Post by Donnie Harris on May 21, 2023 3:23:37 GMT -5
-The devastation came in waves, losing time and time again. It felt pointless, fruitless; he felt helpless, hopeless; it didn’t matter anymore. Sitting at the bar, alone, depressed, hiding in plain sight between the music from the jukebox and the sound of the TV in the dive that he found in St. Louis, Donnie Harris dreaded the match he knew was coming. He had to arrive, even if he was in plain clothes and wasted beyond recognition; it was in his better interests and in his personality to show up for his commitments, as painful as they may be. At least the alcohol was helping to keep the most judgemental voice out of his head, that being of his father.
He looked up to the bartender, ordering another Budweiser, since it was the only beer he could stomach; it was the only beer he was used to, as he was not one to go drinking, ever, but he needed something to shut everything out, and the effect of the alcohol on him was weird. He felt fuzzy and swollen, weirdly, as he simply sat there, breathing becoming deeper as his mind felt like he was in a bubble. Even as people pushed by, most of whom apologized, he didn’t so much as twitch. His mood was in the trash, and his desire to fight was already in the truck on its way to the dump.-
(Barman)
Dude, what’s up your ass?
)Donnie(
Excuse me?
(Barman)
You’ve had, like, 15 to 20 people shove you to the point I’m surprised your beer isn’t all over my bar top or all over you. You alright, man? Who died?
-Donnie laughed at the idea of someone being dead in his life.-
)Donnie(
Nah, no ONE is dead, just my career. I’ve got nothing going for me. I should be fired in the next month or so; I don’t expect much in the way of help for improvement or anything. I’m fucked.
(Barman)
I doubt that. I’m sure the bar you’re working at isn’t going to dump you just like that.
)Donnie(
I’m a professional wrestler. I’m not some day-to-day wannabe security guard. Just because I look like I could break every man and woman in your bar doesn’t mean I’m a meathead.
(Barman)
Could’ve fooled me.
-The bartender walked away and Donnie had nothing to reply with; he was wondering where the words were, questioning if the alcohol was actually helping him, but it clearly wasn’t. Thankfully, the bar was attached to the motel he was staying at, so he paid his tab and, almost falling off the stool because of the 20 beers he had to himself, which the bar should have cut off at 12, shuffled off his stool before he wobbled his way back into his motel room. The hooker he paid for had already left, and he was shocked to see that nothing really of value was stolen. Then again, he had spent just under a grand for her, so she was already a well-paid ho: blonde hair, blue eyes, natural curves top and bottom. He fell to the bed after kicking the door shut, where he took a breath of the remaining smell of her perfume and passed out.
Waking up to his phone alarm a couple hours later, he fell out of bed with a hard thud, groaning as he throbbed from head to toe, the squish of a used condom bursting underneath him not being enough to move him with any urgency; he knew that it stained his sweater one way or another. Even the knock on his door did nothing to move him with any more speed or need to move, so, after the third knock, the visitor left, having slid something under the door. It took another three hours, as Donnie passed back out again, the hangover not being too bad, but it was still his first alcoholic hangover, so everything, especially his head, hurt like hell. He sat up, the condom stuck between his shoulders, and he stumbled to the kitchenette where he started to gorge on water, knowing how bad the hangover could get if he didn’t hydrate: an old lesson he was taught from TV shows he used to watch.
He supported himself with the countertop, breathing heavily as he drank the weirdly-flavored water a bit at a time, before drinking full cups (hi-baller glasses) at a time. It helped straighten his head out, before he walked over to the door, remembering vaguely that someone had knocked on it. He took his sweater off, and, after pulling the used condom off and tossing the condom out and his sweater into a laundry pile he left for himself, he picked up the pamphlet. It was another Second Chance Ranch piece of literature. He tossed it onto a pile of other pamphlets, more from Second Chance, as he fell back into the bed. So what? he thought to himself. What would this place do for me? I’m in the shits, and this match with Cypress, or whoever, whatever... would it really matter? The MMA fighter felt drained of his will to fight, and, falling onto the bed, he curls up on top of the duvet and starts snoring.
Another day went by, and Donnie weakly got up before his alarm. He was glad that he put this particular reminder in his phone, because he had to get to the Pioneer Dome for his promo time. He forced himself up, changed into his workout clothes which had become his casual gear for interviews, and he walked to a nearby gas station, where he bought a large bottle of water and some chicken strips. The strips were gone in minutes; he nursed the water as he called and was taken by cab to the arena.
