Obsession VII: Despair and Determination
Dec 3, 2021 22:34:30 GMT -5
CJ Phoenix and Harvey Marx like this
Post by Claire Hawkins on Dec 3, 2021 22:34:30 GMT -5
11/10/2021
Altana, Georgia
Altana, Georgia
"Well........."
"Don't say it."
"I hate to be the bearer of bad news but,"
"Don't fucking say it."
"....."
".........."
"I told ya so."
Refusing to look at anything other than the ambiguous blur of people that seemed to flow in opposing directions as they went about their self-absorbed nuances that comprised of their daily lives; or, in simpler terms, she stubbornly refused to make eye contact with the smug son of a bitch that stood to her left. She wasn't mad, she couldn't be, as he was in the right and had been in the right all along. The perpetual state of stress she had forced upon her body through near-constant training and workouts had finally resulted in consequence. Not entirely sure when, but at some point before, during, or after the match with DiVito she had hurt her shoulder something fierce. So much so that the doctor she had seen recommended she wear a sling so that it heals properly. Yet, as much as her shoulder pained her, it hurt far more to know that everything she had pushed her body through had amounted to nothing. Unequivocally, the Wrestler of the Year tournament had been her greatest opportunity to prove that......
"Oi, you're doin' it again aren't you? Ignoring me by retreating to some dark place in your twisted mind."
"Oh? Why would I do that?"
"Listen, I know you're mad but I did warn you about something like this from day one. If anything you should be thanking me for helpin' ya make it this far unhurt."
".........."
After a moment of silence, the pretense of a failed comedic nature gave way to an audible sigh of exasperation; not from her, but from him.
"Listen, I get that ya don't want to sit around and explain why you've been pushing yourself the way ya have and I'm not gonna stand here and lie by sayin' that I ain't interested as to just what has driven ya to this point. However, as the poor schmuck that's been willing to pal around 'round with ya for so many years, I think maybe ya should tackle this issue of yours head-on. Whatever the deal is with you and this Aleene. it needs to be hashed out else this shit's only gonna get worse. We both know that you got off pretty light with the shoulder injury; given the intensity of the training ya put the kid through I'm pretty sure you should be on crutches if not in a wheelchair. So please, for the love of whatever dark God you follow, do something 'bout this."
For the first time, Claire looked over at the man that stood by her side; watched as sincere concern burned within his eyes. With a heavy sigh of her own, the raven-haired woman looked back to the people across the road; the "kid" Cole Harms pulling up to them in the rental.
"Fine. However, I'm going to need something."
"What?"
"A plane ticket."
"Despair."
"It's rather comical, isn't it? Could a single word could define two people in completely different ways and yet still be the primary thing that is the driving focus for both. Whether it be inside that Action Wrestling ring or in the darkest most intimate moments of our personal lives, the feeling of despair is perpetually present and contributes to the decisions we make; for better or worse, we are married to it. Yet, despite this attachment that binds us both, there are two things that become incredibly clear once examined with an eye able to discern more than their bais."
"Both of us are liars."
"You know that much, right; CJ? You know that and you desperately cling to this perception that despair is what is driving you forward day after day. You cling to the idea that despair is an unrelenting force that cannot, WILL not, be stopped regardless of whom or what it comes across. It's unrelenting. It's unforgiving. It's everything that you, as a person, wish you were able to be. So, in a vain attempt to be so, you have taken to calling yourself the Luminary of Despair; preaching about how despair is your weapon and how you'll use it to defeat the opponents set before you."
"You're so full of shit."
"You've been full of shit."
"You will ALWAYS be full of shit."
