Post by Spartan on Sept 20, 2019 15:18:34 GMT -5
Flashbacks
Staring into the mirror; Tristan Cross tries adjusting his bowtie, but his nerves are getting the better of him. Today was a massive day - the biggest day of his life so far and he was more nervous than he ever thought he would be, more nervous than he thought he could be. His body flowed thick with tension, every muscle was wound tight, he felt every beat of his heart as it exploded from his chest.
A little over six months ago, the beautiful and sublime Penelope Gwendolyn Ambrose had said yes when got down on bended knee in front of her and asked for her hand in marriage. Today, was the day that they would be getting married. Tristan was nervously fumbling with his tie, while his two best men, Quinn Black and Dante Jones watched on as they finished getting their suits on.
“Arrgh.” groans Cross with frustration, still unable to complete the necessary loops for his bowtie to sit just as it should.
This was not the day he wanted to let his bride down. She had asked him to trim his glorious gingerbeard into something neat. It now sat along on his jawline and was cultured neatly to his face. It was not his favourite look, but when the women who love more than life itself asks you to have your beat neat and tidy on your wedding it is something that you do. He wasn’t going to let a simple bowtie beat him.
Cross slaps the full length mirror he is standing in front of with frustration bordering on anger. “Err. Why can’t I do it?” he mumbles to himself.
The outburst draws the attention of his two best men. Both Black and Jones look at each other and Black is the first to move over to Cross. Tristan’s eyes are welling with tears, a sure sign of his frustration that he is struggling to get everything perfect for this day.
Black puts his hand on Tristan’s shoulder “It’s alright, bruh. Let me help you.”
Cross just nods, Quinn moves in front of his friend and grips his bowtie, with nimble fingers and a focussed mind he is able to tie the bowtie with relative ease.
“Thanks.” Cross smiles, short for words. He moves into the two close friends embrace to comfort each other in different ways. Cross to say thankyou and Black to let him know that everything is going to be alright.
“All good, bruh” The pair release their embrace.
Jones takes the two steps across the room and joins the other pair.
“Ya know T,” says Jones as he takes a position on the other side of Cross, leaving Cross in the middle of Black and Jones, “this is your big day - Me and Q - we’re here for ya. Us, we’re the three amigos, right from the start of our days at Beethoven to end of our days at Venice High.”
“Yeh,” nods Cross as the smile returns to his face and he wipes the tears from his eyes.
“So,” Jones continues, “when my boy, meets that girl. The girl he wants to spend the rest of his life with. When he wants to keep her in his bed every single night for the rest of his life I got his back and so does Q.”
Quinn Black nods in agreement, deliberately not saying a word.
“What I’m gettin’ at T. Be nervous, be excited, be scared, be happy, be horny for all I care. Whatever ya feelin - we got ya.”
Black reaches around behind Cross to Jones and they fist bump behind Tristan’s back.
“I love you, guys.” Cross smiles, choking back some happy tears.
“I love you too, Bruh.” says Jones as he wraps an arm around Cross’ shoulder.
“Me too.” interjects Black as he puts his arm over Tristan’s over shoulder.
The three amigos, stand there staring into the mirror on the wedding day of Tristan Cross in act of solidarity in a strong friendship, bonded by chains that will never break - not in this moment. Jones is the first to break the silence.
“Now let’s get you ready, T. There’s a lady you’ve got to make your wife today. She’s the one that is allowed to be late - not you.”
All three men laugh. The moment of frustration and tension has passed, and Cross turns to his left to find the jacket for his wedding suit. He picks his suit jacket and swings his arms into it.
“Damn, you fine, boy” pipes Quinn Black. “I’d marry you too, if they would let me.”
“They’ll change that shit, one day.” says Cross. “But, I wouldn’t marry you, bro.”
“And why not?” Black bites back with a hint of laughter in voice.
“Because I know everyone you slept with. I know every girl, and boy you’ve kissed, but most of all I don’t know Penny won’t share me.” Cross finishes.
“You don’t know every boy.” Black laughs.
“That scares me even more then.” Cross laughs and punches his friend in the arm.
