Life... Or Something Like It [vs. Chandler Scott]
Jul 21, 2016 16:56:14 GMT -5
Post by Bondo on Jul 21, 2016 16:56:14 GMT -5
Off-Camera
July 18th, 2016
Bond’s House; Charlotte, NC
“Why do you want to face him anyway?” Bond asked. He sat in bed, wearing a pair of basketball shorts. The clock next to his bed read 11:15. And judging by the darkness outside and the fact that if it were daytime, he’d be at the Training Center, it’s very safe to assume this is happening in the very late evening. His gaze was fixed at the ceiling, the back of his head touching the padded headboard. A laptop sits just inches from his body. On the screen courtesy of Skype is his very beautiful girlfriend, halfway around the world in Germany. Katie, collectively known to the wrestling world as the Crimson Baroness, will be appearing for NKP.
“Because, it’s Johnny Cannon.” She replies back with quite a bit of sharpness.
Bond slowly brings his head level and eyeballs the computer.
“Yeah, it’s Johnny Cannon. One of the most ruthless and brutal competitors on this planet. His jabs hurt like a bitch… and there was something else…” Bond pretends to be thinking of the last thing, and playfully smacks the side of his head. “Oh yeah! He put me on the shelf for seven fucking months!” His face sours as he folds his tattooed arms over his chest. Katie can be seen rolling her eyes.
“C’mon babe. You think I’m scared of that jerk? He wouldn’t try that shit with me. It’s great publicity. Think about it. On Pride 30, it could be the reigning FGA World Champion against the greatest wrestler to ever walk the hallowed halls of the LDFC!” She tries building it up as large as it could be. She giggles as she makes the comment about the ‘greatest wrestler’… but Bond doesn’t seem to budge.
“Why are you so hesitant to book this match?” She asks. Bond sits there, looking into the camera. He’s trying to think of the best way to tell her that Johnny Cannon is reckless. That he’s a violent drunk. That the only thing that scares him as much as something happening to Rhys is something happening to her. That he’s in love with her and doesn’t want to see her laid up for seven months or longer, should Johnny Cannon have a bug up his ass and do something stupid. He knows if he says anything it’ll be a quip about her being a woman… when all he wants to do is ensure that the woman he loves never fall into harm’s way. Especially quite difficult when you’re in the wrestling world.
“Look, babe… I know…” He starts. But a bolt of lightning crashes just outside of the window and a moment later a very loud roll of thunder echoes throughout his home. There is silence for a moment and then a loud whimper and scream comes from a bedroom just down the hall. A long drawn out call for Daddy dances over the hardwood floors. Bond purses his lips narrows his brow as he looks down at Katie.
“Go ahead Chris. The little squirt needs you. We can finish this conversation later, okay?” She smiles, understanding. She doesn’t realize this bit of parenthood probably just saved them from a fight. Bond smiles and blows a quick kiss to his girlfriend halfway around the world.
“Love you.” He quips out. She smiles and places a hand at the computer screen. She winks and mouths back “Love you, too.” The call comes to a close as he jumps out of bed and wanders down the hall.
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_______________________________________________________________________
On-Camera
Present Day
LDFC Training Facility
The Shoot: “Ballad of the Underdog”
“I spent one hundred and ninety four days sidelined.” He started off. Regret and anger in his voice.
“I rang in the New Year in a hospital room. I didn’t get to spend Valentine’s Day out with my girl. I was stuck rehabbing a surgically repaired knee. St. Patrick’s Day wasn’t a fun and jovial night out with friends. I was spending most of the day in a doctor’s office to make sure my knee wasn’t completely fucked. By late April when my son’s birthday came around I was able to at least go outside and play in the yard with him. But not for long. I couldn’t spend too much time on my knee. I watched May and June pass me by. I was getting better but it wasn’t where I needed to be. Where I wanted to be. Saturday, July 9th, I made my return. I spent one hundred and ninety four days sidelined this year. I had countless hours and moments stolen from me because, as Johnny Cannon said, he lost his cool. Fuck him and fuck that kind of logic! He stole moments from my life. He put me through physical rehabilitation and surgery. And all I got from him was “I lost my cool.” Nothing but a pathetic excuse for a man. And a disgusting excuse for a World Champion."
