Post by Dominator / Mortimer on Apr 9, 2018 11:04:51 GMT -5
Saturday 7th April 2018 – 09.19am
LOCATION: Residence of Amy Trenton-Metallinos, Shipton Bellinger, Hampshire, England, United Kingdom
“Do you have any money on you?” Amy asks rather sheepishly. “Dawn needs some more nappies.” As picturesque as the little village in the middle of the English countryside is, it is also very much still existing in the days of old. Superfast broadband had not been introduced into the area until early 2017. The only amenities for the village folk come in the form of one shop, a primary school, a pub-turned-restaurant, a working men’s club and a recreational hall with a children’s play area adjacent to a football pitch. The nearest ATM was over two miles away. The nearest bank was almost seven.
He didn’t dare grant Amy the knowledge of the financial investments that he had made on behalf of The Chronological Order. By the time that he had taken away his earnings from a night of fighting, Horacio had already taken a fifty percent cut; a fee that had been agreed long before Dominic and Amy formed a relationship. Before the discovery that Dawn was his biological daughter. It had certainly made things tight on the wallet, but Dominic still ensured that they had food on the table and a roof over their heads.
Of course, the contractual negotiations that had been outlined and agreed between Horacio Mortimer and Pure Class Wrestling’s Board of Directors eased a little bit of the pressure. It is well documented that most wrestlers must arrange and pay for their own travel arrangements with their own time and money. Such a prestigious acquisition as The Zenith demanded a certain series of guidelines to ensure his commitment remained solely to his new employers. He would abuse the flights back and forth from England to America on a fortnightly basis. Representatives from The Chronological Order stationed in the States would be the voice on his behalf in front of the hundreds of media outlets that clamoured for the next big scoop on his career.
He cannot help but wonder what could be, or what could have been, if things had gone any differently. He could be on the street, begging for change and rummaging in bins. Or he could be sat on a throne in a citadel, eating the finest banquets with gallons of wine. He looks at Amy, then to Dawn, then off into space…
Time could still yet change.
“Look! Look!” Amy ecstatically whispers, pointing towards the floor. From a seated position, baby Dawn had planted her tiny hands on the carpet. Despite being on ‘all fours,’ her legs are still crossed. She is rocking backwards and forwards like a sprinter against the starting blocks ready to peel away at breakneck speed. She pats the carpet in front of her, shuffling one knee forward. She repeats this motion with the opposite limbs. Within seconds, she is scuttling across the living room floor like the cutest little bug you could ever see. Amy lets out a joyous peep, trying not to make a noise so loud that it might frighten Dawn, for in her growth she is now a lot more responsive to sounds.
It is staggering to think that this girl is now eight months old. She has retained some of the ‘chubbiness’ from her birth, but her facial features have become more developed. Her hair has grown long and thick, curling down behind her ears. It is as dark as her father’s. She has most likely been blissfully unaware of the trauma that she had been through at the hands of Shawn. Both parents shared the same apprehension that she might recollect her abduction during adolescence, the premature demons yet to surface.
“Look at you,” Amy lovingly ogles her daughter with a smile as wide as it is proud. She gently underhooks her hands beneath Dawn’s armpits and plucks her into the air, producing a playful “whee” as Dawn ascends into the air. This amuses the infant, displaying the stubby teeth that had caused the entire family much discomfort over the past several weeks, yet her enjoyment prevents the soreness from causing distress, it would appear. “Who’s a clever girl?” she bouncily asks right in the baby’s face, kissing her in the way that the Eskimos do; by rubbing her nose against her daughter’s in a left-and-right motion. “Who’s a clever girl, eh?” she repeats, continuing to pour praise. “You are. You’re such a clever girl! Yes, you are!”
“She’s not a dog, Amy,” Dominic scoffs with a faint grin of his own. Amy shoots a half-hearted look of displeasure out of the corner of her eye with a tilt of her head, playing on his sarcasm. “Why don’t you get her to pick out the winning lottery numbers if she’s so clever…”
Then… a brainwave.
What was just a normal, trademark sarcastic comment had illuminated a lightbulb.
