Post by Murdoc on Sept 5, 2016 13:24:59 GMT -5
A pedestrian is someone who thought there were a couple of gallons left in the tank.
- - Author Unknown
.... or someone who’s vehicle is in use elsewhere.
Case in point: the newly christened number one contender, Murdoc. After his unprecedented victory over the ‘President’ of Pure Class Wrestling, Michael Wryght, The Unclean Beast finds himself without transport home. Now, realistically, do you imagine that many people would jump at the opportunity to give him a lift home? Anyone with gasoline in their car would balk at the prospect.
Add on top of that his reluctance to disturb the Lady of the home, and we’re in the situation we find ourselves in. That being Murdoc ... number one contender to the biggest prize in the biggest wrestling promotion in the nation ... schlepping it home. Painfully, it should be noted. The match against Wryght was fast and furious, leaving Murdoc with a rather sore and throbbing knee courtesy of a lead pipe.
Each step is nearly unbearable, even to a man of his vaunted pain threshold. Fire shoots from his knee down to the toe, even UP the thigh to the abdominal muscles. Likely some minor tearing of the ligaments, he would almost wager money on it. Slow to make his way out of the building, he’s found his stride as he reaches the three mile mark on his trek. It was a very good thing he lives fairly close to the arena.
‘Damn you, Showtime’ is all he can mutter as he forces himself to push onward.
The only solace he finds is the briefcase at his side. Important enough to keep separate from his gear in the duffel bag slung over his shoulder, he feels secure ... validated ... with the briefcase in his hand. Every wave of anger, every word spoken over the past few weeks ... ALL of it. Justified and true. The ends justify the means and the end result is exactly as he has claimed it would be. Murdoc is the number one contender for the World Championship. The contract is signed and the date is set.
October 9th, 2016.
Deadly Intentions VII.
Murdoc will go to war with the World Champion. Whoever that may be. The unpredictability of Pure Class Wrestling forces Murdoc to admit that he may not have any sort of idea of who that may be on that day. Smart money says Grimm will be his opponent, but with someone like Michael Wryght holding the reins ... anything can happen.
Perhaps Justin Kaard, the bothersome gnat that has been flitting around the carcasses that Grimm has been piling up for the ENTIRETY of the year. Or a new face, someone with rising stock like Brenna Gordon. Kelli Starr. Andy D. Whitey Ford. The list is oddly short, but the few entries are credible. In the long run, though, it simply doesn’t matter. His match at Deadly Intentions VII is set in stone. No power that walks the Earth will keep him from taking what is his.
Blurs of light and nebulous shadows float past, but if Murdoc notices ... it is only in fleeting awareness. So many thoughts racing through his head at any given time, it would be maddening for any sane person looking in from the outside. But for Murdoc? It’s even crazier looking from the inside out. Especially with what he’s staring at now.
A faint silhouette. Standing still as he walks on. He won’t stop moving, promises to keep. And yet, the haunting eyes of Sean Rhodes stare directly at him. A soft, gentle smile on his face ... he only nods his head in seeming approval as Murdoc hurries past the phantasmal image. Blinking two or three times in rapid succession, he does his best to forget the flicker and inch ever closer to his destination. He can see it on the horizon, all he has to do is MAKE it there.
Lantlas.
The sight stops him.
For all of about three seconds.
Lantlas Anduril. One of PCW’s biggest stars, legendary in his own right. A man that Murdoc can say he’s beaten, and has never been beaten BY. The towering MAN (he still won’t admit to the whole elf schtick) staring him down with, again, the same knowing smile ... nodding his head towards the number one contender. Murdoc pointedly ignores the sight, though he doubts anyone is watching him.
And that’s when all hell breaks loose.
Lantlas finds himself joined by ghosts of the past and the present.
Ace Anderson. Jacob Roth. Pegasus. Slither. His mentor. His ... father. All of them, lining the sidewalk across the way. All of them with that knowing smile, nodding in approval. Murdoc finally realizes the truth, as he steps onto the front landing of his home. The pain in his leg is all but forgotten, his pride ... his sense of satisfaction replacing it wholly.
And as he goes for the handle of the door, the thick oak barrier is pulled away to reveal his Queen. Standing before him in all her glory, he takes in the sight and struggles to speak. Feebly holding the briefcase up, she smiles and nods with that knowing smile as she rushes forward to embrace him as only she can.
“Welcome home, my King.”
