Post by austinreynolds on Feb 2, 2020 11:46:16 GMT -6
((OOC: Here we go. It's abstract as fuck, I know, but I'm really trying something different with this character.))
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"You made a promise..."
"...what?"
"You said that you would return..."
"That was a long time ago. I don't..."
"After the world had shattered..."
"Stop!"
"When you were needed the most..."
"Stop...please."
"That you would return. You promised."
"That was a long time ago."
"But you promised, right?"
"I don't know if I can. I'm not that guy....not anymore. I'm not ready."
"But....you promised."
"How? How am I supposed to face them...? I don't know if I have it in me. Not any more."
"But you promised, and you're not supposed to break promises."
"But things have changed...I've changed..."
"You...promised..."
* * *
The sound of the alarm clock going off woke him up from a fitful sleep. The incessant beeping of the clock, cutting through his thoughts like a chainsaw through plywood. He reached up, and rubbed his face with a hand, and sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. Sighing, he glanced toward the bedside table, where his phone rested, and reached for the device, pausing for a moment, before grabbing it and having a look at it. The voicemail box was full. It had been for days, and he simply hadn't erased any of the messages. Why not? He wasn't going back. He'd made that clear before...why were they so insistent?
With a roll of his eyes, he threw the phone back onto the bed and got up, going into the shower of his small apartment to take a shower, and get dressed for work. Pants, work shirt, shoes. It wasn't great paying work, but it was a job, and frankly, it was probably for the best. He snatched up his phone and headed out, down to his car, bundled up against the early morning cold. The dream had died, and he simply didn't have it in him to worry about it. That was why, in the end, Austin Reynolds, who was quickly on his way to becoming an international professional wrestling legend, found himself on the outside of the industry. In the end, it was true that all he needed to do was offer his services, and any promotion in the world would take him in a heartbeat. The only problem with that was that, in the end, beneath it all, he was terrified. The pressure, the attention...he didn't deal well with people. He was too introverted to truly enjoy being under that much scrutiny by that many people.
The latest craze was Invicta Wrestling. They'd reached out to him...well...some of them had, anyway. The subject had been broached about coming to a fed that was trying to make a return, and Reynolds, in a momentary lack of judgement, had agreed to return to the federation for their year long celebration of their time. He didn't know why. He'd never set foot in their ring, so it wasn't like he was bringing anything to the table for them, but he'd agreed, nonetheless. For everything he'd expected of that federation, it lived up to exactly what he'd thought, putting together a single show of what was supposed to be a year long run, only for the investors and the owner to fold up shop. It was an altogether common story, and one that that particular promotion had done before, so it hadn't really come as any sort of surprise...more of a relief, in the case of Reynolds, who had almost instantly regretted his decision to sign on before the ink had even dried on the contract.
He wasn't ready. He thought he had been, but if he was honest with himself, it wasn't in the cards. He'd left the business years ago. Not due to any injuries, or being fired, but simply because he couldn't cut it mentally any longer. It was the fans, it was the other performers...everyone had expected so much from him, and honestly, it was staggering to think about it. Who was he, really? He was an anime and video game nerd, and a self-professed weeaboo on some level, though the last bit was something that he had began to proclaim simply to dig under the skin of an opponent at one time. He was a storyteller, but...to be honest, he didn't really have a story worth telling. Not anymore. And so, he'd let himself fade away, left the business, severed ties. Returned to an average life.
"But you promised..."
He HAD promised. But the business was better off without him, and to be frank, he was better off without the business. Wasn't he? The backstabbing, the betrayal, the pressure. He pulled into his parking place at work. He'd taken a job as a stocker at a department store. It was a job, and he'd needed money, and it was what it was. He walked in, lost in his thoughts, and making his way back to the time clock.
"You're late. Again."
Reynolds paused as he punched his number into the timeclock, and sighed, glancing to the assistant manager, a real piece of work named Scott. Scott was a lifer in this place, had worked here for close to ten years. Just another number to the company, working for next to free, but he'd been given a little bit of power and let it go straight to his head.
"Yeah. Sorry about that, it won't happen again."
"That's what you always say. You know that puts you at 7 point 2-5 attendance points, right, Austin? You only get 7 point 5, and it's point 2-5 points every time you're late."
"I know. I'm sorry about that, boss."
"Don't be sorry. Be on time. This is going to be a written warning."
Reynolds stood quietly for a moment, but simply nodded.
"Right. I'll do better."
"Well, what are you standing around, for? The shelves aren't going to stock themselves, are they?"
"You promised...."
There wasn't really anything else to say, at that point. With a nod, Reynolds turned and marched resolutely back to the stock room, gathering up the merchandise he was assigned to stock the shelves with. It was an effort in humiliation, to be sure, but it wasn't really that bad...was it? He proceeded to work on stocking the shelves, making them look as nice as possible.
"Excuse me. Excuse me! Sir?"