Of course! This year, there was an extra incentive for the combatants to perform at the highest possible level. In what may well be one final act of gratitude from the late Luis Malave as part of his last will and testament, there was a cash bonus on offer to be claimed by the victor. Not just one reason, but one hundred thousand of them!
How did he not think of this sooner?
But was it really going to be that easy?
Some of the most recognizable names have been immortalized by winning such a tournament. But to Dominator, this is about so much more than winning, particularly when the Crown that he wears with pride could still be ripped away from his clutches if he were so inept to fall at the first hurdle.
That was not going to happen. Not when it’s Trouble he’s facing in the first round. Granted, she put in a valiant effort the first time they crossed paths. She may have tested him. But she hadn’t bested him.
It is the magnitude of the mismatch combined with the surprise effort that really snatched at one’s attention; like a kite fighting against a tornado. The stipulations of the Underground could be beneficial not just to Arica, but to all who oppose The Zenith in combat. Yet, conversely, it gifts the King with an even more destructive arsenal at his disposal. By that logic, to step into the ring against Dominator in an Underground setting must inspire the same sort of horror as stepping into the enclosure of a gorilla holding a machine gun. And yet, they continue to advance toward him. Maybe not fearlessly, but they do well not to show it.
And yet, there had been more than one occasion where any sense of invulnerability had been vanquished from The Zenith. How many times had somebody struck him from behind, or in the balls, or with a chair? They may not be the most admirable of tactics, but they had been ones that, ultimately, they had put him at a disadvantage.
That is why he cannot let up. Not even for a moment. One lapse in concentration, one moment’s misjudgment, one wrong move… and his whole world comes crashing down around him. His fiery aura would be extinguished instantaneously.
But that is something that he must cope with when the time comes. For it is his intention that this said time remains a long way away.
Arica had claimed upon reflection of the defeat handed to her the first time she and Dominator fought, he had invigorated her with a new sense of purpose. She had already made a vow to make 2018 her year. And yet, here we are, over one quarter of the way into the New Year and not one of her resolutions has been kept.
Despite boasting of a newfound passion, her appearances within a competitive setting have been minimal ever since first falling to The Zenith, save for a similar losing effort to Hiroshi Yukio and another alongside her band of swashbuckling buccaneers against Dominator once more alongside The Forces of Nature. And of course, the scheduled match against Braddock on the last Trauma did not even happen… for one reason or another…
For someone who had been so ‘invigorated,’ she sure had an odd way of showing it. The fire that Dominator had lit in her belly had been starved of the oxygen needed for its survival. Like the crash that follows a sugar rush, where she had once been full of energy and life, she has now become a slow, groggy and tired excuse for a human.
It was time for the old dog to be put to sleep.
Whatever form of retribution High Tide had in mind due to Dominator’s coronation as Underground King instead of him had simply washed away with no chance of being accomplished. Arica had failed him. Even the addition of Razor Blade into their ranks had made no difference to the situation that Dominator still finds himself in…
…as the undeniable greatest Underground King in history.
Whether he has to fight through the returning Stacy Jones, the upstart Gerard Angelo, the veteran Grimm or anybody else who somehow manages to worm their way back up from the bottom of the Last Chance Battle Royal, Dominator is truly uninterested in who, where or when. Obstacles come in all different shapes and sizes, but in order to reach the goal, they must be overcome.
They must.
For the sake of his family. He must provide for them. He must satisfy their hunger…
…just as much as his own.
“You said Dawn needs nappies, right?” Having reached for his wallet inside of his jacket pockets, he is able to salvage some loose coins wrapped in a five pound note, which in turn is wrapped in a series of receipts like the prize in a game of ‘pass the parcel.’ Amy detects the strain in the two men’s respective business with one another. Amy holds her hand out. The Zenith dumps the contents into her palm.
“I’ll be back soon,” she says quietly, hopeful that this tense situation blows over by the time she returns. She shuffles along the wall with Dawn still clutched in her arms. “Come on, poppet,” she says sweetly to her daughter as she passes by, “let’s go for a ride in your buggy.” Again, she continues to entertain Dawn with ‘baby talk,’ even long after they have left the property.
“Amy?”
She peers back through the door.
“Yeah?”
She is met by another handful of coins.