He stops for a moment, staring into the camera. Chris Bond’s face is full of anger and resentment and annoyance and disgust. He’s wearing his iconic red-lion tee, it clearly reads: #FGAProud. His face is kept with a small beard. His hair is short. His eyes as blue as the sea. The setting is simple. The empty training room for the LDFC. A few scattered chairs sit next to a big empty ring. A rolling dry erase board sits off behind the ring and in the distance is a pretty well put together gym. Bond stands directly center ring; the center of his lion’s den if you will.
“I’ve been in this business for eighteen years. I’ve had my fair share of my ups and my downs. I’ve been a feature of the FGA for three years now. In my three years I’ve seen the rise and fall of many men who deemed themselves untouchable. I’ve seen the strongest, most ruthless men eventually succumb to their own pride, or their own vices, or by the sword of another warrior. Chris Q-gone. Malcolm Drake-gone. The Infinite Empire-gone. Sean Sands-gone. Blain Harrison-gone. Cyncity-gone. A.J. Fairchild-gone. JT Cash-gone. Laurel Anne Hardy-gone. Jared James-gone. Ryan Kidd-gone. Pat Gordon, Jr.-gone.
People come and go, their tenure a mere memory. Chris Q’s reign is legendary. His grasp on the FGA World Title was iron-like. Malcolm Drake was as sick and sadistic as they come. The Infinite Empire literally set fire to the FGA ring… Sean Sands won the FLC and dethroned Q, but for a moment. Blain Harrison, Jared James, A.J. Fairchild, all FGA Originals. And yet, like a faded picture, only their memory remains.” Bond stops, staring off across the facility. He breathes in heavy for a moment, before starting to walk around the squared circle.
“Jimmy Page was supposed to be the second coming of Chris Q. He was supposed to be bigger and better than the original. But eventually, he fizzled out of the title picture and kinda went batshit crazier than we all imagined. He started going after people whom he thought he could devour. He went after their families, their friends. He went lower than the lowest filth of this Earth, and he still couldn’t best the man with whom he has such animosity, such disdain. Chandler Scott… the only apparent lasting legacy of the FGA, save for Dom Harter’s ego.” A slight smirk dawns his face as he takes a jab at the only active member of the Murder.
“Chandler, I’ve never been your biggest fan. I’m guessing that I never topped your Christmas card list. But I’ve never been able to doubt your ability. I’ve never been able to question your drive, your devotion to this business. I’m a relic of a time when weapons were more important than skills. I made my first real chunk of money putting my body through so much physical punishment that I very well could have shaved years off from my life. But just because I started in a bloodbath didn’t mean I would finish there. Since I started wrestling professionally eighteen years ago, I’ve battled my way across this country. I’ve made a name for myself in the great white north, a now defunct promotion known as the SCCW. I’ve seen my own promotion fall to bad decisions and politics.” He lowers his head as he remembers how great REVIVAL was and what it could have been.
“In 2011, I blew out my knee. It was bad. You all know the story. I spent eleven months on the shelf. I went from being a drunk to an addict. I lost a fiancée; I lost time with my son. I lost money, and respect, and jobs. Certain promotions wouldn’t look at me. It was like I was this disease, and nobody wanted to treat it. But I got better. I made myself be better.” His head raises, looking out beneath his brows.
“I fought hard rehabbing my knee. I worked out. I came back stronger than ever. I put myself out there, and for a while I was doing really well. I went through some of the biggest and best names out there. I wrestled for the LWA and the WWA. I was a HOSTILITY World Champion and a big name in Las Vegas’ sVo. But none of that matters now. Because even though I’ve travelled the world—there wasn’t ever really home. I’ve lived in many houses. I’ve wrestled under many roofs. But here, this is my home. This is where I belong. The FGA is in my heart. Because when everyone else saw a cancer… they saw potential. They were the ones that believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself.” Bond stops. He takes a knee in the center of the ring. He looks up toward the heavens for a moment.