"Cause, CJ, what you preach and what you've been practicing are two separate things that make any of my hypocrisy seem childish by comparison. It wasn't despair that drove you to success while you were aimlessly going through goalless repetition on Cruiserclash. It wasn't despair that allowed you to make the brave transition to Monday Night Clash nor was it the driving factor in your massive victory of Spencer Adams for the Hardcore Championship. Even most recently, when you took up John Blade's challenge and won the United States Champion it wasn't despair that gave your the prowess to defeat your foes nor was it the factor in their defeat. Cause, If it were the case, then EVERYTHING you have done since taking up this ideological mantle has amounted to nothing. For, you did not earn those victories or adulation of the fans; it was GIVEN to you. It was given to you through the inevitability of your opponents giving in to their own fears and insecurities; you never had to do a damn thing."
"Well, good thing that the idea of despair is merely a tool in which to make your brand. Else you would be the single most pathetic person on ANY professional Wrestling roster. Cause that means you weren't even the lowest, slimiest, single most desperate opportunistic fuck that there ever was. It would mean that you merely existed while things were done around you and you were just lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time; never showing anything worthwhile or something that people could really sink their teeth into."
"Kind of like you now."
"Don't say it."
"I hate to be the bearer of bad news but,"
"Don't fucking say it."
"....."
".........."
"I told ya so."
Refusing to look at anything other than the ambiguous blur of people that seemed to flow in opposing directions as they went about their self-absorbed nuances that comprised of their daily lives; or, in simpler terms, she stubbornly refused to make eye contact with the smug son of a bitch that stood to her left. She wasn't mad, she couldn't be, as he was in the right and had been in the right all along. The perpetual state of stress she had forced upon her body through near-constant training and workouts had finally resulted in consequence. Not entirely sure when, but at some point before, during, or after the match with DiVito she had hurt her shoulder something fierce. So much so that the doctor she had seen recommended she wear a sling so that it heals properly. Yet, as much as her shoulder pained her, it hurt far more to know that everything she had pushed her body through had amounted to nothing. Unequivocally, the Wrestler of the Year tournament had been her greatest opportunity to prove that......
"Oi, you're doin' it again aren't you? Ignoring me by retreating to some dark place in your twisted mind."
"Oh? Why would I do that?"
"Listen, I know you're mad but I did warn you about something like this from day one. If anything you should be thanking me for helpin' ya make it this far unhurt."
".........."
After a moment of silence, the pretense of a failed comedic nature gave way to an audible sigh of exasperation; not from her, but from him.
"Listen, I get that ya don't want to sit around and explain why you've been pushing yourself the way ya have and I'm not gonna stand here and lie by sayin' that I ain't interested as to just what has driven ya to this point. However, as the poor schmuck that's been willing to pal around 'round with ya for so many years, I think maybe ya should tackle this issue of yours head-on. Whatever the deal is with you and this Aleene. it needs to be hashed out else this shit's only gonna get worse. We both know that you got off pretty light with the shoulder injury; given the intensity of the training ya put the kid through I'm pretty sure you should be on crutches if not in a wheelchair. So please, for the love of whatever dark God you follow, do something 'bout this."
For the first time, Claire looked over at the man that stood by her side; watched as sincere concern burned within his eyes. With a heavy sigh of her own, the raven-haired woman looked back to the people across the road; the "kid" Cole Harms pulling up to them in the rental.
"Fine. However, I'm going to need something."
"What?"
"A plane ticket."
"Despair."
"It's rather comical, isn't it? Could a single word could define two people in completely different ways and yet still be the primary thing that is the driving focus for both. Whether it be inside that Action Wrestling ring or in the darkest most intimate moments of our personal lives, the feeling of despair is perpetually present and contributes to the decisions we make; for better or worse, we are married to it. Yet, despite this attachment that binds us both, there are two things that become incredibly clear once examined with an eye able to discern more than their bais."
"Both of us are liars."
"You know that much, right; CJ? You know that and you desperately cling to this perception that despair is what is driving you forward day after day. You cling to the idea that despair is an unrelenting force that cannot, WILL not, be stopped regardless of whom or what it comes across. It's unrelenting. It's unforgiving. It's everything that you, as a person, wish you were able to be. So, in a vain attempt to be so, you have taken to calling yourself the Luminary of Despair; preaching about how despair is your weapon and how you'll use it to defeat the opponents set before you."