Looking resplendent in their full outfits the three men stand around the room and look at each other. Today is the most important day for one of them. Jones looks at the silver watch that dominates his left wrist.
“Well, boys, we’ve got just enough time to get our shoes on and have one last drink as three bachelors. This bruh here,” he slaps a jovial hand on the back of Cross, “This boy is gettin’ locked up for life!”
They laugh again. The earlier nerves and tension of Tristan Cross have been washed away be the bond of friendship. That negativity has been replaced by joy and happiness. Cross feels relieved - he going into the next stage of life - with his best friends by his side and the love of his life becoming his wife.
Spartan is dressed in black sweat pants and a black t-shirt that advertises his employers brand. He had recently had a cut, a neat undercut with a hard part on the right side of his head. He still wears the world’s most glorious gingerbeard proudly on a face that still bears the scars of brutal wars with Dean Wolf at Ascension, and Allen Anderson at Jubeilation II. He is sitting on the edge of the Nittany Lion shrine.
“Jaice Wilds.”
“A little over two months ago, you and I tangled for the first time. Granted it involved my Supremacy opponent as the third man in. Two months isn’t a long time in your storied career, but for me it’s a lifetime ago. I look at that promo I cut and see the stilted delivery I came with, the poor cliches and the weak analogies. All in all, it was pretty poor on my part - what can I say - it was my first real promo. I was nervous in front of the camera.”
“Yet, despite in front of the camera being where we sell tickets and get the fans into the building and making our names. It’s in the ring where the matches are won and lost and in that instance - I’ve got some revenge to get on you in that regard.”
“Don’t I, Jaice?”
“From the start, you have probably been my biggest supporter - I’ve lost count of the number of times you’ve sold me as a future superstar of this business. I’ve lost count the number of times you’ve sold as a future World Champion.”
“Thanks for that.”
“But, Jaice. My future is now.”
“And my future starts with you on Monday Night Metal.”
“Spartan versus Jaice - Round Two.”
“Ding. Ding. Ding.”
“I’ve got a whole lot of respect for what you do, pal. You can’t do what you do without being good at you do. If I can have your reputation after the same number of years in the business than I will be a satisfied wrestler - without a doubt. And pinning you in the middle of that ring, that’s the third step to having that reputation. The first two involved the Hardcore Title and two legends of the business.”
“Guess, it’s fitting that I am now fitting you - the Xtreme Aerialist. A hardcore legend in your own right. Now, me, I didn’t get into this business to known as a hardcore specialist - but circumstances have meant that I have carved a little niche for myself. And you know what I have found out that I am damn good at. I damn good at taking punishment and I am even better at dishing it out.”
“You are going to find out just how good at dishing out punishment I have become.”
“You are going to find out just how far I have come as a competitor, as a wrestler, as a fighter in those two months since last we danced. And since I have a hardcore reputation and you are a hardcore legend than we could possibly make this a hardcore dance that could easily outdo even the finest rendition of the Nutbush. Or we could just be boring vanilla ice cream, no Ben and Jerry’s.”
“Come what may, right Jaice?”
Spartan slides down off his perch on the edge of Nittany Lion statue and stands next to the tribute to the symbol of Penn State University, leaning on it casually.
“Come now, Jaice all this talk about getting hardcore, this talk of taking it to your domain, that’s dumb on my part, right? You’re the god of horrorcore, right?
“Right?”
“Now, I’ve been down that line before. But, if you’re the God of Horrorcore, I’ve lifted the Devil on my shoulders and taken him out. And that same devil - he claims to have made Horrorcore…”
“Or was that a story you told just to scare Allen Anderson?”
“I’ve I am to be fair, I don’t really care whether you are a God of anything. That’s your business. What I know Jaice is you are a crazy fool who will take the fight with reckless abandon. Hardcore. Horrorcore. Straight up street fighting it’s not going to matter, because whatever you bring - I am going to bring it right back at you in the only way I know how.”
“Full throttle.”
“No mind games. Not my style.”
“Just pure unadulterated fight fighting until one of us is unable to stand no more. The way a real fight should go.”