“I’ve loved. I’ve lost. I’ve said goodbye to friends and family, and I look down at my son every day and I see the brightest, most beautiful thing that I’ve ever had the chance to call my own. I look at him and I see so much life, so much hope, so much joy and happiness.” Bond lowers his head for a moment, choking up a bit on those last remarks. He pushes himself up from his knee and stands in the center, feet firmly planted.
“This Saturday, I fight for a chance at the FGA World Title. It isn’t only about the glory. It isn’t only about the legacy I need to leave for myself. It’s about showing my son that if you work hard enough, that if you want something badly enough, you find a way to make it happen. Chandler Scott is not going to be a cake walk. Chandler Scott is a living, breathing legacy of the FGA. He’s a former World Champion. He’s the goddamn measuring stick when it comes to this organization. And everyone seems to think that he’s going to win this tournament. And maybe he will. But I’m walking into the Tucson Convention Center on Saturday Night and I’m going to throw everything I have at him and more. I know what people have said about me. I know what they think and I know the jokes. I’ve given everything I have to give to this business. I’ve made countless sacrifices. I’ve bled. I’ve sweat. I’ve cried out in pain and happiness for this business. Chandler Scott is the odds-on-favorite. But if there were ever an underdog—it’s certainly me. I’m not going to leave anything less than my absolute best out in that ring on Saturday night. If Chandler Scott wins, he’s going to have to put me down for good. Because I’m done being the subscript. I’m done being the stepping stone. I’m going to defeat Chandler Scott on Saturday Night. I’m going to upset the favorite, I’m going to vanquish the prodigal son.” He stops, pausing for a moment and looking sincerely into the camera.
“And when it’s all said and done, and my hand is raised in victory… in two weeks’ time… I’m going to shock the world again when I finally shut up Dom Harter and defeat him, too.” A grin, maybe best described as more than a smirk, but less than a smile, rests firmly across the face of the two-time Pride Champion and head-trainer of the LDFC.
“My name is Chris Bond… and you can most certainly believe that this… this is MY FRONTIER.” Bond stops, his face as serious as a heart attack. The camera stays focused on him for a moment longer before fading to static.
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Off-Camera
July 20, 2016
Bond’s House; Charlotte, NC
“You don’t give a fuck?!” She screams at him. He stops what he was doing and looks up from the table. Katie Rogers stands in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, her face full of anger and hurt. “What do you mean I just do what I want anyway? Where do you get off treating me like shit on Twitter, Chris? Huh?” She stops, a small tear running down her cheek.
“Listen, I…” he starts but she cuts him off.
“NO! You listen! I understand that you don’t want me to face Johnny Cannon. And I understand that sometimes I can be a bit much, but you don’t get treat me like a child on Twitter. Do you understand? I am more than a four year old goddamnit!” He stands up, forcefully sending the chair scooting back against the wall. She jolts a bit, startled by the chair and his forcefulness standing up.
“How in the hell can you stand there and accuse me of treating you like a child, when you have no problem flirting with the guy who put me on the injured list for seven fucking months? For fuck sake, Katie! I’ve got feelings and seeing you flirt with every fucking person on Twitter hurts. Okay? I know to the world you’re the Baroness. But to me, you’re my goddamn girlfriend. You’re the woman I love and I share my home, my heart, my bed with. So you explain to me why it’s okay for you to be upset with me when you’re the one who’s begging me to let you fight the same guy who put me out of action and you’re flirting with.” He stops. Real pain and hurt in his voice. He swallows hard, looking at her to respond.
She stands there, staring at him. Trying to figure out what to say and how to say it. She didn’t realize that her constant flirting was affecting him this much. He hangs his head and looks down at the table.