“Maybe you should get a couple of lottery tickets too.”
LOCATION: Residence of Amy Trenton-Metallinos, Shipton Bellinger, Hampshire, England, United Kingdom
“Do you have any money on you?” Amy asks rather sheepishly. “Dawn needs some more nappies.” As picturesque as the little village in the middle of the English countryside is, it is also very much still existing in the days of old. Superfast broadband had not been introduced into the area until early 2017. The only amenities for the village folk come in the form of one shop, a primary school, a pub-turned-restaurant, a working men’s club and a recreational hall with a children’s play area adjacent to a football pitch. The nearest ATM was over two miles away. The nearest bank was almost seven.
He didn’t dare grant Amy the knowledge of the financial investments that he had made on behalf of The Chronological Order. By the time that he had taken away his earnings from a night of fighting, Horacio had already taken a fifty percent cut; a fee that had been agreed long before Dominic and Amy formed a relationship. Before the discovery that Dawn was his biological daughter. It had certainly made things tight on the wallet, but Dominic still ensured that they had food on the table and a roof over their heads.
Of course, the contractual negotiations that had been outlined and agreed between Horacio Mortimer and Pure Class Wrestling’s Board of Directors eased a little bit of the pressure. It is well documented that most wrestlers must arrange and pay for their own travel arrangements with their own time and money. Such a prestigious acquisition as The Zenith demanded a certain series of guidelines to ensure his commitment remained solely to his new employers. He would abuse the flights back and forth from England to America on a fortnightly basis. Representatives from The Chronological Order stationed in the States would be the voice on his behalf in front of the hundreds of media outlets that clamoured for the next big scoop on his career.
He cannot help but wonder what could be, or what could have been, if things had gone any differently. He could be on the street, begging for change and rummaging in bins. Or he could be sat on a throne in a citadel, eating the finest banquets with gallons of wine. He looks at Amy, then to Dawn, then off into space…
Time could still yet change.
“Look! Look!” Amy ecstatically whispers, pointing towards the floor. From a seated position, baby Dawn had planted her tiny hands on the carpet. Despite being on ‘all fours,’ her legs are still crossed. She is rocking backwards and forwards like a sprinter against the starting blocks ready to peel away at breakneck speed. She pats the carpet in front of her, shuffling one knee forward. She repeats this motion with the opposite limbs. Within seconds, she is scuttling across the living room floor like the cutest little bug you could ever see. Amy lets out a joyous peep, trying not to make a noise so loud that it might frighten Dawn, for in her growth she is now a lot more responsive to sounds.
It is staggering to think that this girl is now eight months old. She has retained some of the ‘chubbiness’ from her birth, but her facial features have become more developed. Her hair has grown long and thick, curling down behind her ears. It is as dark as her father’s. She has most likely been blissfully unaware of the trauma that she had been through at the hands of Shawn. Both parents shared the same apprehension that she might recollect her abduction during adolescence, the premature demons yet to surface.
“Look at you,” Amy lovingly ogles her daughter with a smile as wide as it is proud. She gently underhooks her hands beneath Dawn’s armpits and plucks her into the air, producing a playful “whee” as Dawn ascends into the air. This amuses the infant, displaying the stubby teeth that had caused the entire family much discomfort over the past several weeks, yet her enjoyment prevents the soreness from causing distress, it would appear. “Who’s a clever girl?” she bouncily asks right in the baby’s face, kissing her in the way that the Eskimos do; by rubbing her nose against her daughter’s in a left-and-right motion. “Who’s a clever girl, eh?” she repeats, continuing to pour praise. “You are. You’re such a clever girl! Yes, you are!”
“She’s not a dog, Amy,” Dominic scoffs with a faint grin of his own. Amy shoots a half-hearted look of displeasure out of the corner of her eye with a tilt of her head, playing on his sarcasm. “Why don’t you get her to pick out the winning lottery numbers if she’s so clever…”
Then… a brainwave.
What was just a normal, trademark sarcastic comment had illuminated a lightbulb.
Of course! This year, there was an extra incentive for the combatants to perform at the highest possible level. In what may well be one final act of gratitude from the late Luis Malave as part of his last will and testament, there was a cash bonus on offer to be claimed by the victor. Not just one reason, but one hundred thousand of them!