"You're so full of shit."
"You've been full of shit."
"You will ALWAYS be full of shit."
"Cause, CJ, what you preach and what you've been practicing are two separate things that make any of my hypocrisy seem childish by comparison. It wasn't despair that drove you to success while you were aimlessly going through goalless repetition on Cruiserclash. It wasn't despair that allowed you to make the brave transition to Monday Night Clash nor was it the driving factor in your massive victory of Spencer Adams for the Hardcore Championship. Even most recently, when you took up John Blade's challenge and won the United States Champion it wasn't despair that gave your the prowess to defeat your foes nor was it the factor in their defeat. Cause, If it were the case, then EVERYTHING you have done since taking up this ideological mantle has amounted to nothing. For, you did not earn those victories or adulation of the fans; it was GIVEN to you. It was given to you through the inevitability of your opponents giving in to their own fears and insecurities; you never had to do a damn thing."
"Well, good thing that the idea of despair is merely a tool in which to make your brand. Else you would be the single most pathetic person on ANY professional Wrestling roster. Cause that means you weren't even the lowest, slimiest, single most desperate opportunistic fuck that there ever was. It would mean that you merely existed while things were done around you and you were just lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time; never showing anything worthwhile or something that people could really sink their teeth into."
"Kind of like you now."
11/15/2021
Somewhere in Ireland
Somewhere in Ireland
It had finally happened.
The primary thing that she had been avoiding over the last year had happened and now she was standing just outside the tall ominous-looking iron fence that encircled the impressive and expansive three-story mansion that seemed to have been ripped from a time long forgotten. The estate had a name, all these estates in Europe seemed to have names, but for the life of her, she couldn't remember what it was. Instead, a severe sense of trepidation gripped her as she pressed the palm of her left hand upon the cold metal of the gate. She shouldn't be here, not after making the concerted effort to not respond to the plethora of handwritten letters that had been sent her way.
She had sworn that she'd never return.
Yet, destiny carried her forward.
With the well-maintained gate making but barely a noise as it swung open, Claire traveled along the clean and tidy brick pathway until she was just a foot from the large double doors. After a momentary pause to gather herself, Claire stepped forward and brought her hand up to pound upon the outside of one of the large doors that were undoubtedly dense. However, the door swung open before the blow could be struck; the sight of a woman freezing the would-be knocker in place. Uh-oh. The woman in question was several decades her senior with enough gray in her hair that one might mistake it for ash. With cold fire in her eyes and a demeanor that mirrored that of an old Catholic teacher; stern and uptight as all fuck.
"YOU should not be here."
"No, I shouldn't......"
"Then WHY are you here if you know that you should not?"
Curt and unforgiving, the woman before her stood with an air that was as commanding as it was disapproving. So much so that it caused the hairs on the back of her neck to bristle in defiance of this elder that blocked her way. Even so, Claire could not deny that she was right in her question. As it was the very same question that had been branding itself into her mind from the moment she had gotten onto that plane in Georgia. She really and truly SHOULDN'T be here, but yet here she was. The old bat would just have to deal with it.
"Listen, I know that I'm the last person you expected or ever wanted to see, but-"
"That is correct on both accounts."
"BUT I think you can agree that it's past time that I SHOULD be here. That, even if it isn't all the time, I SHOULD be around and that I uphold my end of the promise."
Eyes narrowing into paper-thin slits, the elderly woman glared frozen daggers into her as she stepped through the doorway to meet her outside. However, before any further exchange could take place, a car door slammed and an excited high-pitched squeal rang out.
"MOOOOOOOOOOOORRIIIIIIIIIIIII!"
As little footsteps thundered amidst the silence that stood between the two women, the culprit of the excessively excitable voice made a beeline from the chauffeured car that sat newly parked in front of the gate. With chestnut curls bouncing furiously, the young girl threw herself as hard as a child could into Claire's body and wrapped her arms around her waist in the tightest hug that she could physically muster. Unsure of what it was she should do exactly, Claire gently set her good hand on top of the child's wild chestnut-colored head.