Eventually getting in, still hung over, Donnie groaned as people pointed out how sunken in his eyes were; he already had his excuse prepared, not even thinking of anything else really. It was going to be a loose interview, and he wasn’t going to be very good, but he didn’t care anymore. He was confident that one more loss meant the end of his contract, and then it would be over: his career in OCW, his hopes and dreams as an athlete; his very livelihood.
Either way, it came time for him to sit down with Who’re, who was dressed in... something blue? Donnie’s eyes were burning from the lights. He struggled to look at her.-
(Who’re)
Uh, you’re Donnie, right?
)Donnie(
Funny; do we have a baseball cap or something I can wear for the interview? The lights are killing me right now.
-Given an OCW baseball hat, to help plug the brand of course, Donnie and Who’re sat down. Cameras start rolling.-
(Who’re)
Well, here we are with Donnie Harris. After a tough loss at Wheel of Misfortune, we haven’t seen much of you, have we?
)Donnie(
I’ve been busy, trying to get my game back up to snuff. I have to keep training, no matter what.
-Donnie waves the camera to zoom in on his face, revealing his eyes: sunken in with deep bags underneath them, a result of his heavy drinking and sleepless nights.-
)Donnie(
I have skipped sleep for quite a few nights a week to work out and keep everything right and tight. I can’t be caught slacking, not for a minute.
-Who’re stifled a bit of a giggle as he finishes his statement.-
(Who’re)
You? Working out? I’m sorry, Donnie, but you have a beer gut hiding underneath that gear you’re in right now. I could tell before we sat down.
)Donnie(
Say what?
-Donnie’s head whipped to glare at Who’re, who started to casually chuckle.-
(Who’re)
Sure, you can hide the stomach you’ve got while you’re sitting there, but if you got up right now...
)Donnie(
Why would I get up? Are you saying you want to finish this interview a little prematurely? I don’t think your boss would appreciate you chasing off one of OCW’s future champions.
-Who’re composes herself, taking a deep breath.-
(Who’re)
Yes, yes. You are right, Donnie. You have shown great potential in your matches, though you have always come short of clutching that big win, getting those big pushes against people like Nickleman and TLS; paired with SYNN to face TLS and PIC as well. You have a chance to redeem yourself on Piledriver this week, Wednesday May 24th, against Cypress. Will this be a return to form from when you first joined?
)Donnie(
I certainly hope so. I have been working myself to the bone ever since the South Pole, and it seems to have worked against me. I have been pushing my body harder and harder, trying to recover my mind and spirit after such grueling exercise and brutal workouts. I don’t know what my next step is, but it is to keep working until I win, even if it means facing myself.
(Who’re)
What do you mean when you say facing yourself? Not shadow boxing, right?
)Donnie(
Like the Michael Jackson song, it all starts with the man in the mirror. I have been getting quite a few pamphlets from those representing Second Chance Ranch, and, though I haven’t had a chance... to read them, we’ll see how it goes on Wednesday. I can’t just give in to my weaknesses so readily. I have been alone for a long time, Whore.
(Who’re)
It’s Who’re, but go on.
)Donnie(
R-right, but anyway, I’ve been doing this for a long time on my own, so facing a foe like Cypress, someone I’m going to face essentially blind as a bat, it’s exactly the challenge I need to face myself. I can’t just rely on my physicality, my strength, my skills as a fighter of mixed martial arts. I have to be able to rely on my brain, my ability to improvise, my ability to stick and move and learn my opponent on the fly. I was the Most Improved Wrestler in February, Goddammit; why can’t I make that work? I’m facing this literal unknown and yet why is there so much doubt in my abilities? Why are people doubting my capability before I get through the curtain, through the ropes, on the apron; in the ring? Why is that, Who’re!?
(Who’re)
I... I don’t know, Donnie; you’re the in-ring talent. Shouldn’t you have those answers?
-Donnie hesitates for a split-second, but it can be felt by those that see the promo and those in the room with him.-
)Donnie(
Yes! Of course I do, and those answers are simple.
-There was another long pause, and Donnie can be seen struggling to think up the words, even if he tried to lie.-
)Donnie(
Just keep this in mind, Cypress; you’re facing someone who’s getting back into the groove, into the swing of things. You think you have a shot against me, facing me, BEATING me? I hate to tell you, but you’ll be matched up with a rabid animal, hungry for victory, thirsty for blood. You don’t have a chance.