“Listen, I… I’m sorry, Katie. I had no right to say that to you. I had no reason to say that to you on Twitter. It’s not just the flirting that’s been getting to me. It’s you. You’re constant desire to be bigger and better, and I’m scared okay? You’re flying off to Europe and all of these bad things are happening across the world. You’re asking me to face the guy who tried to cripple me, and you want me to be okay with it. I can’t protect you. I’m afraid something bad is going to happen and I just… I can’t lose you. I don’t want to lose you. I..I love you and I..I need you, baby.” He manages to say, choking up a bit and stumbling over a few words, but he manages to say it nonetheless without crying. He sniffles a bit and waits for her response. After what seems like an eternity, he looks up at her.
She stands there, on the verge of tears herself and she drops her purse on the floor.
“I’m sorry Chris. I didn’t… I didn’t know.” She manages to get out.
He walks over to her and the two embrace in a hug. He leans in and kisser her forcefully, and pulls back smiling. He takes her face in both hands and uses his thumbs to wipe away a few tears.
“I’ve missed the fuck out of you, you know that? This long distance and secret relationship thing is really starting to test my patience.” He says, biting at his lower lip. She leans in and kisses him once more, and lets her hand fall down and trail along his chest before finding his hand. She turns slightly and starts to playfully walk towards the stairs.
“I’ve missed you too. Maybe we go upstairs…?” She asks, suggestively. She’s looking at him, over her shoulder and through parts of her hair. He smirks and wraps his arm around her and kisses her neck a bit as the two of them, intertwined, make their way upstairs into the bedroom.
It’s pretty interesting to see that their relationship, no matter the secrecy surrounding it, that they’re struggling with it just as much as any public couple. They’ve got their ups and their downs. They’ve got their problems, they’ve got their quarrels. They’ve got their fights and they’ve got their make-ups. Little does she know that in the pocket of his favorite black suit rests a small, black box. It’s been with him for about a month now and even managed to travel with him to their rendezvous in Paris over the 4th of July. Once he finds the nerve. Once he finds the courage… the right moment, the right time… he’s going to take that ring and ask her to be his wife. But between now and then, their relationship will remain a secret. They will keep their love away from the prying eyes of the public… and he will focus most of his attention on the upcoming Lion’s Cup. That’s life though… or something like it.
July 18th, 2016
Bond’s House; Charlotte, NC
“Why do you want to face him anyway?” Bond asked. He sat in bed, wearing a pair of basketball shorts. The clock next to his bed read 11:15. And judging by the darkness outside and the fact that if it were daytime, he’d be at the Training Center, it’s very safe to assume this is happening in the very late evening. His gaze was fixed at the ceiling, the back of his head touching the padded headboard. A laptop sits just inches from his body. On the screen courtesy of Skype is his very beautiful girlfriend, halfway around the world in Germany. Katie, collectively known to the wrestling world as the Crimson Baroness, will be appearing for NKP.
“Because, it’s Johnny Cannon.” She replies back with quite a bit of sharpness.
Bond slowly brings his head level and eyeballs the computer.
“Yeah, it’s Johnny Cannon. One of the most ruthless and brutal competitors on this planet. His jabs hurt like a bitch… and there was something else…” Bond pretends to be thinking of the last thing, and playfully smacks the side of his head. “Oh yeah! He put me on the shelf for seven fucking months!” His face sours as he folds his tattooed arms over his chest. Katie can be seen rolling her eyes.
“C’mon babe. You think I’m scared of that jerk? He wouldn’t try that shit with me. It’s great publicity. Think about it. On Pride 30, it could be the reigning FGA World Champion against the greatest wrestler to ever walk the hallowed halls of the LDFC!” She tries building it up as large as it could be. She giggles as she makes the comment about the ‘greatest wrestler’… but Bond doesn’t seem to budge.
“Why are you so hesitant to book this match?” She asks. Bond sits there, looking into the camera. He’s trying to think of the best way to tell her that Johnny Cannon is reckless. That he’s a violent drunk. That the only thing that scares him as much as something happening to Rhys is something happening to her. That he’s in love with her and doesn’t want to see her laid up for seven months or longer, should Johnny Cannon have a bug up his ass and do something stupid. He knows if he says anything it’ll be a quip about her being a woman… when all he wants to do is ensure that the woman he loves never fall into harm’s way. Especially quite difficult when you’re in the wrestling world.