"Hello there, Aleene....."
"Know what else that particular brand of despair doesn't do? It doesn't CONTRIBUTE to anything; it doesn't make a person push themselves to the point of breaking just so they can give something to the sport that they hold dear. It doesn't make a person put on the best in-ring performances that they could never muster before nor does it drive someone to push the limits of everything around them. Championships, divisions, and the industry as a whole isn't given anything when you bring your BRAND around. There isn't anything that anyone can derive or take that will ever be considered of any use; at least, not unless you're the snake oil salesman that sold it."
"I said it before, CJ, and I'm not afraid to say it again."
"You're full of shit."
"Then again, I'm not unaware of how full of shit I've been either. Unlike you, I'm self-aware enough to realize that is hasn't been despair that has been driving me to the physical edge of what I can put my body through. Despair hasn't been the thing that gave me the ability to make it into the Wrestler of the Year tournament; which was something I regret not being able to do better in, I admit. It also wasn't the primary factor in winning four Television Champions and making THAT division the heart and fucking soul of Action Wrestling."
"No, CJ, despair isn't what fuels me."
"Determination is."
"Determination to one day be the very best that this industry has seen. The determination that, no matter the obstacle set before me, I will one day tackle it head-on and I will prevail. The determination that I am more than a match for ANYONE or ANYTHING that calls Action Wrestling home. Despair is nothing more than the fuel to that fire of determination. However, I'm not talking about YOUR lackadaisical brand that makes EVERY single thing I've said about you true; that the Luminary of Despair is nothing more than an influencer taking advantage of an edgy notion via buzz words and silver-tongued speeches. I'm talking about REAL despair, CJ. I'm talking about the despair that keeps people up late into the night wondering whether or not anything in their life has been worth it. I'm talking about the despair the makes people choose between the harsh reality in front of them or the harsher reality that it takes a near superhuman fucking effort to claw their way OUT of that cesspool."
"I've BEEN there."
"I AM there."
"I AM that representative of despair that you have always wanted to be and it eats you up inside every single time we stand across each other in that ring. It's why you have repeatedly regurgitated the same shit about the Television Championship and about how I'll never be worth a fuck outside of it It's why you chose to pin your old friend Dimen Kaine over either myself or John Black and it's the same thing that caused you to trip the fuck up at Execution to become a certifiable nonfactor in that match. A match that I lost, but bounced back in by making it into the Wrestler of the Year Tournament."
"What did YOU do again?"
"RIght, you sat around skulking in the shadows until dumbfuck extraordinaire Johnny Blade was handed the United States Championship and egotistically shoved both feet in his mouth by issuing a challenge on a lever he was NEVER going to be on."
"Much like how we're not on the same level, CJ."
"See, you can win all the matches you want and claim that winning championships doesn't mean anything to you; that you're simply out there trying to be the best you can and act as the Luminary of Bullshit. You say all that, but it isn't out of some false sense of performing some kind of duty or whatever contrite bullshit you fancy that day. It's because you're afraid; afraid that, if but for a second, that you place any hope in anything that you'll taste what despair truly is was you come up short. That you'll taste it and that you'll become addicted to the self-destructive poison it holds. So instead of taking a chance by truly being a Luminary of Despair, you build up a wall of buzz words and falsehoods to protect and cushion you from the reality of despair."
"I don't."
"I fail."
"I fall."
"I drag myself up and try again."
"I didn't accomplish what little you think I have simply by following your brand of content despair. I was beaten multiple times by the Downfalls, Ash Blakes, Kidsgroves, and Divitos of the world time and again. Yet, despite the best efforts of these world-class talents and people like them, I have thrived and crafted a state perpetual relevancy of which can never be taken away nor destroyed. I have stood the test of time that so many of Action Wrestling's original group of legendary talent hasn't been able to. I resurrected, built, and forever immortalized the Television Championship and its division in such a way that it'll never be lesser than any other championship put against it."
