Post by Holden Ross on Sept 10, 2018 21:10:03 GMT -5
*For the past week and a half, Holden has been in Thunder Bay, Ontario, Canada training with the N.L.C.W. legend, Hall of Famer, friend of his Fathers, as well as his other trainer. That man is none other than Ethan Andrews and he beat, battered, twisted, and contorted Holden, testing his limits and schooling him in the technical side of wrestling. His MMA training under Greg Jackson helped some, but Holden was unable to keep up with the pace of the former World Champion; proving should he chose to come back he could still keep up with the younger blood.
Holden collapses onto the bed once back at his room at the Shady Pine Inn and Kinsey quickly straddles his butt and begins massaging his back. He winces and yelps as her thumbs dig in to his sore muscles. She may not be a trained masseuse but her hands still felt magical nonetheless. Before he drifted off to sleep she stopped and waited for him to look over his shoulder at her.*
What's up? Why you stoppin?
Kinsey: When are you going to get a cell phone?
*He scowls and lays his head on the cool pillow.*
I don’t like em….and I don’t want one...
*Now she slides off of him before slipping off the bed and grabbing a can of Coke from the mini-fridge. She flops into the only armchair in the room as Holden turns over and stares at her in confusion.*
We can fight about this stupid shit in the morning. I ain’t fuckin around so….if you don’t like it…..there’s the door….*Her jaw drops and her eyes harden.*And don’t get all pissy, either! I’ve been bustin my ass the past ten days while you’ve been chillen here! Sorry you're here alone, but, what the fuck are you getting all pissed off about?! You haven’t paid for a God damn thing since you started crashin with me….
*The fire behind her eyes is quickly extinguished. After a few minutes she crawls into bed with him and they spend time making up….*
The following morning….
*While eating a blueberry Pop Tart, Holden comes across the message scribbled in Kelsey's chicken scratch she calls handwriting. “Chris Hogan(?) called Friend of your dads Call him back 347-555-7843”. His Dad didn’t know any “Chris Hogan's,” maybe she meant Frank, his Father. Still, having watched a large chunk of his Fathers career, over the last few months, and a “Chris Hogan” doesn’t ring familiar. Still, he will worry about that later. Today he has a promotion to shoot for his match against Arsen. He rises from his seat on the edge of the bed and hooks the pair of jeans, in a pile on the floor, by the belt loop and proceeds into the bathroom. It takes him about a half hour to get himself put together; clothes, shaved, and mohawk done to perfection. He has a blunt lit as he roars down the freeway in his choptop, lowered muscle truck….bound for his promotion filming.
When the scene opens Holden is standing alone, in what appears to be the shell of what was once a nice home. The plaster walls are cracked, stained, full of holes and discolored while the door hangs by a hing and the glass from the only window sparkles like diamonds on the floor. He is front and center, an axe handle in hand with the handle wrapped heavily in white medical tape. He paces a small path across the room, from one side to the other, mumbling to himself. He finally stops in place, slappingbthe business end of the axe handle in the palm of his left hand. He grins, just slightly, as he bigins to address the camera.*
This is my second shot at the Underground strap in as many months. This week I’m facing the man who dethroned the Juggernaut known as Dominator. The man, whom I am facing, is known as Arsen Goodstone….? Goodnight…..? Something along those lines. And though I may not know his name accurately, one thing I do know, is he has a pack of cronies who like to give him aid and the feeling of an upper hand. Me? I need only myself. See, as the Bible says in the book of Mark, verse nine; “My name is Legion for we are many.” Only Arsen won’t be casting anything out of me and into any swine. He is going to be lucky to make it out of the arena with his life in tact, let alone the strap.
You fought a war with Dom for that strap. Thought you went through Hell and back in that battle. I fully intend on showing you that you weren’t even in Hell's back yard, let alone, Hell itself. The beating I'm going to throw you is one the likes of which you have never felt. Nobody gets up from my finisher. You are no exception. In fact, I intend on showing you my Father's “Sins” up close and personal. You’re nothing more than a transitional Champion at best….