-Before Who’re can get another question out, Donnie is swift in his escape of the soundstage, pulling the mic away with a quick pull from his collar and the waistband of his pants. He sucks in the beer belly that Who’re pointed out, before slipping out and away. He tossed the hat aside as soon as he was off camera, and he ran. He ran all the way back to the motel, as pale as the sheets on his bed, breathing with panicked pacing.
He had never felt so lost in his entire life.-
He looked up to the bartender, ordering another Budweiser, since it was the only beer he could stomach; it was the only beer he was used to, as he was not one to go drinking, ever, but he needed something to shut everything out, and the effect of the alcohol on him was weird. He felt fuzzy and swollen, weirdly, as he simply sat there, breathing becoming deeper as his mind felt like he was in a bubble. Even as people pushed by, most of whom apologized, he didn’t so much as twitch. His mood was in the trash, and his desire to fight was already in the truck on its way to the dump.-
(Barman)
Dude, what’s up your ass?
)Donnie(
Excuse me?
(Barman)
You’ve had, like, 15 to 20 people shove you to the point I’m surprised your beer isn’t all over my bar top or all over you. You alright, man? Who died?
-Donnie laughed at the idea of someone being dead in his life.-
)Donnie(
Nah, no ONE is dead, just my career. I’ve got nothing going for me. I should be fired in the next month or so; I don’t expect much in the way of help for improvement or anything. I’m fucked.
(Barman)
I doubt that. I’m sure the bar you’re working at isn’t going to dump you just like that.
)Donnie(
I’m a professional wrestler. I’m not some day-to-day wannabe security guard. Just because I look like I could break every man and woman in your bar doesn’t mean I’m a meathead.
(Barman)
Could’ve fooled me.
-The bartender walked away and Donnie had nothing to reply with; he was wondering where the words were, questioning if the alcohol was actually helping him, but it clearly wasn’t. Thankfully, the bar was attached to the motel he was staying at, so he paid his tab and, almost falling off the stool because of the 20 beers he had to himself, which the bar should have cut off at 12, shuffled off his stool before he wobbled his way back into his motel room. The hooker he paid for had already left, and he was shocked to see that nothing really of value was stolen. Then again, he had spent just under a grand for her, so she was already a well-paid ho: blonde hair, blue eyes, natural curves top and bottom. He fell to the bed after kicking the door shut, where he took a breath of the remaining smell of her perfume and passed out.
Waking up to his phone alarm a couple hours later, he fell out of bed with a hard thud, groaning as he throbbed from head to toe, the squish of a used condom bursting underneath him not being enough to move him with any urgency; he knew that it stained his sweater one way or another. Even the knock on his door did nothing to move him with any more speed or need to move, so, after the third knock, the visitor left, having slid something under the door. It took another three hours, as Donnie passed back out again, the hangover not being too bad, but it was still his first alcoholic hangover, so everything, especially his head, hurt like hell. He sat up, the condom stuck between his shoulders, and he stumbled to the kitchenette where he started to gorge on water, knowing how bad the hangover could get if he didn’t hydrate: an old lesson he was taught from TV shows he used to watch.
He supported himself with the countertop, breathing heavily as he drank the weirdly-flavored water a bit at a time, before drinking full cups (hi-baller glasses) at a time. It helped straighten his head out, before he walked over to the door, remembering vaguely that someone had knocked on it. He took his sweater off, and, after pulling the used condom off and tossing the condom out and his sweater into a laundry pile he left for himself, he picked up the pamphlet. It was another Second Chance Ranch piece of literature. He tossed it onto a pile of other pamphlets, more from Second Chance, as he fell back into the bed. So what? he thought to himself. What would this place do for me? I’m in the shits, and this match with Cypress, or whoever, whatever... would it really matter? The MMA fighter felt drained of his will to fight, and, falling onto the bed, he curls up on top of the duvet and starts snoring.
Another day went by, and Donnie weakly got up before his alarm. He was glad that he put this particular reminder in his phone, because he had to get to the Pioneer Dome for his promo time. He forced himself up, changed into his workout clothes which had become his casual gear for interviews, and he walked to a nearby gas station, where he bought a large bottle of water and some chicken strips. The strips were gone in minutes; he nursed the water as he called and was taken by cab to the arena.
Eventually getting in, still hung over, Donnie groaned as people pointed out how sunken in his eyes were; he already had his excuse prepared, not even thinking of anything else really. It was going to be a loose interview, and he wasn’t going to be very good, but he didn’t care anymore. He was confident that one more loss meant the end of his contract, and then it would be over: his career in OCW, his hopes and dreams as an athlete; his very livelihood.