"So go ahead, CJ."
"Continue to mark and mock the fact that I'm able to d things that you've only ever dreamed you had the capacity to do. Tell me that cowardly cunt that'll never make it in this business. Procced to tell me how disappointing I am to everyone around me and that everything I've ever done is the equivalent of soupy dogshit. Put your narrow-minded simplistic words in my mouth about who I am. Do it. Do it and find out that when I fail I will get back up and try again, and again, and again, and again. No matter what you say or do, I will never relent. I will never give up. I will never cease continuing to try no matter how good my opponent THINKS they are or truly IS."
"I am the REAL Luminary of Despair; forever damned by despair and determination."
"I am The Witch."
"I am Claire Hawkins; Future United States Champion."
The primary thing that she had been avoiding over the last year had happened and now she was standing just outside the tall ominous-looking iron fence that encircled the impressive and expansive three-story mansion that seemed to have been ripped from a time long forgotten. The estate had a name, all these estates in Europe seemed to have names, but for the life of her, she couldn't remember what it was. Instead, a severe sense of trepidation gripped her as she pressed the palm of her left hand upon the cold metal of the gate. She shouldn't be here, not after making the concerted effort to not respond to the plethora of handwritten letters that had been sent her way.
She had sworn that she'd never return.
Yet, destiny carried her forward.
With the well-maintained gate making but barely a noise as it swung open, Claire traveled along the clean and tidy brick pathway until she was just a foot from the large double doors. After a momentary pause to gather herself, Claire stepped forward and brought her hand up to pound upon the outside of one of the large doors that were undoubtedly dense. However, the door swung open before the blow could be struck; the sight of a woman freezing the would-be knocker in place. Uh-oh. The woman in question was several decades her senior with enough gray in her hair that one might mistake it for ash. With cold fire in her eyes and a demeanor that mirrored that of an old Catholic teacher; stern and uptight as all fuck.
"YOU should not be here."
"No, I shouldn't......"
"Then WHY are you here if you know that you should not?"
Curt and unforgiving, the woman before her stood with an air that was as commanding as it was disapproving. So much so that it caused the hairs on the back of her neck to bristle in defiance of this elder that blocked her way. Even so, Claire could not deny that she was right in her question. As it was the very same question that had been branding itself into her mind from the moment she had gotten onto that plane in Georgia. She really and truly SHOULDN'T be here, but yet here she was. The old bat would just have to deal with it.
"Listen, I know that I'm the last person you expected or ever wanted to see, but-"
"That is correct on both accounts."
"BUT I think you can agree that it's past time that I SHOULD be here. That, even if it isn't all the time, I SHOULD be around and that I uphold my end of the promise."
Eyes narrowing into paper-thin slits, the elderly woman glared frozen daggers into her as she stepped through the doorway to meet her outside. However, before any further exchange could take place, a car door slammed and an excited high-pitched squeal rang out.
"MOOOOOOOOOOOORRIIIIIIIIIIIII!"
As little footsteps thundered amidst the silence that stood between the two women, the culprit of the excessively excitable voice made a beeline from the chauffeured car that sat newly parked in front of the gate. With chestnut curls bouncing furiously, the young girl threw herself as hard as a child could into Claire's body and wrapped her arms around her waist in the tightest hug that she could physically muster. Unsure of what it was she should do exactly, Claire gently set her good hand on top of the child's wild chestnut-colored head.
"Hello there, Aleene....."
"Know what else that particular brand of despair doesn't do? It doesn't CONTRIBUTE to anything; it doesn't make a person push themselves to the point of breaking just so they can give something to the sport that they hold dear. It doesn't make a person put on the best in-ring performances that they could never muster before nor does it drive someone to push the limits of everything around them. Championships, divisions, and the industry as a whole isn't given anything when you bring your BRAND around. There isn't anything that anyone can derive or take that will ever be considered of any use; at least, not unless you're the snake oil salesman that sold it."
"I said it before, CJ, and I'm not afraid to say it again."
