Post by Irvine on Sept 11, 2018 18:49:29 GMT -5
“How interesting that I should be flying on a plane today.”
Irvine smirked as he picked up the package on the tray in front of him and wrestled them out of the bag. The plane shook a bit as it hit a small pocket of air as it sailed over the open ocean.
“It’s interesting to think about it, but I can still remember the day it happened, watching as smoke bellowed from the towers like some unholy demon had burst out from within it. The confusion everyone felt until the second on was hit live on air. Everyone was in a panic but now one moved, we all just watched as our breath was taken from us.”
His hand moved swiftly as it scratched against his chest, covered by a black WALL t-shirt with stone gray lettering. He then moved back to shuffling the nuts around on the tray as he picked him up at a time to eat.
“The only other time I can remember something like that is when I first stepped of the plane in Afghanistan. The heat alone hit you harder than Bam Markham or Carl Whitaker can even muster. It’s like I was literally sucking in the flames of Hell as I carried my gear of that plane. Sweat ran down my face like liquid metal around a wield job.”
Irvine’s nose turns up slowly in disgust.
“But nothing was worse than the smell of that place. The culture had a different belief on hygiene and it was difficult enough to keep up our own. A mile from base was something literally named ‘Shit Creek’ and further down from that we burned trash. I’ll never be able to get rid of those memories from my mind. Nothing was worse than those sites and smells.”
His disgust seemed to turn into anger on his face.
“Until I ran into MAX-J, it’s champion, and all of its Lion’s Road sympathizers. There is nothing that smells worse than the stench of the cowardice that seeps from their skin. For months I’ve had to listen to the shit creek runoff that is AJ Knight, how our workings with MAX-J wasn’t just to build up his own mythos, it was good for the company. Then instead of heeding my words we allow their terrorist group the Demon Brigade to get their hands on our Championship’s.”
Irvine’s fist clenches around the nut in his hand.
“Then the coward’s that run our company allow them to keep our gold for their own. We invent the Championships Seville and I now hold as if they just wanted everyone to forget about the hard work, the story, the legacy we all build into those titles. Alexander Irvine doesn’t forget, The WALL doesn’t forgive, Seville and I will get those championships and bring them back to the good ol’ US of A even if it means murdering a pacifist and half brained warlock.”
Even saying the word pacifist seemed to make Irvine wanna throw up. The word warlock sounded so asinine it gave Billy Danielson credibility.
“But MAX-J still wants to fuck me over. Teaming me up with the likes of AJ several times of their tour. It’s like their trying to team Frank Sinatra with Ariana Grande, teaming a fucking legend with a half-brained superstar. I’ll make them regret their choices by beating every one of their superstars into the fucking ground like a hammer into a nail, then I’ll hit AJ with a powerbomb so sweet I make him diabetic and retarded.”
Irvine chuckles to himself.
“The only good thing about this tour is a get to sharpen my skills skills in singles competition once again. But as is always the case in my career I’ll have to move mountains to do so, namely this fucking horse face of a wrestler Shinjiro. I’ll get to see if I still have what it takes to fight against one of the beast from the mythology in that one.”
“Even better is I might get a chance to beat that hell out of that bastard Zenki if he’s dumb enough to show is face around him again. I still got a score to settle with both him and Grim for their tactics over a year ago, and like I said before I don’t forget.”
Irvine slowly reaches over and slaps the chest of the man sitting next to him, obviously scared of flying as his knuckles have turned white.
“So what brings you here?”
Irvine smirked as he picked up the package on the tray in front of him and wrestled them out of the bag. The plane shook a bit as it hit a small pocket of air as it sailed over the open ocean.
“It’s interesting to think about it, but I can still remember the day it happened, watching as smoke bellowed from the towers like some unholy demon had burst out from within it. The confusion everyone felt until the second on was hit live on air. Everyone was in a panic but now one moved, we all just watched as our breath was taken from us.”
His hand moved swiftly as it scratched against his chest, covered by a black WALL t-shirt with stone gray lettering. He then moved back to shuffling the nuts around on the tray as he picked him up at a time to eat.
“The only other time I can remember something like that is when I first stepped of the plane in Afghanistan. The heat alone hit you harder than Bam Markham or Carl Whitaker can even muster. It’s like I was literally sucking in the flames of Hell as I carried my gear of that plane. Sweat ran down my face like liquid metal around a wield job.”
Irvine’s nose turns up slowly in disgust.
“But nothing was worse than the smell of that place. The culture had a different belief on hygiene and it was difficult enough to keep up our own. A mile from base was something literally named ‘Shit Creek’ and further down from that we burned trash. I’ll never be able to get rid of those memories from my mind. Nothing was worse than those sites and smells.”
His disgust seemed to turn into anger on his face.
“Until I ran into MAX-J, it’s champion, and all of its Lion’s Road sympathizers. There is nothing that smells worse than the stench of the cowardice that seeps from their skin. For months I’ve had to listen to the shit creek runoff that is AJ Knight, how our workings with MAX-J wasn’t just to build up his own mythos, it was good for the company. Then instead of heeding my words we allow their terrorist group the Demon Brigade to get their hands on our Championship’s.”
Irvine’s fist clenches around the nut in his hand.
“Then the coward’s that run our company allow them to keep our gold for their own. We invent the Championships Seville and I now hold as if they just wanted everyone to forget about the hard work, the story, the legacy we all build into those titles. Alexander Irvine doesn’t forget, The WALL doesn’t forgive, Seville and I will get those championships and bring them back to the good ol’ US of A even if it means murdering a pacifist and half brained warlock.”
Even saying the word pacifist seemed to make Irvine wanna throw up. The word warlock sounded so asinine it gave Billy Danielson credibility.
“But MAX-J still wants to fuck me over. Teaming me up with the likes of AJ several times of their tour. It’s like their trying to team Frank Sinatra with Ariana Grande, teaming a fucking legend with a half-brained superstar. I’ll make them regret their choices by beating every one of their superstars into the fucking ground like a hammer into a nail, then I’ll hit AJ with a powerbomb so sweet I make him diabetic and retarded.”
Irvine chuckles to himself.
“The only good thing about this tour is a get to sharpen my skills skills in singles competition once again. But as is always the case in my career I’ll have to move mountains to do so, namely this fucking horse face of a wrestler Shinjiro. I’ll get to see if I still have what it takes to fight against one of the beast from the mythology in that one.”
“Even better is I might get a chance to beat that hell out of that bastard Zenki if he’s dumb enough to show is face around him again. I still got a score to settle with both him and Grim for their tactics over a year ago, and like I said before I don’t forget.”
Irvine slowly reaches over and slaps the chest of the man sitting next to him, obviously scared of flying as his knuckles have turned white.
“So what brings you here?”