“Look, babe… I know…” He starts. But a bolt of lightning crashes just outside of the window and a moment later a very loud roll of thunder echoes throughout his home. There is silence for a moment and then a loud whimper and scream comes from a bedroom just down the hall. A long drawn out call for Daddy dances over the hardwood floors. Bond purses his lips narrows his brow as he looks down at Katie.
“Go ahead Chris. The little squirt needs you. We can finish this conversation later, okay?” She smiles, understanding. She doesn’t realize this bit of parenthood probably just saved them from a fight. Bond smiles and blows a quick kiss to his girlfriend halfway around the world.
“Love you.” He quips out. She smiles and places a hand at the computer screen. She winks and mouths back “Love you, too.” The call comes to a close as he jumps out of bed and wanders down the hall.
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_______________________________________________
On-Camera
Present Day
LDFC Training Facility
The Shoot: “Ballad of the Underdog”
“I spent one hundred and ninety four days sidelined.” He started off. Regret and anger in his voice.
“I rang in the New Year in a hospital room. I didn’t get to spend Valentine’s Day out with my girl. I was stuck rehabbing a surgically repaired knee. St. Patrick’s Day wasn’t a fun and jovial night out with friends. I was spending most of the day in a doctor’s office to make sure my knee wasn’t completely fucked. By late April when my son’s birthday came around I was able to at least go outside and play in the yard with him. But not for long. I couldn’t spend too much time on my knee. I watched May and June pass me by. I was getting better but it wasn’t where I needed to be. Where I wanted to be. Saturday, July 9th, I made my return. I spent one hundred and ninety four days sidelined this year. I had countless hours and moments stolen from me because, as Johnny Cannon said, he lost his cool. Fuck him and fuck that kind of logic! He stole moments from my life. He put me through physical rehabilitation and surgery. And all I got from him was “I lost my cool.” Nothing but a pathetic excuse for a man. And a disgusting excuse for a World Champion."
He stops for a moment, staring into the camera. Chris Bond’s face is full of anger and resentment and annoyance and disgust. He’s wearing his iconic red-lion tee, it clearly reads: #FGAProud. His face is kept with a small beard. His hair is short. His eyes as blue as the sea. The setting is simple. The empty training room for the LDFC. A few scattered chairs sit next to a big empty ring. A rolling dry erase board sits off behind the ring and in the distance is a pretty well put together gym. Bond stands directly center ring; the center of his lion’s den if you will.
“I’ve been in this business for eighteen years. I’ve had my fair share of my ups and my downs. I’ve been a feature of the FGA for three years now. In my three years I’ve seen the rise and fall of many men who deemed themselves untouchable. I’ve seen the strongest, most ruthless men eventually succumb to their own pride, or their own vices, or by the sword of another warrior. Chris Q-gone. Malcolm Drake-gone. The Infinite Empire-gone. Sean Sands-gone. Blain Harrison-gone. Cyncity-gone. A.J. Fairchild-gone. JT Cash-gone. Laurel Anne Hardy-gone. Jared James-gone. Ryan Kidd-gone. Pat Gordon, Jr.-gone.
People come and go, their tenure a mere memory. Chris Q’s reign is legendary. His grasp on the FGA World Title was iron-like. Malcolm Drake was as sick and sadistic as they come. The Infinite Empire literally set fire to the FGA ring… Sean Sands won the FLC and dethroned Q, but for a moment. Blain Harrison, Jared James, A.J. Fairchild, all FGA Originals. And yet, like a faded picture, only their memory remains.” Bond stops, staring off across the facility. He breathes in heavy for a moment, before starting to walk around the squared circle.
“Jimmy Page was supposed to be the second coming of Chris Q. He was supposed to be bigger and better than the original. But eventually, he fizzled out of the title picture and kinda went batshit crazier than we all imagined. He started going after people whom he thought he could devour. He went after their families, their friends. He went lower than the lowest filth of this Earth, and he still couldn’t best the man with whom he has such animosity, such disdain. Chandler Scott… the only apparent lasting legacy of the FGA, save for Dom Harter’s ego.” A slight smirk dawns his face as he takes a jab at the only active member of the Murder.