"You're full of shit."
"Then again, I'm not unaware of how full of shit I've been either. Unlike you, I'm self-aware enough to realize that is hasn't been despair that has been driving me to the physical edge of what I can put my body through. Despair hasn't been the thing that gave me the ability to make it into the Wrestler of the Year tournament; which was something I regret not being able to do better in, I admit. It also wasn't the primary factor in winning four Television Champions and making THAT division the heart and fucking soul of Action Wrestling."
"No, CJ, despair isn't what fuels me."
"Determination is."
"Determination to one day be the very best that this industry has seen. The determination that, no matter the obstacle set before me, I will one day tackle it head-on and I will prevail. The determination that I am more than a match for ANYONE or ANYTHING that calls Action Wrestling home. Despair is nothing more than the fuel to that fire of determination. However, I'm not talking about YOUR lackadaisical brand that makes EVERY single thing I've said about you true; that the Luminary of Despair is nothing more than an influencer taking advantage of an edgy notion via buzz words and silver-tongued speeches. I'm talking about REAL despair, CJ. I'm talking about the despair that keeps people up late into the night wondering whether or not anything in their life has been worth it. I'm talking about the despair the makes people choose between the harsh reality in front of them or the harsher reality that it takes a near superhuman fucking effort to claw their way OUT of that cesspool."
"I've BEEN there."
"I AM there."
"I AM that representative of despair that you have always wanted to be and it eats you up inside every single time we stand across each other in that ring. It's why you have repeatedly regurgitated the same shit about the Television Championship and about how I'll never be worth a fuck outside of it It's why you chose to pin your old friend Dimen Kaine over either myself or John Black and it's the same thing that caused you to trip the fuck up at Execution to become a certifiable nonfactor in that match. A match that I lost, but bounced back in by making it into the Wrestler of the Year Tournament."
"What did YOU do again?"
"RIght, you sat around skulking in the shadows until dumbfuck extraordinaire Johnny Blade was handed the United States Championship and egotistically shoved both feet in his mouth by issuing a challenge on a lever he was NEVER going to be on."
"Much like how we're not on the same level, CJ."
"See, you can win all the matches you want and claim that winning championships doesn't mean anything to you; that you're simply out there trying to be the best you can and act as the Luminary of Bullshit. You say all that, but it isn't out of some false sense of performing some kind of duty or whatever contrite bullshit you fancy that day. It's because you're afraid; afraid that, if but for a second, that you place any hope in anything that you'll taste what despair truly is was you come up short. That you'll taste it and that you'll become addicted to the self-destructive poison it holds. So instead of taking a chance by truly being a Luminary of Despair, you build up a wall of buzz words and falsehoods to protect and cushion you from the reality of despair."
"I don't."
"I fail."
"I fall."
"I drag myself up and try again."
"I didn't accomplish what little you think I have simply by following your brand of content despair. I was beaten multiple times by the Downfalls, Ash Blakes, Kidsgroves, and Divitos of the world time and again. Yet, despite the best efforts of these world-class talents and people like them, I have thrived and crafted a state perpetual relevancy of which can never be taken away nor destroyed. I have stood the test of time that so many of Action Wrestling's original group of legendary talent hasn't been able to. I resurrected, built, and forever immortalized the Television Championship and its division in such a way that it'll never be lesser than any other championship put against it."
"So go ahead, CJ."
"Continue to mark and mock the fact that I'm able to d things that you've only ever dreamed you had the capacity to do. Tell me that cowardly cunt that'll never make it in this business. Procced to tell me how disappointing I am to everyone around me and that everything I've ever done is the equivalent of soupy dogshit. Put your narrow-minded simplistic words in my mouth about who I am. Do it. Do it and find out that when I fail I will get back up and try again, and again, and again, and again. No matter what you say or do, I will never relent. I will never give up. I will never cease continuing to try no matter how good my opponent THINKS they are or truly IS."
"I am the REAL Luminary of Despair; forever damned by despair and determination."