Spartan lifts himself off the Lion statue on which he was leaning and starts walking. He talks as he walks.
“Things can change in an instant, Jaice. I’m sure you know that more than anyone right now. Especially after Kennedy’s huge revelation on last week’s Metal. Ain’t pretend what’s going through you head right now.”
“But shit does down in your life.It sucks.”
“Yet in the end, it’s about moving forward and moving on, just like in the wrestling - sometimes you win, sometimes you lose - it sucks when you lose, but it’s the response that makes the man. Last time I lost to you - I shocked the world. I won the APW Hardcore Title. The next loss I suffered was when I lost that same title back to Dean Wolf. I responded by earning myself a North American Title shot.”
“You’re on a losing streak right now, Jaice. Noris, the Pinata Scramble, last week. That’s three in a row…”
“How are you going to respond?”
“How are you going to respond at Supremacy when you have lost four in a row?”
“It’s not my business - but how are you going to respond to Kennedy.”
“You’re a veteran, a self -proclaimed legend, you’ve got history, you have won titles pretty much everywhere you have gone. But history is littered with legends who didn’t quite know when to call it quits. Legends who tried to destroy their legacy for one last shot at glory, simply that didn’t realise that time had passed them by. Some of them survive their dalliances. Some of them don’t. All of them can be found, broken and beaten in the corner of a dive bars recounting their glory days to anyone that will listen.”
“You’re on a slide right now, Jaice.”
“Can you stop it? Can you bring your A-game back? Or will you be one of those old guys sitting in the dampest, darkest corner of the nearest bar you can find. Or even worse still, will you be that bitter veteran unhappy with the end of your career knocking down rookies who don’t know any better and telling them how it was so much better in your day.”
Spartan stops walking and find himself standing still in open field space.
“You know what - I’ve still got earn the chance to be that guy I was just talking about. I know.”
He crouches down and plucks blades of grass before tossing them in the air.
“But I’m a future World Champion.”
Spartan stands up and starts walking again.
“Your words not mine.”
Flashbacks
Marriage had been a big change for Cross. He had long lived his own life, even when he was at home with his own parents he had the ability to come and go as he pleased. His mother was a nurse who worked tirelessly, his father was the varsity basketball coach at Venice. Tristan has played for him, they almost won the state championship. His father was a passionate coach and it consumed him. He would spend hours at school, studying film. He would spend hours at home, locked away in his room meticulously planning for the next game. Tristan’s father, loved his wife dearly and he loved his son just as much. But his consumption by becoming a better coach meant he could never dedicate the time to his wife or child.
Tristan swore to himself on the day of his marriage that he would never allow something other than his wife and any future children to consume him. He loved his wife, Penelope Gwendolyn Cross dearly and he found a way to show it every single day.
Today, he had brought home a bouquet of yellow and red roses and presented them to his queen when she greeted him with a kiss at the door. Right now, those roses were sitting in a lovely ornate vase sitting in the middle of a glass coffee table. Tristan was sitting on the red fabric lounge with his wife leaning back into his sizeable chest and arms. Her supple curvature and womanly softness is contrasted by his tightly muscled physique, while his glorious ginger beard partially hidden by her luxurious flowing brunette locks that fall neatly below her shoulders and perfectly frame her heart shaped face.
He gently strokes the top of her head, brushing her back with each movement of his hand. He looks down, a man in love. She looks up, a woman in love and slowly untangles herself from his grasp so she can look at him. He reaches and strokes his beard that has grown back wildly since their wedding day. She loves the wildman appearance it gives her husband. She looks at him with eyes that have something to say.
“Babe…” he voice hides nerves as she trails away.
Tristan leans forward, “Yes, babe?”
“I’m…” she pauses to catch the breath she has just lost. “I’m pregnant.” she smiles as the words rush excitedly from her mouth.
He stares at her like a deer in headlights for the briefest of moments before lunging forward and kissing her haphazardly, much like an excited puppy without the extravagant tongue.
“You’re pregnant!?” he responds with a combination of shock and excitement.
“I’m pregnant.”