How did he not think of this sooner?
But was it really going to be that easy?
Some of the most recognizable names have been immortalized by winning such a tournament. But to Dominator, this is about so much more than winning, particularly when the Crown that he wears with pride could still be ripped away from his clutches if he were so inept to fall at the first hurdle.
That was not going to happen. Not when it’s Trouble he’s facing in the first round. Granted, she put in a valiant effort the first time they crossed paths. She may have tested him. But she hadn’t bested him.
It is the magnitude of the mismatch combined with the surprise effort that really snatched at one’s attention; like a kite fighting against a tornado. The stipulations of the Underground could be beneficial not just to Arica, but to all who oppose The Zenith in combat. Yet, conversely, it gifts the King with an even more destructive arsenal at his disposal. By that logic, to step into the ring against Dominator in an Underground setting must inspire the same sort of horror as stepping into the enclosure of a gorilla holding a machine gun. And yet, they continue to advance toward him. Maybe not fearlessly, but they do well not to show it.
And yet, there had been more than one occasion where any sense of invulnerability had been vanquished from The Zenith. How many times had somebody struck him from behind, or in the balls, or with a chair? They may not be the most admirable of tactics, but they had been ones that, ultimately, they had put him at a disadvantage.
That is why he cannot let up. Not even for a moment. One lapse in concentration, one moment’s misjudgment, one wrong move… and his whole world comes crashing down around him. His fiery aura would be extinguished instantaneously.
But that is something that he must cope with when the time comes. For it is his intention that this said time remains a long way away.
Arica had claimed upon reflection of the defeat handed to her the first time she and Dominator fought, he had invigorated her with a new sense of purpose. She had already made a vow to make 2018 her year. And yet, here we are, over one quarter of the way into the New Year and not one of her resolutions has been kept.
Despite boasting of a newfound passion, her appearances within a competitive setting have been minimal ever since first falling to The Zenith, save for a similar losing effort to Hiroshi Yukio and another alongside her band of swashbuckling buccaneers against Dominator once more alongside The Forces of Nature. And of course, the scheduled match against Braddock on the last Trauma did not even happen… for one reason or another…
For someone who had been so ‘invigorated,’ she sure had an odd way of showing it. The fire that Dominator had lit in her belly had been starved of the oxygen needed for its survival. Like the crash that follows a sugar rush, where she had once been full of energy and life, she has now become a slow, groggy and tired excuse for a human.
It was time for the old dog to be put to sleep.
Whatever form of retribution High Tide had in mind due to Dominator’s coronation as Underground King instead of him had simply washed away with no chance of being accomplished. Arica had failed him. Even the addition of Razor Blade into their ranks had made no difference to the situation that Dominator still finds himself in…
…as the undeniable greatest Underground King in history.
Whether he has to fight through the returning Stacy Jones, the upstart Gerard Angelo, the veteran Grimm or anybody else who somehow manages to worm their way back up from the bottom of the Last Chance Battle Royal, Dominator is truly uninterested in who, where or when. Obstacles come in all different shapes and sizes, but in order to reach the goal, they must be overcome.
They must.
For the sake of his family. He must provide for them. He must satisfy their hunger…
…just as much as his own.
“You said Dawn needs nappies, right?” Having reached for his wallet inside of his jacket pockets, he is able to salvage some loose coins wrapped in a five pound note, which in turn is wrapped in a series of receipts like the prize in a game of ‘pass the parcel.’ Amy detects the strain in the two men’s respective business with one another. Amy holds her hand out. The Zenith dumps the contents into her palm.
“I’ll be back soon,” she says quietly, hopeful that this tense situation blows over by the time she returns. She shuffles along the wall with Dawn still clutched in her arms. “Come on, poppet,” she says sweetly to her daughter as she passes by, “let’s go for a ride in your buggy.” Again, she continues to entertain Dawn with ‘baby talk,’ even long after they have left the property.
“Amy?”
She peers back through the door.
“Yeah?”
She is met by another handful of coins.
“Maybe you should get a couple of lottery tickets too.”