"I am The Witch."
"I am Claire Hawkins; Future United States Champion."
121/04/2021
Chicago, Illinois
Chicago, Illinois
"Come on! Let's go again!"
"A-are you sure? Your arm just came out of the sling an-"
"And what? You don't think we should be preparing for tomorrow night? That I shouldn't be at my best to meet Pheonix in that ring? What about the United States Championship, isn't THAT worth giving it everything I have?"
"W-well, that's n-not what I'm saying, but-"
"BUT nothing! Get back into position and let's go again."
Barking orders in a furious manner in which the poor aspiring Cole could not stand against, the raven-haired woman freshly out of the arm sling took up position once more. Reluctantly, young Mister Harms took up position once again. Then an ear-bleeding shrill whistle pierced the air and the pair were off once more going through a series of chain wrestling grapples that even most journeymen of the sport would stop and admire. Even so, despite his best efforts, the smaller woman soon overwhelmed the larger trainee and the whistle soon sounded again. Exhausted and battered, the poor kid looked to his wretchedly pale tormentor; expecting to repeat the drill one more time.
"Alright, that's enough for now. Take a fifteen-minute break and get your ass back here. Sound good?"
Confused and concerned, Cole looked over to Matt, the man who had been blowing the whistle for the last hour or so during these drills. Without an explanation of his own, the whistling man that stood outside the practice ring simply nodded his head. Which, much to his relief, allowed young Cole to slide out of the ring and waddle over to the men's locker room for a bit of a bathroom break; leaving the duo alone.
"Sooooooo......"
"So what?"
"A certain somebody has certainly been in a better mood since they got back from their little trip across the globe."
"Oh, and who would that be?"
Stepping out on the apron, Claire greedily took the water bottle that Matt held in his outstretched hand as she plopped her ass down next to him.
"Listen, Matt, about Aleene and how I've been acting over the last couple of months.........I'm sorry."
"Pardon me?"
"I'm sorry."
"Spooky ass witch say whaaaaaaaaaat?"
"Matt. I'm serious."
"I know, Spoop-boo. I know."
"A-are you sure? Your arm just came out of the sling an-"
"And what? You don't think we should be preparing for tomorrow night? That I shouldn't be at my best to meet Pheonix in that ring? What about the United States Championship, isn't THAT worth giving it everything I have?"
"W-well, that's n-not what I'm saying, but-"
"BUT nothing! Get back into position and let's go again."
Barking orders in a furious manner in which the poor aspiring Cole could not stand against, the raven-haired woman freshly out of the arm sling took up position once more. Reluctantly, young Mister Harms took up position once again. Then an ear-bleeding shrill whistle pierced the air and the pair were off once more going through a series of chain wrestling grapples that even most journeymen of the sport would stop and admire. Even so, despite his best efforts, the smaller woman soon overwhelmed the larger trainee and the whistle soon sounded again. Exhausted and battered, the poor kid looked to his wretchedly pale tormentor; expecting to repeat the drill one more time.
"Alright, that's enough for now. Take a fifteen-minute break and get your ass back here. Sound good?"
Confused and concerned, Cole looked over to Matt, the man who had been blowing the whistle for the last hour or so during these drills. Without an explanation of his own, the whistling man that stood outside the practice ring simply nodded his head. Which, much to his relief, allowed young Cole to slide out of the ring and waddle over to the men's locker room for a bit of a bathroom break; leaving the duo alone.
"Sooooooo......"
"So what?"
"A certain somebody has certainly been in a better mood since they got back from their little trip across the globe."
"Oh, and who would that be?"
Stepping out on the apron, Claire greedily took the water bottle that Matt held in his outstretched hand as she plopped her ass down next to him.
"Listen, Matt, about Aleene and how I've been acting over the last couple of months.........I'm sorry."
"Pardon me?"
"I'm sorry."
"Spooky ass witch say whaaaaaaaaaat?"
"Matt. I'm serious."
"I know, Spoop-boo. I know."