He turned his attention to the woman making her way over toward him, her kid in tow. Reynolds barely paid the kid any mind, simply flashing the kid a brief smile before looking to the woman.
"Hello. Did you need help with something?"
With little preamble, she thrust two shirts into his face.
"Yes. I wanted to speak to a manager, please. These shirts are listed as medium in size, but they won't fit on me, at ALL."
Reynolds blinked, and took a breath, looking at the woman. She was...well...the kindest way to put it was that she was a fairly large woman. The kids today might refer to her as 'extra thicc'...with two C's instead of c-k.
"Well...here. Some of the clothes that we sell aren't really consistent on their sizing, so why don't I come over there with you, and we'll see if that's the case?"
"Excuse me. Are you insinuating that I am NOT a medium size?"
"Uhm...no? I'm saying that the shirt sizes can be inconsistent..."
"Well, now I want to talk to your manager about your attitude!"
Reynolds felt his brow crease a bit. This woman was quickly becoming very incensed, and agitated. It was jarring, to be honest, and Reynolds wasn't entirely sure where this was coming from.
"I mean...if you let me help you, I'm sure we can find something that you like over there..."
Enter douche bag Scott. Where in the unholy fuck has he been at? Has he been watching this whole time?
"I'm sorry, ma'am, what seems to be the issue here?"
"I'm trying to find some clothes, and this man, here is trying to tell me that I'm fat."
"No. That's NOT what I said."
A quick glare from Scott, and a nasty smirk. Reynolds could feel his blood starting to boil. What was the deal? He was really just minding his own damn business here...
"You promised..."
"Well, I'm really sorry to hear that. Austin, you go in the back and wait for me, we'll talk. Ma'am, show me where you got these shirts from, and we can find something that suits you, I'm sure."
"Are you going to keep your promise...?"
And with that, Douche Bag Scott and the nasty bitch waddled off. Reynolds watched them for a moment, and blinks. This wasn't the first time this had been the case, this was pretty much an everyday occurrence. This was special, though...sometimes, all it took was a single straw to break the camels back, once there was enough weight there. His lips tightened, and Reynolds broke into a dangerous smirk, peeling the work shirt off, and tossing it off to the side. Bare chested, his wrestling physique still in tact, he turned and walked toward the door of the store, swatting clean the newly stocked shelves as he went, stopping to grab a nearby customer on the shoulder.
"JUST WHEN I THOUGHT I WAS OUT, THEY PULL ME BACK IN!!!!!"
He threw his head back, cackling like a crazy person as he makes his way out of the door of the department store and to his vehicle. Was he going to keep his promise...?
"...yeah. I'm going to keep my promise."
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"You made a promise..."
"...what?"
"You said that you would return..."
"That was a long time ago. I don't..."
"After the world had shattered..."
"Stop!"
"When you were needed the most..."
"Stop...please."
"That you would return. You promised."
"That was a long time ago."
"But you promised, right?"
"I don't know if I can. I'm not that guy....not anymore. I'm not ready."
"But....you promised."
"How? How am I supposed to face them...? I don't know if I have it in me. Not any more."
"But you promised, and you're not supposed to break promises."
"But things have changed...I've changed..."
"You...promised..."
* * *
The sound of the alarm clock going off woke him up from a fitful sleep. The incessant beeping of the clock, cutting through his thoughts like a chainsaw through plywood. He reached up, and rubbed his face with a hand, and sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. Sighing, he glanced toward the bedside table, where his phone rested, and reached for the device, pausing for a moment, before grabbing it and having a look at it. The voicemail box was full. It had been for days, and he simply hadn't erased any of the messages. Why not? He wasn't going back. He'd made that clear before...why were they so insistent?
With a roll of his eyes, he threw the phone back onto the bed and got up, going into the shower of his small apartment to take a shower, and get dressed for work. Pants, work shirt, shoes. It wasn't great paying work, but it was a job, and frankly, it was probably for the best. He snatched up his phone and headed out, down to his car, bundled up against the early morning cold. The dream had died, and he simply didn't have it in him to worry about it. That was why, in the end, Austin Reynolds, who was quickly on his way to becoming an international professional wrestling legend, found himself on the outside of the industry. In the end, it was true that all he needed to do was offer his services, and any promotion in the world would take him in a heartbeat. The only problem with that was that, in the end, beneath it all, he was terrified. The pressure, the attention...he didn't deal well with people. He was too introverted to truly enjoy being under that much scrutiny by that many people.
The latest craze was Invicta Wrestling. They'd reached out to him...well...some of them had, anyway. The subject had been broached about coming to a fed that was trying to make a return, and Reynolds, in a momentary lack of judgement, had agreed to return to the federation for their year long celebration of their time. He didn't know why. He'd never set foot in their ring, so it wasn't like he was bringing anything to the table for them, but he'd agreed, nonetheless. For everything he'd expected of that federation, it lived up to exactly what he'd thought, putting together a single show of what was supposed to be a year long run, only for the investors and the owner to fold up shop. It was an altogether common story, and one that that particular promotion had done before, so it hadn't really come as any sort of surprise...more of a relief, in the case of Reynolds, who had almost instantly regretted his decision to sign on before the ink had even dried on the contract.