“Chandler, I’ve never been your biggest fan. I’m guessing that I never topped your Christmas card list. But I’ve never been able to doubt your ability. I’ve never been able to question your drive, your devotion to this business. I’m a relic of a time when weapons were more important than skills. I made my first real chunk of money putting my body through so much physical punishment that I very well could have shaved years off from my life. But just because I started in a bloodbath didn’t mean I would finish there. Since I started wrestling professionally eighteen years ago, I’ve battled my way across this country. I’ve made a name for myself in the great white north, a now defunct promotion known as the SCCW. I’ve seen my own promotion fall to bad decisions and politics.” He lowers his head as he remembers how great REVIVAL was and what it could have been.
“In 2011, I blew out my knee. It was bad. You all know the story. I spent eleven months on the shelf. I went from being a drunk to an addict. I lost a fiancée; I lost time with my son. I lost money, and respect, and jobs. Certain promotions wouldn’t look at me. It was like I was this disease, and nobody wanted to treat it. But I got better. I made myself be better.” His head raises, looking out beneath his brows.
“I fought hard rehabbing my knee. I worked out. I came back stronger than ever. I put myself out there, and for a while I was doing really well. I went through some of the biggest and best names out there. I wrestled for the LWA and the WWA. I was a HOSTILITY World Champion and a big name in Las Vegas’ sVo. But none of that matters now. Because even though I’ve travelled the world—there wasn’t ever really home. I’ve lived in many houses. I’ve wrestled under many roofs. But here, this is my home. This is where I belong. The FGA is in my heart. Because when everyone else saw a cancer… they saw potential. They were the ones that believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself.” Bond stops. He takes a knee in the center of the ring. He looks up toward the heavens for a moment.
“I’ve loved. I’ve lost. I’ve said goodbye to friends and family, and I look down at my son every day and I see the brightest, most beautiful thing that I’ve ever had the chance to call my own. I look at him and I see so much life, so much hope, so much joy and happiness.” Bond lowers his head for a moment, choking up a bit on those last remarks. He pushes himself up from his knee and stands in the center, feet firmly planted.
“This Saturday, I fight for a chance at the FGA World Title. It isn’t only about the glory. It isn’t only about the legacy I need to leave for myself. It’s about showing my son that if you work hard enough, that if you want something badly enough, you find a way to make it happen. Chandler Scott is not going to be a cake walk. Chandler Scott is a living, breathing legacy of the FGA. He’s a former World Champion. He’s the goddamn measuring stick when it comes to this organization. And everyone seems to think that he’s going to win this tournament. And maybe he will. But I’m walking into the Tucson Convention Center on Saturday Night and I’m going to throw everything I have at him and more. I know what people have said about me. I know what they think and I know the jokes. I’ve given everything I have to give to this business. I’ve made countless sacrifices. I’ve bled. I’ve sweat. I’ve cried out in pain and happiness for this business. Chandler Scott is the odds-on-favorite. But if there were ever an underdog—it’s certainly me. I’m not going to leave anything less than my absolute best out in that ring on Saturday night. If Chandler Scott wins, he’s going to have to put me down for good. Because I’m done being the subscript. I’m done being the stepping stone. I’m going to defeat Chandler Scott on Saturday Night. I’m going to upset the favorite, I’m going to vanquish the prodigal son.” He stops, pausing for a moment and looking sincerely into the camera.
“And when it’s all said and done, and my hand is raised in victory… in two weeks’ time… I’m going to shock the world again when I finally shut up Dom Harter and defeat him, too.” A grin, maybe best described as more than a smirk, but less than a smile, rests firmly across the face of the two-time Pride Champion and head-trainer of the LDFC.
“My name is Chris Bond… and you can most certainly believe that this… this is MY FRONTIER.” Bond stops, his face as serious as a heart attack. The camera stays focused on him for a moment longer before fading to static.
