Post by Psychopomp on Aug 12, 2016 21:42:09 GMT -5
Unknown location, Philadelphia, 01:00
We're in a dim lit living room of an apartment. The place seems nice, furnished with a few plants, flat screen TV, a few abstract paintings to hide the plain
white paint from the wall. A few beany babies on the coffee table and sitting on the pink futon are a shirtless Psychopomp and our favorite nurse Maryse.
The futon is covered in bloodied towels so that it doesn't get stained, you know how hard it is to remove blood stains right?!? Pomp has both hands in bowls
filled with water and ice to try to make the bleeding stop and numb the pain from his barb wire cuts. But it didn't take long for the cold water to turn more
like watered down tomato soup but at least his hands doesn't look like they're bothering him right now. What's bothering him now is the fact that his back is
now matching his front. His body will forever be changed for ever and the week isn't even done yet.
Next to Pomp is a bottle of bourbon, opened, with a few straws attached to each other to make a longer straw so that he take a sip of his pain killer without
having to move too much. He looks tired, the wear from his week in hell are really starting to show on both his physical and mental health on the wrestler. The consequence of each match is getting more and more damn tragic but he knew he had to stay and finish this. Probably just thankful to still be in more
or less one piece.
The children's hospital nurse working her needle magic again on Pomp seem for the first time a bit worried about him
Maryse: I knew you were going to call...
Psychopomp stays silent for a moment
Pomp: I didn't know where else to go and you're great at your job...
Maryse: Is that the only reason why you called me? Well someone called me since your hands are so mangled that you couldn't even dial a phone!
Psychopomp takes a long sip from his alcoholic saviour. Maryse keeps on digging her needle into his body to try to close the multiple new gashes that appeared
during his last match
Pomp: Ouch ouch are you trying to stab me back there?! My match is tonight not now!
Maryse: Oh stop whining you big baby
!
She then gently smacks the back of his head
Pomp: Fine fine
Psychopomp giggles a bit before taking a breath
Pomp: Another night and another match done. By now it's the intensity of the crowd that's pretty much the only thing that's keeping me going right now. The fans
are really starting to get behind me and when the music start and I hear them scream out my name, it makes me want to give it my all even more...
Maryse: Aren't you facing Odin tonight? Do you really think you can beat him?
Pomp: I can...Odin is a legend...a god but I have more to prove than him. He's only here because Seth wanted some familiar faces in the tournament, probably
get paid as much for this as I'll make all year and It'll be his downfall. He might have all the power of the Nordic gods moving through his veins, all the
experience of time but he doesn't have the drive, the desperation that I do. For him it's just a another tittle to add to his list, nothing important to him.
For me...It's to begin, to start it all here at the WCF, to make 'A' name for myself.
Maryse: Well if you want any chance of winning I'll have to fix those hands of yours.
Psychopomp takes his hands out of the bowls and pats them on a clean-ish towel. We can see a few chunk of skin barely attached to his fingers any more. But she
isn't phased by it and gets ready to work
Maryse: You better take another sip..
.
He takes a large sip of the turkey courage and concentrate on something else
Pomp: Do you know that Odin is so old that they say that his hair is actually made of the sand of time!
Maryse: Ok, I think you might have had enough...
Maryse keeps working diligently on her patient and after a while she manages to, like a puppet master pull her stings to put him back together.
Pomp: I think I'm going to lie down now...
She pull a blanket over him and he passed out on the couch
We're in a dim lit living room of an apartment. The place seems nice, furnished with a few plants, flat screen TV, a few abstract paintings to hide the plain
white paint from the wall. A few beany babies on the coffee table and sitting on the pink futon are a shirtless Psychopomp and our favorite nurse Maryse.
The futon is covered in bloodied towels so that it doesn't get stained, you know how hard it is to remove blood stains right?!? Pomp has both hands in bowls
filled with water and ice to try to make the bleeding stop and numb the pain from his barb wire cuts. But it didn't take long for the cold water to turn more
like watered down tomato soup but at least his hands doesn't look like they're bothering him right now. What's bothering him now is the fact that his back is
now matching his front. His body will forever be changed for ever and the week isn't even done yet.
Next to Pomp is a bottle of bourbon, opened, with a few straws attached to each other to make a longer straw so that he take a sip of his pain killer without
having to move too much. He looks tired, the wear from his week in hell are really starting to show on both his physical and mental health on the wrestler. The consequence of each match is getting more and more damn tragic but he knew he had to stay and finish this. Probably just thankful to still be in more
or less one piece.
The children's hospital nurse working her needle magic again on Pomp seem for the first time a bit worried about him
Maryse: I knew you were going to call...
Psychopomp stays silent for a moment
Pomp: I didn't know where else to go and you're great at your job...
Maryse: Is that the only reason why you called me? Well someone called me since your hands are so mangled that you couldn't even dial a phone!
Psychopomp takes a long sip from his alcoholic saviour. Maryse keeps on digging her needle into his body to try to close the multiple new gashes that appeared
during his last match
Pomp: Ouch ouch are you trying to stab me back there?! My match is tonight not now!
Maryse: Oh stop whining you big baby
!
She then gently smacks the back of his head
Pomp: Fine fine
Psychopomp giggles a bit before taking a breath
Pomp: Another night and another match done. By now it's the intensity of the crowd that's pretty much the only thing that's keeping me going right now. The fans
are really starting to get behind me and when the music start and I hear them scream out my name, it makes me want to give it my all even more...
Maryse: Aren't you facing Odin tonight? Do you really think you can beat him?
Pomp: I can...Odin is a legend...a god but I have more to prove than him. He's only here because Seth wanted some familiar faces in the tournament, probably
get paid as much for this as I'll make all year and It'll be his downfall. He might have all the power of the Nordic gods moving through his veins, all the
experience of time but he doesn't have the drive, the desperation that I do. For him it's just a another tittle to add to his list, nothing important to him.
For me...It's to begin, to start it all here at the WCF, to make 'A' name for myself.
Maryse: Well if you want any chance of winning I'll have to fix those hands of yours.
Psychopomp takes his hands out of the bowls and pats them on a clean-ish towel. We can see a few chunk of skin barely attached to his fingers any more. But she
isn't phased by it and gets ready to work
Maryse: You better take another sip..
.
He takes a large sip of the turkey courage and concentrate on something else
Pomp: Do you know that Odin is so old that they say that his hair is actually made of the sand of time!
Maryse: Ok, I think you might have had enough...
Maryse keeps working diligently on her patient and after a while she manages to, like a puppet master pull her stings to put him back together.
Pomp: I think I'm going to lie down now...
She pull a blanket over him and he passed out on the couch