He wasn't ready. He thought he had been, but if he was honest with himself, it wasn't in the cards. He'd left the business years ago. Not due to any injuries, or being fired, but simply because he couldn't cut it mentally any longer. It was the fans, it was the other performers...everyone had expected so much from him, and honestly, it was staggering to think about it. Who was he, really? He was an anime and video game nerd, and a self-professed weeaboo on some level, though the last bit was something that he had began to proclaim simply to dig under the skin of an opponent at one time. He was a storyteller, but...to be honest, he didn't really have a story worth telling. Not anymore. And so, he'd let himself fade away, left the business, severed ties. Returned to an average life.
"But you promised..."
He HAD promised. But the business was better off without him, and to be frank, he was better off without the business. Wasn't he? The backstabbing, the betrayal, the pressure. He pulled into his parking place at work. He'd taken a job as a stocker at a department store. It was a job, and he'd needed money, and it was what it was. He walked in, lost in his thoughts, and making his way back to the time clock.
"You're late. Again."
Reynolds paused as he punched his number into the timeclock, and sighed, glancing to the assistant manager, a real piece of work named Scott. Scott was a lifer in this place, had worked here for close to ten years. Just another number to the company, working for next to free, but he'd been given a little bit of power and let it go straight to his head.
"Yeah. Sorry about that, it won't happen again."
"That's what you always say. You know that puts you at 7 point 2-5 attendance points, right, Austin? You only get 7 point 5, and it's point 2-5 points every time you're late."
"I know. I'm sorry about that, boss."
"Don't be sorry. Be on time. This is going to be a written warning."
Reynolds stood quietly for a moment, but simply nodded.
"Right. I'll do better."
"Well, what are you standing around, for? The shelves aren't going to stock themselves, are they?"
"You promised...."
There wasn't really anything else to say, at that point. With a nod, Reynolds turned and marched resolutely back to the stock room, gathering up the merchandise he was assigned to stock the shelves with. It was an effort in humiliation, to be sure, but it wasn't really that bad...was it? He proceeded to work on stocking the shelves, making them look as nice as possible.
"Excuse me. Excuse me! Sir?"
He turned his attention to the woman making her way over toward him, her kid in tow. Reynolds barely paid the kid any mind, simply flashing the kid a brief smile before looking to the woman.
"Hello. Did you need help with something?"
With little preamble, she thrust two shirts into his face.
"Yes. I wanted to speak to a manager, please. These shirts are listed as medium in size, but they won't fit on me, at ALL."
Reynolds blinked, and took a breath, looking at the woman. She was...well...the kindest way to put it was that she was a fairly large woman. The kids today might refer to her as 'extra thicc'...with two C's instead of c-k.
"Well...here. Some of the clothes that we sell aren't really consistent on their sizing, so why don't I come over there with you, and we'll see if that's the case?"
"Excuse me. Are you insinuating that I am NOT a medium size?"
"Uhm...no? I'm saying that the shirt sizes can be inconsistent..."
"Well, now I want to talk to your manager about your attitude!"
Reynolds felt his brow crease a bit. This woman was quickly becoming very incensed, and agitated. It was jarring, to be honest, and Reynolds wasn't entirely sure where this was coming from.
"I mean...if you let me help you, I'm sure we can find something that you like over there..."
Enter douche bag Scott. Where in the unholy fuck has he been at? Has he been watching this whole time?
"I'm sorry, ma'am, what seems to be the issue here?"
"I'm trying to find some clothes, and this man, here is trying to tell me that I'm fat."
"No. That's NOT what I said."
A quick glare from Scott, and a nasty smirk. Reynolds could feel his blood starting to boil. What was the deal? He was really just minding his own damn business here...
"You promised..."
"Well, I'm really sorry to hear that. Austin, you go in the back and wait for me, we'll talk. Ma'am, show me where you got these shirts from, and we can find something that suits you, I'm sure."
"Are you going to keep your promise...?"
And with that, Douche Bag Scott and the nasty bitch waddled off. Reynolds watched them for a moment, and blinks. This wasn't the first time this had been the case, this was pretty much an everyday occurrence. This was special, though...sometimes, all it took was a single straw to break the camels back, once there was enough weight there. His lips tightened, and Reynolds broke into a dangerous smirk, peeling the work shirt off, and tossing it off to the side. Bare chested, his wrestling physique still in tact, he turned and walked toward the door of the store, swatting clean the newly stocked shelves as he went, stopping to grab a nearby customer on the shoulder.
"JUST WHEN I THOUGHT I WAS OUT, THEY PULL ME BACK IN!!!!!"
He threw his head back, cackling like a crazy person as he makes his way out of the door of the department store and to his vehicle. Was he going to keep his promise...?
"...yeah. I'm going to keep my promise."