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Off-Camera
July 20, 2016
Bond’s House; Charlotte, NC
“You don’t give a fuck?!” She screams at him. He stops what he was doing and looks up from the table. Katie Rogers stands in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, her face full of anger and hurt. “What do you mean I just do what I want anyway? Where do you get off treating me like shit on Twitter, Chris? Huh?” She stops, a small tear running down her cheek.
“Listen, I…” he starts but she cuts him off.
“NO! You listen! I understand that you don’t want me to face Johnny Cannon. And I understand that sometimes I can be a bit much, but you don’t get treat me like a child on Twitter. Do you understand? I am more than a four year old goddamnit!” He stands up, forcefully sending the chair scooting back against the wall. She jolts a bit, startled by the chair and his forcefulness standing up.
“How in the hell can you stand there and accuse me of treating you like a child, when you have no problem flirting with the guy who put me on the injured list for seven fucking months? For fuck sake, Katie! I’ve got feelings and seeing you flirt with every fucking person on Twitter hurts. Okay? I know to the world you’re the Baroness. But to me, you’re my goddamn girlfriend. You’re the woman I love and I share my home, my heart, my bed with. So you explain to me why it’s okay for you to be upset with me when you’re the one who’s begging me to let you fight the same guy who put me out of action and you’re flirting with.” He stops. Real pain and hurt in his voice. He swallows hard, looking at her to respond.
She stands there, staring at him. Trying to figure out what to say and how to say it. She didn’t realize that her constant flirting was affecting him this much. He hangs his head and looks down at the table.
“Listen, I… I’m sorry, Katie. I had no right to say that to you. I had no reason to say that to you on Twitter. It’s not just the flirting that’s been getting to me. It’s you. You’re constant desire to be bigger and better, and I’m scared okay? You’re flying off to Europe and all of these bad things are happening across the world. You’re asking me to face the guy who tried to cripple me, and you want me to be okay with it. I can’t protect you. I’m afraid something bad is going to happen and I just… I can’t lose you. I don’t want to lose you. I..I love you and I..I need you, baby.” He manages to say, choking up a bit and stumbling over a few words, but he manages to say it nonetheless without crying. He sniffles a bit and waits for her response. After what seems like an eternity, he looks up at her.
She stands there, on the verge of tears herself and she drops her purse on the floor.
“I’m sorry Chris. I didn’t… I didn’t know.” She manages to get out.
He walks over to her and the two embrace in a hug. He leans in and kisser her forcefully, and pulls back smiling. He takes her face in both hands and uses his thumbs to wipe away a few tears.
“I’ve missed the fuck out of you, you know that? This long distance and secret relationship thing is really starting to test my patience.” He says, biting at his lower lip. She leans in and kisses him once more, and lets her hand fall down and trail along his chest before finding his hand. She turns slightly and starts to playfully walk towards the stairs.
“I’ve missed you too. Maybe we go upstairs…?” She asks, suggestively. She’s looking at him, over her shoulder and through parts of her hair. He smirks and wraps his arm around her and kisses her neck a bit as the two of them, intertwined, make their way upstairs into the bedroom.
It’s pretty interesting to see that their relationship, no matter the secrecy surrounding it, that they’re struggling with it just as much as any public couple. They’ve got their ups and their downs. They’ve got their problems, they’ve got their quarrels. They’ve got their fights and they’ve got their make-ups. Little does she know that in the pocket of his favorite black suit rests a small, black box. It’s been with him for about a month now and even managed to travel with him to their rendezvous in Paris over the 4th of July. Once he finds the nerve. Once he finds the courage… the right moment, the right time… he’s going to take that ring and ask her to be his wife. But between now and then, their relationship will remain a secret. They will keep their love away from the prying eyes of the public… and he will focus most of his attention on the upcoming Lion’s Cup. That’s life though… or something like it.
OOC Note: Goodluck Bryce. I'm glad I actually get to put something up against you on time this go around and I love reading your stuff so this should be a blast! Also, The Crimson Baroness appears with approval via the Bunneh.