“Praise be to the LORD my Rock, who trains my hands for war, my fingers for battle. Amen….
*The scene fades out on Holden, his head back, face and arms stretched towards the sky. Praise be the Lord!*
Holden collapses onto the bed once back at his room at the Shady Pine Inn and Kinsey quickly straddles his butt and begins massaging his back. He winces and yelps as her thumbs dig in to his sore muscles. She may not be a trained masseuse but her hands still felt magical nonetheless. Before he drifted off to sleep she stopped and waited for him to look over his shoulder at her.*
What's up? Why you stoppin?
Kinsey: When are you going to get a cell phone?
*He scowls and lays his head on the cool pillow.*
I don’t like em….and I don’t want one...
*Now she slides off of him before slipping off the bed and grabbing a can of Coke from the mini-fridge. She flops into the only armchair in the room as Holden turns over and stares at her in confusion.*
We can fight about this stupid shit in the morning. I ain’t fuckin around so….if you don’t like it…..there’s the door….*Her jaw drops and her eyes harden.*And don’t get all pissy, either! I’ve been bustin my ass the past ten days while you’ve been chillen here! Sorry you're here alone, but, what the fuck are you getting all pissed off about?! You haven’t paid for a God damn thing since you started crashin with me….
*The fire behind her eyes is quickly extinguished. After a few minutes she crawls into bed with him and they spend time making up….*
The following morning….
*While eating a blueberry Pop Tart, Holden comes across the message scribbled in Kelsey's chicken scratch she calls handwriting. “Chris Hogan(?) called Friend of your dads Call him back 347-555-7843”. His Dad didn’t know any “Chris Hogan's,” maybe she meant Frank, his Father. Still, having watched a large chunk of his Fathers career, over the last few months, and a “Chris Hogan” doesn’t ring familiar. Still, he will worry about that later. Today he has a promotion to shoot for his match against Arsen. He rises from his seat on the edge of the bed and hooks the pair of jeans, in a pile on the floor, by the belt loop and proceeds into the bathroom. It takes him about a half hour to get himself put together; clothes, shaved, and mohawk done to perfection. He has a blunt lit as he roars down the freeway in his choptop, lowered muscle truck….bound for his promotion filming.
When the scene opens Holden is standing alone, in what appears to be the shell of what was once a nice home. The plaster walls are cracked, stained, full of holes and discolored while the door hangs by a hing and the glass from the only window sparkles like diamonds on the floor. He is front and center, an axe handle in hand with the handle wrapped heavily in white medical tape. He paces a small path across the room, from one side to the other, mumbling to himself. He finally stops in place, slappingbthe business end of the axe handle in the palm of his left hand. He grins, just slightly, as he bigins to address the camera.*
This is my second shot at the Underground strap in as many months. This week I’m facing the man who dethroned the Juggernaut known as Dominator. The man, whom I am facing, is known as Arsen Goodstone….? Goodnight…..? Something along those lines. And though I may not know his name accurately, one thing I do know, is he has a pack of cronies who like to give him aid and the feeling of an upper hand. Me? I need only myself. See, as the Bible says in the book of Mark, verse nine; “My name is Legion for we are many.” Only Arsen won’t be casting anything out of me and into any swine. He is going to be lucky to make it out of the arena with his life in tact, let alone the strap.
You fought a war with Dom for that strap. Thought you went through Hell and back in that battle. I fully intend on showing you that you weren’t even in Hell's back yard, let alone, Hell itself. The beating I'm going to throw you is one the likes of which you have never felt. Nobody gets up from my finisher. You are no exception. In fact, I intend on showing you my Father's “Sins” up close and personal. You’re nothing more than a transitional Champion at best….
“Praise be to the LORD my Rock, who trains my hands for war, my fingers for battle. Amen….
*The scene fades out on Holden, his head back, face and arms stretched towards the sky. Praise be the Lord!*