Either way, it came time for him to sit down with Who’re, who was dressed in... something blue? Donnie’s eyes were burning from the lights. He struggled to look at her.-
(Who’re)
Uh, you’re Donnie, right?
)Donnie(
Funny; do we have a baseball cap or something I can wear for the interview? The lights are killing me right now.
-Given an OCW baseball hat, to help plug the brand of course, Donnie and Who’re sat down. Cameras start rolling.-
(Who’re)
Well, here we are with Donnie Harris. After a tough loss at Wheel of Misfortune, we haven’t seen much of you, have we?
)Donnie(
I’ve been busy, trying to get my game back up to snuff. I have to keep training, no matter what.
-Donnie waves the camera to zoom in on his face, revealing his eyes: sunken in with deep bags underneath them, a result of his heavy drinking and sleepless nights.-
)Donnie(
I have skipped sleep for quite a few nights a week to work out and keep everything right and tight. I can’t be caught slacking, not for a minute.
-Who’re stifled a bit of a giggle as he finishes his statement.-
(Who’re)
You? Working out? I’m sorry, Donnie, but you have a beer gut hiding underneath that gear you’re in right now. I could tell before we sat down.
)Donnie(
Say what?
-Donnie’s head whipped to glare at Who’re, who started to casually chuckle.-
(Who’re)
Sure, you can hide the stomach you’ve got while you’re sitting there, but if you got up right now...
)Donnie(
Why would I get up? Are you saying you want to finish this interview a little prematurely? I don’t think your boss would appreciate you chasing off one of OCW’s future champions.
-Who’re composes herself, taking a deep breath.-
(Who’re)
Yes, yes. You are right, Donnie. You have shown great potential in your matches, though you have always come short of clutching that big win, getting those big pushes against people like Nickleman and TLS; paired with SYNN to face TLS and PIC as well. You have a chance to redeem yourself on Piledriver this week, Wednesday May 24th, against Cypress. Will this be a return to form from when you first joined?
)Donnie(
I certainly hope so. I have been working myself to the bone ever since the South Pole, and it seems to have worked against me. I have been pushing my body harder and harder, trying to recover my mind and spirit after such grueling exercise and brutal workouts. I don’t know what my next step is, but it is to keep working until I win, even if it means facing myself.
(Who’re)
What do you mean when you say facing yourself? Not shadow boxing, right?
)Donnie(
Like the Michael Jackson song, it all starts with the man in the mirror. I have been getting quite a few pamphlets from those representing Second Chance Ranch, and, though I haven’t had a chance... to read them, we’ll see how it goes on Wednesday. I can’t just give in to my weaknesses so readily. I have been alone for a long time, Whore.
(Who’re)
It’s Who’re, but go on.
)Donnie(
R-right, but anyway, I’ve been doing this for a long time on my own, so facing a foe like Cypress, someone I’m going to face essentially blind as a bat, it’s exactly the challenge I need to face myself. I can’t just rely on my physicality, my strength, my skills as a fighter of mixed martial arts. I have to be able to rely on my brain, my ability to improvise, my ability to stick and move and learn my opponent on the fly. I was the Most Improved Wrestler in February, Goddammit; why can’t I make that work? I’m facing this literal unknown and yet why is there so much doubt in my abilities? Why are people doubting my capability before I get through the curtain, through the ropes, on the apron; in the ring? Why is that, Who’re!?
(Who’re)
I... I don’t know, Donnie; you’re the in-ring talent. Shouldn’t you have those answers?
-Donnie hesitates for a split-second, but it can be felt by those that see the promo and those in the room with him.-
)Donnie(
Yes! Of course I do, and those answers are simple.
-There was another long pause, and Donnie can be seen struggling to think up the words, even if he tried to lie.-
)Donnie(
Just keep this in mind, Cypress; you’re facing someone who’s getting back into the groove, into the swing of things. You think you have a shot against me, facing me, BEATING me? I hate to tell you, but you’ll be matched up with a rabid animal, hungry for victory, thirsty for blood. You don’t have a chance.
-Before Who’re can get another question out, Donnie is swift in his escape of the soundstage, pulling the mic away with a quick pull from his collar and the waistband of his pants. He sucks in the beer belly that Who’re pointed out, before slipping out and away. He tossed the hat aside as soon as he was off camera, and he ran. He ran all the way back to the motel, as pale as the sheets on his bed, breathing with panicked pacing.
He had never felt so lost in his entire life.-