
)Donnie Harris(
Listen up, you little fuck knuckle. I’m not here to look like I’ve been abusing steroids since I was a twinkle in my old man’s eye. I’m not interested in pure power, otherwise I’d be three more plates down.
-Donnie uses one hand to pull the weight off the kid’s finger; it was obviously broken from the first knuckle to the end of the phalange.-
)Donnie Harris(
Like your buddy said, leave well enough alone. Anyone that has chosen to poke the bear has had me to deal with, and I’ve yet to be properly beaten.
(Gym Rat 2)
He meant nothing by it, Mr. Harris.
-A couple more people see what’s going on and move in to break up the potential fight, but Donnie slowly raises an open hand.-
)Donnie Harris(
Cool your fucking jets, guys. This dumbass wanted to put his finger on the plate, and my hands slipped. RIGHT? That’s what’s happened to you, correct?
-The young man with the broken finger, choking on sobs and drowning in tears and nasal mucus, sheepishly nods.-
)Donnie Harris(
Next time you try to tell someone that they’re not doing well enough TO YOU, make sure you’re the one mentoring them. I’ve been doing this a long time, no thanks to my asshole of an old man. I’m lucky he didn’t work me to the bone like that one asshole that killed his stepson by over-working him out; considering I’m not here to put your head there now, be warned now, that if you want to judge me or my or anyone’s workout, make sure you ask their fucking permission.
-Donnie pushes him into his buddy.-
)Donnie Harris(
Get him to the hospital. Thankfully it should be a minor break, since the weight wasn’t too bad. He’ll be fine.
(Gym Rat 2)
Yeah, yeah right.
)Donnie Harris(
And thank you for the respect. Get your friend looked at and, if he’s okay on his own, I’ll be here for the next few hours. I can spot you, if you’re interested.
-He looks to the rest of the group gathered: maybe another three or four guys, varying ages between 25 and 29.-
)Donnie Harris(
Or I can teach a class? My God, there are a few of you.
(Gym Rat 1)
Wha-what about tickets to Danger? If you can set that up... sir, um, sir.
-Donnie glances at the kid whose finger he busted, and he smiles.-
)Donnie Harris(
Sure. You and your friend that’s taking you to the hospital, I’ll make it happen. Never hurts to have actual fans coming to the show, right?
-Donnie did finish the set, after all, so he gets up from the machine, wipes off the sweat and moves towards the two guys.-
)Donnie Harris(
I’ll write my cell number on a piece of paper for you, and you can text me, let me know what y’all’re planning. From there, I can hand the tickets to you directly, whether at the stadium or next time I’m here. Just need to let my boss know.
-The two amateur bodybuilders looked at each other, then back to Donnie.-
(Gym Rat 2)
I’m not actually a fan. I don’t actually care much for it. But free tickets to a show? Can’t say no to that. Hey, uh, can you help us grab our stuff? We don’t have a locker but considering the situation, we’d appreciate the assist.
-Donnie pats the guys on the shoulder and nods. The... uninjured party points to their things and Donnie, true to his own code, grabs their things and escorts them out. He writes down his phone number as they pass the front counter and sticks it in one of their gym bags, throwing their stuff into the one guy’s trunk as they get into the parking lot. Donnie heads back in after a small wave and shakes his head, the cool breeze drying some of the sweat as he gets back into the gym.
Great... now he has to start all over again.-