Post by 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕻𝖗𝖔𝖒𝖎𝖘𝖊𝖉 𝕰𝖓𝖉 on Jun 23, 2012 0:01:59 GMT -5
Storming through his hotel room like a natural disaster, Alexis’s grip on reality was turning on itself and his rage had taken control. They had run away. More importantly, he ran away. Like dogs that had been beaten, they tucked their tails between their legs and they inched their way back up the ramp, fought back by the men of Pure Class.
“What the hell was that!?”
He seethed, the words barely breaching his lips, narrowly avoiding being nothing more than a mumbled snarl of contempt. Like a child his body flailed as he came crashing into the coffee table; its contents were strewn in every which direction. Pacing and back and forth, he fought his own aggression, he tried to control it, but the more he tried to calm himself the more enraged he became.
“What. The HELL was that!?”
He had tried to form a new thought but he was still in shock over what had transpired the evening. His preparation was something that he prided himself on and that week it had seemingly been all of for nothing. The group’s agenda had overtaken his own, and that was not something he was too keen on letting happen again. Standing silently for a moment, drowning in a sea of his own malign thoughts, he couldn’t accept the reality of the situation that had been presented to him.
“An elf…”
He muttered between short and strained breaths, anger had turned into anxiety and that anxiety had brought on panic.
“A fucking elf…”
He said the word, but his brain absolutely refused to comprehend such an idea. Had he taken a bad bump; was he concussed? He didn’t know, and not knowing wasn’t helping his fragile psyche in the slightest. The statistics of the match itself weren’t helping either, and he was wondering what the hell he had done to be put in such a predicament. Let’s face it: your second match in a promotion and you’re facing the company’s World Heavyweight Champion. That’s not something that comes around the bend too often, and it was something that Alexis was very aware of. But on the other side, this was no mere World Champion; this man was an elf.
With a quick shudder of disbelief, he tried to usher such thoughts out of his mind. With all of the disadvantages which had presented themselves for this outing, a psychological advantage was not something that he was willing to give up; no way. He had worked far too hard to be psyched out by such thoughts. He had worked far too long to be pulled into the mind games of a man – who in Alexis’ mind – was entirely insane. They needed to make a statement to all of the boys in back. More importantly, Alexis’ needed to make a statement to himself: He still had it, and he needed to prove to this behemoth of a man that he wasn’t someone to be taken lightly.
But that begged a simple question: How do you beat a man who seemingly cannot be beaten by what he, himself, would claim to be a mere mortal? The thought process as a whole was taxing, and in the moments of anxiety he reached out. He was neither as studious, nor as a cautious as his opponent that week, far from it, in his moment of pain he reached out to whatever was closest to him to not only numb the pain, but to relax his nerves. On that night, that just happened to be a chilled bottle of JW Whiskey. Most have a glass to take off the edge, Alexis certainly wasn’t most people; thus, four glasses later he was ready to tackle his problems head on.
It wasn’t exactly the most sane approach, but let’s face it; this wasn’t exactly the most sane of circumstances. While the disadvantages had piled up against him, one strong advantage remained relevant; Lantlas’ arm. He had watched the main event from the back, just like everyone else, and he had seen the nasty bump the rather large elven man had taken. Ring ropes were a nasty sort, if you hit them wrong you could kill yourself. He had been caught in them before, and he had always cherished the nice bruises that were left over from the altercations. He was already exceptionally talented at picking apart his opponents; a bull’s-eye made him deadly.
But even with that added leverage, a problem presented itself: the man was quite a bit taller than Alexis. It wasn’t a deal breaker, but it was definitely something that had to be taken in account. While he was taller, he didn’t have much girth on him. Twenty pounds give or take a few, and that was something that he could work with. Lifting him would be awkward, due to the man’s lanky nature, but it would be far from impossible. It wouldn’t be something he’d want to corner his offense around, but it was something that could remain on the table in the situation.
“What if he pulls out a bow, that might be a problem…”
He heard his father’s voice, but he paid it little mind. He would have to remember to complain to management about the privacy issues it seemed as though the hotel was suffering from. However, he knew first hand just how persuasive his father could be.
“I mean, it’s something to you’re going to need to watch it for. Be careful. I mean, they’re crafty people – elves – you know, he’s big but he might be able to sneak around you like a shadow …”
He could hear the amusement in his father’s voice, and yet there was no smile upon the man’s face. It was dull, weathered. The years of abuse and toxicity had definitely taken their toll upon the elder Alexander, and he made no efforts to try to hide it. As he gazed upon his son, he couldn’t help but snicker at the situation.
“You came into this place with such high hopes, and you’re already thinking about packing your bags – aren’t you?”
He could have waited for a response, he should have, but he didn’t. He wasted very little time as a he continued with his own thoughts with every little regard for whether or not his son wanted to hear him out.
“You thought it would be a cake walk. Didn’t you? You thought you’d come in here, and like everywhere else you’d simply roll over the competition. You think they’re beneath you, even the majority think it’s the other way around. How does it feel?”
Approaching Alexis’, he took a seat on the bed and immediately kicked his legs up onto the stool between them, brushing off Alexis’ feet as though it was dirt.
“How does it feel to have such a high opinion of yourself and to finally realize that the world doesn’t share it…”
Reaching away from the bed, he removed the bottle of Whiskey from Alexis’ side and placed it on the bedside table. He wasted little time in throwing exactly four ice cubes within a glass and pouring himself a drink.
“Of course, your comrades view you as a talented competitor. That’s for sure, but how long do you think it will be before they realize that you were simply a big fish in their little pond that just happened to be avoiding other big fish so he didn’t have any actual competition. Hmm?”
He took a couple sips, and soon downed the entire glass. Slamming it on to table, he watched as Alexis’ was jolted free from his trance-like state. He could see it in his son’s eyes, and it warmed the very coals of his own furnace. The fear, the anguish, the uncertainty; it was all there, and it was all coming to the surface on the eve of the big match. He was unraveling, and it was something that was almost arousing for him to watch. He had done it from a distance for so many years, to see the emotion stirring up close was almost intoxicating.
“You couldn’t even get the job done last week, with a ragtag group of men simply defending their homeland. How the hell are you going to get the job done against a man, excuse me, an elf who hasn’t the slightest bit of faith in the fact that you will provide a challenge to him?”
Alexis’ didn’t stir, he didn’t even seem to register his father’s words. This placed his father, and that pleasure was something that was all to evident to Alexis. After a few moments, he rose from his seat and was quick to snatch the bottle of Whiskey from the table. He didn’t both with a cup, nor ice, he simply removed the top and took as many swigs as he could fit between breaths. It was only a matter of time before the bottle was to be thrown against the wall, and he would pass out in a bathtub without the faintest idea of the night that he had boozed away. As he watched his son delve into the depths his alcoholic demons, he couldn’t help but give him the nudge on the road to total annihilation.
“I’ll leave you with that, as I’m sure you’re already far to inebriated to comprehend what I’m saying to you anymore. Don’t worry, I’ll be there to pick up the pieces when the time comes. Maybe he’ll even sing you a lullaby when he puts you career to rest…”
He swung his legs off of the bed, and made his way to the entrance to the suite. He didn’t bother to look back at his son; he didn’t need to. He knew he was a beaten and broken man, and he knew the damage had been done. He would wait, and he would bide his time. When trauma came, he knew exactly the kind of man that would present himself to Lantlas.
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